Silver and Scales
Chapter Nineteen: Falling Stars
In the Asgardian garden, surrounded by the fallen curtain of glistening vines wet with the morning dew, Loki sat against the thickest of the Willow trees. His arms were propped up on his bent knees. He wasn't clothed in his beautiful body of armor. His helmet lay beside his prim body as he stared ahead in a deadpan stare.
His thoughts raced with the events of late. Three days had passed since Thor's exile. Nothing was out of control. Everything was going to plan. Thor was not in Asgard anymore; so the line of succession had fallen to him, as was planned. Loki had intended to guide Thor's passionate warmongering into Jotunheim to cause some mischief—to make it seem apparent that Thor's arrogance and brash warrior entitlement ill-suited him for the throne. That had gone to plan, and it couldn't have gone better. Thor's banishment was not part of the scheme of things, but it still worked out for the best. While Loki's brother had always been hit-first-think-later, there was a very small chance that Thor would be able to return to Asgard if he learned to understand the way of being a king—to rule with a steady hand and contemplative mind. However, there could also be a good chance that if Thor believed that Asgard scorned him for his efforts—that if Frigga didn't want him to return—Thor would have no reason to return, nor to try to attempt to come back to his home.
Loki tapped his fingers against his knees, thinking.
Jotunheim—Laufey—would want to wage war on Odin. The realms have had a long-standing truce, but Thor had unnerved quite a few people on that frozen planet. It would be futile to calm those waters, especially after Odin proclaimed that the ancient war would begin again. Laufey would want to murder Odin himself then take the Casket of Ancient Winters. If the Frost Giants wanted to take the realms but leave Asgard by its own rule, Loki would have no qualms with it.
Regarding the lineage of Frost Giants, Loki glanced at the palm of his hand silently.
Laufey had named Loki to be a deformed Frost Giant and left him to die. Odin would have done the same if Jotunheim hadn't been driven through by the Asgardian cavalry. So Loki's life was meaningless to both parties. Loki frowned at this small revelation. Frigga, though, oh dear mother of his, had always found it in her heart to treat him like the others—even better than Odin ever did.
But she wasn't his mother. She never was, even if she pretended to be—or claimed to be with strongest of convictions. Her heart was there, but the blood that ran through Loki's veins would never have the proper tint of the pure blood that ran through Thor. The Asgardians would not respect Loki unless he proved himself that he was capable of such respect. If they were saved by some menace—from the Frost Giants—it would become necessary to trust him.
Loki sighed softly.
"Under the willow tree," came the female, witty drawl, "does my lover sit so quietly; yet his mind is not so peaceful."
Loki looked up to see the vines part. The wall slowly returned to their shades of green, cascading behind Vyperia's back like shimmering icicles. Vyperia smiled at him.
"You left the bed, and I felt you leave. You look troubled."
"Troubled…" Loki repeated quietly. "Not so troubled. I merely sit here in contemplation."
"That is no comfort for me," she remarked, though visibly playful. "A god of lies and deceit who sits alone, lost in thought…" A small chuckle and then, "I should be concerned that he still has tricks up his sleeve."
"Well, I'm not always up to mischief," Loki replied, looking up from his seated position at the beautiful goddess.
"Oh no?" she said sarcastically. "A thousand years later, and you still try to persuade me with that line?" Vyperia strode toward him. "This time, I come with purpose."
"Ooh," Loki uttered, interested. He rose to his feet. "Aside from tending to the waters, the gardens, and the flowers that are strewn about the idle path here, you would find some grand purpose here where there is little to no pleasure.
"It's obvious that you were searching for me." He gave her a cool, collected, charming smile. "What is it?"
"I want you to teach me how to fight."
"Come again?"
"You made a good point," Vyperia clarified, "back in the castle after Lady Sif and her friends left us."
"Mm, did I?"
"About me," she added clearly. "I am a proficient archer, and I have full control over my powers. My abilities are thwarted in close combat," she explained.
Loki's cocky smile slighted as she admitted her fatal weakness in her warrior's design.
"My powers can only take me so far," Vyperia continued shamelessly. "I can take out several soldiers from several feet away with little effort, but I am at risk when I am cornered. That is my weakness. If it weren't for you," she said with a smile, "or for anybody else for that matter, I'd have died in Jotunheim."
"They are mere Frost Giants," Loki remarked.
"They were stronger than me," Vyperia said calmly. "They hit harder than I do, and I have never been one for strength. All my powers—all my abilities—they rely on agility and speed."
"What are you asking me to do, Vyperia?" asked Loki curiously.
"I want you to teach me how to fight in close combat."
"You know how to fight within close range, Vyperia. I've seen you spar with Lady Sif."
"She is but one person; I have no trouble fighting off one warrior." Vyperia said easily. "I am not comfortable being ambushed when I am clearly unfit to defend myself. Teach me."
Loki considered her.
"Why the sudden desire to fight and kill, my queen?" he asked her in solitary curiosity, though his voice carried a bit of weight to it. "You wanted powers; so I granted you acquired skills that no person has ever been given by an Asgardian. Now you come to me, today, and require additional skills that—if I taught you—would slaughter your enemies in droves."
Vyperia sensed his skepticism in his voice. She had always been the dormant one in the group of heroes.
"Can I explain something to you?" she asked gently.
They stood so close to each other. Loki's stature towered over hers in less than six inches; their eyes met with fractious intensity.
Their tension couldn't be cut with a knife. It seemed almost ungodly how their attention could be focused on one person so much for so long. It could be seen easily that their relationship was not hungry or unquenchable—they were more than just an erotic affair or a passionless marriage.
"I do not want to be the defenseless girl who idly waits for her king to be slaughtered by a ransacked enemy, Loki," explained Vyperia. Her tone was sharp, but resonated with affection and love. "If your safety is threatened—if your life should be in harm's way—I want to be the warrior who threw herself in front of you."
"That's a sweet sentiment, pet," he returned—his hand caressed the line of her jaw—"but it wouldn't be necessary."
He stepped away from her. Vyperia stared at him, thunderstruck.
"What—? What did I—? Loki."
Loki had started to walk away from her, passing through the sheltering vines. Vyperia chased after him, stunned by the sudden rejection. Upon hearing her voice, Loki stopped mid-step and turned on his heel to look at the sparked rage in his wife's eyes.
"If I should let this city fall from my hands from a desperate enemy, what sort of king would I be?" Loki said to her, his voice flickered with annoyance.
"I—? What?" Vyperia gasped, perplexed by his line of questioning. "What are you saying? That I would think that you are an ill-suited king who would be too weak to defend the people that he loves—Is that what you think that I said?"
He merely looked at her. He didn't blink.
His silence affirmed her conclusion.
"I was making a heartfelt dedication when I said that I would risk my life to save yours. Did all you hear was that you couldn't defend your planet by yourself?"
"You might be mistaken," said Loki quietly.
Vyperia stormed toward him.
"I never meant to offend you when I said that. I thought that you might be flattered to know that a queen would risk her life to save the man that she loves. Do you not understand that?"
Loki watched her approach him, her face hot and red with anger.
"I tell you that I want to learn how to fight. That's what I want. I don't expect the Frost Giants to come here and slay you where you stand. What sort of person would say such a thing?"
Loki stared at her. Vyperia's chest rose and fell with heavy breath.
When she could manage no more of her argument, he stepped toward her wordlessly. The spark in her eyes lit up like fireworks as she glared at him from across the garden. He returned to a few inches in front of him. Then, with a small gasp from Vyperia, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her fully on the lips.
Vyperia's hands pushed him away from her. Even when she did so, he merely smiled at her.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "I'm angry with you!"
"You are mistaken, pet."
"Don't call me that, not now…" she breathed.
Loki shook his head, smiling still.
"Vyperia, you should never vow to put your life on the line when mine is held in the balance."
She blinked.
"What?"
"We are lovers," said Loki calmly, "and is it not by the book that the man should make the sacrifices while his mate warrants showered gifts?"
"You are speaking in riddles," Vyperia stated bitterly.
"I will teach you," Loki told her, "how to defend yourself. Don't ever lay down your life to protect me. It is foolish to risk two heartbeats when one can survive." Loki took her hands into his, and placed her gathered fingers upon his chest. "I could not die a warrior's death if I knew that woman whose heart opened up to me was taken because I could not save her."
Vyperia's harsh features brightened at his sweet comment of affection. Her cheeks reddened. Then a light wave of sadness replaced her bright lure of happiness. Loki's brow furrowed when she gazed up at him, soft and morose.
"What if," asked Vyperia quietly, "the heartbeat that survived…stopped when she realized that her heart died with him?"
Loki's expression was slightly out of place, as he stared at her in what was unmistakable sincerity. The situation was quite plain.
It was like a sinful duet of Romeo and Juliet. One star would put its life on the line to save its lover that was falling from the sky; but when the shower would end, and the sun would rise…the star would slowly die from its lost mate, ripped apart by the anguish and guilt that would fill it until it burst into flames.