Stolen Stars:
Chapter Nine
I got a tortured mind
And my blade is sharp
A bad combination
In the dark
(Sinister Kid – The Black Keys)
0o0o0o0o0o0
It was easy to ignore, the first two days. The looks and the whispers were only irritating, not threatening.
And then Loki was reminded sharply of how mortal he had become. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as Thor's banishment—Loki's personal power did not derive directly from Odin—but the lack of ability was crippling. Two unbreakable metal bands on his wrists kept any latent magic he still possessed in check with runes inscribed on the inside.
The encounter with the Warriors Three and Sif was…unfortunate. Rose was there to witness the altercation. He may have let himself forget for a moment that he could not back up his quick tongue with magic and muscle.
Hogun managed to land a hit before Thor and Loki's guard-of-the-day stepped in to wrangle his friends back while Loki was being yanked back by Rose. He was surprised to find that even his (no, not his) blonde mortal was able to pull him off-balance.
It might as well have declared open season on the black-haired god, for the Aesir in the palace became more openly hostile. While none made an outright attempt on his life, Loki was made to understand that his presence was not welcome. The ones who knew magic made him temporarily choke on his own tongue and stumble when he passed. The ones who did not settled for slamming him into walls when his escort fell just enough behind as he rounded a corner.
His pride kept him from hiding in his quarters (he needed the lay of the palace and its occupants anyway if he wished to escape anytime soon) and he refused to speak about it to Rose or Thor. In their quiet sessions Loki was able to forget his situation, and there was no use burdening Rose with even more problems. It was easy enough to lock up the thoughts of warriors stalking his every move. In any case—he may not retain his former power, but he was not completely helpless. On his regular rounds about the palace, knives began to disappear from drawers in the kitchen, thought to be simply misplaced or lost. Runes could not detect them and they were easily hidden in his sleeves.
And he would rather die than ask for help from the thunder god. He wouldn't dare give Thor the satisfaction.
Loki's skills with throwing daggers were too notorious to be forgotten. All it took was a few strategically pulls on cloth to reveal the glinting steel and the attacks slowed to a stop. The whispers, however, did not.
The only place that gave Loki respite from, well, people was the training grounds. Loki could say one thing about his escorts—they were quiet and unobtrusive when they needed to be. He usually went early in the morning after his sessions with Rose. They parted ways every morning, Loki to the training grounds and Rose—well, he did not keep track of her whereabouts. But she spoke often of the main archive of the palace. Apparently her TARDIS translated the various languages she encountered, and this body was as interested in the sciences of the realms as her last one.
He would be undisturbed for an hour or so, practicing with throwing daggers. While the force Loki normally had behind his throws had diminished significantly, his accuracy had yet to be taken from him.
One morning, however, Rose insisted on joining him. She was spouting some nonsense about living in a realm where treadmills didn't exist.
"I've always been pretty good at darts," she said, face bright and eager. There was no way he could refuse her.
Darts were, perhaps, not the same as throwing the thin blades, but Rose was an apt student. Loki could feel as if he could forget the persistent anxiety of being watched and judged. He even allowed himself to linger over Rose's shoulder as he corrected her posture, breathing in the light floral notes that flowed off her hair.
They were interrupted by the sounds of boisterous laughter entering the courtyard. Loki turned and scowled as he saw Thor, Sif, and Fandral enter the complex. Their merriment also ended when they spotted the two.
"Sorry, brother, we can come in later," Thor said, breaking the tense silence that had suddenly fallen over the grounds.
"No it's fine," Rose said quickly before Loki could agree with Thor. "Good morning, Thor. Sif. Fandral."
"Good morning, my dear lady Rose! Looking lovely as ever," Fandral announced, sweeping into a deep bow in front of the Midgardian. He glanced at Loki and nodded. "Loki."
"Fandral," Loki replied, his tone sharp and wary. He could very well be on the cusp of being thrown across the courtyard, and in the weakened state he was in there was little he would be able to do about it.
"He's not giving you too much trouble?" the blond warrior asked Rose. Loki's eyes narrowed at his casual tone.
"Not yet," she replied, shooting him a wink. Her attitude seemed forcibly relaxed, but considering the other day, he could see why Rose would try to be diplomatic. Yet her attitude towards Fandral irked him. Loki stared after her as she gathered the remaining throwing knives.
"Care to join in, Loki?" Fandral asked, testing out his stance. His foil whipped through the air as he pounced and slashed. "I've been dying to go against a worthy opponent for a while now. Sif is too fond of her broadsword."
"I don't suppose this is a clever ruse to rid Asgard of me and for all?" Loki replied, finding Fandral's old camaraderie unsettling. He could see Thor go rigid, but Fandral surprised them all by laughing.
"Well there's an idea," he said. With confidence unbefitting the situation, Fandral walked over to the blades hanging from the open weapons vault. Loki shifted with discomfort when he realized the man remembered the type of blade Loki was partial to. The rapier flew through the air, and Loki snatched it easily.
"Come on, then. Or have you gotten rusty?"
The man is mad, Loki thought in exasperation. What else could explain the swordsman's nonchalance as he faced Asgard's most hated traitor? Then again, Fandral was the only one out of Loki's old friends who had yet to antagonize him.
His eyes went to Thor and then his armed escorts; none of whom were making any move to stop the two from getting into fencing position. Rose just gave him an encouraging smile, and Sif was watching him like he was about to cut Fandral's throat.
Loki rolled his eyes. Fandral was too good a swordsman to worry about Loki harming him. Even when he possessed his full strength Loki was only second to Fandral in brandishing a longsword.
They began slowly, each testing the limits of the other as they jabbed and danced. Loki had fenced with the older Asgardian for millennia, and he could not help but shake how smoothly the two fell back into routine. Loki suspected Fandral held back for his benefit, but he kept his ego in check.
Perhaps if he was paying closer attention, Loki would have realized the haze drifting over his mind was not just from the habitual movements lulling his senses to focus only on movement. He might have noticed his breath shallowing and his parries were becoming more erratic. His heartbeat elevated, and his attention was only on Fandral, his target.
Loki ducked one of Fandral's swipes and rolled to thrust his sword into the man's stomach. Fandral, however, easily judged Loki's momentum and stepped sideways. He used his own sword to knock Loki's down, kicking the hilt upwards. The rapier's pommel flew right into Fandral's waiting hand, and Loki found himself on his knees with a blade to his throat.
His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. Loki did not need a sword, did not need magic, to kill.
"Well that was exciting!" Fandral grinned rakishly as he tossed the weapons aside. He held a hand out to help Loki up. "Good show, old boy. Maybe if you get your strength back we can try again, eh?"
A growl, guttural and feral, escaped his throat as his opponent laughed. Fingers slipped under his sleeve, and the smile faded into shock and alarm. Fandral leapt out of the way at the first sight of the knife, but he was not quite quick enough. Even in his crippled state, Loki was very good at close range. The slice was clean, and the shout of pain filled his manic head like mulled wine.
Loki raised the knife to stick his enemy like a pig, but he was distracted by footsteps running towards him.
"Rose get back—!" someone yelled. A hand landed on his shoulder, and before he could slice the person to ribbons warmth flooded his senses. It quieted the fury that clouded his judgment and the knife dropped from his hand. He shook his head, once, twice, and then Rose came into view. Her eyes were wide with fear and concern. He stepped away from her as if stung. The guards had already snatched his knife from the floor and only backed off from grabbing Loki when Thor gave them a look. Sif was by Fandral's side, but her eyes were only on Loki when she assessed the wound as superficial.
"What sorcery have you concocted this time, Loki," she said, her voice harsh and vicious, "to convince the All-Father you were harmless?"
"Hardly a scratch, Sif," Fandral insisted, his hand staunching the cut on his forearm. "He's not exactly up in strength, if you remember."
"And you think that a reasonable excuse?" she snapped. "So what was it Loki? Did you recruit a witch to pose as a mortal?" Sif's murderous gaze landed on the blonde and her sword-hand twitched.
"What?" Rose gasped.
The rage that had simmered down with Rose's touch burned again with a vengeance at Sif's accusation. He moved to step between Sif and Rose, but Thor already placed his considerable bulk in front of Rose to protect the woman.
"Rose Tyler is a Midgardian and a friend of the Aesir," his brother stated. "Loki has been ill, I told you this. As I have also told you that my father's word is final."
"Silence, Thor. I did not ask you to vouch for me," Loki snarled, his eyes still on Sif. He raised his wrists, showing her the silver bands. "I cannot cast magic with these, you simpleton. And if Rose was any threat at all to the safety of this realm, why would the Norn explicitly condone her presence here? Take care how you throw out accusations, Lady Sif, or I—"
"Or you'll what?" Sif stepped closer to Loki, her fingers pulling at the pommel of her weapon with a warning hiss.
"Alright, can we all just calm down?" Fandral demanded. "No one is in any danger, Loki got a hold of himself, and Rose was kind enough to step in." He clapped a hand on Sif's shoulder. "Really, darling, you're making a fuss out of nothing."
"Call me darling again, you will be in danger," Sif growled, yanking away from Fandral. But she dropped her hand from her sword.
And with that, some of the tension drained from the room. But Loki was still trembling underneath the urge to wring Sif's neck for threatening Rose. Not that it would do any good, but that only made him livid.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Rose forgot how imposing Loki could be. A lot of it had to do with his height, but the poison had done something to the way he carried himself. She remembered the relative ease and confidence he oozed at every opportunity, whether he was reading at the house or in the middle of a company party. The past week or so, since she arrived in Asgard and found him imprisoned and mad, he was all too often a different man. He was often hunched in on himself, defensive and easily spooked. The usual control over his emotions had innumerable holes. It was easier for Rose to see through his lies, but it hurt her to see him so miserable.
Now Rose could see, as he faced down his old friends, Loki was trying to step into that regal bearing. It was all too stiff, too forced, and she could tell it was merely a shell of protection.
Loki might as well have been in this state for fifty years, because the difference between this and what he was fifty (no, it was two) years ago was staggering.
Finally the standoff between himself and Sif ended with Loki taking a minute step backwards.
"I think it's time for us to take our leave," Loki muttered, his hands relaxing from white-knuckled fists. "Rose." The sharp bark was an order, and while she bristled at it, Rose was all too eager to escape the dangerous look in Sif's face.
She also did not want Loki in such a precarious position, and any threat of bloodshed spelled bad news on all fronts. Loki had yet to master his emotions, so the fact that he would step out of the ring willingly was enough for her.
His pace was brisk, and while her legs were longer in this body, she had to skip a few steps to keep up with Loki as he swept back into the palace. Their escorts seemed to knew better than to keep too close. The anger and frustration rippled off of him in almost visible waves.
"Slow down there, Guns," Rose finally snapped. Loki stiffened and stopped, and she had to backpedal in order to keep from running into him.
"I apologize, Rose." He didn't look apologetic at all. "I did not consider that you might have preferred the company of Fandral. I'm sure you would like to check his health as well."
"What?"
"He is quite your type. Smooth talker, handsome, alien. I see how you have become fast friends."
"My type?" Her voice rose an octave, astounded at the turn of conversation they were having. "What are you goin' on about?"
"I cannot blame you," Loki hissed, his countenance mocking. "I am sincerely sorry to have attacked your beloved."
Rose made a sound like a strangled cat. When she finally gained faculty over words once more, she was exasperated.
"Fandral is not my beloved, you moron," she said.
Loki stared her down, his blue-green eyes distrustful and accusatory. Rose rolled hers.
Men. Honestly.
"I don't have to explain why or why not," she cut in before he could insist on details. "Do we need another session? Because this is rather ridiculous."
"I am not an invalid, Rose. I would appreciate it if you didn't treat me like one."
Before she could retort, Loki skulked down his respective hallway. Rose groaned in annoyance, but let him storm off.
"My lady?" Hermod murmured behind her.
"I'm just going to my room. Can I not be disturbed, please?"
"Of course," he said, eyes sympathetic. Rose was comforted to know that even after such a short time of knowing her, Hermod had become more of a friend and less of a guard.
The balcony of her room overlooked the lively city, and she dragged one of the plush chairs into the stream of sunlight. Curling her feet under her, she tried to soak in the warmth and wish away the headache that was pressing uncomfortably against her temple.
You knew he wouldn't be the same. You knew it, Rose, so stop it. But there was a tiny, naïve, hopeful part that had thought because the poison was nearly gone Loki would turn back into her (no, not hers) gleeful mischief maker. Rose didn't want to believe that the man she shared those fleeting, precious six months had disappeared forever.
0o0o0o0o0o0
No magic known to the Aesir could touch her, nor keep her out. She was a silent audience, an invisible watchman to the actions and tiny rebellions of Loki and Rose.
Seidh did not need food nor sleep—her kind was beyond that. Her duty was to watch and report, nothing more. Since her birth, Seidh was drilled in patience, for time was not linear to the Norn. Everything was happening, happened, happens, will happen, and there was no time to consider why things happen the way they did and would. It was not in the nature of the Norn to question their orders.
But as Seidh grew more accustomed to the nuances of speech and movements of her charges, she did begin to question the details of her mission.
The medallion was the catalyst; that she did know. The stolen artifact was now so entwined with Loki that it was very nearly a part of him. Seidh knew it would cause the transformation, but she wondered now if the Snake had been in him since birth.
Loki paced restlessly around his room, and Seidh could see the Snake growing inside him. It appeared as dark in Loki as the Wolf in Rose was light. It writhed under her gaze, and she could very nearly hear the violent hiss at her indiscretion. Its vessel shivered, and then shook his head as if attempted to clear it.
Seidh moved away, suddenly ill at ease in the presence of such an ancient and evil creature. She could only imagine what Loki was experiencing—had experienced—having that Thing live inside him for so long.
The Aesir were ignorant and vain. They would hear the stories that trickled down to Midgard from Asgard and laugh at the inaccuracy. They would hear the tale of Ragnarok and mock the mortals; for humans were often obsessed with the apparently inevitable destruction of the universe. Ragnarok became a myth even to the Aesir, a fictional tale of monsters and death that the tiny frightened humans thought up on dark winter nights. But the Aesir did not realize that they were not the only kind in Yggdrasil to whisper tales in the humans' ears.
Perhaps they deserve this, Seidh thought, echoing the sentiments of her sisters. For millennia the All-Father has touted his lordship over the Realms. Why not unleash Jorgunmandr and finally display the power of Nornheim?
But still something close to uncertainty settled in Seidh's heart. So she continued to watch and wait.