(LOKI)
I didn't need the serpent's sting to feed the festering hate for my supposed family. Time was enough. Fire didn't exist in my psyche as it did before The Don River worked its magic, but the thirst for revenge was no less potent. Pluto humored me with a pledge to kill Odin, and I would have the pleasure of torturing Thor, so long as my associate could deliver the final blow.
The promise of vengeance consumed me. I was otherwise alone. Sigyn hadn't reappeared in the void, and I was locked out of my body's senses. In the white room, I paced for hours...days...weeks...waiting for anyone's presence. Perhaps Freyr would arrive. Maybe Heimdall watched from afar, knowing too well how I had survived. I couldn't give too much away about myself to anyone, including Pluto. Even as an ally, I'd be a fool to believe his every word without caution.
Clocks were ticking. Pluto needed my help to reach Vanaheim, and his army of undead could only thrive for a single day. I had to map every portal through Yggdrasil without using the Bifrost so we could rendezvous before battle; if I waited too long, Thor might let his bleeding heart draw him back to Midgard. Fortunately for myself, Pluto, and anyone wise enough to follow me, my uncle's status as a senator more than likely meant he already knew every last pathway.
So I had a plan, but no way to enact it. Not until my body and mind could agree that I was well enough to take my throne again. With no dreams and no way to track time, I had to rely on the efforts of others.
A voice too far to identify echoed off the empty walls. "Loki, hear me."
I turned in circles, searching for another projection. "Where are you?"
They didn't answer, but the surroundings changed. White became blue, then green, then yellow. It cycled through the many colors of a prism until everything blended to a suffocating black.
My voice was muffled. I lacked articulation. The freedom of movement I once had was gone.
Oh, no. Have I gone backwards?
Another man spoke, but it wasn't to me. "I've given him all I can. Might take another few days to clear the relaxant from his system fully."
Björn. I'm returning.
"Thank you. Join the rest," Freyr said, his voice now obvious and close. He settled next to me and touched my shoulder, as if waiting for the shuffle of the tent exit to be still.
I breathed deep, taking note of the heavy humidity. Campfire smoke wafted in as well—a comfort from the stench of my own burning flesh weeks ago. I shuddered with a rush up my spine when my nerves awakened. Being bound in place now made me feel restless with an indescribable pining to move.
Freyr spoke slowly and took my hand. "Squeeze if you can hear me."
I clutched as hard as I could, which wasn't much, but enough to let him know I was present.
"I'm going to free you now, but don't be too hasty to stand." He lifted my left arm first and unwrapped it, careful as he checked my range of motion. My shoulder was now healed, though my muscles were weak and tight. Goosebumps erupted on my exposed skin. He mercifully covered my legs with a blanket before moving up my chest and neck, cautiously approaching the facial wounds that I was anxious to inspect.
Freyr wasn't moving fast enough. When my right hand was freed, I clawed at my head until he forcefully stopped me.
"No, Loki. You must let me."
I groaned, now desperate for real air. Real light. Real touch. How long had it been? Had I been moved? Where was Ginny? I couldn't help the panicked shaking of my limbs.
"Shh. Won't be long, now." He sat me up and unwound the final strips, finishing with the cover for my eyes and the strap in my mouth.
Too much light after too long stung. I put my hands up reflexively and was afraid to touch my own skin. As I stretched my lips wide and exercised my jaw, a musty, stagnant flavor washed over my tongue and disgusted me. Greasy hair was flat against my scalp, and even that was sore from being held in one place for so long. I hummed to test the strength of my voice, which was lower than I remembered it. Despite all the injuries I arrived with, only a predictable ache from being still demanded my attention.
"Welcome back from wherever you've been," Freyr said without a hint of jest. "Though I feel I should welcome you back from all the years since I'd seen you before, anyway."
I croaked, clearing my throat every few words, "Uncle, I...I'm glad you're someone I can rely on here."
"Aye, and rely on me you can."
I grimaced and opened my eyes, surprised to find the tent itself was rather dark. Evening, perhaps even full night outside. Two small candles were all it took to sear a sense of brightness into me. "How long?"
"It's time for the harvest. You've been out for nine weeks."
"Nine? Gods..." I shook my head, but even that gave grief to my neck, and I moaned while rubbing the back of it. "Small price considering how close I was to self-sacrifice when I arrived, I imagine."
"Indeed. Here," he said, offering me a small cup. "It's not much, but it'll wake you a bit more."
I took it greedily but hesitated when it touched my lips. Everything felt new and sensitive, sending a zing through my head. Hunger and thirst had been kept from me in my stasis, but it returned in a tidal wave of need. The bitter herbs of the tea Freyr gave me were unpleasant and delicious all at once. My belly craved more when it was gone.
"Tell me what you're feeling. Anything still sharply painful?"
"No," I said, surprised by my own answer. "The many things that plagued me when we arrived are a distant memory now. Except one worry—am I...disfigured?"
Freyr's thick beard couldn't conceal his meek smile. "Far from it. You aren't too different from my memories of you, no matter how far reaching they are." He stood and made his way to a small table by the wall, unpacking various amenities from a burlap sack as he spoke. "The other sorcerers in the village will be glad to hear of your revival. Many of them are curious how you managed such a strong illusion despite your weakness. They wish to council with you in the morning."
The thought of new responsibilities so soon made me sleepy again. "Must I?"
"Yes. Several of them are returning to The Don City in the coming days once the harvest is complete. Not much of a chance if they're gone, I'm afraid." He turned with a bundle of brown fabric in his arms, topped with a comb and small bowl filled with unknown cream. "This will suit you well enough. I brought a vessel for you on the other side of that screen—do you feel well enough to bathe on your own?"
Bathing. Cleanliness. Touch. Altogether, I thought of one person. Was it too much to want her at my side already, or would it be better to surprise her?
He stepped closer when I didn't answer. "Loki?"
"Sorry. I...I'm disoriented." I held my head and groaned, trying to find my way back to reality through the muck of my thoughts. Things that troubled and excited me cycled in quick strides, too fast to articulate or focus on any one idea. Pluto's demands. Sigyn's care. Thirst for revenge. Sustenance. For someone who had been asleep for weeks, I hadn't gotten so much as a wink of rest.
Freyr sat beside me again. "Take your time. There's no hurry."
But I am in a hurry. It was too soon to ask him for anything other than his presence, so I clipped my tongue before seeking more favors. "Thank you, Uncle."
"You and yours are safe with us. However long you wish to stay." He passed me the pile. "Other things that belong to you are in the sack over there."
The clothes on the bottom were a symphony of old sensations now made new. Rough. Course. Frayed. Worn. I'd nearly forgotten them all. "H-how has Sigyn been? Acclimating well?"
"Yes. Grid's taken to her. Some things might surprise you when you meet again." His smirk hid a secret, but one he intended to keep. Something not his place to say. "If you wish, I can fetch her—"
"No, please...I'll find her when I'm more presentable."
"Very well. Call for me if you need anything." He left with a pat on my shoulder, letting in more campfire smoke and the sound of laughter from the villagers. Drums kicked up as the harvest celebration commenced, obvious by the many cheers.
It was a perfect opportunity for my arrival—a rebirth of sorts, indeed.
The white, thick cream in the bowl atop the pile was fragrant and familiar, but like everything else, I smelled it anew. Flowers I hadn't seen in ages, and a warm undertone of fresh tree sap. It made my mouth water with more hunger. I took it and the comb to the basin at the back, only moving as fast as my body would let me, trying not to rush and hurt myself by accident. It was only half-filled with water that matched my body temperature, so it was far from the relaxing and luxurious experiences I'd known in Asgard, but it would do.
Emulating Sigyn's touch, I worked a lather into my hair and scrubbed all my skin. The soap was sweet and equally appropriate to rid my tongue of the staleness that disgusted me when I awoke. My body wasn't marred with extreme scars as I'd feared, and I even splashed water on my face in an act of bravery.
Like with the clothing, the water had its own surprises. Cool. Wet. Undulating. It lapped against my belly and back again and trailed over my shoulders from my hair, which was still almost unbearably short, but at least it reached the bottom of my ears. When my fingertips and toes became soggy enough to shrivel, I left the basin to get dressed.
Freyr's brown tunic was similar to the green I favored in Asgard, and the trousers matched. They were a few inches shorter than I preferred, but as I was markedly taller than most Vanir men, it came as no surprise. My lack of facial hair also set me apart, so what did it matter if the clothes didn't fit well? The soft shoes that finished my ensemble had barely a sole on the bottom, but as they didn't appear to be suitable for climbing or battle, they were indicative of the mountain fortress's serene atmosphere as a whole.
In the sack on the table that Freyr left for me, I found a small mirror, which I tucked to the side to save for last. There weren't any luxuries like oil to keep my hair pushed back, so it fell in my face a bit. At the very bottom, another bundle of fabric made me chuckle.
I pulled out my old cape and wondered if Sigyn had given it to Freyr on purpose so we would have to trade it back and forth again—a game that only we would understand. All traces of her had been cleared away, though, so I couldn't find her when I brought it to my nose and took a breath. She was missing. I'd have to wrap her in it to imprint the shape of her hips and the sweetness of her skin again before it would be satisfactory.
The mirror goaded me, so I tucked the cape away and held the glass before my face with my eyes closed. I could project whatever I chose to others, but living in a lie was exhausting. I had to know what the venom had done.
Sigyn would say she wants me anyway. With her strength instead of my own, I finally looked.
Relief. A wash of calm. I turned my face side to side and only saw a shadow of the butterfly-like marks across my nose and cheeks. Perhaps I still wasn't fully healed, and even the hint that remained would fade with time. There was a scar above my left eyebrow that wasn't there before, and the sight of my short hair irritated me, but Freyr was right. I wasn't disfigured. I didn't need to hide behind a scrap of Sigyn's skirt to spare her from the horror.
My fingertips brushed against my lower lip to ensure it had the power of touch that the rest of my body did. It didn't disappoint. A smile appeared before I could stop it, not that I wanted to. It was too early to worry about Pluto. Finding her was paramount.
The only thing making me hesitate was a wish to make my entrance worthy of her. I cloaked myself in the disguise of a simple Vanir man, shorter and with a thick, brown beard and shoulder blade-length hair. Blending in would be no issue, and she'd be none the wiser until I revealed myself.
I snuck out of the tent slowly in case anyone was watching. The drums that started when I was bathing were now at full force, enhancing the many voices who sang songs that had to have been ancient rituals themselves. Each chorus that swelled heralded a flash of sparks in the sky—celebration spells I hadn't seen since childhood. The people laughed and drank, clanking their horns of ale and mead together in low thumps before yelling, "Skál!" in unison.
Never in my life had I attended a party quite like the Vanaheim Harvest; princely duties and reputation meant keeping a stiff upper lip and sharp eyes for hidden enemies. Yet no one could tell me not to partake, could they? My whole body seemed to smile as I searched the faces surrounding me. My heart couldn't be contained. Where might you be?
"Aye, your hand's empty," a man said at my side, pushing a horn overflowing with bubbles into my chest. "Skál!" he cheered, toasting me.
"Skál," I said, raising the vessel toward him before taking a drink. I groaned as I swallowed. The fizzle of ale was playful and lively, dancing across my tongue and down my throat. Slightly bitter, maybe sour, tinged with a berry note I couldn't place, but it was delicious. The emptiness of my stomach welcomed every drop. Within a few gulps, it was gone, and I exhaled a sigh of relief, joy, and satisfaction akin to carnal release.
The man grabbed the empty horn before I could thank him, gathering many from the people around me. It seemed his task was to keep everyone deep in drink.
With a whetted appetite, I charged through the crowd, which constantly fluxed back and forth while the citizens became progressively more drunk. The bonfire at the center of the fortress crackled and snapped alongside the drumbeats that matched my heart's quickening pace. I made my way around the blaze, taking in as much as my senses could handle, almost too overwhelmed by the sounds and the sights to decipher if I'd awakened at all.
But her voice towered over the deafening cheers and the roar of the flames. Not just speech—a song. Pure beauty. Had I heard her sing while I was sleeping? It was unmistakable, raw, powerful; the kind of tone that made tears swell without warning while the whole body shivered. She sang an old tune with new words that spoke of a happy harvest and creation.
In my disguise, I was shorter than normal, so I stood on my toes to see over the men who blocked the view. Desperation was a weak emotion against the need I had to find her.
On the other side, a clan of Vanir women sat in a circle atop logs so large, they would've surpassed the oldest ones in Asgard—here, they were puny by comparison, mere babies at thousands of years old. The purple moons above and orange fire highlighted entranced faces, all staring at the singing girl who was much taller than the rest.
Where did my heart go? Somewhere in the sky. Not even a second passed, yet I felt eternity's weight in the longing of our separation. Whether it was the ale or my absence that enhanced how much I missed her, it didn't matter. There she was: the being I had long since given up on ever finding. One who felt the impossible for me. My Ginny.
Her song ended with raucous applause, which I joined, though my claps were slow and heavy. She blushed, smiling hard enough to show her dimples and close her eyes. The dark brows framing the rest of her face drew all the more attention to her luxurious lashes, which I wanted so badly to kiss my cheeks from closeness. More sensation I had missed. More affection to make up for.
"Have you shown them what we're working on?" Grid asked at Sigyn's side. The crone was decidedly more friendly and bright compared to when we met at the gate.
"I don't want to parade myself more than I should," she said, curling her toes and folding into herself.
"Nonsense." Grid waved her hands down to quiet the women. "Focus, like I taught you."
Sigyn cocked a brow and shook her head with a smirk, giving up her sense of modesty. After taking a deep breath, she extended her hands forward and slowly spread them apart.
I grinned with pride. Real magic that proved she hadn't stumbled on my connection accidentally. Freyr was right—you did have a surprise.
She appeared to hold a small bit of fruit, but it lacked any shine of inexperience. Untrained eyes would've thought she plucked it from the vine moments before. With a snap of her other hand, it changed—first to a pile of berries, then a large tented mushroom, then back to the auburn apple. All were equally realistic.
Her audience clapped again, whispering with impressed nods toward one another.
Freyr circled on the opposite side to where I stood and raised his arms. "What's this? Quiet times are for sleep. To the sky!"
The women laughed and raised their hands as well, each sending a spark of bright white and gold into the air. "Skál!"
Their cheers settled and Freyr caught my eye. He tipped his chin low, recognizing me amongst the others.
I couldn't hide from him, nor could I keep myself back any longer. I glanced side to side before dissolving my masquerade and tiptoed forward. While the men immediately beside me fell quiet, a few of the women in the circle went wide eyed and giddy. My identity was obvious to all, and I prayed no one would point me out before I could reach her.
Sigyn was none the wiser, though, and listened intently to a young girl telling a story about her first time lighting candles. She leaned forward, smiling widely, always so willing to give others attention without a hint of disinterest.
I crept down to one knee behind her, waiting for the right moment. The sweet soap I'd used in the tent also lingered from her hair. So close.
The child before her was quiet and shy, kicking her heel with the opposite foot while she stood. "I haven't learned how to do the sparklers yet."
Sigyn had a way with her I couldn't have predicted. She didn't hesitate. "Oh, I can teach you that. It's not too difficult. Hold up your hands..."—she directed, then did the moves herself—"...splay your fingers, and send your joy upward. Go!"
Both sets of new lights flew from them, and several others immediately did the same, taking the opportunity to cheer once more and drink. The child's spell was fuzzy and tinged with pink, but it charmed everyone, including myself. Falling shimmers like tiny stars made for the perfect moment.
I hummed when whispering in her ear, "Very good, Ginny. Can you do it again?"
She turned so fast, she nearly fell forward, but I didn't move. The color drained from her face in an instant, then returned, making her cheeks bright red. Tears welled in her eyes that she couldn't suppress, much like the scream that squeezed from her lungs and into the air.
We stood together, not wasting any more seconds apart. Her body against mine was everything I wanted. Soft. Lush. Radiant with heat. I closed my eyes and breathed her into me, gripping the back of her tunic tightly in hands that couldn't get enough.
"Loki," she cried, burying her face into my chest and refusing to look up. "You're awake. Thank Gods, you're awake!"
"I am." Emotions threatened to pour from me as well, though I bridled them enough to stay dry. I brought her chin up with my forefinger, needing to map every bit of her face. "This dream isn't one I'd want to wake from."
She smiled through her tears, taking me in the same way I did to her. Her eyes danced over my face. "It's you. Somehow I worried you were lost."
I shook my head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, keeping my hand against her. "I'm here, thanks to you."
She gulped, softening her open eyes, giving me a view of the lashes I admired a few minutes before. "Thanks to you, I feel found."
The many people all around were focused on our reunion, yelling for us to satisfy the crowd by making a big show. They might as well have disappeared.
"I have something to say to you."
The hope in her expression shined from within, through the dew of her skin and the curve of her lips. "Yes?"
"You are all the peace I need," I said, hoping she'd recall her first confession. With me well, there was no need for her lost promise to end my misery. We had each other. The private joy we shared wasn't lost after all. "I love you, Ginny."
She squeezed out fresh tears and nodded, hardly able to reply. "I love you, Lo. I do."
"Let this be the last time we live apart." I ghosted my lips against hers, letting shockwaves pulse through my head and into my heart. We kissed with a chorus of celebration around us. Nothing could threaten the love that we shared, save for death.