Freya was awoken by three sharp knocks on her door. Loki.
She sighed, taking another second to stare at the violet hangings above her before throwing off her covers. The sun had already risen over the mountains that surrounded the outskirts of Asgard's capital city, streaking the sky with scarlet and orange.
Loki knocked once more as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"Give me a moment!" she called sharply, irritation burning in the pit of her stomach. Every inch of her ached from where she had been struck by Odin's magic, but none more than her pride. Still, she tried to convince herself, it was all part of a much larger game, as Loki had expertly pointed out, and that she was in it for the long haul, no matter her feelings.
She dressed quickly, without looking at what she threw on and crossed to the door to let Loki in. He looked well rested, handsomely elegant and distant—his usual self by all appearances, though Freya could tell that something was off. Last night had changed something, changed everything, though how exactly, she wasn't yet sure.
Loki could be her protector, her friend or just another jailer. She still had no way of knowing his intentions. She felt as if she knew him, though how well could she, really? She had only been there a month and Loki—Loki was known for his trickery. And yet she still felt that they shared…something.
Loki stared at her with mild contempt. "You do realize that you're wearing that dress backwards. It's also hideous, but that's another matter entirely."
Freya looked down. Sure enough he was right. It was an awful chartreuse color patterned with yellow and ochre. Though she was entirely sure that it would look just as bad if she wore it facing the front.
Loki crossed into the room without another word and strode to the wardrobe. To Freya's surprise he began rummaging through it, tossing dresses haphazardly across the room. She crossed next to him, her brows furrowing. She couldn't care less what she wore, or which way it faced. It wouldn't make any difference.
"You're wrong, you know," Loki said, seeming to read her mind. "It does matter what people think of you. It matters more than you realize."
He held up a dark blue dress next to me, squinted, and then threw it aside. "What you did last night—that was stupid, and unbelievably reckless," Loki said, glaring at Freya overtop another dress. She stared at her feet, waiting for his anger to burst from him. She was sure to hear it this time, now that he was saddled with her.
"But—but it seems to have worked out in your favor. No one liked seeing a poor, defenseless, girl blatantly tortured in front of their eyes. No one could believe that that hopeless little wretch could be the Necromancer, not when she wouldn't even lift a finger to defend herself." Loki stared at her, eyes narrowed, surveying her shrewdly. "Nicely done."
Freya looked up, surprised. She'd rarely heard Loki praise anyone, and never for disobeying him. The twinge of guilt in her stomach from lying to him the night before reappeared.
"Now you've just got to keep it up," he continued, turning back to the wardrobe.
"What do you mean?" Freya asked, startled.
"I mean that you've got everyone fooled. Everyone thinks that you're just this vulnerable stolen princess, that you're just a harmless stolen beauty. So that's what you're going to pretend to be."
"What?" she said, feeling a flash of anger color her cheeks. "No, no. I'm not going to spend my life groveling—"
Loki's temper flared. "Freya, don't you understand?"
"What is there to understand?" she spat, eyes flashing. "You want me to be a painted doll. well you can forget—"
"There is a great difference between pretending and being Freya. All I am trying to do is help you to make your life easier—better. If you'd just trust me—" he broke off and turned award, his anger showing through the rigidity of his shoulders.
Her anger deflated in that moment. She couldn't quite explain it. It wasn't that she trusted him exactly, she just understood his anger. She realized how hard he had been trying to protect her, to make things easier on her—how hard she had been making that for him.
Freya sat down quietly on the bed, her head dropping into her hands. Of course it would be easier being the vapid, dull princess. Hadn't she already seen that before, when talking to his slack-jawed brother the night before? Surely it would be easier just to become what everyone expected.
Loki turned to face her, eyes still flashing with anger. His anger subsided, however, when he saw Freya's resigned expression. Or perhaps it was one of defeat.
"I'm just—"
"You're trying to help. I know," she said quietly, staring at the ground.
"We're going to be together for a long time. We might as well let it be as pain free as possible."
"You mean your father's plan to marry me to you." Freya's voice was measured. She tried to keep the bitterness from it, for his sake. He wasn't a bad man, he didn't deserve to be hurt by her for something that was out of his control too.
She looked up when the silence stretched, fearing that she had offended him. He was staring out the window, his eyes not really focused on the scene outside, but lost, somewhere further away.
"I don't get a choice either you know. I'm not—I didn't ask for things to be this way."
"I know, I didn't mean—"
"It's not that I don't think that you're—I mean, I do. I just—I just think that we can make it work. We can be friends. I'd like us to be friends."
Freya stared at him intently, watched the color creep into his cheeks. It looked odd, out of place in his face, as though his skin wasn't accustomed to the color. She reached out instinctually and took his hand. She didn't know why, she just felt her heart breaking for him in that moment. It made her realized that perhaps she wasn't the only one who was lost.
Her hand was warm against mine, though not unpleasantly. She stared at me with an expression he could not decipher. His first instinct was to pull away but he stopped himself. The room was no less heavy, filled as it was with the talk of forced marriages, but it suddenly seemed more bearable.
Loki looked down. His chest felt tight. He gave her hand a small, reassuring squeeze. Then he turned, letting her hand fall from his.
Loki's hand felt empty after that.
He continued routing through the dresses that had been sent up to her. Every one of them just seemed like yet another cage to be wrapped around her as they were such strikingly traditional Asgardian designs. Finally he found a simple dress, the color of ice that seemed the farthest from the others.
"This one's better," he said, handing it to her. He paused, adding, "This way is the front."
She snorted and took it from him before turning her back. Loki hesitated a moment before crossing to the other room to give her some privacy.
It was amazing how different everything could become in a single day. How fast lines could be drawn. He had had his doubts on whether or not Freya would be able to do this, to play the game—now Loki was certain that she could, as long as she was able to control her temper. He had seen so last night, seem the restraint through her rashness. He knew that she had magic, knew that she was powerfully equipped to defend herself. There was no other explanation for her holding back, for her to take all of that pain lying down.
Loki gritted his teeth as he pictured her lying on the marble once more, bloody and racked with pain. Whatever his father thought of him, his mother supported him, supported his treatment of Freya. That had to mean something.
Freya appeared, breaking his train of thought. The dress he had picked clung to her skin like beads of water, softly, fluidly. She looked so much more comfortable in it than in any of the other heavily structured ones. She looked lighter. Freer.
She didn't look at him, instead concentrating on her shoes. It was a moment before he spoke again. "Today I have a training session this morning."
She nodded without saying another word and followed him in silence through the corridors and out into the training field. Thor and the Warriors Three were already warming up, their weapons flashing dangerously in the sunlight. They were still early enough that their instructor had not yet arrived.
Loki crossed to the training house and stopped, gesturing to the opposite side door. "You can get changed in there," he told Freya. "There should be training clothes and spare armor for you to use in there."
"I didn't know that I would be training with you," Freya said, her brows furrowing. Her voice dropped in volume. "I thought that you didn't want me to appear dangerous."
"That is no reason for you not to train."
She nodded and crossed deliberately to the door to the female changing rooms. Loki watched her go, his head still as clouded as it had been since the night before.
He was brought back to reality when someone careened into him. It was Sif. Her golden hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her face sour.
"So where's your new pet?" she asked derisively. Sif and Loki had never gotten on, though she seemed much more combative towards him than normal. He ground his teeth in annoyance.
"It's so nice to see you Lady Sif," he lied. The smile came easily, and all the more so when it deepened her scowl.
"Are you still pretending to care for that silver-haired wretch? Or did the act end last night? It was very convincing, I must say."
"For a pretty girl you do say the most awful things."
Sif ignored him. "It's all very entertaining, this show that you two put on. Though I don't think the prisoner is clever enough to figure out that she's just your pawn. I think she believes you care," Sif laughed cruelly. "Wait until she learns the true nature of the Lie Smith."
Loki grit his teeth but said nothing. Sif flipped back her hair and smirked at him. He narrowed his eyes before crossing to the other changing room to don his armor.
Sif was already pacing the battle field by the time that he emerged. Loki paused for a moment, looking for Freya, but she was nowhere to be seen.