NOTE: Hey guys! So... sorry for the delay but exams + chronic writer's block isn't exactly the formula for a happy fic writer! Also this chapter isn't as long as I would've liked but c'est la vie. Anyways hope you guys enjoy :D
Loki was back in his room, reclining against the icy headrest of the four poster bed. It was not yet dawn; Jotunheim nights were dark and lingering, and the sun had not yet appeared to soften the horizon.
Despite the almost absolute darkness, Loki could not sleep. His head swam with thoughts of Elsa. He found it remarkable that someone so delicate and graceful could wield a power so deadly. It was unsurprising, really, that Odin had feared the danger she posed to Midgardians, considering even Loki, a Jotun by birth, had been affected by her snowstorm. But it didn't excuse the abhorrent way Odin had treated her.
Loki's teeth ground together just thinking about it. His fists clenched so hard that his fingernails threatened to draw blood from his palms. His emotions still raged whenever he thought of the Allfather, the man who had taken him from his home and raised him as his own, telling him over and over that he was strong and worthy, when in truth he was nothing more than another stolen relic.
All his life Loki had been lied to and given false hopes about his chances of being crowned king, but even after he discovered the truth he had remained loyal. He had tried to protect the sanctity of Asgard, and he had been exiled for it; cast into an abyss for doing what was right. Just like Elsa. He had not thought he could be angrier at Odin until Elsa had imparted to him her own tale of woe.
But though he tried to remain angry, Loki's countenance immediately softened as thoughts of her entered his plagued mind. He was fascinated by her. She seemed so calm and steady on the surface – and so she should, for she had had a lifetime of solitude to perfect her apparent apathy – but Loki could see the battles she fought within. He couldn't put his finger on why, exactly, but he felt that he knew Elsa, though he had never seen her prior to the previous day.
Loki was too stubborn, too proud, to call it an attraction. Attraction was, in his mind, a weakness. It made people dependent on something as fickle as another person, and drove them to do foolish things. Even so, Loki could not pull his thoughts away from Elsa. Her enigmatic stare had become the unmoving centrepiece of his tumultuous mind.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, gasping as a sudden burst of pain lanced through his shoulder, just where the shard from the Rainbow Bridge had bitten his flesh.
Gods, he cursed silently. I thought that had healed.
He gingerly pulled his shirt over his head to inspect the wound, but there wasn't one. The skin had knitted itself back together as it should have, leaving nothing but a jagged pink line that had already faded considerably. Loki frowned. It had felt as though the shard was still in him.
Then he grunted. It must have broken off inside me, he thought irritably. He would have to deal with that, but not now; he was weary and would likely just cause himself unnecessary pain.
His eyes drifted to the gold cuff that circled his upper arm, its sunny opulence a harsh yet pleasant contrast to his pale skin. It had been a gift from Frigga, the woman who, even after the truth of his lineage became known to him, he had no problem calling 'mother'. The cuff had a small stone set into it, clear as glacial water, though it was streaked with blue and white. He didn't know what the stone was, or why his mother had given it to him, but he had cherished it then, and he cherished it still. He was never without it.
Loki was half-conscious of the temperature in the room dropping, his breath puffing out in larger plumes into the newly frigid air. He paid little heed to it, his Jotun roots allowing him to carry on unfazed by the change.
He looked up from his scrutiny of his shoulder, however, at the sound of the wind howling outside his shuttered window. Strong gusts whistled through the many chasms and valleys of the mountains at such speeds that it sounded like someone screaming far off in the distance. The shutters began to rattle with startling ferocity before the pin holding them closed snapped with a twang and dropped to the floor. Wind and snow burst through the yawning gap, throwing the shutters back with such force that they ricocheted off the walls and shattered as well.
Loki stood up and moved forward, angling his body to battle against the angry gale and reach the window. He touched his hand to the window frame and a thick layer of ice formed across the fissure, barring the entrance of the storm. He turned his hand before his face, looking somewhat appreciative. He may not like the truth of his lineage, but the ice that ran in his veins was certainly an advantage. Not to mention that it came to him far more naturally than any of his other magic and so wasn't nearly as taxing to his energy reserves.
Loki paused, panting slightly, and ran his hand through his tangled hair. Then suddenly he froze, tilting his head to the side as he tried to discern a sound. In the relative silence, he realised that what he had thought was just the wind actually was someone screaming. His heart seemed to plummet into his stomach.
Without stopping to think or consider why his reaction had been so violent, Loki bolted out the door and down the corridor, following the sounds of Elsa's screams. Each wail cut through the darkness like a dagger on canvas, and Loki winced every time one reached his ears.
He finally found the doors to Elsa's chambers, but the doors were frozen shut, at least doubled in thickness and hermetically sealed by jagged chunks of ice that ran around the edges. This ice lacked the beauty of the rest of the castle. This ice was the product of fear.
Loki slammed his fists against the doors in frustration as another scream seeped through the cold, dark night. The only intelligible thought in his mind was that he somehow had to reach Elsa. He summoned his green fire and watched impatiently as it all too slowly ate its way through the ice.
Loki dashed through as soon as there was a big enough gap, and stopped short at the sight he was met with. Elsa lay on her bed, sheets twisted around her rigid body as she writhed beneath them. Her eyes were shut and her face was contorted, brow furrowed and mouth pulled into a pained grimace. He rushed forwards, moving lithely around the protrusions of ice that jutted out of the ground. Reaching the bed, he reached out and shook her arm. Receiving no response, he called out to her.
"Elsa," he said, raising his voice to be heard above the maelstrom outside. "Elsa, wake up! Look at me! Elsa!"
Suddenly her eyes flew open, and she stared ahead, wide eyed with terror. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath catching in her throat.
"Elsa?" Loki said carefully.
She looked at Loki but only managed to hold his gaze for a moment before her face crumpled and tears welled up in her eyes. She buried her face in her hands and wept, her breaths now coming in gasps. Loki hesitated, unsure of what to do in this situation. He could not recall ever having to comfort someone as they cried; he had rarely even seen another person cry. However he knew the feeling himself, knew what it was like to have one's own body racked by grief and anger and fear. He had discovered that feeling the day he discovered his true name. Laufeyson.
Resolving himself to ease Elsa's burden in any way he could, he moved to sit beside her. He paused, half-expecting her to rebuke his advance. However she surprised him yet again by turning to him and burying her face against his chest.
Loki started, blinking rapidly, with his arms suspended above her delicate frame, unsure of what to do with them. He lowered them slowly, one wrapping around her quivering shoulders, the other cradling her head to him.
"Sshhh," he whispered. "It was just a dream. Everything's alright."
They remained like this, Elsa sobbing quietly, Loki attempting to comfort her as her fingers clenched and unclenched in the fabric of his shirt. Slowly but surely the snow that fell from the ceiling dissipated and the winds buffeting the frosty structure subsided. Eventually, all was quiet again, so that the only sound to reach their ears was that of their own breathing; Loki's deep and even, Elsa's slowing to match his, her heartbeat falling into step with his.
After a while, Elsa's fingers lay unmoving and flat against Loki's chest and he knew she had fallen asleep. He remained where he was.
After all, Loki told himself. It would be inconsiderate of me to risk waking her when she's had such an exhausting night.
But despite this seemingly austere motive, Loki was fighting a battle with himself, deep within the realms of his subconscious. He could feel something stirring in his chest as he sat absently stroking Elsa's pale hair. It was like a gentle tug somewhere inside him. He knew that it was tugging him towards Elsa, but he did not understand why; he had only met her a day ago.
So then why do I feel as if I know her? Loki thought exasperatedly, reaching up with his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
The last few weeks had utterly drained Loki, mentally, physically, but especially emotionally. The last thing he needed was a woman, of all infernal things, weaselling her way into his head. Loki had never been swayed by such sentiments before in his life, but now, when he should have been plotting his revenge upon Asgard, he could not gather his thoughts without that beautifully pale face invading his mind.
It was infuriating, and only served to strengthen his resolve that romantic attachments were a fool's nourishment. And Loki was no fool. That being said, nor was he an ungrateful being. Elsa had been a gracious host, and had trusted him in a way few people ever had – Or likely ever will again, he thought bitterly – and so he resisted the urge to push her away.
However, looking down at the soft curves of her body and the way wisps of her snowy hair fell over her peaceful face, Loki found it far more difficult than he would have liked to convince himself that pushing Elsa away was what he wanted to do.