Loki stooped and helped Freya to her feet. The hall was still silent, eerily so. She leaned on his shoulder more heavily than he would have imagined. He looked at her face, concerned. It was mottled, blood on its fair surface. Her lip was split and a bruise was forming heavily along her cheekbone.
She knotted her fingers in the green of his cape as they began their trek to the far end of the hall where the doors lay.
Freya stumbled on one of the steps. Her knees buckled and she let out a soft, cry. Loki caught her before she hit the floor. This time he kept a strong grip on her. He could see Thor rise at the high table in order to help, no doubt, but he shook his head and Thor froze before slowly lowering himself back to his chair.
Freya's feet froze for a moment and she curled inward toward Loki, burying her face into his shoulder. Her hair tickled his nose. It smelled like lilac. Freya stood up again as titters of pity grew among the crowd.
She threw her shoulders back, released her hand from the back of my cape and took a step forward. He knew what she wanted immediately and let go of her, praying to Norns she wouldn't fall.
Her movement was slow, awkward, pained. But she kept moving forward, her head held high as when they had brought her bound in chains, as high as when she stepped into the training field. It was as if Loki could see the weight of Vanaheim pressing her into the ground, though still she bore it with a straight spine and a noble expression that precluded the vanity she had admitted before.
Loki closed the doors behind them when last they reached them, releasing her of her duty, whatever she saw it as in that head of hers. She struggled so far as to be out of sight of the guards that stood at either side of the Hall doors before falling against the wall and sliding down to the floor.
She began to cry—not in the dignified manner she'd been able to in the hall, but real quaking sobs that racked her chest and flared her cheeks with color. Loki sat down next to her, bringing his knees up to his chest.
"Stop it," Freya hissed, her head bowed. Magic crackled menacingly at her fingertips, powerful enough to make the hairs on the back of Loki's neck stand up. He stared at her, brows furrowed.
"Stop what?"
Uncontrolled magic shot from her hands, fast and deadly. It connected with the opposite wall in a deafening crash, reducing much of it to rubble. Several guards rushed to the scene, but Loki waved them away with a flick of his wrist.
"Stop treating me with kindness, stop helping me," she choked out, raising her eyes to his. "You're Aesir! You're worse than Aesir! You're a son of Odin!"
Her words burst from her lips with a cold bitterness that was nearly palpable. Loki stared, impassive, though her words fell like poison on his ears. Finally, he spoke, careful to control his voice. "Is that really what you think?"
She stared back at him, her face scrunched in sadness, bitterness, and uncertainty. "I— I don't know. You should hate me, as your father does. Surely— but instead, you release me, ask nothing but lessons, lessons in magic reviled by your people. So I wonder what it is that you want from me. You have my freedom, my family, my homeland— now you'll have my knowledge as well. What else can you take from me? What else could you want?"
Loki sat next to her as she cried, in silence, letting her lose herself in misery as he pondered her words. She was both entirely right and wrong at the same time. True, he was a son of Odin, Aesir by blood, but he was as much an outsider in their world as she. Loki could feel it, this difference, creating a valley between others and himself.
He had grown up his whole life on an island in the shadow of his older brother—but here was this girl cast down into the sand, a kindred spirit, yet a spirit who knew exactly where she belonged.
He very nearly envied her.
"I know what it's like to be alone," Loki said finally when she'd cried herself out. Freya looked up at him through red, puffy eyes. He turned away, getting to his feet. "Now c'mon. Crying won't help anything in the end."
He had learned that long ago.
Freya nodded—a tiny, almost imperceptible movement—before getting to her feet. Loki climbed the staircase without a glance over his shoulder to make sure that she followed.
She trailed behind him as if in a daze. She took no note of the passageways and stair through which he led her, instead focusing on what seemed to be the enormous task of putting one foot in front of the other. Before she knew it she found herself being sat down in a chair.
Freya was in another unfamiliar room, though this one was very much like the bedroom she had been deposited in. It was spacious, the furniture was large and ornate, carved of nearly black wood. Everything was covered in rich shades of emerald and gold. It was neat as a pin, stocked from floor to ceiling with hundreds of books. Moonlight filtered in, diffused by the green window hangings that were partially drawn.
She stared around, suddenly on edge. Freya pulled her knees up to her chin, let the fear settle into her throat.
Loki stood opposite, his back to her a gentle clinking sound resonating from where he worked. After a few moments he turned, carrying a small tray filled with little glass bottles. A green bowl sat steaming on one end, a cloth hanging over its edge. Loki sat the tray down on a small, spindly side table and pulled up a chair so he was facing her.
"Look up," he said, not unkindly. She obeyed and he dabbed the cloth against her split lip, removing the blood and grime. He folded the cloth, wiping away the rest of the grime from her face.
Loki deposited the cloth back into the water and picked up a small, blue-green jar. He unscrewed the top and dabbed a bit of the balm inside onto her lip. Her skin knitted up, almost instantly, leaving only a thin pink line.
"Put some of this on it twice a day and there will be no scaring," Loki said, pressing the jar into her palm.
Freya's vision clouded over, shifting to the black of the darkest winter night. Snow swirled around her in stinging flurries, propelled by the endless, screaming wind. Everything seemed to be bathed in the chaos of black, white and the blue of ice. Figures stood around her, their skin the same blue at the ice surrounding them. Only their eyes stood out, a bright, bloody red sunk deep into their heads. Jotuns.
She was not afraid. She followed them as they crossed to a ruined temple, great pieces of the ceiling fallen in. It was sparsely illuminated inside, lit only by a few beams of moonlight.
Another figure stood before the throne, which was occupied by one of the largest of the Jotuns. She recognized him as Laufey, their king. The other figure appeared blurry, as if not fully formed. Freya heard his words, echoed back and refracted until it seemed they possessed every tone known to Vanir ears, making it nearly impossible to distinguish the true voice.
"This is a great day for Jotunheim. Asgard is finally ours."
"Freya? Freya!"
Loki was shaking her, his voice tinged with panic. Freya's eyes fluttered open. It took her a moment to focus on him. Her heart raced, her chest rose and fell as if she'd been running for hours. Loki's arms were pinned to either side of the chair, preventing her from falling over. His face was ashen, eyes wide.
"Freya, are you alright?" he said, feeling her forehead. "Your skin. It's like ice—"
"Of course it is," I muttered, eyes half closed. "I'm not dressed for winter."
Loki scooped her up, not trusting her to stay seated alone, and placed her on his four poster bed. He wrapped her in his heaviest blankets, in wool and furs. She sat, shivering, eyes far away, lost in the Temple of Jotunheim.
"Are you ill?" Loki asked, surveying her with worry.
"No," she said, her voice sounding faraway. "Just, somewhere that may yet pass."
"I don't follow."
"A vision."
"You saw the future?"
"A future. But chances are, yes."
Loki stared at her, eyes wider than before. "What did you see?"
"I saw Jotunheim." A slight smile twisted her lips upward. Loki looked appalled.
"Jotunheim? Are they planning an invasion?"
Jotuns were sworn enemies of Asgard. They had fought long before in the War of the Eternal Winters, but they had been defeated, their casket taken from them. It now lay somewhere under her feet in the vaults of Asgard.
The Vanir had been sympathetic to the Jotun defeat, thought they had not aided them in the war. Freya's father could not allow the Jotuns to freeze Midgard, though he did not see it as his place to stop them. She had visited Jotunheim once, when she was younger. It was from this visit that she recognized Laufey. He was a domineering presence- ruthless and war-worn.
It had not been an unpleasant visit, however. She had found Jotunheim, though desolate, to hold its own sort of mystic beauty. It was a sentiment shared by neither her father or brother.
For this reason, Freya chose to tell Loki pieces, if not the whole truth. "I saw their temple. It lay in ruins, still, after all these years. Laufey still sat upon the throne. Jotuns gathered outside."
"And?"
"Nothing."
"What do you mean nothing?" Loki asked, his brows furrowed. "What did Laufey say? Does he threaten war?"
"Visions are not like books, open for perusal," she said to him. This was fully true. They were never easy to decipher. Parts always seemed to be missing, those pieces of the puzzle which still had choices to make in order to lead them there.
Still, they were nearly always true, though not always interpreted correctly. It took sedir to change one's destiny, and even then, often the decisions made by those who underwent sedir would still find themselves at the same place, if only a little later. Destiny was cruel that way.
"It is not uncommon for the Jotun to gather by the temple. Perhaps it was a holiday," Freya supplied. The little bottle was warm in her hand. It caused a slight bubble of guilt to rise in her.
"What do you know of the Jotuns?" Loki asked derisively. "Those foul monsters of winter?"
"I have been to Jotunheim. I have eaten in their halls, drunk with them and made merry. You cannot believe crib-tales forever, my Prince."
Loki stared at her oddly, as he had in the Great Hall.
"Why would you have a vision of these monst- these Jotuns, if there were no significance?" Loki asked, one eyebrow raised.
"I do not know," Freya replied simply.
Loki stared at her a moment, his eyes slightly narrowed before getting up. She was nearly positive he knew that she wasn't telling him the full truth. "I will show you to your chambers."
Loki led her from his chambers, back into the hall. She followed wordlessly, her mind still realms away. He stopped at a nearly identical door to his own, just twenty paces from his own apartments. He pushed open the door, ushering her inside.
Freya hadn't realized their apartments had been so close. She should have, she now realized. How else would he have been able to save her from hurtling to her death that day on the balcony? His own must have been the one mere feet from hers, not more than an arm's length away.
He pushed open the door and ushered her inside. Loki snapped at the empty fireplace of grey stone and a roaring fire erupted, throwing off vast amounts of heat. He pulled out a chair by the fire for her to sit at. She gratefully obliged. She still shook, though from her vision or Odin's treatment the past few days she didn't believe either of them knew.
"I'll have the kitchens send something up for you tonight," he said, slipping once more into the formal nature he had possessed earlier. "And I'll have an allowance secured for you tomorrow for whatever you may require in Asgard."
He crossed to the door, his face a mask. "I'll come to collect you tomorrow morning, an hour after sun rise, so make sure that you're puncture. I revile being late."
Without another word he pulled open the door and left, letting it click shut. Freya's mouth was half open in a murmured thank you. She closed it before the words passed over her lips.