2
One moment they were surrounded by green of their world. The next the princess and priestess were soaring within a tube of golden light, the astronomic colors of a rainbow, an enchantment of passage. Now with both feet stable and upright, they reside in a gold dome filled with the inner-working gears and mechanics channeling Yggdrasil's magic.
A hand bracing Nerthus' shoulder within this branch of time, steadying the gentle sway of her slim body, Inia levels her sight on a familiar one standing atop the observatory's elevated epicenter and control unit. She passes the dark Vanir a smile, one she is glad he shares. "Heimdall. I am glad to see you once again so soon."
A knowing smirk twitches the corner of his mouth, his sight soft as he welcomes her via bow of his chin. He unsheathes a massive longsword famous to his vigil godliness from the mystical dais and rests the point of the blade between his parted feet, leaving his wrists to rest casually on the decorated rump of the hilt. "As it is for me to see you, Priestess. I took no offense, for your words were indeed factual and correct." A stare akin to fuchsia sapphires glide coolly to the blonde princess scouring the metallic dome wearing an innocent visage of awe, excitement, and wonder.
"Your Highness, tis an honor for myself to grace you. I am Heimdall, watcher of worlds and god of vigilance." His chin tilts a respectful bow.
Snapping out of her self-entertainment with a visible jolt, her eyes are a bit wide upon hearing such a rumbly voice appointing her. She swiftly mimics the greeting nod and finally realizes she still clings to Inia, Nerthus uncoils herself from the priestess. The heiress glowers sheepishly at her reflection on the floor between rose gold accented boots.
Inia, loving and treasuring the childish wonderment and purity of Nerthus, nudges the princess' plated arm with her own, earning a funny look of confusion.
Heimdall, Norns bless him, continues as if nothing broke his salutation and pins the intense weight of his stoic perception on Inia. Only when he finishes speaking he glimpses again to Nerthus and explains that the Aesir princes and the Warriors Three shall provide them each a steed and accompany them to the palace in Asgard City. "I hope the Aesir festivities of Jera lives up to your expectations. The Queen-Mother shall be beside herself to grace you and has made preparations to make your visitation as fulfilling as possible. If you quest my expertise for any reason, simply state my name and I shall cast my gaze upon you. I see all."
"Tis a pleasure gracing you, Heimdall. I look forward to your presence again."
If Inia knew not, she would think the heiress speaks shyly and reticently but no, that is Nerthus' naturally soft-spoken, mirthful persona.
"As I to you, Your Highness. Good day, royals of Vanaheimr."
True to his word, a small party of steeds in many shades but similar in muscularity line the fabled rainbow bridge in a precise train of succession. Abreast of the chargers is a semi-circle of dismounted Aesir, each of them donning auras of the regality, riches, strength and the immaculacies their culture aerates.
"I enjoy Heimdall." Nerthus' sweet voice whispers; arms draping her royal crest belt, she minimally dials to her superbly postured guardian and squeaks, "Oh. Inia, he says he sees all. Is it possible for him to also hear all?"
"Possibly." In guardian mode, her sight darts swiftly between each finely garbed warrior and perceiving no ill will from the group by her truth sedir, she inhales the crisp saltwater of their sea spilling over the edge of the realm's flat land, eyes following the liquid particles dissipating into the nothingness of space's void. "Perhaps you shall ask him next time you meet?"
"I would enjoy that. If I am not a bother, of course. Gazing upon realm upon realm seems rather tiring and the last thing I would want is to take away from his duties. Although, perhaps he would favor some company."
So kind and considerate but so easily distracted and gullible; in the moons ahead, our strengths shall be our greatest weaknesses. One day, Nerthus' light shall make a fine ruler of Vanaheimr and reflect its rays upon her people. My, I treasure her saccharinity. Norns knows I am not as kind as I once was, priestess or not.
Wanting to witness her kin's reaction to the realm of eternal as they close the distance between one royal house with the other, Inia bites her lip to stifle a snicker due to the stupefaction lining Nerthus' face enchanted by the mystic stone of the bridge itself as she taps her feet observing the flashes of colors stirring with each step. For the second time in twenty minutes, Inia discreetly nudges her, knowing full well she shall be repeating the action often for the princess' wandering mind during the two weeks of celebration to come. Inia halts abreast of Nerthus and bows her chin to the group in greeting. To Inia's pleasant surprise, Nerthus speaks their salutations, proud the young heiress speaks clearly despite her thick accent, the guardian finding herself humbled at the rare usage of her full titles being declared.
"Your graces, tis an honor for the House of Gaea to be invited thus included in the festivities once more. I am Nerthus Vanlandidottir, crowned princess of Vanaheimr. I am glad to welcome the return of my eldest niece, Princess Inia Freyrdottir, Priestess of Vana, the goddess of truth and fortune. She is my guardian during this visit."
A brawny blonde haired man with the richest topaz blue eyes sends a charming glint Nerthus' direction, shamelessly sparing no hesitation of admiration toward the priestess either, despite the glare he receives from Truth herself. His masculine, kingly voice boasts pompously over the sea's usual roar consuming the bridge; adorned head to toe in his celebratory armor garb alike his brethren, he steps forward to bow and kisses her knuckles. "Tis a great pleasure, my lady of Vanaheimr. I am Prince Thor, god of thunder."
Caught in the compulsion to cease his gawking of her precious kin with a piercing frown of no-nonsense or easily shoving the handsome blonde aside with a thrust of strength, she smothers the instinctual protectiveness lurking her in bones, reminding herself that Thor is a friend, flashing him plus the Warriors a polite smile whenever examining eyes circle back on her.
Diplomacy and politics are a wonderful, easy tool of justification and self-protection to fall back on in awkward moments of social interactions such as this. Tis why many perceive Inia to be despicable and emotionless for her priestess duties but again, she is an introvert and only a select few know of Inia's compassion, buried longing, and grief all forged by her humbling burden of her self-candor. Truly at the root of her person, she fears she is no better than Idunn who shadows herself and feasts upon the grief and anguish swallowing her heart in the quiet name of lust and vengeance. This realization is an emotional slap to the face and astounds herself. Suppose she is more akin to Idunn than she believes?
Blinking control over her inner battle, she whirls to a boisterous voice still clamoring his salutation. Her neck cants to each comrade he motions to, including Sif who eagerly returns the clap to her forearm curtesy of their kinship forged through Freyja's Valkyrior, but Inia lingers a moment longer on Loki, seizing a set of memorable eyes trained keenly on her. For a moment, she swears all the breath evicts her lungs because her heart is once more ramming into her ribcage, leaving her pupils blown wide and extremely too breathy for her taste. Mentally, she hopes no one notices nor acknowledges her blushing features harden, anticipating an emotional onslaught.
"My brother, Prince Loki, god of mischief, chaos and lies. I give you Lady Sif, our finest shield-maiden and resident Valkyrie. The Warriors Three, I present Fandral the Dashing, Volstagg the Valiant, and Hogun the Grim."
Of the trio, Hogun is the lone figure crossing an arm across his chest and bending at the waist. The blossom pink sight of a Vanir dash to his mother-realm's princess and priestess, enacting the Vanir's respectful bow of salutation. He only straightens when both parties imitate the gesture, as expected.
To Inia's great relief, Nerthus converses enough for the both of them once they all mount a steed and traverse along the colorful bridge. To her great exhaustion and vexation, she notices the younger prince has taken it upon himself to trot abreast of her, studying her deftly in the side of his eye rather obviously to Inia's sixth-sense. With the bulk of the group ahead listening to an overly zealous Fandral question Nerthus' "attachments" and Sif's eagerness of her war skills as Thor chimes a question every now and again whilst Hogun simply observes and listens, save for Volstagg tailing contently behind she and the raven haired prince, Inia dials swiftly and is satisfied to find one of his more intrusive glances prying for insight, ultimately catching his suaveness by surprise enough for his vivid eyes to widen for being caught gawking despite how discreetly. While not smiling altogether in the midst of duty for her small victory, her mouth frowns thinly at his own mask of indifference coloring his beautifully diamond shaped face.
In a forbidden corner of her mind, she questions if he was sculpted by the Norns themselves as a test of her vow. Surely no other creature across Yggdrasil has ever piqued her yearning and intellect all in a single look…
Heed your thoughts, Inia. Ceases these foolish daydreams, you know nothing good shall come of it. You are the niece of the Imperial Queen, the Priestess of Vanaheimr, a Harbinger of the Norn Fates, Keeper of Heill. Act as you are.
She knows not why she is behaving so crossly with the owner of the peridot eyes haunting her, but such defensive maneuvers are familiar and comforting to her in a time of great confusion of the future and her own general discomfort.
Yes, she extinguishes the flames of self-doubt and apprehension, tis much easier to shut out people than open your heart to another in wakes of fear. "Ridiculous" as Idunn says, but a necessary evil, I am afraid.
"Is there something you wish to say, Loki?"
Perhaps an apology? She muses, knowing full-well tis hardly in his nature to do such a thing because he is not one to reflect on faults nor admit it to himself, especially another. Alike Idunn.
"Not exactly. However, you seem verily invested in your thoughts. Care to speak your mind?"
Sweet Valhalla, she forgot how silken and profoundly satisfying the accent of his gallant voice is, even as a child. Now in manhood, tis utterly divinely regal and masculine. Addicting.
"Not exactly."
"Though may I say, I did not foresee you becoming a priestess."
What on Vana does he mean?
"What is that supposed to imply?"
"Believe me or not, I am not always cross and never do I state compliments simply for pleasantries. What I imply is: I imagined you to be something of an instrument of import, say a bow, accurate and precise alike Heill, but never did I believe you to be a saint. Nerthus seems more suited for sainthood, though you seem rather content in your temporal duty as a guardian."
Reading between the lines of a conversation is a fixture of seeking truth, a natural skill brought on by her godly niche she wields often in imperial court. What she gathers from Loki is rather simple: he believes she should be the one protected, not the protector of a mere crowned princess that is unlike a rare instrument of value such as herself, that she should be the prime guest of honor instead.
"You are chattier than I remember." She remarks blandly, staring forward.
"And you are far more scorned than I remember. Did my serpent jest bother you so? Truly, I thought you had foreseen it, that you would have brushed off the trick and perhaps sprawled me somewhere convenient to frighten another instead. Though, Thor did soil himself once I retained my natural shape and stabbed him delightfully. That being said, somewhere in my words you can assume my gratitude. Or not. It matters not to me."
So much for an apology, she shakes her head. Oh, Gaea. What did I agree to? I am strolling beside a crafty, devastatingly handsome, shrewd god of mischief who is both my equal in emotion and wit but my opposite in ethics. I wonder if Heimdall shall grant me transport to Vana if I turn back….No, no, I cannot abandon guardianship. Although, Sif is more than capable to guardian over Nerthus, Freyja trained her and it would be a shame to underestimate her. Mentally hearing how impossibly stupid it sounds in the barriers of her own skull, she curses and pleads, Damnation! Norns, my burden and salvation, please lend me strength and wisdom to not be foolish…
Reins lightly gripped in one hand as the other circles the saddle handle amongst her thighs, she wanly admits, "I did, but premonitions were all I saw in a difficult time. I was overwhelmed, vulnerable to anything then. A laugh could have frightened me."
Yes, a difficult time indeed when her Mother perished in place of her daughter at the hand of a great evil named Karnilla.
Memory must serve him because Inia is inwardly fascinated by the sudden change of his dry tongue holding notes of tact and consideration of the sullen turn of conversation. She even swivels her head at his sensitive broach of the subliminal subject of her deceased mother, sensing him acutely aware of her body bobbing on the saddle as the steed strides and the pensive look scrawling her.
He matches her pensiveness, glancing at her often as the click-clack of hooves fills the air in no sort of rhythm. "And now?"
"Attempt such a trick again and you shall be punched." A smirk tilt her lips upward.
He does not mimic her fully, but hints of amusement tints his sardonic manner. "Only a punch? Is that all? Truly? Sif threatens worse, you do not phase me."
"Fine. Then I shall resort to insuring your demise by rectifying your silver tongue of falsehoods. Bet she does not threaten that, hm?"
"My, you are vicious to threaten such a treatment of my tongue." Said tongue waggles suggestively.
Damn him, her mind grumbles.
"However, I am afraid tis not becoming to you, Inia."
Gracious gods, he says her name divinely.
"You do not know me." She retorts, hoping the strange tingle of warmth in the pit of her belly has not tainted her smoky voice nor it shines in her eyes.
"Oh, you would be surprised by how wrong you are." He says confidently, donning a devious smile similar to the one of his child-self wore often in the midst of her, attempting for hours and days at a time to catch the gal harbinger off guard and produce a scream.
Never had she given Loki the pleasure to hear her frightful wail and never does she plan to release such a vocalized emotion for the personification of mischief.
"Really, you talk too much. Now hush or I shall kick you off your steed."
He taunts, "Oh, I hardly believe so."
Slicing her eyes against his, she high kicks the ball of her boot to his jaw but is disappointed and incredibly irate to miss a perfect strike as he deftly swoops back, avoiding her swiftly.
Damnation!
On his heels and thundering her palomino's hooves on the mystic stone of the iridescent Bifrost, Inia commands her steed to bolt through the line of bemused warriors, giving chase to Loki's festive jade cape flagging vigorously behind him and his stallion as the hem of her violet tunic wags beneath her rosy metallic Vanir garb, a small line of skin revealing itself on her lower back just above her leather onyx trousers as she hunches forward on the steed, wordlessly signaling it to charge faster. "CEASE AND SURRENDER YOUR TONGUE, MISCHIEF!"
"EHEHEHE! NEVER!"
"Enough nonsense!" Ignoring the cheers of laughter and hoots of hilarity littering behind, Inia's eyes flash starry purple and as a result, his saddle miraculously unhinges, sliding off the animal's back and peels a grunt of surprise from the rider as he rolls quite gracefully onto his haunches resembling a pouty lad told by his mother to stop antagonizing his brother. Gleaming mirth, she gallops innocently to the scene of a very unhappy Loki glaring hatefully at the saddle below him as it had personally wronged him but obviously dumbfounded, the black stallion free and long gone.
Tis a sad sentiment when even one's steed does not even remain loyal to its rider, when Ehwaz's practice of steed-rider relationship runs its course. Avindr has not and thus would not think to abandon his mistress in the throes of battle or skimming the clouds during flight. Although, soul-tie practices are rare, especially with a beast, and the sedir of its elfish origin is nearly extinct.
Halting neatly by a small tug of the reins, she tilts her head quizzically, scanning the sulking prince for injury. "Oh dear. What happened?"
On his feet, he brushes his armors vainly, smoothing the leathers of his perfected garb, scrambling for an obvious sense of self-reassurance she is not sure if he is aware he displays. In a devilish growl, he fixes her a malicious profile, his mind visibly cooking up dozens of ploy for revenge. "You shan't get away with this!"
The inability to lie in her nature, she smoothly roams his peeved but unharmed stature then offers her hand to mount her saddle. "Loki, did you manage to bump your head? Come along, I shall take you to the healers. Lady Eir may know what to do with you." No matter how hard she fights the simmering amusement broiling the warmth in her pit, she audibly fails. Resting her inner battle, she laughs so wholeheartedly her shoulders tremble and her hand goes limp in the air. It takes her a full minute to calm her demeanor then discover the tears of joy streaking her cheeks, dripping from her jaw onto her trousers. Drying her face, she releases a final small giggle at Loki staring dumbly at her with his eyebrows elevated in what she can only assume is confusion, horror and astonishment. "Mm. That felt lovely." She sighs deeply, marinating the old, familiar feeling into her bones and exhales delightfully. Her hand stretches outward and this time, he does not question her offer but refuses settle for anything less than commanding the steed himself by clutching the reins for dear life in fear of her shoving him off again.
And rightfully so. Freyja would be proud.
Inia normally would not allow a man so close in proximity, especially behind her where she had no sight of him, but in this moment of blissful joy she hardly cares for anything. She feels remarkably lighter and in much a better mood than before. If the next two weeks of Jera shall be remotely anything resembling this, then perhaps Jera came at a good time after all.
"All right, I am impressed. Tell me, how did you do it? Tele-psionic enchantment?"
Overlooking the riveting sensation of his silken voice vibrating her body as his chest presses – she's very sure intentionally – into her back and the intimate heat of his breath tickling the shell of her ear, she forces her eyes forward on the remaining stretch of the bridge. She can see the gates now and Norns, they are majestic in rays of sunshine, as if she were entering Valhalla itself.
Mm. I remember them being taller, though it takes none of the shine away from its glory. Everything in this realm is golden and after centuries of retuning on and off, venturing when I am requested by AllFather Odin himself, I ache for the greenery of Vanaheimr by the third day. I wonder if Frigga has added more flora to her gardens. I would love to paint the scenery.
"No."
"You cannot speak falsehoods, correct?"
"Correct. I was wondering when you would use this against me and let me say that tis highly unoriginal. Really, I am a tad disappointed, Loki, you are keener than this."
"You think me keen, do you?" He questions wolfishly.
"Yes."
Sweet Valhalla, how is she supposed to be burring inner wreckage of yearning if such a solid specimen of the opposite gender is pressing into her body? Tis not fair in no way, shape, or form.
"To answer your original question, I am the embodiment of fortune. I simply jinxed your saddle and the jostle of your stallion's movements snapped the buckle and here we are. Oh, did you want your saddle?"
"No, a stable-hand shall fetch it later." He sounds hesitant, distant and far away as if he ponders something troubling.
Above her better judgement, Inia curves her head as far as she can, witnessing the moment his pale neck tips downward so those gorgeous green swimming in bewilderment and amusement connect with her widening ones. A dust of heat tints her cheeks due to their closeness, cueing a striking grin to further slim his pink, narrow lips as the tips of their noses begging to brush. At the arrogant quirk of his eyebrow demanding justification of her gaze, the shy heat instantly disperses and instigates courage for her to speak. "Fortune is a form of blessing and not all blessings are good."
"Are you implying you cursed me, Priestess?"
"No, not curse. I jinxed you but worry not, it shall wear off within the day. Just, beware of your environment; accidents happen in the most unlikely of places." Noticing the befuddlement pinching a crease between his eyebrows she desperately wants to smooth out with her touch, him never breaking their string of eye contact, she tightens the saddle handle in frustration, recalling the Jotunn effect appearing in the premonition. She is extremely grateful to the Norns for giving her the sense to don her riding gloves for lack of skin-to-skin contact.
There was no telling what would happen if he touched her, even on whim, and if it were purposeful… She prays her steely diplomacy would control the situation because Norns knows if the expressive and passion of the harbinger were loose, for there is no punishment large enough for a celibate priestess.
"What is it? Loki?"
Just as he parts his lips, the rambunctious gallop of a herd marches their direction, catching up to the pair and cues cautiousness to conceal any emotion deep beneath his layers of black leather and jade exterior. Loki, though, never wavers from her intense stare and finally severs their gaze firstly when Thor wallops a clap of greeting on his shoulder, immediately instilling a sense of vexation upon his aura. Mask of indifference activated, he glares at his oafish brother blabbering on about one thing or another, highly aware of the nimble yet solidarity of the curvaceous woman in his arms by circumstance.
Inia situates appropriately on the saddle and brushes the pale mane of the steed, feeling the animal's muscle move, shift, contract, and expand amongst her thighs. The blush returns and this time, she is grateful her back is to the realm's most esteemed sorcerer. Steed beckoned forward by the expertise of Loki, the Vanir trails her line of sight on Nerthus' shinning grin as she, Thor, Sif, and Fandral banter harmoniously. Her plush mouth lifts as the princess suddenly zips forth gleefully, hooves pounding stone as the others charge after her in laughter. "This is a good day." Spotting a figure colored in burgundies and armor, she grins at Volstagg canting abreast herself and the prince. "Volstagg, it brings me joy to see you so hearty in contentment. How do you fair?"
He beams. "Wonderfully. My wife conducts the royal kitchens now and I assure you the cuisine shall be Vanir friendly for the nobility and I swear, tis utterly divine. Water-dwellers are a fine change, if I may say so myself." An expression so thoughtful creases his brow, pronouncing the lines of his elder age there, leading the axe wielder to stroke his bushy auburn beard. He smiles fondly. "The children deal well with their duties and certainly have much to learn in their education. My darling insists they shall be fine with time and devotion to their skills. She is right, of course." Dark blue eyes pay her a glimpse once they trance beyond the gates. He also seems to notice neither of the warriors nor a princess in sight and dashes a look of puzzlement at the green and black figure a hairsbreadth behind her.
She knows not what Loki mutely communicates but she intends to understand, slightly astonished at Volstagg's continuation of casual conversation. The guardian steels herself.
"How do you fair in sainthood, my lady?"
"As well as one can be, I appreciate you, Volstagg."
"And I you, Priestess."
Gaping forth, a familiar beckoning drenching this energy of this area beckons her aura.
"Pardon my bluntness. Where have they gone?"
"Asgard City is safe. Rest assured she is with Thor, Sif, and the remaining Warriors. They guard her with their lives –"
"Mm. Pardon me." Dismounting the steed in a single motion of fluidity including her leg flexing overhead the animal, her boots touch the firm surface of the flat realm and immediately follows with a knee of vulnerability, surrendering to the Norns as focus overtakes her aura. Peeling a glove, she flushes a palm to the ground and heralds her foresight forth, seeking the location of her princess by physical attachment within this realm's astral plane.
~ Hooves clash against greenery. Flora envelopes her, a blissful sweetness tanging the air. Gold. … A golden fortress in the trees. A stairway as far in the sky as the eye can see, pearly white and reflecting colors in limitless opals not unlike the Bifrost. Shared laughter and satisfying moans. A man and a woman. Nerthus. Then wheat blonde hair appears curtaining over a grizzly face seemly chiseled by Freyja herself, naked muscles glistening in Asgard's suns with each movement intentional or not, his topaz eyes reflecting the unadulterated lust in her rosy soul windows… ~
A horse shrieks.
Her reverie breaks. Eyes of amethyst crane over a shoulder unseeingly, her chin raises minimally as she scans the starry daytime skies of Asgard.
Strange.
"A meadow." Purple haze vanishing with a blink, the blossom sight of normalcy returns the guardian from haze of her harbinger persona.
"Where?" Inquisitive and expectant of elaboration, Loki pats the palomino's neck meant to soothe the creature's skittish bobbing head, flopping mane, and shifty hooves.
Noticing Volstagg do similar actions to calm his blue roan stallion and earning a small amount of suspicion and curiosity tracing the elder warrior upon her, she kindles with Loki once more. "A meadow with a golden fortress in the trees. Where is it?"
If possible, the prince straightens his posture straight as an arrow, a sure sign of distrust and accusation. Coolly, he demands short of a snarl, "Of what does it concern you?"
"Nerthus shall be there."
"Why do you turn to the sky?"
Inia glints to one-third of the warrior three, answering him, "A stairway, forged of pearl and opal, reflecting all colors alike the Bifrost. What is it?"
"Odin's beard!" Eyes bulging, he shares an expression of awe and disbelief with the astonished prince. "You saw the Stairway of Valhalla?"
Oh. Oh Norns, I did. I saw the Stairway of Valhalla. But why? Fated as the First Valkyrie and having forged the extinct Valkyrior many millennia ago, only Freyja has come and go from the blissfully dead to the living aside from Hela. What does this mean? Shall I venture to Valhalla? If so, may it be by death? Of course as a harbinger, I accept the possibility that I may perish at any given moment protecting my realm, Hel, I expect too, but I cannot fathom this sedir warning me that it shan't. No, not by death. Perhaps unconsciousness? Stranger things have happened throughout the realms, I know better than to question the Norns' providence. Either way, I must locate Nerthus. She has to remain a maiden, the Vanir laws of tradition require it if she is to gain my blessing when she weds. Unfortunately for Thor, he threatens these laws which is punishable by flogging at the best and imprisonment or execution at the worst. Gaea knows I refuse anyone to go relive my mistakes. Yes, lust is a mistake.
"Suppose I did, though the reason escapes me. If you know of this meadow, can you take me there?"
"I know the path." Loki flexes the reins, agreeing to Inia's request but regards the auburn warrior. "Volstagg, give Frigga my deepest apologizes for our tardiness and reassure her the Priestess and I shall accompany Asgardia as soon as we can. I cannot speak for Thor, I know not what he does with whom and why."
"Of course. Be well and vigilant, the both of you."
Observing the dust kicking airborne by the axe wielder's charger, Inia looks quizzically at the flexes of gold speckling the dirt sparkling majestically her palm and fingers in every angle of daylight.
The golden realm, indeed.
Sparkly dirt brushed aside and glove on, she pauses before the steed, gazing intently into the wide blue orbs apologetically for frightening him and extends a flat hand. A tenderness that is truly Inia shines when a velvety snout presses against her warmth through leather, reconnecting the thread of trust between rider and runner. "What is he called?"
"Kayn."
"Kayn, I apologize for frightening you." She pets his bulbous snout. "Please, do forgive me. I would be very grateful if you refrain from throwing me off yourself."
Loki frowns upon her, suspicion evident in the crisp lines of his exquisite face. "You are a strange lady."
Smiling, she snorts, "I am well aware."
"Well, are you just going to stand there or are shall you mount me?" He almost, almost snickers at the horror lacing her features, stiffening her willowy frame, but extinguishes the lit match of mirth in his stomach knowing full well his jest shines freely in his gaze.
What in the realm of Hel?! Is he – no, no. This is madness. He is mad!
"You are mad to say such a thing!" She demands coolly, "Now hush and take me to this meadow before I claim your silver tongue and slice it off for myself."
"Darling, if you desire my tongue, you need only ask."
Knees weak with hot frustration, she straightens, pointedly ignoring his smugness, and all but growls at him with clenched fists at her sides. "Loki."
"Inia." He retorts unflinchingly, smirking downward at her.
"Cease this. Tis not becoming to you."
"Ooh." He smiles wolfishly, sounding much too excited and proud for her liking. "Have I touched a sensitivity beneath the scorned façade of your armor, Inia?"
"Do not presume to know me! We may have been close as children but we are no longer granted such pleasures, Your Grace. You see life as it truly is, as do I, but that is where our likeness ends and separates our worlds and duties. Now, for the love of Gaea, may you take me to this meadow?"
Nodding once deliberately slow to further unease her, he extends a hand to Inia mimicking her motion to him from before and easily assists her onto the saddle so she may situate affront him. Beyond his judgement and will, her scent of vanilla and clove pleases his nostrils, overloading his senses in a delightful longing that ignites a strangely familiar, but not unwelcome, warmth he has not felt since centuries before when he was naught but a princeling.
-O-
Inia stands at the edge of the field, the aroma of fluorescent vegetation pleasantly perfuming the air. The wind's whispers loiter the forest encompassing the clearing as breezes breathe and rustle the substantial canopy above. In the corner of her sight, she is aware of the dark prince abreast of her also gazing unto the otherworldly vibrancy of the breathtaking landscape set on the rural outskirts of Asgard City. She confesses, "Your realm is glorious, though I cannot choose a word to properly express how much I appreciate such splendor. You are acquainted with this place."
A look of pleasure and astonishment seeps into his eyes so upon catching one another's gaze, a smirk reactively upturns a corner of his mouth. "Verily. Odin would take Thor and I here as children to teach us the art of war. As I strayed from tradition, Frigga brought me here once a week as her apprentice. I see Nerthus nowhere in sight. Why bring us here?"
Wonderful. I lost the princess and for all I know, she is fornicating with Thor as we sit here lollygagging in the forest alike an elf in heat. Norns, I am a horrible guardian. And then I must deal with Loki.
An audible sigh exasperates her. "Tis difficult to explain, much more for another who is in no relation with the Norn Fates."
"Explain it as a soliloquy, as if you were pondering aloud. I am far more perceptive than I am fabled to be, Inia. Take time with your thoughts, we shall collect your charge."
Uneasy with the picture of him leaning coolly against a tree trunk awaiting her answer, shadowed by the brush of gold-stemmed leaves draping downward leaving her to see peridot shamelessly studying her, she senses no agents of chaos bustling the god of mischief, currently, so she relaxes and takes her resting stance of uncovered arms knitting below her armored bust.
Lying is out of the question. The basics should appease him and whatever else he enquires. That is if he knows what to query at all since a select few throughout the realms may comprehend the potential of a harbinger in its fullest. Yes, this is good. Diplomacy is key, nothing personal.
"Are you familiar with the tale of the Norn Sisters? How they came together to save their loved ones, perished at the hands of their fate, that the tears of the universe's mother who is Yggdrasil herself wept tears of life and love that rebirthed the three daughters of past, present, and future so they may crown the canopy of the realms' life tree?"
Loki nods positively.
"Good, then we shall begin there. … A select few throughout the Nine know of this tale, including myself and soon you. My heritage spans far and vast; my Mother once said that a child of fate arrives once every one-hundred millennia to share the visions of the three sisters in premonitions, to uphold peace within the universe in times of crisis, war, and great sorrow. I know not if I believe these things myself, simply because tis rather… extreme. But once again, anything is possible and it would be foolish of me to not at least indulge the tale." Unconsciously taking a deep breath and focusing on the opalescent bird floundering on a branch and rustling sheer feathers above her, she speaks as if to the blue-tailed rodent clutching an acorn accompanies the creature of flight. "Gaea claims Njord spoke of a harbinger in the bloodline, but that exchange was unfortunately his last so she knew not what he meant for many centuries. Then I was conceived." Sparing mischief a look to make sure she still captures his ears, Inia continues once he nods, noticing his mask of boredom melting away as interest sparks and flares.
That, his ever-growing interest, she is not sure what to make of. No one has ever taken to her so quickly rather they know so or not despite being a priestess and speaking publically to the commonwealth conducting rituals of blessings and nuptials. Judging by the peculiar show of openness accentuating his features whilst he jests and teases her has not escaped her notice. He favors her. He genuinely favors her; she can sense the truth in his expressions rather he realizes this or not. Again, she knows not what to make of it. Nervousness? Fright? Anxiety? Excitement? No. Sorrow? Yes. Mourning? Definitely grief.
"Worlds away, Frigga had a dream of the Norns claiming my bones with their rune craft. Yes, I was born a harbinger and carry the blood of the Norn Sisters in my veins." Inia shakes her head, disbelievingly. "Odin and Gaea conversed and confirmed this, both witnessing a premonition I had in the womb upon my Mother's touch. I could not tell you what the premonition was, I cannot remember and they refuse to tell me."
"I see. Frigga has always seen you as a daughter."
"Yes, she has been a great strength for me though I fear am a constant burden to those amongst me."
Envy, anger, annoyance, and astonishment seethes akin one of Muspelheim's vegetative inferno geysers within his exclaim. "Why? You prevent wars in brewing realms, warn many of natural disasters, and protect those who cannot protect themselves! You are a savior! The hero-worship that follows you is a pagan of your achievements! You have shrines erected in your name by civilizations of those you have yet to meet, so much so tis practically a cult! You are accepted, so easily trusted and never deceived thus never endangered! What have you to burden?"
Resisting the urge to scoff at the accusation of a perfection she loathes and to roll her eyes at the implication that she relishes the attention, she squares her shoulders. "I refuse to fuel that show of hostility. Worry not, I forgive your brash ignorance."
"Fine. Please enlighten me, Harbinger." In the shade of vegetation, he smolders her greatly in disgruntlement.
"I do not have a hand of control in foresight. Yes, I wield it but tis a living craft in its own right. My nights are plagued by randomized sequences of the future I have yet to distinguish. I see things but I never fully understand what importance they hold or when they shall occur. Any of them may happen within the hour or within the next century." Solemnly, she blinks her sight fro the prince to examine the intricate accents of rose gold glistening her over-the-knee-boots rather intensely. The toe of her boots draws lines in the clearing of dirt haphazardly, knowing she cannot glint at Loki without baring the true weight of her emotions on her face. Strangely, she cares not how her tone sounds however disgusted, angry, or saddened it is. "I am doomed to be forever awaiting things to parallel, trapped in an infinite puzzle of circumstance and misconceptions. No one can help me in this, tis my burden alone and is why I chose to become Vanaheimr's priestess, why sainthood is my salvation. The mere reason Frigga and Odin were able to see as I did is because of our native blood to the sedir realm, our kinship of understanding the Norns, and Odin because he is soul-marked to her." She shrugs dejectedly, continuing her monologue and digging clumps of sparkly dirt with her heel carelessly. "Many see my choice of virtue as selfish and throughout my centuries, many have made effort and demand to have Freyr betroth me in the hope of more harbingers, but he countered by questioning the sedir's potency as it travels the bloodlines. Freyja and our healers believe I had a premonition in the womb so enthralling it bestowed so much distress that I nearly slain my Mother and I, reasoning my cesarean birth. Freyr did not wish me the same distress of motherhood that was forced upon my Mother, believing nuptials and heirs are not of importance." For the first time since she started her explanation, a fond smile curves her lips. "I believe it would suit Idunn more beautifully anyway, she enjoys the prospect of promiscuity interweaving tradition and copes with attention better than I ever shall. Earlier when I touched the dirt and saw this meadow, I had to reach deep within myself and feel for the Norns. I had to request for aide and permission to wield it. You see, when I am in my most vulnerable form and open to infinite possibilities, the foresight awakes in my sleep and flashes countless moments of life and death all in a matter of seconds. Like a dream. When I am conscious and aware, tis rare the Norns bestow me a premonition and if they do, tis swift and powerful alike the waves of Aegis crashing upon pink sands. No matter when I beckon the harbinger, tis always a conversation of respect between mind and soul and if I need to source someone quickly, I find tis easier to associate with a physical attachment of the individual. For instance, Nerthus has a forte for geo-psionic Vanir sedir and connecting my flesh to the dirt presented me a glimpse of her. I saw her here. … Gaea is convinced I am some sort of rebirth of the Norns Sisters themselves since I can see each facet of time unlike the Imperial Queen who may only see a premonition of an individual's past through tele-psionic enchantment and physical touch. Honestly, I believe they have become a bit overeager in the proposal of a Norn Child and have allowed their imaginations to overtake their sense of reality and truth. I certainly feel not half as glorious as they exaggerate me to be." She sighs, seeking silence after speaking so long about her ultimate downfall. "I know not if you understand this, but I cannot think of another way to explain my oddities."
"You speak as if you wish not to wield the Norns."
Inia replies not feeling disappointment nor gladness, "Even if I do not, I have not a choice. My fate was sealed before I was cut from my Mother's womb. In blackness surrounded orbs of light none shall hear my cry of despair in the void because I already have perished." Only when Loki stammers uncharacteristically over his words, unmistakably disturbed and shaken, does she dismiss her etches in the dirt to reach him at the tree's base.
"… You have…? I did not – oh. … That is horrible. I grieve for you."
Astonished overall by his reaction and witnessing the evident truth of his statement suspiciously brightening his eyes for reasons she knew not would affect him so deeply, Inia leans on the pale wood and is pleased she does not need to angle her neck uncomfortably to speak with a man for once due to their close range in height. Pale garnet threading to enchanting peridot, she speaks in a similar fashion how she soothed Kayn, "I would prefer if you do not. Loki, it is alright, I assure you. I accept it, but you must remember that the future changes constantly with every choice we make and every action we take, although the destination is always remains. … Time is both limited and infinite, a complex concept I have damned more than I can count, but I accept my purpose for existence and choose to do the upmost I can even if I must sacrifice parts of myself to do it."
"Tis still your life to live." He argues vehemently, the growl in his silken voice strengthens a crescendo of estranged emotions her explanation seemed to have unintentionally unleashed. "You have the right to do as you please, Inia. You are a goddess in your own right and come from the highest form of respect and nobility. Gods, you are a princess, an heiress of the Vanir crown rather you consider yourself as such or not."
"I do not wish to rule and for once I am relieved the Norns and I are in agreement. You are also not the first to state as such. Freyr has bargained with Gaea and Odin attempting to lift the bestowment from me, but they have denied him a hundred-fold. I understand; the results of my Norn sedir is needed and there is no telling what would occur across the universe if I were to be relieved of my duties or if I were to suddenly perish."
"And if you do perish, shall it be another one-hundred millennia before the next Norn Child is born?"
"I can only assume so."
It shall be many centuries of days contemplating miscellaneous moments of the future, diligently etching splashes of prophecies in color before she becomes lost to a sea of blackness. Knowing this, a strange sense of content clasps the foresight hand-in-hand, calming her presently while the circumstances granting her end is cloaked even from her. However, drifting in a vastness of silence wrapped by the cool clutches of sweet death, she has not a reason to fear anything. By that time in her lifespan, Inia expects she may welcome the tranquil end rather than challenge the prospect of frantically surging for a lifeline to keep her thriving. Survival shall be fruitless by that point.
His eyebrows furrow quizzically. "You do not know?"
"I can only see what has, is, and shall come during my lifetime. Anything beyond me is a leaf in the wind, neither here nor there."
After several beats of soft aerations of the breeze gusting to and fro the pair wafting mixes of flora to tickle her wiggling nose, cueing a barely-there smile from the prince, a quiet voice touches her ears. "My apologizes. My brashness and ignorance was out of place."
"Worry not, Loki. You are forgiven."
"I thank you."
"Of course." Stifling a giggle at the flabbergasted, lost look cresting him, Inia struts for Kayn secured to a low branch patiently awaiting attention or command of transportation. Caressing a stripe up and down the length of his snout and patting a wide circle on his neck, her blossom sight seeks Asgard's master of magic and seeing as he vanished, she sighs woefully. "Loki, if you are here I –"
Thunder bellows in the distance and Kayn rears, hooves kicking high and thrashing wildly as neighing screams chase scores of lightening crackling in the starry sunshine of day.
Oh Gaea. That cannot be good.
"Shhhh. All is well, Kayn. Breathe, stallion, breathe. Ah, there you are. Good. Breathe, Kayn. Shh. Rest here while I retrieve Loki, alright? I shall return, just remember to breathe." Rubbing his neck for a final time, Inia plasters a hand to the holster on her thigh, cautious of the environment's many thickets and pockets of sanctuary for wild beasts or enemies of the throne to hide within. "Loki? … Loki, cease this nonsense! I must return to Nerthus and I highly doubt your brother shall be pleased if I left you to your devices stranded in the wilderness, not to mention Frigga's import of punctuality! Loki! This is no time to game with me!"
"What is this symbol?"
Circling around a massive tree and finding said prince crouching on the forest floor interpreting her illustration, Inia halts a couple feet before a contemplative Loki.
Apparently he has discovered the random etching her foot created and has taken interest in the design.
"Nothing of imp –" Her tongue bridals. She sighs exasperatedly.
"You cannot lie, especially to a liar. Though, I appreciate the effort of you warping your morals for me."
Eyes narrowing at his egotism, she breathes curtly, "Do not flatter yourself, I have not lied."
"Only because you physically cannot." He chimes cheekily, looking much too thrilled with this revelation.
"I have seen it a handful of times throughout my centuries, none the more. Come along, I do not believe Nerthus shall journey to this field today. When she does, I plan to be with her which shall vary the premonition and divert future travesty." Noticing he makes no quest to move and grazes dexterous fingers over the geometrics in the dirt, she squats beside him regarding it blankly. "What is it, Loki?"
"Tis familiar to me, but I know not how."
For the life of her, she cannot restrain herself from memorizing the endearing divot of confusion creasing the space between his eyebrows or dragging her eyes over the faint lines of thoughtfulness returning centuries of youth to his face and making him all the more beautiful when he is not self-consciousness enough to school his dark and sharp features upon a throne of perfectly unblemished ivory, reminding the Vanir of freshly fallen snow. Immediately, her gaze swoops to the nearest tree a couple lengths aside them as he looks up. In her gut, she is sure he has felt her stare scouring the complimentary proportions of a hawk nose and the slim shape of pink lips or the definition of his jaw in the corner of his eye and simply humors her natural curiosity, though she strongly rebukes the horrific realization.
Why in Vana did I turn toward a tree of all things? There are flowerbeds all around, Inia. Gods, you are ridiculous. Let us pray he does not mention it, surely he cannot be that cruel. Surely.
Feeling eyes strongly upon her, she wonders if this is what it feels to be admired, but again dismisses her imagination when she indeed discovers Loki discernment, looking at her strangely for whatever reason. "Well, when you discover why, I would appreciate it if you share your findings with me."
"Of course." He glints skyward, green orbs looking between the canopies veiling the daylight stars overhead. "The thunder is nothing to concern yourself with. I am sure Thor is attempting to win the affections of your princess and bring her to his bed by the mystics of Mjolnir."
Her mouth sterns discreetly, a small behavioral habit of distaste and stress she often wields publically usually occurring so quickly none but those familiar to her never witness the action opposed to her self-suffocation of screaming viciously in the privacy of her bedchambers, preferably into a pillow. On the rare chance one does witness this miniscule frown, they never think anything of it and attribute it to be her dull, introvert personality.
"You are upset."
Her face twists incredulous, hints of horror and amazement swirling her eyes. She stiffens defensively once on her feet and faces the royal who also rises. "Oh? And how do you know this, trickster? Do not lie to me or I shall compel the truth from you."
"What does that entail?" He ponders smoothly, perking with devious interest.
"Loki." She warns, pursing her lips.
"You are an honest creature, for you this means every thought that crosses your glorious face is genuine because you know not how to control your emotions despite the stern helm of a priestess. I am the best liar within the Nine, I can smell the aura of deceit in a gathering of thousands and I sense no falsehoods in you whatsoever. If that is not convincing enough, I happened to notice how your fingers tremble in apprehension and anxiety. When you are angry, frustrated and annoyed, your mouth purses. If something is of interest to you, a single eyebrow raises, typically the right one." He raises his own brow to demonstrate in a way she is sure is meant to be smug and prideful but begrudgingly, looks quite comical to her. "Also, your arms cross when you ponder with great strain, tis also your resting stance."
Any other time, she would giggle at his comedic mimicry and body language skills but her body goes through said motions of frustration, utter horror sprinkled with guilt and paranoia, her dose of usual sadness, ultimate acceptance, and lastly curiosity."Am I that transparent?"
Gods he is observant.
"Crystal. Though, I would worry not of others seeing you as so, for they have not my perception. Now, you are upset. Tell me why."
For a moment, it sounds as if he is trying to reassure her until vanity stokes the fire of his egotism and smolders her revelation to ash, far beyond the possibility of his glassy observation concerning herself.
"I fear her maidenhood may become lost to her before I am able to preside over her nuptial. A blessing of fortune upon a royal by the hand of a priestess such as myself is Vanir tradition. Dismissing these bestowments have reflected consequences before."
Severe consequences. Freyr can attest to this; tis another reason why he cares not if Idunn or I wed nor produce heirs, she sighs.
"I see." Within a few strides of his long legs, Loki leads them to Kayn's side where said steed nuzzles and knicks at her neck, making her giggle and playfully push the charger's head aside and repeat the process for several moments. The prince observes her patting the animal warmly, a faint smile gracing her plush mouth as his cool fingertips finally pay his runner affection by petting a velvety snout. His voice octaves much softer than he typically cares for, still catering spite indirectly aimed toward the blonde. "Is every lady in the green realm subjugated in maidenhood for the entirety of their lives or is this fruitless privilege segregated only to your dear aunt and yourself?"
"We Vanir are stricter in matrimony. This applies to all, though not all of us agree with tradition." Inia hopes he can feel the hole her stare burns into his skull, praying it makes him uneasy so he shall cease this path of questioning leading to the familiar and unwelcome subject of her counterpart.
"Freyr cares not for these traditions, does he?"
"Whether he does or not is no matter to concern yourself with, Loki. Please, enough enquires now. We are both needed at the Palace." Just as she reaches for the reins, her mouth morphs frustration and her eyes burn at the pale hand swiping them deftly out of her reach. If she was not irritated before, she is when he mounts and stretches a hand, leaving Inia to his polite, if not merciful mood, and ultimate control of Kayn who bobbles his head upon finishing a filling graze. She glares. "You are not as charming as you believe you are."
"No? Well, only time shall tell." That smug look crests his handsome face, poking a charismatic dimple aside his mouth. "Come, Jera awaits us."
Saddled between Kayn and Loki's front, left to grip the horn-handle to unintentionally brushing into the comforting and familiar serenity a Jotunn's coolness brings from one to another, Inia dials a keen, artist-eye here and there, to and fro the breathtaking beauty of the meadow and forests dashing hooves trample. A slow-burning and ever-consuming glow of a great sorrow dusts the harbinger within, flickering a deep-seeded sensation of a hollowness she has known her entire life, alighting a fresh wick of fear only a seer such as herself feels in her marrow. Thick as blood, true as teardrops, swift as fate, her gaze rounds a broad shoulder that is not her own, realizing that everything comes to an end.
-O-
Appearing in a dining hall bustling with warm energy, high spirits and sloshing ale upon the reunion's merriment, Inia is mightily embraced by the golden prince himself. Being fully embraced so abruptly yet expectantly steals the breath from her lung and hushes the voice in her throat, not to mention a weightlessness. "Wonderful to – see you too, Thor."
"Unless you mean to suffocate the Priestess, I suggest you release her, Brother."
Able to suck in a deep breath once more and smoothing the wrinkles in her fabrics made by the blonde's strength, she finds Thor grinning sheepishly, reminding her of his princeling-self.
Strangely, it humbles his usual woman-pinning persona sopping in arrogance. As if struck by lightning with clarity, she sees his strangely shy behavior rather endearing yet suspicious. She distantly wonders if this is how he woes high-born ladies into his bed.
Something is happening. Something...anomalous.
"My apologizes. I forgot my strength in my excitement upon seeing your return."
"I expect nothing less than such a welcome." She simulate his smile anemically, scanning the warriors three and Sif conversing amongst a spread of refreshments her legs carry her toward. Kindly, Inia nods to each warrior and the shield-maiden before pouring herself half a goblet of wine and sipping. In the corner of her sight, she notices Loki skirt around the crowned table meant for Asgard's royals and her fiercest warriors and dignitaries, comparable to her own mother-realm; on their own accord, her eyes fixate on the green clad prince once he rests far down the table seeming relatively excluded yet not far enough for discussion to elude him either, despite the mask of neutrality and scrutinizing eyes darkening his person. The heat of another body gathers her attention, unsurprised to see Thor as said individual. Conscious of their closeness and her instant discomfort, she solidifies several inches between them, much to Thor's befuddled frown and the smirk she knows itches his brother's amused mouth. Swallowing fermented juice and skimming a light eye over the floral decorations lining the walls and surfaces resembling Alfheimr's day-to-day design of greenery and wildlife, she tilts her head quizzically at Thor who has not veered his gaze from her once.
This is concerning. She understands that they have not spent time in one another's company in many centuries but truly, she is not all that different nor much to admire. While she does not hate her Vanir form, tis her Jotunn skin and eyes clashing so vividly against snowy hair that takes her breath away in the sight of a mirror. Perhaps because she sees her Mother within her, smiling back at her more than herself.
"Where is Nerthus?"
"Rest assured, she has been escorted to her chambers in the care of my Mother. Volstagg tells me you sought her wellbeing when she was no longer in your company. I want you to know that it would be my pleasure to defend your princess in the face of danger and crush the skull of any who dare wish her harm, as I would the same for you, Inia. You both are safe in our company, I give you my word as an Odinson."
"Mm. I thank you for your words of reassurance, but excuse my honesty, Thor. While off the mother-realm she is my responsibility alone unless I request assistance, the prosperity of Jera is prevalent to the success of my duties to Vanaheimr and Asgard. Do you understand this?"
"I believe so, yes."
"Good." She goes to take another sip but pauses, commanding the prince with no more than a shift of sternness in her bright eyes. "If you truly understand, then you shall keep your hammer in your trousers and continue to keep your hands from her during the remainder of our visit unless you intend a betrothal. Are we in agreement?"
Clearing his throat sheepishly, he replies uncomfortably, "I um, well. Y-yes. We are in agreement. I thank you for warning me."
"Wonderful." Cheerily, Inia tosses back the remainder of her goblet in a hearty sip, wipes the reminiscence off her chin, passes absently it to a wide-eyed Thor and makes her leave with a farewell nod to the room before crossing the threshold into one of the countless gold and ivory stone corridors. It takes her naught but a handful of minutes to recall and locate her previous chambers in the guest wing adjacent to the royal family's private wing, though she pauses in the intersecting corridor wearing a nostalgic smile, envisioning her younger-self accompanying Sif to the sparring pitch or running aside a pair of chortling, troublemaking princes whose plan of "get help" had succeeded on a lesser than patient guard one too many times. Still giggling about it, Inia sighs a final laugh and strolls the remaining steps to her destination, but not without stopping at the exposed corridors of the palace's third level. Hands smoothing over the stonework cultivating the gold landscape of Asgard's first family, she glints left, spotting the Bifrost glimmering many colors, then ahead at the lush Plain of Ida and the flat realm's distant lilac mountains enveloping the amethyst Sea of Maramora.
There are myths circling that within this Plain dwells a passage to Jotunheimr. Strangely enough, Inia knows not where it lay since she is accepted into the icy realm by Laufey and his kingdom and has no need to sneak her way about, especially with the knowledge of her Mother's forthcomings. Rumors illustrate of a covert passage converging between the two realms claiming the existence of a sacred Cavern of Time. No one has discovered its location in two millennium. Vacantly, she wondered if Odin knows of it and if he does, why has he not used it if is so fabled? Unless he has no use of it due to a harbinger's existence. … Suppose if he had, no one would be none the wiser since many events and circumstances cease to exist, thus previous consciousness and knowledges if he happened upon it in the first place…
All this pondering concerning parallels of time and lost realities makes her third-eye hurt. Her touch travels the banister's length until her hand drops, having run out of surface area as her feet pitter and patter the last stretches of her journey. Nodding at the armored pair stationing the double doorway, Inia bids the crimson hawks a polite greeting and is glad she does not have to spare her breath to explain the nature of entering the Vanir Princess' chambers. "Nerthus? Frigga?"
"In the wardrobe!"
Transpiring in natural tones of land Nerthus favors such as sky blues, flora greens, sunset oranges, bodily reds, clay browns, stone grays and ivory clouds, Inia glides inside the expansive wardrobe room, approving the fabrics contriving the balls gowns, daily frocks, trouser and tunic sets each with a quick once-over of admiration, grateful for Frigga's consideration of practicality in a field of modesty.
"There you are!" Nerthus grins in at Inia through their reflections in a magnificent six-sided mirror. "I assumed being my guardian meant you were to remain at my side, Inia." She tsks. "And to hear word Loki had stolen you away from me, no less. Tis…interesting. What says you, Your Grace?"
Inia's swivels to a woman elaborately donning yellows and blues in the form of a flowing frock, her strawberry blonde hair in a stunning braided bun held together by starry gold pins, a lithe body sparsely jeweled with the exception of rutilated quartz studs symbolizing the gain of strength through love and her arms adorned with hematite stone bracers providing protection, emotional grounding and the warding of negative auras.
Now she understands how Frigga has been able to survive ruling another realm dealing with an unyielding, almighty god of a husband and mothering two hel-raisers defining thunder and mischief. She understands more than the Asgardian Queen knows, being an adamant believer in the properties of stone enchantments as wielder during her adolescence.
"Hello, Frigga."
"Hello, Inia." The prince's mother circles the Jotunn-Vanir woman maternally, petting an icy blonde braid as thick as her arm and pulling it forward to femininely drape an armored shoulder as she retreats. "Exactly what was it that my son said to ensnare so much of your time? I must admit, I am curious myself."
"Nothing distasteful, if that is your worry."
"Dear, if he uttered distaste toward you, you certainly would not have spent hours alone with him Norns knows where."
An uncomfortably heat rushes her neck. Her eyes widen as she closely examines the blemishes and scuffs that have severely diminished the shine from her boots.
Absently, she wonders if sparkling dirt trailed behind her on marble flooring.
Her blush deepens.
Gods, does that truly sound as immoral as it is? I am not Idunn and should not be aspiring to be so. I am a priestess and this is –
"Inia. Has he offended you?" Nerthus demands. Quickly, she flails a hand at the seamstress measuring her bust who accidently pinches her skin, causing a small squeak of surprise to escape her. At the sound of their girlish laughter, she sticks her pink tongue out their reflections causing more jesting titters. Once again, she gestures the seamstress to continue and eyes another handmaid polishing her favorite pair of heeled slippers, the beginnings of a studious frown conveying her face.
"No, Loki has not offended me. Why would you ask such a thing?"
Nerthus' fingers pause winding around a lock of elbow length hair, which drapes her robed body in rivers of caramel waves, to stare disbelievingly at her older niece. Her tone is not a matter of question, but a statement altogether with no room for argument. "Because he offends others for his amusement, jesting or not. Tis distrustful. That is why I enquire such a thing. Forget not who lives beneath this domain, within these walls, Inia."
"Forget? How could I when Her Highness herself flanks you, young princess?" Inia glances to the content queen, linking their rosy gazes.
Frigga's sight seeks Nerthus' who is downcast in shame with a lip gnawing guiltily between pearly teeth.
"Your Grace, I apologize and beg you forgive my prejudice. Tis just, Inia you seem…I know not a word for it." She glances at Inia. "You are suddenly acting strange is all. Frankly, I am slightly frightened of you."
Inia barks a laugh. "Spare me the theatrics. We both know your sedir could level an entire realm if you were in such a mood."
"Yes. Poor Vana has been subjected to my anger and frustrations for far too long." Her usual pretty smile brighten her face, intensifying the warmth of her eyes as she hops excitedly in place, hair swishing about. "We must find a new place of practice. Perhaps the next time you and Idunn visit Midgard I could accompany you? I would enjoy experiencing what everyone else has but I. Could you convince Mother Gaea to let me go?"
"So many questions, Nerthus." Frigga muses. "You are a creature of curiosity. This is good, all need those willing to form solution in times of catastrophe."
What?!
Quickly, Inia's field of vision levels on Frigga, a sickening feeling of foreboding recognition carving deeply into her bones and harshly inserting its claws.
She knows. She has seen it. How has she not to have uttered such a subtlety? Frigga is attune to the Threads of Fate, as is Odin, so yes, of course she is aware. How much of the end has she seen?
Pulling herself from the weight of an internal panic and dismay, Inia forces her facilities on the current facet of time, day and conversation with a reassuring deep breath, Inia absorbs and savors the sweet simplicity of being a niece and a daughter in this moment; a family. Nothing more and nonetheless.
"I agree. It has been a downfall of mine from time to time but I cannot help myself. I must know what I dare to know or I shall become mad."
"She means what she says. I have seen her madness." Inia alters her voice, sounding quite mystic and incredibly ominous. "Weeds in her disheveled hair. Dirt blemishing her skin. Mouth stained by berries. Frock torn at the shoulder and hem, grass-stained. Feet bare, nails caked with grim of the forests... Yes, that was certainly a sight to behold."
"Norns, what on Vana happened?"
Answering the queen, Nerthus shrugs plainly. "A premonition came true."
"Oh. I see. I trust everyone is well?" Frigga asks the Vanir women after a moment of silent worry and inner speculation, eyes darting to and fro them.
"Twas a century ago. Things are better now."
"Truly. All is well, Frigga."
"Gods." Odin's wife sighs relief. A hand drops its place over her heart to clasp with the other at her waist, resting in her stance of elegant diplomatic neutrality. "You frightened me for a moment. Knowing you cannot lie is reassuring."
"Is it not?" Nerthus grins, unconsciously toying with her locks. "I enjoy that she could never resist my smile and as a gal, I made sure she told me everything and anything I desired to hear. Is that right, Inia?"
"Ridiculously so."
"Well, I find it admirable." Frigga gives Inia a warm, encouraging smile then tracks forward until she is abreast Nerthus and waxing a critical eye over the bodice of a ball gown the seamstress alters by hand at a sewing desk. After a second or two of a low exchange with said seamstress and an approving nod, she twirls to face both women wearing hospitality. "Jera shall begin at nightfall with a great feast. I suggest you both rest for a while, bathe, and begin primping. I plan to do the same."
"We shall. Thank you, Frigga, and again, I apologize for my words concerning Loki."
"Those are your feelings, do not apologize for them, dear. Though, if you feel need to right things, I suggest speaking to him for yourself. You may be surprised, you may not. Now, I am going to the dining hall for refreshments. I am quite parched. I shall see you both soon. Be well."
"Be well." They utter in unison, watching the graceful queen vanish outside the room. The foyer doorway shut with an audible click of metal on metal, a chiffon train of marigold streaming after Odin's bride.
"So, she is the one who reminds you of Gerd?"
"Yes."
"If tis any consolation, I would have been greatly honored to have met and known Gerd if I had the chance knowing she is alike Frigga."
"I thank you, Nerthus."
"Thank me not, my feelings are true. … Have they met? Frigga and Gerd?"
They were alike sisters. Very much alike you and myself.
"Yes." She softly replies.
"You should tell her what she means to you. I believe she would enjoy that." The princess speaks innocently, purely thinking of the happiness of another.
Inia smiles sadly, fortunate her young aunt is upon a dais too preoccupied being measured and probed at to notice her crestfallen heart. "Perhaps I shall."
She continues chirpily, "I enjoy her."
"All do. Rest, Nerthus. I shall be in the next suite, simply open the door if you need me."
"Splendid!"
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yo guys! I'm so pumped 2 post again! I have major plans 4 Loki/Inia during the paaaaarrrrty! So as always, Face Claims will be posted below. CC during R&R is super appreciated, guys! Have a good day :D
~ Norn Vision/Foresight as Harbinger~
LADIES:
Jamie Alexander - Lady Sif of Vanaheimr, Goddess of War; Valkyrie Sif of Asgard
Rene Russo - Queen Frigga, AllMother of the Nine Realms and Vanir Fertility Goddess of Childbirth
Rooney Mara - Eir, Asgardian Goddess of Medicine
GENTLEMEN:
Ben Dahlhaus - Fandral Roblinson of Asgard, the Dashing
Chris Hemsworth - Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard, God of Thunder
Idris Elba - Heimdall, Asgardian God of Vigilance; Vanir Watcher of Worlds, Gatekeeper
Tadanobu Asano - Hogun of Vanaheimr, the Grim
Tom Hiddleston - Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard, God of Mischief, Chaos and Lies