4
Inia sat beside Nerthus facing the two princes during the first feast of Jera that evening.
The Palace was in full bloom, guardians on high alert as invited courtiers, noblemen and their fair lovers phased to and fro the dining hall into an adjacent ballroom where a boisterously infectious orchestra thumped heartbeats to rhythmic naker and long tabor drums, recorders and flutes sang whimsically to lift spirits, bells and tambourines rang and chimed in no particular succession but joy, and lutes of all varieties paired finely with the traditional dances sequencing the ostentatious audience with great merriment.
The halls, quarters and corridors held an eerie, ominous orange glow of flame Inia knew was meant to be passionate and sensual aside the floras intermixing the gold ornamentation, but in light of recent discoveries she found it anything but. Nerthus, bless her, stuck at her side loyally without hesitation and played the perfect ambassadorial princess of Vanaheimr Gaea raised her to be. Twas only when Inia insisted she enjoyed her youth in the exuberance of the festivities did Nerthus dance her heart out with Fandral who kept his hands to himself after receiving a glare colder than Jotunheimr's wastelands from the priestess. As hard as she tried to amuse herself with Nerthus' shy and awkward antics or awe at Volstagg's seemingly endless appetite, she could not forget the insignificant yet oh so significant colors. Halfway through the eve, she questioned her present-mindedness upon spying Fandral sharing various fruits and wine with a fleet of promiscuous ladies she immediately knew to be her Aunt Freyja's esteemed fertility protégés of love, the stunning Lady Hnoss and exquisite Lady Sjofn, and when Sif had taken his place to occupy the Vanir princess speaking about nothing and everything battle related. Though, Inia found it quite amusing when Sif fisted a wad of her crimson frock for emphasis looking down at her feminine garb distastefully. Nerthus' musical laugh warmed her grieving heart yearning nostalgia for the earliest of days, cuing the first, last, and lone smile from the Freyrdottir that night.
The previously reflective floors were sticky and smeared, the heated air tanged in body odor, sweat, mead, and saccharine flowers all in the name of rebirthing the New Century's spring equinox.
All this celebration and revelry of uselessness for an entire fortnight. The gods of yore and their whims for traditions…
She finally understood why Loki was "coincidentally" nowhere to be seen after the feast and why Thor was anywhere and everywhere blaring laughter, dancing rambunctiously with a different lady in his thick arms at every turn while his eyes clouded further, unleashing aggression and passion tankard after tankard. Inia remained comfortably seated at the handfuls of table squares, loitering the perimeter of the ballroom observing, cataloging, and memorizing the delight of joyous laughs in the background of their existence. All good things come to an end and she wanted to marinate in the happiness of others even if she could not. To her appreciation, Hogun presented his quiet company despite how little left their mouths. However, he did refill her goblet attentively and offer refreshments to which she declined, satisfied to drink, thankful for his gratuitous kindness. He merely put a hand to his chest and bowed respectfully, a blossom pink sight paralleling hers. Not long after, Thor gathered their attention; he draped himself between Sif and Nerthus, smiling much too broadly and crooning sensually in their ears. The moment Nerthus shuddered and managed to wriggle away from his crushing hold was the same breath Thor whirled her into his side much too carelessly for Inia's taste. Immediately, she slithered through a throng of gyrating shapes, carelessly stepping on several frocks and boots in the process, and leveled the prince to his knees with precise kicks to the underside of his knees. Sif chuckled, expanding his astonishment in jests as Nerthus glared, twining a hand automatically in Inia's. Thor was not happy; copious shouts, slanders, and lewd curses fell from his tongue directed at the priestess, herding unwanted attention of partakers, and uttered how unworthy she was of sainthood due to her "icy heart". Inia nearly gaffed in his face but restrained herself to not progress the situation and wore a mask of blank diplomacy by default birthed from a womb of self-preservation. Hogun and Fandral calmly held Thor back as Sif rooted before the massively blonde, blocking him from charging the Vanir guests of honor. Angry and saddened, Nerthus told Thor of her disappointment in him and stalked off, leading Inia out of the fray as the warriors looked to her apologetically. The pair spoke of the incident and decided grudges do not prosper but Nerthus would demand an apology in the morning rather Inia begrudgingly wanted one or not. The remainder of the eve was spent in the depths of a hushed library studying Midgardian lore after Nerthus reconfigured the lock with her craft by manipulating metallic doors.
Dawn breaking first light over the horizon of Asgard's many suns far and near elevating the realm of darkness through the constant twinkles of stars dotting a cerulean sky, a breeze caresses all it touches. Gold banners strewn from the exposed walls of the Asgardia Palace centered in the flat realm's capital, Asgard City, puff and flag in no such rhythm.
Inia wakes to something warm jostling her shoulder. Cracking an eye open in her comfortable position consisting of her face somewhat smashed into a pillow, laying on her stomach, limbs outstretched, she grunts into the bundle of feathers and silk to curl further into herself, pulling a second pillow into her chest for snuggling. Something taps her nose, leading her hand to instinctively yet sluggishly wave aside the ticklish disturbance in the fuzzy state of her hushed mind.
"Interesting. I did not imagine you would be one for cuddling."
Oh! – What on Asgard is HE doing in MY CHAMBERS? Please be wearing a robe; please be wearing a robe; please be wearing a robe… AH! Yes! Praise the Norns.
Drawing the loosened material tighter to her slenderness and securing the sash behind the view of a particularly fluffy pillow to deflect the green prince's wandering eye, she squares her shoulders and narrows her eyes accusingly. "What in the name of Yggdrasil are you doing in my chambers? I shall only enquire this once so answer wisely."
"My, we are grumpy in the morn." Loki tuts with a click of his tongue, continuing to linger by her veranda doors watchfully.
"I am grumpy because for once I was sleeping soundly until a rather mischievous prince disturbed me! Have you not any etiquette to announce yourself before entering another's chambers? Those who disturb my sleep usually leave with something that may have once been a nose; you are fortunate I recognized you. Now, what is it you desire?"
"Ooh, you wound me." He places a dramatic hand over his heart and looks at her over a shoulder sporting a glimmer of something peculiar dancing in those striking eyes. "For someone so grumpy and ahem, violent, you are quite a rambler in the morn."
What is he doing? How did enter? Why on Vana did the guardians allow him entrance to begin with!? The core of her being flutters anxiously, beating not unlike butterfly wings methodically akin to her heart, Gods, why is he wearing that face as he gazes upon myself? Tis…unnerving and undiscernible. How long has he been in here? Does he realize I have nothing beneath this robe? Good gods, Inia. Of course! He is a man! I must find reason to dismiss him immediately. Ugh, must he stare? Does he ever blink? Our last encounter was not savory so why is he not rebuking me or avoiding me? This is concerning.
"Cease this."
"Cease what?"
"Smiling. You are beginning to worry me. What have you done? I am I going to be ambushed?" Sitting primly below violet silk sheets and hugging the pillow to her chest, Inia takes herself seriously and scopes her surroundings avidly for anything out of place.
"Perhaps next time. Frigga wished to accompany you this morn, but Odin requested her presence in royal court and sent me in her stead bearing first meal."
"Mm. Should I trust that you have not poisoned my tea?" She half ponders-half measures him. "Or should I avoid the marmalade?"
"Now, whatever gave you the idea that I would ever harm you?" Loki half smirks-half sneers, sounding dejected and…wounded?
"I see Frigga had word with you."
He says nothing.
She sighs. Loosening her circulation on the pillow to tilt skyward, she fully faces his sulking stature boring into her impassively. "Loki, you did nothing amiss. My reaction did but did not have anything to do our proximity nor your touch. I need you to understand that my senses are always heighted and extremely sensitive when the Norns reach for me and I cannot control myself in their hold because I react to something I see here, and feel there, wherever there may be in that moment." She motions to her temple with an index finger then her heart where his sight lingers on her chest, washing her in momentary shyness upon witnessing his sight follow; she tightens the fabric around herself to cover any skin, unknown to Inia how she only succeeds to contour each taut curve of her form. "I know you would not harm me intentionally, so I request you to cease this guilt, hesitance, regret or whatever other negativities you feel concerning us – err, me. I hold no malice for you, only mild annoyance, admiration, respect and amusement. I know not how those are able to dwell within the same breathe but they do in me for you. Also, I apologize for the confusion. I um, hope you can accept this."
"I appreciate the explanation," In a regal manner, he bows a carved chin wreathed by humility. "All is forgiven."
"Thank the Norns." She mutters. Hunger pains strike her stomach in an onslaught, making her arms clutch the pillow pressed to her torso for dear life. "You spoke of first meal. Where?"
"The veranda, of course. It would be a pity to let a pleasant morn lay waste. I shall await you there as you fashion yourself in something more presentable." Before Inia chances a clever retort, Loki glides outside leaving the pale haired royal to her own devices.
Presentable? Does he expect me to bathe whilst he dwell in my presence? That is highly inappropriate and I especially do not trust his mischievousness enough to not spy.
Inia does the minimum so she may feast quicker in the form of a flesh-tone slip beneath a nighttime frock colored akin to her blush-toned eyes, the modest material lazily fastened and airy on her stature as bare feet toast fantastically against the veranda's marble. Her fist rubs the grogginess from her eyes; both hands wipe down her face tiredly as her body plops unceremoniously, heading the table opposite of a mirthful prince. "I am weary and famished. Please, spare me by holding off that silver-tongue of yours at least until this meal is over when I may be more coherent and you more bearable."
"But you sound quite coherent to my ears, my lady."
Softly blazing fuchsia gems center on Loki faster than Skirnir's feet, glazed with exhausted aggravation, irritation and frustration in all their conjoined lethal seriousness.
"Perhaps you have a point…" Though his statement means to humor and pacify her, his regard is clearly cataloging the new information as his body rather consciously or unconsciously aligns to mirror hers.
A fine spread of sweet and savory separates the pair. Sweet cakes, fluffy biscuits, and warm breads lay aside syrups, butters, savory gravies, marmalades, herbal porridges, and ripe fruits. Lines of skewered proteins steam the air, wafting the noses of two, expanding their appetites for savory delicacies. Flagons of wine, juices, and milk center the table upon a rotating disc, per usual the luxurious feast for a royal of the golden realm.
Loki motions to the lavish spread, gentlemanly allowing her the first honor to fill her belly.
Soon a little bit of everything decorates her dish. A slice of ham drizzled marginally in gravy, a handful of fruit including a golden apple harvested by Idunn herself, and a half buttered-half marmalade biscuit. A goblet of juice tops off the hearty meal, leaving Inia pleased and satisfied by the time she polishes her dish and swallows her second goblet. She commences a double glint of disbelief and suspicion, seeing Loki scoping her intently void of a smile.
Suddenly she prefers the smiling.
"What is on your mind?"
"One would suppose you enjoy cuisine."
Well, that was far from the line of discussion she thought he would embark.
Smartly, he spoke as a statement, not an enquire nor an implement of nothing negative. Naught but a mere observation…
Plucking an indigo grape for reference, she contemplates it between her thumb and index finger before chewing it. "Yes, I do. Asgard has tastes that cannot be found within any other realm. I consider these things a delicacy."
"You moan whilst you eat. Are you aware of this?"
Yes, she grumps, Idunn says I mewl akin to a nymph in heat, ridiculously so. I must face the fact that I am a ridiculous creature, that it is simply who I am.
"There is naught I regret. Consider it my approval of your kitchen's talents."
"You did it last eve as well. Tell me, do you find it pleasurable?" His elbows bare the arms of his chair; long fingers thread a steeple while a leg sprawls horizontal across the other looking incredibly regal in his routinely intricate green, black, and gold garb.
Green. Those eyes gleam an unsettling amount of interest maddeningly belonging to a single individual, seemingly beckoning her to speak. They greedily trace her symmetries at the sound of her gallant smoky voice twanged by a musical accent, his analytical mind surely cataloging and possibly hanging on every expression, word, and subconscious movement of her body. Though in a glimpse, she searches beyond the superficial telltales of his behavior she has quickly become accustomed too and pinpoints something foreign on a man she has never seen aimed toward herself. It could never work in neither her favor nor his so she begrudgingly ignores the natural sensuality of the implication, counting her breaths to slow the warmth drumming in her breast. In her mind, she prays the heat shan't plume her neck, illustrating her inner battle between heart and mind.
"Guiltily so. Cuisine is one of the few things I can enjoy without reservation, though I know not how Volstagg can breathe with how he much he stuff himself." She grimaces. "I mean not to badger him, his talent is both impressive and revolting but Norns, I cannot help but imagine him plundering the battlefield with his volume."
"Agreed."
"What has brought on this good mood? Is it the mages? Were you and Frigga successful in your endeavor?"
"Verily, all is well. Ah, that reminds me."
"What?" An eyebrow inches upward.
"Now, now; no need to be brash, Inia. I shall tell you but first, tell me of your eve."
"By Gaea, if you must wonder then obviously you heard the tale of your brother's unwelcomed advances on Nerthus. Am I correct?"
"You are. Though I wonder from you, not those whose tongue may be prone to embellishments."
"Fandral?" She supposes, recalling the charming swordsman waltzing merrily with her young aunt.
"Among others. By all means, do share."
Gods is he always so demanding? Well, quite similar to Thor, he is a prince and very habituated to gaining what he acquires anyhow anyway. Tis no surprise.
"Nerthus refused to leave my side, but I wished her to enjoy her first feast of her first Jera so I requested a song of Vanaheimr of the orchestra and she fell into the melody as I knew she would. She is gifted in the art of dance, I would be mad to not envy her seamless grace in a ballroom. … I favor Hogun; he may be a man of few words but he has a way of expressing himself rather bluntly."
Loki nods his agreement, listening attentively and staring vehemently.
Chest swelling heavily with a deep breath, thick eyelashes kiss the tops of prominent cheekbones as she blinks long and ponderous.
While she admires Loki's astuteness and the rare luxury of an attentive man, she is beginning to regret becoming something of amusement or a fascination to him. If that is what he finds so interesting about her anyway since she truly knows not why he continues seeking her. Idunn is the one who shamelessly grapnels the eye of a man no matter his attachments of another or not in the presence of her unadulterated beauty and a handful of honeyed words. Inia has never been preferred over Idunn ever and the prospect of a man doing so blossoms a yearning she buried long ago on account of her harbinger duty and her priestess vows; in the same breath, the consequences of allowing these things to sustain and permitting it build terrorizes her restless mind, so much so that her heart thumps hard and erratically. But that is a line of thought for another time.
"Throughout the festivities Thor had made his rounds of dancing with whatever lady he could, drinking more mead than I had ever seen a man do, and stumbled upon Sif and Nerthus. Things quickly escalated when Nerthus voiced her displeasure of his demeanor and stepped aside when she was manhandled and retched. I accessed the situation and sent him to his knees. If you have ill feelings about this let me assure you that my means of combat are to warn, not to slay. Then Nerthus left and I followed." A leg folded beneath her, Inia courses a hand through snowy curls when a warm breeze scatters her waist-long tresses, tousling them further as she does her best to quell the goosebumps spiraling her skin at the funny look Loki gives her. "S-so. You were not seen after the feast by Nerthus nor myself. Fandral says your 'vanishing act' is not an uncommon occurrence for you. Are you well?"
"My, that suspiciously sounds suspiciously similar to sentiment. Tell me, were you worried?"
Her eyes narrow at the insinuating jab. "I had not a way to discover for myself, the Norns did not bestow anything unto me nor did I wish to envision anything in a sea of faces due to the emotional repercussions. The warriors did not concern themselves which I cannot fathom if they truly are your friends, much less your brother, so now I simply ask if you are well."
"I am well."
"Mm. I believed I would gain a cryptic answer if I were to enquire of your activities, so I shan't."
"It pleases me greatly that your intellect shines as bright as your eyes."
Was that a compliment?
Voting to say nothing in return mostly because she knows not how to proceed after something such as that directed to herself from him, Inia rises and moves inside where her handmaid moves about clearing her chambers.
No longer are there wrinkles in the linen of her mattress which has been pleated and pulled taut, an abundance of pillows stacked against the ceiling-high, ornate headboard.
"Good morn, my lady. Oh! Your Grace, forgive my intrusion – I-I knew not you were here…" Sheepish and nervous, the surprise in her features is replaced it by thinly-veiled frustration when he dismisses her with a half-hazard wave. "Is there anything I may do for you?"
"No, your timing could not have been better. I was just taking my leave. Go about your duties, Geffjon." Hands tied behind his back and forming a crooked smile mysterious to a bewildered Inia centered solely on the Vanir heiress, he bow his head gently. "It brings me great pleasure to know you disarmed the mighty Thor, golden prince of the AllFather among many, and rightly so. Remind me to never anger you." He winks. "Good day, Priestess."
"Good day, Prince."
Once he is well out of earshot beyond the foyer traversing the corridors, Geffjon looks at her charge skeptically though blossoming amusement tugs the edges of her mouth.
"What?"
"I spoke nothing, my lady. Come, I shall draw you a bath and cleanse your hair, you have quite the endeavor ahead of you."
"Indeed, I do."
-O-
She must have fallen asleep because one moment she was sky gazing and construing shapes made up of stars and puffs of collected moisture and the next she is wincing at a blinding moonglade alighting the area so jovial bodies may migrate among the endless flower beds.
Ah. She remembers now. She collected Nerthus for an outing to the market place in need of supplies for her fine arts where she learned of the AllFather's decision to deem Halden, a blunt crimson hawk of the palace, as her personal guard for the unforeseeable future. This brought on a conversation of Karnilla's unknown minion and abilities and the lack of Inia's freedom where she is forbidden to travel beyond the kingdom's capital. Annoyed and frustrated but understanding and grateful, Inia and Nerthus poked around Loki's chambers once he welcomed his foyer to the Vanir women. Apparently he was in the midst of something of import because he seemed vexed. His usually lush raven locks were sloppily slicked and the paleness of his fetching face flushed as if he were in great strain of something…or someone. At Inia's concern, he assured all is well and demanded their point of disturbing his concentration. Nerthus frowned at his hostility but Inia scowled and explained their need for a proper guide to the market place since this is Nerthus' first visit to the eternal realm and she was unfit to properly represent the eternal realm seeing as she is not a native Aesir. He smoothed his tunic and agreed, but on the sly condition of partaking in something worthy of his precious time. Nerthus had no idea what on Vana that could be, nor mean, and it said so on her perplexed face. Inia however, had a relative idea and found her suspicion correct as those eyes beheld her so intently she was rooted to the spot; she flippantly wondered not for the first time if Loki was a soul-gazer. Nerthus was sheepish in Inia's stead by the level of intimacy lacing the exchange and took it upon herself to wander within his personal library that nearly encompassed the perimeter of his abode; her movements were cautious as she blinked between the dreamy pair and let them be as they were. Twas a dangerous decision considering how haughty he looked, doubling his usual intimidating aura. After terse counts of charged tension, he stepped closer and closer until Inia found herself face-to-face with endless shrouds of fervent peridot mirroring warm sapphires. Hands did not caress her nor his slim, pink lips but he did curl one of her twin braids and rubbed its lush texture in the pads of his fingers, fixated on the simplicity of the yearning touch. In that moment she knew her premonition of their cerulean flesh was bound breathe life when Loki boldly uttered his longing to hold her in his arms for all the kingdom to see so no one else's desire for her would ever measure to the capacity he does. His tongue was sharp, deep, excited and adoring. Inia felt the weight of his candor as his cool breathe tickled her cheek, declaring vulgarities of what and how he wished to do to disguised in sweetness sounding alike Valhalla against the shell of her ear. She knew a scarlet blush colored her complexion but also knew such a miniscule thing of arousal paled in comparison to the revelation of his beginning, the eventual revelation of his parentage and livelihood.
Even now as she splays on emerald land soft as the richest silks threaded by Spanda, Queen of the Arachne in Skornheimr, Inia feels the whispers of his fingers lifting her chin as she automatically reverts to the memory of how right it felt to see their boots so close together and digested the lengths of his confession, she feels the feather-light pressure of his thumb skating over a plump lower lip and involuntarily shivers at the prospect.
At least now she can breathe a little easier knowing Frigga kept her word in insuring the illusionary enchantment is stable and intact, letting Inia touch him without reservation if she needed too.
If.
Either way, she must thank the Queen the next time they meet.
A quill and a pot of ink remain situated on a golden ornate desk beside a gorgeous satin-bound journal awaiting use in her chambers, without a doubt chosen by mischief himself if the smile his eyes shone as he gifted her the violet artisan tome.
Blue. Yellow. Red. Purple. Green. Orange.
Heed, Inia. What do they represent?
There being only one way to understand, Inia poises her spine and kneels her legs below a rosy bedgown wreathing around her shape in lunar light peaking between the oaken canopy above; her breaths inhale deeply through her nose and exhale smoothly from a slightly parted mouth. Instinctually and automatically, the age-old language of ancient Nornheim whispers passed her tongue. "Nornir of Yggdrasil, mothers of time, sisters of eternity, I humbly summon a request of knowledge of what I seek of which you know entirely. My senses are open to your clarity as I am a servant of your bidding, a child of your cosmic loins,"
Seemingly coincidentally yet impossibly not, the cold light of the sky shines a note brighter than a hairsbreadth ago. The languid pace of wind epiphanies this square of Frigga's eternal garden, stirring a power so intimate in its familiarity that a pleasured smirk crosses Inia, feels as if she is conversing with a dearest friend. In her meditative state, a cosmic wind of vast purples dashes strands of snow here and there across her face as a lover might.
Feeling the telltale euphoria of an ancient, limitless power pleasantly warming the Norn scriptures carved in her bones, knowing multiple runes mark the surface of her flesh in an ethereal glow of Norn sedir, Inia's fingers comfortably hug her thighs. "You gave me breath of life to fulfill the fate of the universe during my time in this passage of reality, let me have truth so I may declare it to the realms and alight the darkness. I am your instrument. For your bestowment of a wisdom and perception only you may provide brought on through premonition, I thank you for choosing me and hope you continue to enlighten my mind. I understand I may not be a perfect instrument, but prejudice is not in my nature which is something we share, seeing that truth is revealed in time and time is truly the only infinite force in existence that is inescapable to everything and anything. Come unto me, Nornir. I let your will be done."
The exhales of wind ceases with an ominous hush of air, the stretch of moonglade encompassing the garden beckoning Inia fades; the Norn dialect illuminating the pinkish undertones of her pale honeycomb flesh diminishes as if it were never there at all.
"My, that was glorious."
Inia's eyes widen owlishly. Hand to her pounding heart, she scowls at the silken voice full of elation but is overcome with confusion when she cannot spy him in the cloak of nightfall. Her gaze searches for him behind and forward, above and below the evergreen brush he so stealthily conceals himself within. "Loki? Where are you?"
"Anywhere you are, there I shall be."
Discarding his cryptic answer knowing she would be best to not encourage the dangerous implement of being and encouraging his infatuation, she rises from the cozy impression her frame nestled hours before. It takes a single pass of her palm over a nude thigh to realize her lack of modesty. Inia grabs the dark shawl Halden suggested she equip, noting to thank him later, and cowls it around her neck to fashion her assets so embarrassingly showcased in the dusk lighting due to the transparency of her bedgown. "This better be urgent for you to interrupt my meditations. Please, be proper and reveal yourself. I care not for speaking to a shadow's mystique and not a face."
"Ah. So you admit you wish to see my face?"
Always one to twist words…
"No, I must."
…And I to encourage him.
A wolfish growl emanates somewhere behind her and cues a rapid beat in her breast, yet she is only greeted by a bushel of white lilies upon searching for the sound's origin. "What is this game, Loki?" She situates primly on a woven gold bench, deciding the best course of action is to be patient, assuming he gleans entertainment ventured in taunting her.
Silence.
"I know not why you do this, most of all why you chose me. I am drab and ridiculous, the night to Idunn's day, if you will. If this is some sort of infatuation or game to you, I can promise Idunn is much more welcoming of these games so please, peruse the fairer sister." Her heart clenches sadly at the confession, reminding her of her yearning to live, to love, but grimly accepting solitude out of necessity. "I am not worth the effort nor the time."
Twas ironic, how someone who was born for so much power and authority could feel so unworthy of it.
"You think yourself worthless?"
Fixating gravely on a red apple tree in the distance, her gaze spots a sudden pair of boots closely to her own and travels up his nightwear consisting of buckled boots, belted black trousers and a loosely tucked green tunic, feeling the intensity of his aura behold her as a sudden sadness, compassion, and incredulity encompasses him. "I think many things of myself, but in short, yes. Why are you here?"
"I," Hands wringing behind his back, his throat clears and a goofy smile touches his lips bordering sheepishness and uncertainty, reminding her of his charming antics as a princeling. "I wish to be in your company. I cannot focus on anything clearly but you, nor could I sleep." His eyes darken seriously, one foot creeping after the other questing toward her. Strengthening her confusions, he gestures to the bench politely of which she grants him consent to accompany her space. "You must understand something about me, Inia. I always have what I desire in the end no matter the consequence and I only desire those of worth."
She refuses to break the thread of eye-contact first and ignores the blush heating her tilted neck to see the strange, yet caring man brought to her by the Norns.
Everything is and does because of the Norn Fates. Perhaps Loki and I have crossed paths to…well, I know not why but we have none the less and hopefully for good reason, she ponders.
"Why are you saying this?"
"Because I am. And I forbid you from speaking such foul nonsense regarding yourself. You are not worthless. Nor do I care for you because of your titles or sedir, no. I care for you because you are you. Because you are witty, kind, and courageous when you believe others do not notice. Because I see much of myself within you and despite myself, I find myself needing to protect that. Because more than anything, I do not wish you to become me. Because you, Inia Freyrdottir, who is doomed to be an instrument lost in time, a maiden of fortune and truth, are deserving of all the happiness across the Nine." Loki leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees, the fading glare of lunar light sharpening his the bewitching allure of his relaxed but somber profile. "In case it has escaped your notice, I too am not as fair nor as favored as my oaf of a brother." The dark prince and pale princess share a mutual smirk of agreement upon his description of the elemental god; he sighs heavily, furthermore looking much too crestfallen. "I understand, more than you could possibly know, and that is what makes this perfect and utterly disastrous."
Please let him not be referring to what I believe he is. Norns, please do not make me hurt him.
"Cease speaking in riddles, Loki. Speak plainly."
"Come now," He smirks wolfishly, yet not unkindly at her. "You are not one for theatrics, Inia. You know exactly what I speak of, do you not?"
Playing with the hem of her shawl and circling an arm amongst her knees, a heavy "perhaps" accompanies a deep sigh. Only when an added coolness of Jotunn aura draws her attention to him sitting aside her, dialed toward her, staring at her, does Inia notice the intensity of his candor and…love?
Impossible, she rebukes, utterly abashed with the progression of fate.
"This is madness."
"Yes, as chaos is. Feels beautiful and liberating, does it not?"
"You can have anyone throughout Yggdrasil, but of course, you must be difficult and peruse something you cannot have. No, that no one can have." She sighs forlornly and involuntarily inhales the scents of mid-winter tingling her senses. She breathes dreamily, merry and reassured by his invigorating musk.
"Despite popular belief, nothing is impossible and everything has weakness." He replies to the farthest moon dotting the sky, its distance far within the black abyss where tis fabled that many heroes and villains of fate fell away from the Bifrost, their hearts irrevocably changed.
Harbinger trails his line of sight and shudders mildly at the volume of limitless nothingness surrounding the flat, eternal realm. "And what is that meant to imply?"
"Precisely what it implies." He boldly ponders, "Tell me, if you chose not to chain yourself in sainthood, would you consider me a suitor?"
"A suitor." She mulls the idea on her tongue, digesting the acquired taste for a moment and smiles bittersweet at a much closer, larger bluish moon encouraging the shimmering constellations and dusty gossamers of nebulas overhead. "Perhaps in another life, I would let your mouth cover my own and accept your perusal whole-heartedly. Your heirs from my womb may have your green eyes, dark features and keenness aside the warmth of my flesh and kindness. We would teach them all the realms have to offer, cradle them in great sadness and wipe away their tears and nurse them back to health when they wound; they would make mistakes, as greatness does, but they would make any weakness their strength and master those as well. … You would teach them crafts spanning each galaxy and the art of war whilst I primped them to be perfect royals, I imagine similar to your own mother and my own. Because of your adorning love for them and them you, I would find myself quite the avid disciplinarian and would suffer heaps of mischief in retaliation. They would giggle and dash away squealing laughter, you seeming nonchalant and often feigning innocence, but the truth never escaped me even from you in the form of an animated tale, a self-assured look of pride in your eyes. The days would be long and trying, a testament to our devotion, of our passion to create life and observe it bud and blossom and surpass the majesties of ourselves. On the morning of her wedding, you would be dressed to the hilt walking our sole princess down the aisle of our kingdom, our sons standing upon the dais beside their own wives. I would weep bittersweet tears, so glad the houses of our people could make the journey and share our merriment. I know not if we would be in Vanaheimr or Asgard, but it would matter not as long as everyone was together, content and happy until we drew our final breaths tangled as one in a slumber mimicking Valhalla. That would be a great love for a great life. Another life. Perhaps even another reality beyond this one where the Norns never created a harbinger." A lump quickly forming in her throat, Inia masks a hand over her face, astonishment splashing over her in a horror of icy water realizing what she just spoke. Mortified further at the feel of frosty saltwater glistening her face, she scrubs it away and sniffs distain, feeling much too devastation in her heart to brave a look at Loki. "I-I did not know I was going to say such things. I mean, I knew they were there and a desire of my heart of hearts, but to hear how pathetic I am to still yearn for these things is cruel to myself. Norns help me. Sometimes I ponder how much simpler it would be to feel nothing at all than everything."
"Then you would be Karnilla."
His tone was so soft and barely discernible she, for a count, is unsure if he spoke at all but accepts the handkerchief with a mutual look of gratitude he mystically produces from a shimmer of green light. "What is this you speak of?"
"Karnilla perished by the forces of uncontrolled, forbidden black Norn sedir at her own hand. Hela resurrected her, but at the heavy cost for all the light of love in her heart. Truly, the reason she harnessed the forces of darkness is because tis all that consists of her. She is darkness personified."
"Mm, ghastly. Then how do I, Harbinger, not know of this but you, Trickster, do you?"
"We happen to have vast archives within the most bountiful library of the Nine."
Inia brow arches skeptically at the half-truth, doubting the AllFather's council would allow such an explicit detail of information to the commonwealth if Karnilla were to by some miracle of fate, say be free of her sedir bindings to wreak havoc.
She has not yet seen such a thing specifically but is acknowledges that if the dark forces of the universe are to wage war and strike the light of everything good in return, that the incarnation of darkness she herself is a formidable start of this dire conflict.
"Alright, I may have spied a time or two during royal court proceedings. I am a creature of mischief, I cannot be held liable for my inquisitive nature."
She giggles at a resounding memory of his princeling-self exclaiming as much to Frigga during a time when the pressures of duty and titles were of naught import in their first one hundred-years of childhood, a time when his personal guardians were his usual targets of his godly splendor. "I wonder, how many times you have used such an excuse. I sense another piece of that omission to be unsaid, but worry not, I shan't compel anything of you."
"Compelling insinuates an unwillingness," A rogue glean crooks a corner of his mouth whilst mischief swirls in those peridot gems she is positive he knows she favors. "I assure you, I shall never have to be compelled to do anything you request, for I shall never be an unwilling party, Inia."
Censoring the scarlet haze heating her neck and praying nightfall distorts the reaction, she shoves his arm hard enough to push him off the bench onto the feathery grass. "Control that silver-tongue or have it removed, I care not, but you must cease speaking such things if we are to be in each other's company."
"And what makes you believe we may be in each other's company?" One leg bent with an arm across it and the opposing limb stretched out before him, his back against the bench's edge so he faces the lush expanse of the gardens, Loki raises a magenta-mauve dwarfen fireweed he plucks at her feet and offers it rather adorably to Inia radiating a princeling charm.
Feeling the curiosity of his wonder void of malicious or retaliation intent, the platinum haired deity rolls her eyes nearly into another existence in utter exasperation of the ridiculous situation. "Because we shall, and that is all you need to know regarding that. Now, I must be off for the eve if I am to wake at a decent hour."
"Of course," He rises and offers her a chivalrous hand to stand which, to his satisfactory, she accepts and knits their arms in stride albeit hesitantly. "Woe, how Inia hates the morn."
Inia smacks her palm against his chest after a contentment hushes her qualms, unable to fend off a fond smile rising above her initial annoyance. "Oh, mock me all you wish. You may regret it, Loki."
"Oo. How cryptic of you. Though I believe shan't, you have a lovely wrath I favor."
Uttering a "Norns strengthen me" below her breath that goes unnoticed by her chortling companion grinning more that she can possible recall, Inia finds her place atop the garden's polished stairway once the pair venture beyond foreign floral and hugs her arms equal parts unconsciously and habitually.
For a moment, she misses the strength of his slight stature firm and comforting against her own. In the same breath, Inia remembers who she ponders of, where she is, what hour of the night tis and her duties.
"I thank you for the fireweed…and the company." She finishes shyly, awkwardly. Sensing Halden's presence enter the atmosphere, disturbing the smoldering tension burning ever-so-slowly between he who stands at the base of the stairs and she who towers them. Fishing the fireweed behind her ear to rest proudly in a sea of icy waves, a warm look passing mutually to-and-fro despite her armored distraction of the interruption that never seemed to obscure Loki's view of her whatsoever. She dips her chin amicably, graceful in the gesture of etiquette. "Good eve, Loki." Though, before he can further influence her with such gems stalking her every move, she hardly feels the flutter of her shawl as she treks corridors, knowing her crimson hawk remains loyally on her heels, though a single flame of thought caters her attention,
Just how long are we going to be in each another's company?
This night swathed by the canopy of her plush mattress, Inia reflects on the ease of which surpasses her his presence, how a deep, unconscious part of herself trusts Loki on an instinctually emotional level to speak her mind to him, of all individuals. Tis absurd due to them being opposites in nature; she of truth and him of lies. This vexes her as much as she finds it amusing, yet exhausting and exhilarating. Fingers gliding through her hair, she quietly fantasizes what it would feel like to have much thicker, longer, digits combing absent patterns through the glassy strands. This is her final ponder before a lull of soothing blackness overtakes her senses.
~ Peridot gems swarm the seemingly thousands of purple nebulas starring her vison and immediately notes the unearthly twinkles of blue clouding not only his sight, but his malevolent aura. With a blink, Vanir pink orbs recurs.
Ululations of fear and despair plague every direction aside the billows of blackened fires wafting scents of destroyed life, bloodshed, rubble and debris brought on by chaos echoing in the unfamiliar blue skies above.
Blue skies?
Yes, therein lies tear in reality's space well within a foreboding wormhole of a faraway galaxy spilling forth an ancient army of destruction that Inia recognizes with a screaming amount of dread.
Chitari. Great gods of yore, please let it not be, she prays.
Lightening scores in the distance toward one of the wormholes, a cape of ruby red she knows in her bones to be Mjolnir's Keeper setting invaders alight with a mighty battle cry.
"Thor?"
What facet of time does she reside in?
"Ah, you have awakened. Good."
Whirling to the gallant voice of wickedness, a stare very much alike fuchsia sapphires links upon an eloquent figure sporting green, gold and black armor garb. It takes Inia a long moment of disbelief to process him regarding her with a tight, scorned smile she never imagined in her wildest dreams would be fit upon her. The crazed, malevolent anger glazing his aura permeates a sense of danger throughout her being where she discovers a genuine fear of him and the prospects of all he had gone through to convert him into this berserker. Laying bound in chains on her side, Inia tugs at the contraption trapping her wrists but stiffens with confusion, seeing her arms covered by rose gold arm bracers completing the entirety of armor resembling that of the extinct Valkyrior. "What jest is this? Loki, aid my unbinding. We must find Thor and discern where we are, learn why we are beneath a blue sky and understand what on Vana has happened here…" Eyebrow risen, she scans the high-rise of a demolished penthouse and swivels a scowl at the condescending chortles, a result of her mystified expression.
"My, the Norns do work mysteriously," In a hairsbreadth, the trickster is so close she can feel the icy bitterness of his words tingle her cheek as he spats, "Tell me, what Inia are you in this moment? Skornheim? Jotunheimr? Nornkeep? Has the Bifrost brought my demise? DID YOU MOURN A MOMENT BEFORE YOU FORSAKE US?! ABANDONED ME ALIKE ALL OTHERS I HAVE EVER LOVED?!"
His fist curling white around a golden scepter does not escape Inia's notice, nor does the creepy blue glow emanating the eye of its hilt's alluringly sharp, curvy head. Resolute and unwavering on the exterior, her heart cracks with each heavy thump of saddened compassion. "Jera. You gifted me the fireweed." Witnessing a combination of realization, desperation, and sorrow flicker and resurface seas of green she knows so well soften the hard lines of an exterior that is not becoming of him, an abruptly harsh swallow of blue drowns the familiarity from his features, reforming him into the cold calculations of a stranger.
"I remember that night well." Loki reverts to his pacing back in forth, oblivious to the motions of lilac-fleshed creatures raising Hel upon this place.
A behemoth roar echoes distantly, but not distantly enough for Loki who sneers at the shattered windows of the veranda's panoramic view and briefly watches beams of dangerous light trade back and forth. A haze of red and yellow Inia cannot properly distinguish rockets across the veranda swiftly, pursued endlessly by a herd of the ancient drones; a vicious grin creases the expanse of Loki's bone-chilling glare.
How can he not care? Clearly this is not any of the realms she is familiar with alike Jotunheimr, Vanaheimr or Asgard, but based on the utopian metropolis of neutral toned buildings tall enough to reach Valhalla themselves, she supposes this is what Midgard may one day become. For a moment whilst observing not-her-Loki prowl the length of the open room, Inia allows herself to feel a measure of pride for the mortal race bud into a facet of hope she did not realize she lacked or needed.
"Then despite how young we were, you remember our connection. The strength of our trust."
"Tis the reason why I may never allow another to harm me ever again. You are not the version of yourself I detest as much as I once loved. Not yet." He barks venomously, "As tis, I have no corral with your innocence and inexperience on the subject of our 'connection'." Loki smoothly crosses the floor and bristly yanks Inia right-side up off the ground with little care, a silent satisfaction of mirth and amusement envelops his cruel face as he observes her struggle for proper footing mid-air. His grip coiling her windpipe tightens fractionally which threads panicked blushing quartz with blue-blemished peridot. The action is nostalgic, paralleling with the past so strongly that her tender hold instinctually on his forearm gives a mild squeeze, thus hitting the dark prince with an epiphany.
For the first time in a year of eternity, the black water drowning his mortality and empathy drains a flooded shore, allotting a liberation of freedom he had not known he needed or lacked. The illusion of a rage-fueled vengeance to soothe the flame of betrayal, discontentment and dissatisfaction lifts akin to an ashen fog from his carnaged mind.
The watery, desperate tone of his gasp and frightened shroud of absolute green alert the Vanir native of his sun-risen clarity. "Inia?!"
Immediately embracing his trembling stature, the pair falling to their knees, a crescendo of wails both grief and relief spilling forth his shattered voice, she combs soothingly through the tangles of raven locks murmuring saccharinity. Unconsciously, Inia somehow clutches him closer than before and automatically peppers kisses of serenity in his longer, curling hair. Over his shoulder, a hand coaxing circles up and down his spine only to wince at his sickly form, she exhales a shaky breath at the sight of the eerie scepter laying prone on the marble floor some dozen feet away, as are the chains that have mystically vanished from her body by his doing. An emotion of mockery, spitefulness and insanity emanates from its malicious power brought to truth in her presence; she eyes the scepter warily and transitions her line of sight to the calamity still raging outside the walls of their refuge. "What happens to us?"
"Fate." He mumbles almost inaudibly in her neck, savoring the silken texture of one of many intricate, snowy Jotunn braids sliding between the pads of his fingers, leaving her to feel the coolness of his tears slide down the flesh of her chest beneath her grab.
Avidly, she retracts to arms-length and searches the pallor flush of his unhealthy gleaming skin, the drawn expression throning his face, the slump of his frame but strengthens her statement upon registering love's gratitude lingering his bright eyes. Her hands move from his arms to cradle his face delicately, drawing his attention upon her words as green thread with pink. "No. We can change this, whatever it is. I can change this."
"Being here now, you already have." The soft, genuine adornment tugging the corners of his mouth into a lazy, crooked smile slowly drops to a thin, resolute line of disheartened reality. One hand on her adamantine plated shoulder, his free touch caresses her jaw and cheek with upmost tenderness and cherishment – a vast opposite to his dark-self she witnessed moments before. "You must return, for you do not belong here now. I shall see you again, my beloved. Soon."
Norn sedir washes her in an inner whirlpool, brandishing the birthmarks of Yggdrasil's sisters upon her radiating flesh. "No. I cannot leave you now, not in this –"
"Remain as you are."
Before Inia can part her lips to respond, a heavenly pressure enriched with pleasure settles on her mouth, evaporating any protests hovering in and out of her mind dreamily ~
Inia wakes tentatively, wishing she could reverse the premonition and aid where she was pivotally needed in the midst of a great sorrow. A rosy gaze typical for her people blinks rapidly, a heat scorches her neck at the vivid memory of what is to come; fingertips brushing parted lips tingling pleasantly, she exhales deeply and sits up, grateful to be in her own century, taking in the vacancy of her purple-gold clad chambers. Spying a robe in its usual place on the edge of a bench at the foot of the mattress, Inia crawls up the furniture and secures the article around herself. She rids the tiredness from her eyes and gently pats her cheeks, stimulating her facilities to arise the fog of sleep clouding her mind's eye. A handful of moments pass before a knock gathers her attention, cueing her to find Halden, crisp and polished in his black, gold and red guardian armor. She remains half-sheathed behind the floor-to-ceiling door, ensuring modesty and privacy, bidding him a curtesy nod.
"My apologizes for disturbing you, my lady."
"Worry not, for I was not asleep. Is all well?"
"Yes. The Queen-Mother sends word requesting your presence in the eternal garden, as soon as you are available."
Oh Gaea. Frigga knows how to read and decipher the Threads of Fate. Does this mean she is aware of my premonition and what it entails?
Hiding her cringe of the awkward ponder, Inia agrees to the meeting seeing as she does not have much anything else to do beside visiting the archives to discuss history with Lady Vor, practice her fine arts or meditate for interpretation. Not long after Halden resumes his post outside her chambers, Inia smoothly passes Geffjon wandering around her bed chamber picking up loose articles and cleansing the area. Appreciative of the small spread awaiting her in the lounge within her space, a marmalade coated biscuit awakens her taste buds leading to her vocalization her approval when she hums unadulterated delight.
Geffjon, quickly finished stripping and refitting the ornate mattress of wrinkled to fresh linen, is parting the canopy's veils to knot around the surrounding four posts when a damp-headed priestess exits the water closet donning a robe. "Good morn, my lady. Would you care for me to style your hair? Perhaps help you decide on a frock for the day?"
"If you are not needed elsewhere, that would be a great help. I am sorry to admit fashion does not come to me with ease as it does Idunn. More often than not, she styles my hair and supplies my wardrobe according to my duties." Receiving assistance from the handmaid who knits a lone inverted braid tightly against her scalp that swings and skims her waist with each movement, Inia gulps the remains of her juice and pops a final indigo grape against her tongue before nodding her gratitude.
Halden shadows her as she skates in a simple off-shoulder chiffon frock colored in her typical purples, exempting the aqua sash resting in a lavish knot circling her hourglass. The subtle shuffle of her braided sandals fill the silence of the corridors with every twist and curve of golden archways.
The sunlight reaches as far as the eye can see in Frigga's eternal garden. Every color is vibrant and glistening an ethereal shine much how Inia recalls the fae fields of Niflheimr are. Nature's sweet, herbal perfume fermenting the air, the wind's cascading caresses swirls and mixes the realm's addictive fragrances; Inia is positive she shall wreak wonderfully of this 'til the moon arises and suddenly realizes why her Grace radiates the scent of sheer beauty. With an acknowledging nod her guardian's direction, the bell sleeves of the frock ruffle excitedly as she steps bouncily to the isolated square of the garden's center where she and Loki exchanged saccharine words just the previous eve. Glinting at Halden patiently awaiting her reprise at the garden's mouth of entry situated among rows of ivied archways, they exchange a respectful glance. A smile brightens her symmetries at the sight of her regent mother swathed in an emerald frock so luxurious, it parallels the environment.
Frigga notices Gerd's daughter approaching by the similarities of their aura signature synced to the planes of Vanaheimr and turns away from some sort of blossom tree to collect the gal in a sweeping embrace. "My, you are glowing, dear. I trust you slept well?"
"I – yes. Of course, yes, indeed. Forgive my speech, I have much to ponder as of late." Inia sighs and squeezes the wise hand clasping hers as they stroll slowly down one of many grassy pathways springing forth harmless insects investing pollination within nectarous flowerbeds cultivated from the Nine and their boundless galaxies.
"And what may that be?" Frigga pries gingerly, glimpsing up at fortune's profile every few beats if not examining the distraction of beauty among them.
"A premonition. But please, you did not request this meeting for me to speak of myself…unless you have?"
"No. I summoned you so we may partake in the time that remains."
An all-too acquainted sorrow threatens to drop her heart stonily at the mention of such carnage and annihilation to befall them. "Mm. I see."
"As do I. Please, speak freely and be not afraid of your concerns."
A mien of contemplation and confusion flickers across her features, an obvious sign to her stronghold of cautious uncertainty. "Twas strange. Before, I was merely a bystander witnessing things breathe life, to come to pass; the individuals of my premonitions would not interact with me and I could never save them in return. Last eve, twas as if I was no longer a phantom. I felt everything from the sunlight in the air and smelt the scents of flesh, despair and calamity riding the winds of Vindr. It felt as if I was there, truly in the flesh. My future-self…I was in bondage. But truth reigned and allowed the darkened illusions twisting his mind to be free, freeing myself. Then he..."
Intrigued, the bride of Odin urges, "Go on, dear."
"His mouth covered my own. I believe…great gods of yore, I know not what to believe."
The AllMother's head tilts ponderously, a maternal yet aware look paints her graceful, eastern Vanir features. "What facet of this irks you so? The helplessness of bondage? The prospect of a kiss?" Though their eyes link, the slip of one hand leaving the other does not venture the mother of Loki, nor does how her son's person of interest embrace herself in an unconscious practice of self-soothing.
The pair pause their stride below a feathery canopy in which the sunlight peeks above and below to warm the natural blush of their honeycomb complexions. Somewhere at their side yet above twitters a flock of flaming sol-seekers emanating blazes of beautifully chaotic yellow-oranges.
"Before I lifted the enchantment from his mind, I never imagined – Frigga, he was mad in every sense of the word." She swallows a watery lump evident in her voice. "There was carnage waged on another realm. Thor was in a blue sky locked in battle and I fear Loki was responsible. … All that death and calamity on such an infant race…I vowed to him I would not let that fate come true. There must be another way, Frigga! We must prevent Loki's corruption to the blue enchantment. Damnation! I should have questioned the craft's origins!"
"This is how you feel then?"
Inia does not hesitate in her reply, "Yes."
"And you care for him. For Loki."
"Yes." She affirms, unknown to herself how vehement she speaks.
"Then make haste on your vow. You may prevent this tragedy by preparing for the catastrophe. Do you understand?" Hands squeezing the priestess' shoulders encouragingly, eyes burning solemnly to gather the attentive nature of one harbinger, Frigga beholds her fellow Vanir with a melon pink vision of her own.
"Preparation? You speak of warfare."
"Indeed. The Threads of Fate have not led me amiss before and they shan't now. Rest assured, you do as you must to protect my son from tragedy and I shall protect you from the wrath of Odin. Mend this before it shatters, Inia, as I have seen you do so in faraway kingdoms both mighty and desolate."
The weight of the situation's somberness sharpens Inia's stature sporting the immeasurable, resolute strength of her Jotunn brethren. "Karnilla is the catalyst, you know of this do you not?"
"I do, but fear not for the Norns chose you are their child to bear the blessing of their sedir. Inia, all things worth cultivating take effort to obtain, so have patience and believe in your capabilities, for only then may you be all that you are meant to become." Exchanging a series of soft smiles with the girl, Frigga continues, "Also, I strengthened the masquerade enchantment upon my son so worry not of your premonition pertaining his parentage. As for preparation, I shall see to it that Tyr is available to you at your convenience during your duration upon Asgard. Fandral may be a wise choice of mentorship as well."
"My, you speak as if I have not brandished a blade in all my days." Inia teases lightheartedly.
"Hush," Frigga grins, lazily swatting the air beside her goddaughter. "Be well in your endeavors, my dear. Oh, and be not hesitant to discipline Fandral if he is to cause you any ill will…or if he simply vexes you, I suppose."
Inia giggles at the imagination of doing as the Queen commands and smiles vastly. "Be well, Frigga. I hope to see you during the second feast."
"And I you, Inia."
On a stroll toward the war pitch beyond the eternal garden connecting to courtyards surrounding an ivy maze, Inia trailing beside Halden discussing everything and nothing of the daytime stars glittering golden skies and the various villages dotting the flat realm, one of which dwells between and atop the lilac, snow-capped mountains of where he hails from, the guardian and his charge pause upon the stone walls encompassing the circular training arena set deep within bowels of sanded land. Crimson Hawks stationary in all periods of day and night among these high-risen walls for the defense of Asgardia Palace and ultimately the realm seeing as Inia easily surveys the Bifrost's length in its full glory from this distance, feeling the winds of Vindr ruffling the exaggerated sleeves of her frock, Fortune herself glints downward upon feeling a telltale shake of the foundation below her soles. "Nerthus."
What on Vana has riled her so for her to prompt the displacement of her sedir?
The answer arrives in the form of ominous charcoal clouds rolling in from the north, shuddering a great crescendo of crackling wails and strobing cyan lightening.
Thor, ever the emotional one, Inia glimpses to Halden and proceeds down the round stairway.
The stale musk of honeyed sweat, enriched dirt and metallic blood intermingling the air imprints various badges of bloodshed, exaggerating longstanding angled slashes and gouges of combat decorating countless pillars circling the pitch's arena.
Bypassing the leer of guardians completing their drills and those resting upon their stations, Inia brushes aside the honesty of their respect emanating their aura and enters the pitch where two blondes, one wheat haired and the other caramel headed, flex the limit of their tempers.
"I know not if it is wise to have you in the company of such ferocity, my lady."
Inia regards Halden simply, a tentative smile etching her. "I thank you for your concern, but I refuse to leave Nerthus in any mishap. Although, I have a favor to ask of you, my friend."
"Of course, my lady. Anything."
"I wish to have word with Tyr and Fandral before dusk, before the second feast of Jera this eve. The matter of my request is not for the ears of none else but yourself and themselves. Gather me once they agree to have word with me where we shall meet in the armory of this place. Do you understand my request?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Worry not of my well-being in this moment, for I shall be in the care of the princes and the warrior's three."
With that, Halden struts passed her, thus exiting the alcove of privacy the pair have curated aside the amphitheater's heart, dispersing somewhere or another within the multitudes of spectator levels.
Examining the band of merry men gaffing at the dark prince attempting to smooth the wrinkles of a fair princess gesticulating crude insults of her mother-realm as the keeper of Mjolnir spats offences donning a mien of revulsion, Inia ambles behind the ensemble silently donning a cloak of utter grace.
"Grieve your words!" Nerthus, lithe and petite in retrospect to the slabs of muscle composing Thor's towering stature, she scampers forth quite ridiculously, considering her feet are bare, and must level him an infamous smirk dipping saccharine with eyes twinkling a ferocious allure.
His brows pull together uncertainty, bewildered yet stony as he beholds fuchsia gems gaping at him quite…prettily? Unable to ever deny a beautiful maiden and cursing the Norns as it may be his peril, the girth of his shoulders tense, bulge and ease as Thor exhales exasperated defeat. "Perhaps I have not given you a fair wager. You may attempt to lift Mjolnir once more, but none the more, for soon my friends I and I shall know of your worth." His grip loosening around the hilt of the enchanted hammer to settle a step or so behind her, the brother of Loki abruptly summons the weapon into his palm boastfully, stirring the Vanir's caramel hair as it smoothly misses slamming through her skull.
Nerthus glowers at Thor over her shoulder, intending to claim his smile as her own.
"This time, you shan't warp any such sedir to sway your chances. I understand why you wish for victory, but you shall taste defeat. Truly, how can a lady such as yourself not desire my mouth to cover yours? You shall be defeated, for only I am worthy of Mjolnir…although that would beg to wonder if you understand this and do desire me as I do you." An uncharacteristically tender expression swirls topaz gems and for a count or two, he simply admires the exotic beauty in epiphany of unadulterated honesty. "Sweet Valhalla, you are the fairest lady I have laid my eyes upon, and I have laid upon many. Odin help me, if your beauty is true and reflects your soul, I cannot fathom how breathtakingly radiant you are unclothed."
Abreast of Fandral, Loki claps his palms together with great apathy toward his brother's quest to sate the desires of his loins and exhales a steadying breath summoning patience and clarity. Not long after, he glances to the blonde swordsman who grips his shoulder good-naturedly. His ears relay Fandral's humming words carefully, "Speaking thickly, is he not? Though, tis not as if he is wrong, she is quite the specimen of a goddess."
"Verily, though I am fond of another."
"Has truth bound your tongue, or are you naturally a bumbling oaf?!"
"Simply lift Mjolnir and victory of the wager is yours. Understood?"
Inia stretches a hand outward. She barely conceals the glean tickling her mouth when the weightlessness of black uru hovers from its throne among the warriors to swiftly slam into her palm; thin fingers spindling the hilt, her arm lowers from above and extinguishes the bursts of lightening popping and resounding her thunderous levitating form. Pale strands cease their flagging in manifested winds as sandal-veiled feet cushion Asgard below her, the priestess' shinning cyan blue sight skirts a band of mixed emotions portraying themselves as astonishment and annoyance from the thunderstorm prince himself, shock and excitement beaming Nerthus and Fandral, all unlike the intensity of enthrallment smattering Loki.
"By Odin! Fate is worthy!" Fandral whoops.
"Did you truly think not?" Eyes rolling, Nerthus smugly dials to the hammer's keeper. "It would seem that you shall remain void of my affections, oh mighty Thor. If you may excuse me," She glances to the darker prince, spying the thread of affection that has woven masculinity to femininity. "I must hasten if I am to attend Lofn's eve banquet. Thunder, Mischief, Dashing." Nodding her farewell to the Aesir, Nerthus is seen linking arms with Inia whom delicately rests the beloved Mjolnir upon sparkling sands, simultaneously vacating all and any traces of stormy aura from her person; the returning etiquette of sendoffs are not perceived by the ears of Inia even when a fleeting glimpse over the shoulder of one Vanir is cast.
The intimacy burning his peridot injects a flutter of emotion into her center ignited only the night before, currently frolicking further south with each passing moment. A blush colors her neck and despite her interjection to stifles it as much as she possible, the sign of which she were born under whispers, "he tests us", within Nornheimr winds. Steeling her resolve, Inia corrals her youngest aunt and tosses an unimpressed glint at Thor jabbering with Halden whom upholds his rank and guardianship duties by providing brief answers to sate the attention and entertainment of Asgard's First Son lazily tossing Mjolnir to and fro dueling hands.
"Inia, is all well?"
"I...believe so," Paces from their connected chambers, one blonde twists to the curious other. "Why do you wonder?" Smirking at the nature goddess' oddities as she herself scans their surroundings seeking a semblance of solitude, Inia pauses their gait and threads their fingers with palm flushing whilst pink pools reflect each other. "Nerthus?"
Comforted and reassured by the tenderness of her maternal tone, Nerthus exhales before hushing her concerns. "I do not trust him, Inia. Mischief. He beholds you vastly different than all others, including myself and as crowned princess, I am to be searching for a suitor. Surely Odin is aware of this? However, heed my words, Inia. He plans something for you, and I wish you not to be led astray from your oaths to Freya, nor your summons of the Norns. Understand your gifts, titles and duties hold a higher import than one prince; not to mention a lesser prince. Please, do not think I say these things to harm you, but you must be wiser if I am to succeed this Jera, with you at my side."
I see Freyja has wormed her claws into Nerthus. Is Idunn not an ideal muse? Gaea birthed Freyja so of course she praises her preferred heir. Nerthus simply desires to fulfill her birthright, her duties, her destiny and it reflects in the words she speaks now, Inia internally grumps, why was I not informed of Gaea's intent to find her a suitor? Ah, yes; this is the reason I was chosen to guardian her, for my Priestess role shall bless the matrimony union and the duration of her Queenship of Vanaheimr. I understand; to anoint a union for a blessed Queenship, one must earn my fortune to wed and based upon all I have seen as Skuld regarding Thor, I cannot forgo my praises for Norns' choice of groom. Perhaps the vison of he and Nerthus' consummations is not a thing to prevent, but eluding of the greatness such a bonding is to come: a third coming of peace between Vanaheimr and Asgard.
"I understand," Releasing the Vana native to her own devices, Inia stops short of her chambers and twirls toward the looming shapes of Halden and Thor approaching. Coolly, her prophesying tone pulls their attention in passing, raising hair to stand at end as she mutters, "One should not speculate nor blame another for something that may not happen, or has yet to happen." She purposely gazes upon Nerthus before taking her leave, "For one to fall away would be the fault of oneself. Good Jera."
"Are you not attending tonight's banquet? Lofn's eve is one of the fondest nights of Jera!" A confused Thor declares.
"Hm. I believe my duties remain elsewhere for now, seeing as you are now the guardian of a nature goddess,"
She muses with a smirk, what are the odds of two elemental royals uniting? Two royals, two realms, two kingdoms, two elements. Nature and Thunder. Life and Tempest. All shall be well, as I see it through.
"Interesting."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I haven't posted in FOREVER I know but this was pre-written & being busy with home life & Quarantine & other projects, this Inoki has 4 sure been on the back burner but I think its high time they have a moment - they deserve it so here it is 4 those who have followed or favorited, I thank u personally! During R&R, CC is encouraged. Geffjon nor Halden have no FC.
~ Norn Vision/Foresight as Harbinger~