Freya awoke the next morning from a long stream of nightmares. Her head ached and her throat felt scorched, as though she'd spent the night screaming. She wondered if she had.
Across her bed lay a new dress. It was crimson. She wondered if it too was to be used to disguise blood today. Perhaps today she would suffer another, more public beating. It was finer than the one that she had been stuffed into for her burning. Perhaps the Allfather had something grander in mind.
Freya sat at the dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked pale, her hair nearly white in the morning sun. She braided back her silver strands hurriedly, her green eyes staring back solemnly. She thought vaguely of visiting Freyr when the memories of the night before crept back, unbeckoned.
"Be good, sweet sister."
She pushed back the chair suddenly and crossed to the door, heaving it open. She was surprised. She had thought it would be locked. Her chambers led out into a long corridor, finely furnished and warm, with guards stationed every few yards. She felt her stomach drop at that, but they made no move to stop her as she set out.
Freya wished she had paid more attention the night before, that she could have seen through her tears. The palace of Asgard proved to be a labyrinth, each turn leaving her further and further lost. She could hear shouting now. She made for the noise, lifting her skirts to aid in her haste.
She arrived in a courtyard streaming with sunshine, illuminating a practice ring in which two dueled while several more milled about, watching their progress. One of the duelers was a woman. It made her smile, if only a little. It reminded her of home.
"Ah, you found it alright then."
Freya whipped around. It was the raven-haired prince once more. "Why am I allowed to roam free?"
"You are not a prisoner here."
"Do not lie to me," She said bitterly.
He sighed. "Yes, of course you are a prisoner here. But not the ordinary kind. You must of course stay here to maintain peace within the realms, but I assure you, you are not meant to be unhappy."
"Then why the chains? Why the show? You claim that you wish to be my friend. Tell me the truth." Freya's chin stuck out stubbornly as she surveyed the prince, her eyes narrowed.
"It was but a show. The might of Asgard and all that nonsense. And you are rather unpredictable," he glanced down, taking her hands in his. Freya pulled them away. "How are your wrists?"
"No longer broken," she said sharply. To her own surprise, she felt a twinge of regret. "Thank you. For that."
"It was nothing."
Freya allowed him to lead her to a bench overlooking the fighting. Several glances from those milling about led her to believe that this was not the prince's usual sort of behavior. This didn't make her feel any better.
She was beautiful- Even a blind man could see her beauty. She had glowing porcelain skin and hair like fine silver. Her eyes were like emeralds under her thick lashes, but it wasn't that.
But it was more than that. Something about this girl, this strange, unfathomable girl had caught his interest and even more surprisingly, his sympathy, though Loki knew this was the last thing she wished. She was strong-willed and stubborn to a fault. He had seen that from the dais where he and the other courtiers had watched the parade. How she had stood, straight and tall atop the cart full of treasures from her homeland. How she had strained to get at a golden sword just out of reach until her wrists had snapped in her effort. How even then she held the shaking sword until she could no longer bear it and it tumbled from her grasp without her permission.
There was something in those eyes that spoke to him, that drove him to want to know her, to learn her story. Loki glanced over at her. She gazed down at her hands, turning them in her lap, alternately flexing them into fists.
She was interesting in a realm that was so consistently dull.
Loki looked up as his brother approached, followed by the Warriors Three and Sif. Thor's face betrayed his feelings at the comments she had made the night previous. For all of his war-mongering, he seemed to take little joy in this token of victory.
"Princess-" he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
"Do not shame me with false titles. Valfreya will do," she said quietly. Her hands were in fists. Thor bowed his great head.
"Valfreya. I am truly sorry for your heartache. If there is anything within my power to ease it, just call upon the name of Thor.
"And I, Fandral."
"And I, Hogan."
"And I, Volstagg."
She nodded, but said nothing else. They went back to their sparring, occasionally throwing glances back at the princess, but she remained at his side, her gaze unwaveringly focused on her hands.
The sun was at the top of its peak when she spoke next. "And who are you then, he who calls himself my friend?"
I was surprised at her remark. I had known the Vanir were cut off from the other realms, but to not know the names of high nobility of other realms was slightly absurd. Truly she must have spent her time with her head buried in the sand. "I am Loki."
"Then tell me Loki, what am I to do here?"
Loki was rather taken aback by her question. He didn't answer, merely stared back at her, trying once again to work out what sort of girl she was. Not one to sit and wait to be told. After a moment of silence she got up and crossed to the ring, hefting a sword as she entered. The warriors stared at her, rather bemused expressions on their faces.
"What are you doing my lady?" Fandral asked, a winning smile plastered on his face. She surveyed him with distaste.
"It is midday, and I wish to train."
Sif laughed, staring disdainfully at the girl's dress. "Now you allow any pretty face to train with you Fandral? I remember a time you took quite some convincing."
Valfreya turned and shot her a scathing look. "I am not just a pretty face shield maiden. You would do well to learn to mind your tongue on matters you know nothing of."
Loki laughed. He couldn't help himself.
"You wish to train then, Princess?" Sif asked mockingly. "Put your sword where your mouth is. Or are you wary of ripping your precious silks?"
"They will do well to hide any blood you might end up shedding upon my blade," Valfreya replied, her voice even—dangerous.
The others backed off, mesmerized. The two women began to circle one another, their eyes locked on one another. Loki watched with bated breath.
Sif struck first, lunging with her sword. But Valfreya moved swiftly, not even bothering to raise her blade. She ducked out of the way, continuing her circle. She did this several more times. Each time Sif struck she was long gone, without even the clang of metal. Sif snarled under her breath, frustrated.
It was over in a flash. If Loki had blinked, he'd have missed it. Sif struck once more and Valfreya darted to the side, but this time she grabbed Sif's outstretched hand as she kicked her feet out from under her. Sif fell, hard, the blade of Valfreya's practice sword at her throat.
"Do you yield?"
"I yield."
Sif looked positively furious. Valfreya looked positively bored. She stepped back and looked back towards me, her green eyes gloomy. Then she proffered her hand to Sif and helped her to her feet.
"Next?" she asked, turning to the others.
Valfreya fought each in turn, first Hogan, then Volstagg, then Fandral, and finally Thor. Each fell before her and her rage, each matched and then out matched. It was only with Thor that she used her powers, betraying to the others that she possessed any. One small shield of energy when deferring a blow from Thor's hammer.
She used his shock to her advantage, knocking him off balance as she had done with Sif. The others looked at her with wide eyes, eyes that then held fear. I reveled in it. I felt that perhaps it had been her magic that had called to me, masked by her strength of will.
I got up, the whole thing making sense now. At last. An equal.
Loki approached as the others stared on, dumbstruck. They hadn't known she had magic. Until now. Of course it didn't make any difference. Odin knew. Odin had seen. There could be no magical escape from the halls of Asgard.
"My turn, I think," Loki said, a grin spreading across his face. A grin that scared Freya. He was not like the others, he surveyed me, pondering, making no move towards his weapon. She felt at once that she had her work cut out for her- the others had been easy, a way to get rid of all the anger building up inside of me.
He struck so fast Freya barely had time to deflect his attack. The blade hung in midair, razor sharp. She plucked it from the air and flung it behind her, suddenly infuriated. She sent a bolt of energy his way, but he dodged it lithely, laughing as he did so.
Suddenly there were twelve of him, all laughing and jumping about. They threw their blades at the exact same time, all lightning fast. Freya ducked, sending out a pulse of energy that radiated all around, disintegrating the blades. Then he was right next to her, blade raised, grinning madly. She made a split second decision, raising her hand as she rolled away.
There was blood everywhere, pouring from the stump of my arm, cut off just below the elbow. Freya could hear the others gasp as she fell to her knees, cradling the bleeding remains. She could hear the others vaulting the ring's fence, their cries echoing across the courtyard. Loki knelt before her, his green eyes wide, hand outstretched, fingers already bristling with magic-
But she was faster.
Freya scooped up his fallen blade and jumped on top of him, knocking him off balance. She pressed the blade to his throat, the magic fading away, her mostly unharmed arm reappearing once more. He had been faster than Freyr, who was her usual target, slicing into the skin of her forearm. She leaned down until her mouth was at his ear. "I win."
She could feel his pulse race under her, feel the movement of his chest. The vision came back to her, swirling and dissident and wholly undecipherable. I found myself lost in its freezing grasp, drowning in the weight of it. I was missing something important, some piece of the picture I was staring at-
"I yield," Loki said, suddenly bringing her back to reality. She rolled off of him, handing him his knife grip first. She clutched her bleeding arm, ignoring the other's cheers in the background. She gathered that Loki was not often bested. Instead, she stared back at Loki, a sense of dread filling her.