Part II: In the Dark
Chapter 9: Princess Lessons
"Today, you will begin with history from before the dawning of the universe," Frigga says, pacing the length of the library. Eleanor sits at a table, following the goddess with her eyes, while Loki leans against a bookshelf. "The darkness of the before and the birth of light."
"The dawning of the universe?" Eleanor asks, already overwhelmed by simply discussing her Princess Lessons. She slumps down in her chair, elbows resting heavy on the smooth wooden tabletop. She is pouting and childish but cannot seem to help it. "This is sounding like a lot of history. Like… a lot."
"Indeed. Thousands upon thousands of years. You will learn it all. Our most acclaimed historian will personally tutor you."
Wide-eyed and nauseous, Eleanor turns her pleading gaze on Loki.
"You'll find it fascinating, I'm sure, my dear," he says, unable to hide his amusement or his smirk.
"I thought you were the one getting punished here, not me," Eleanor says.
"It is not punishment, but a blessing," Loki replies. Frigga nods along like her son isn't being a sarcastic little shit.
"You'll help me," Eleanor insists. "If I'm doing this, then you're doing this."
"I will help you," he says, continuing to chuckle at her. "But you will not learn anything I do not already know."
"Oh, well aren't you special, my God of Useless History."
"It is not useless, Eleanor," Frigga lectures. "It is the foundation of Asgard, what makes us who we are, and understanding our stories, your stories, will help you understand your people."
The Queen of Asgard sure is bossy, but Loki is here in his rooms rather than trapped in the white cells and Eleanor is safe, so it looks like she will be learning thousands of years of Asgardian history.
"Why do I need to understand these people? They hate my boy—"
Loki accidently (on purpose) knocks a book off the shelves and makes a scene of picking it up, sending Eleanor a significant look.
"They hate my husband," she corrects. "They think I'm an abomination. Why does it matter if I understand them?"
Frigga sighs heavily and takes the seat across from Eleanor. Her expression is serious and Eleanor watches her, wary.
"I will not be queen forever, Eleanor," she says. "As of now the most likely candidate for my replacement is a Midgardian scientist beyond my reach. And last I heard she was refusing to so much as look upon the heir to the throne. You are my family, Eleanor, and although you will never be queen, you will be her confidante. There is no other I would rather put in charge of my legacy."
Eleanor sits straight up in her chair and her eyes get a bit misty.
"I am not blind to the prejudices of the Aesir, Eleanor, but you have a rare opportunity to change those prejudices. Real, lasting change, for you are special and they will come to see it."
A few tears fall. Eleanor wipes uselessly at her cheeks with her fingers and Loki moves to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders a reassuring weight.
"Know our ways and make them your own," continues the queen. "Know the people and in turn let them know you. And the simple act of meeting you will challenge all those preconceived notions regarding superiority and purity and other prejudices that you and I both find so repugnant."
"Oh," says Eleanor. In just a handful of words Frigga's converted her from a skeptic to a believer. "Okay. I am fully on board with the Princess Lessons. I'm not sure that I can do all that, but I'll try. I'll really try."
Frigga smiles, reaching across the table to take Eleanor's hand. "You are a good daughter."
"Oh." She is really crying now. That is the sort of statement she hasn't heard since Harrison died. "Okay."
Eleanor wipes her eyes on the skirt of her dress and gets it together, resolved to act like a motherfucking princess.
"So thousands of years of history," Eleanor says, voice strong and eyes free of tears. Loki stops touching her to take up his pacing. "What else?"
Frigga stands again, ticking off various lessons on her fingers.
Etiquette. Sewing. Fighting. Music. Half of that Eleanor is pretty stoked for and she thinks she'll be able to handle the rest. Despite all that, it seems her main goal is to meet and charm the Asgardian elite.
"But first." Frigga leaves Loki's library and Eleanor gets to her feet, peeking around the corner to see her fake mother-in-law open the doors to the hall. A few words are exchanged and a plainly dressed, beautiful woman comes to stand in their rooms. Frigga shuts the door behind them and gestures for Loki and Eleanor to come closer.
This Aesir is tall and willowy, but something about her stricken expression makes her look young.
"This is Neela," Frigga says. "Neela, may I present Prince Loki and Princess Eleanor. You will be delivering their meals and assisting Eleanor in all matters of maintaining her appearance."
"My prince," says Neela, bowing at Loki. "My princess." Eleanor receives the next bow and has never felt more uncomfortable in her life.
Loki nods and immediately loses interest, wandering off to the balcony. Eleanor gapes, loathing this princess gig more with each passing moment.
"Hi, Neela," she says. "You can call me Eleanor."
Neela, if possible, looks even more terrified in response to this statement.
"You are dismissed for now, Neela," Frigga murmurs. "You are to return with the evening meal. Thank you."
Neela bows to both Frigga and Eleanor before sprinting out of the rooms.
"She will not call you Eleanor," says Frigga the moment the door closes. "Princess Lesson the First. Do not force the servants to call you by your given name. It will make them horribly uncomfortable."
"Isn't this the sort of thing I am supposed to be changing?" Eleanor asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
"There is no need to dismantle all of Asgardian societal norms on your first day, Eleanor," Frigga gently chastises. "She will refer to you as Princess. Perhaps, one day, if you become quite close, she will refer to you as Princess Eleanor."
Eleanor groans, burying her face in her hands. "This is going to be so fucking weird."
"Princess Lesson the Second. Such language is never to be used. Now off to your tutor. Your attire is acceptable, but do allow Neela to fix your hair tomorrow."
Eleanor does not allow Neela to fix her hair the following morning. Eleanor will give the princess gig all she's got, but the hair stays as one little act of individuality and rebellion. A messy blonde testament to her Midgardian roots.
Loki leans against the railing of the balcony and sips his tea. It is a Midgardian blend and one of the only things he truly grew to appreciate during his time there. Tea and ice cream are the most brilliant of mortal inventions.
Although steam showers and university libraries also make the list.
He does not miss their life on Midgard, just the freedom he enjoyed there, but he now inhales deeply, enjoying that subtle and indescribable scent so unique to the Realm Eternal.
The morning is quiet and Loki takes the moment to rejoice in the view he's known intimately since his youth, free of any guilt or resentment or bitterness. He ignores unpleasant memories and his festering anger towards the Allfather.
For a few quiescent minutes he is no prisoner as he simply allows the stunning landscape before him to provide comfort. He looks from the gardens and the courtyard below his balcony to the glittering waterway that meanders through ivy-covered stone structures. The rainbow bridge and the Bifrost pavilion with space beyond are just visible to his left and jagged peaks dominate the right. Blue, cloudless sky fades to black, speckled with stars above him.
Loki drinks his tea and he is content.
A knock on their door threatens his inner peace, but when his mother enters, pushing a cart with their breakfast, his good mood stays. Moving through gauzy curtains, Loki joins the queen at the table.
They talk quietly about nothing of particular import and Loki makes his mother tea. The Midgardian brew delights her and although she had similar drinks centuries ago, she forgot how much she enjoys the heat and taste.
The day gets a bit brighter and Loki can feel the energy of people up and starting the day's work: servants in the garden, fisher folk out on the water, royal advisers moving about the palace.
Eleanor is conspicuously absent from this morning activity.
"Where is your wife, Loki?" Frigga asks, cradling her mug. "It is not like her to sleep so late. And her first music lessons are in a few hours' time. I thought her excitement would have her up and about much earlier than now."
Loki quite agrees. "I shall check on her."
Their bedroom is dark, thick drapes pulled over the archways barely fluttering in the morning breeze. Not even an ember glows in the fireplace.
"Shut the door. It's too bright out there."
Puzzled by his wife's shaky demand, Loki does as she says. As his eyes adjust to the darkness he crawls back into bed, feeling around for his wife until he is under the thin blanket to face her.
"Mother is here," Loki says. "Would you care to join us for breakfast?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
He blinks, just able to make out the shape of her lips and her shining eyes.
"No?" he asks again, bemused.
"I'm staying here all day."
"But you begin music lessons in a few hours."
"I don't feel good. I'm sick."
"You do not get sick."
"Just because you have not seen me sick does not mean I don't get sick."
Loki snaps his fingers and the drapes fly open. Sunlight streams in and Eleanor hisses.
"You are not sick," Loki declares after thoroughly examining her face in the light of day for a few moments.
"Fine. I'm not sick but I'm not going to music lessons either. I'll do the rest of the fucking princess gig, but not the music."
Loki is beyond confused. Processing his wife's odd behavior, he once more exits the bedroom.
"Mother," he says. "Perhaps you could return just before Eleanor's lessons? She is rather tired this morning."
"Of course." Frigga looks concerned as she departs.
Loki goes back to Eleanor, approaching her with great caution. She's pulled the blanket up over her head. He makes a halfhearted attempt to wrangle the thing away from her, but then lets her win. Instead, he joins her again.
Once under the blanket, he kisses her a bit until she relaxes slightly.
"What are we doing under the blanket?" he asks.
"Hiding."
"Ah. What from?"
"Music lessons."
In this moment Loki questions everything he thought he knew about Eleanor Tate.
"This is reasonable. Music lessons are notoriously dangerous. They are most assuredly out to get you."
"You're teasing me."
Loki cracks a smile. "Just a bit."
Eleanor rolls her eyes and wiggles closer, kissing him once more. Loki allows this, letting Eleanor work out whatever it is she is grappling with on his mouth and enjoying it immensely. When she pushes at his shoulder, attempting to mount him, Loki ends the little distraction. He pulls away and raises a questioning eyebrow.
"Fine! I don't want to go, okay?" she says.
"Yes, I gathered as much."
She huffs, struggling to pull the blanket from their heads. When she frees them, Eleanor once more hisses at the light.
"You must understand my confusion. Only three weeks past, you agreed to these lessons of music with enthusiasm. What has changed since we first arrived here?" he asks.
Eleanor sits up and he sits up also.
"I was excited before I remembered that I'm only good at the music stuff on Midgard."
He blinks at her. "Pardon?"
"My talent isn't because of me. I only seem special on Midgard because there are no Asgardians, singing better than I sing. Here, voices like mine must be a dime a dozen."
It takes a few beats of silence but Loki finally understands. Laughter is obviously the wrong reaction, but the guffaw leaves his chest unbidden.
"Dude! Are you really laughing at me?"
"Just a bit."
Eleanor glares as no one has ever glared before. Loki reins in his amusement because Eleanor is having some sort of crisis of confidence, as ridiculous as it might be. Not once has she expressed doubt in her talent as a musician and Loki decides that such doubts will never plague her again.
"The notion that your talent could be matched on any realm is absurd. I apologize for my inappropriate laughter," Loki says.
Eleanor narrows her eyes. "Explain."
"Your voice has no equal, Eleanor."
"You're just saying that to get in my pants."
Loki laughs. "I need no flattery to get in your pants."
"Good point."
"Your voice is an unprecedented delight on any realm. Perhaps Bragi's tone is comparable, but he lacks heart. You, my love, are all heart, and I hear it in every note you sing, every instrument you play. Even Bragi could not master the harp in a week's time, as you did."
"I didn't master it. Just figured out the basics."
"False modesty is strange on you, Eleanor. And your talent is your own."
"Really?" she asks, skeptical still.
"Would I lie?"
"I don't know, oh God of Lies, would you?" Eleanor smiles and it feels like a great victory.
"Even I am not that good."
Eleanor braids a chunk of wild, blond hair and works her bottom lip between two teeth. "You think I should go to the music lessons," she says.
"I do. If anything, Asgardian music will disappoint you. It lacks passion. And variety. The Aesir have a fixation on horned instruments and I know these are far from your preference," Loki says.
"Only because I can't play a trumpet and sing at the same time." Eleanor leans into his side and Loki smiles softly.
"All the songs are literal," he continues, wanting to set clear expectations. "There is little metaphor or descriptive language. Nearly every song that includes lyrics is a factual recitation of past victories or chants to accompany drinking."
He should have confessed this sooner, but he feared that if Eleanor knew the lack of interesting Asgardian music she would refuse to move here with him.
"It will be you that comes to teach the Aesir of music, Eleanor, not the other way round," he says.
"Okay," she replies, hopping out of bed. He is coming to truly admire her decisiveness. "I'll go. But if I embarrass myself you owe me five orgasms."
"Done."
Eleanor embarrasses herself.
Although she stuns all with her divine voice and quick study, she somehow falls into the bell of an excessively large horn. It takes near fifteen minutes to remove her.
She accuses Loki of orchestrating the whole ordeal but he just smiles and goes about the business of fulfilling his end of the bargain.
In one month's time Eleanor can flawlessly play every sort of Asgardian horn. She masters the lute and the harpsichord. She teaches the guitar to all manner of interested parties.
"He's driving me crazy, Thor!" Eleanor says with a little too much volume given they are surrounded by Asgardians. The training ground seems particularly crowded today.
"I do not see how your marital issues are any of my concern," replies the golden god. "And who is this?"
Eleanor glances over her shoulder at the very nervous, very young guard, loitering behind her as always.
"Ido," she says.
"Who is this Ido?" demands Thor.
"He's the guard Loki badgered into following me around when I leave the safety of the palace. Be nice. He is shy."
"He is an Einherjar!"
"He is a shy Einherjar." She waves at Ido, making the poor guy shuffle his feet in discomfort. "And can we please focus on Loki, Thor? And the fact that he's driving me crazy."
"Again, I refuse to focus on your marital issues." He sticks his giant head in a giant barrel of water. When he emerges he whips his hair back, soaking the front of Eleanor's simple green gown.
"We're not having marital issues, you oaf," she says as he dries his face on a towel. "We're great. We're awesome. We're super in love, but he is so freaking annoying."
Thor chuckles.
"Hey! Don't you mock me. At least I'm in a successful relationship," she replies.
"What do you mean?" Thor asks, no longer amused.
"I don't think you want to know," she says, stealing his towel to dry her dress.
"I do indeed want to know, Eleanor."
"Your last conversation with Jane was an abysmal failure," she says, making him frown. "And don't even get me started on Sif."
"What about Sif?"
"You really don't know?"
Thor blinks.
"Okay, whatever. The point is, your brother is bored. Have you ever been around bored Loki? It's horrifying."
Thor gets serious fast, giant ham hands gripping her shoulders. He intently studies her, getting his huge face far too close to her face.
"Tell me true, sister," Thor says. "Has he harmed you? Caused you any hurts, physical or otherwise?"
"What? No," she says, slapping his hands away. He doesn't seem to notice.
"I mean no offense," Thor says. "It is not an absurd question given his history."
"It's been years and he was a bit brainwashed at the time," she says. "This is why you two fight so much. You tend to forget that he's changed. And he can't forget every little way you ever hurt him."
Thor sighs. "He has not hurt you?"
With a frustrated growl, she wiggles away from him.
"No, he's annoying me!" she says. "He is messing with my instruments. I can't catch him at it, but he gets them just a tiny bit out of tune, enough for me to notice but not so much that he's obvious. He moves all my stuff so I can't find anything. Everything I touch turns into snakes or ladybugs or flowers. All my clothes are the exact same shade of green. He's totally insatiable! Which is great. Was great. Is great. Was great. He's great, like really crazy great, but I'm tired, Thor. I need sleep. He naps all day and touches me all night and I think the lack of sleep is making me hysterical!"
"On that point we agree," mutters Thor.
"Save me from your annoying brother, the God of Sex!"
She is making a scene. Warriors gape at her while Thor actually blushes.
"Come," he says, tugging on her elbow. "This is no place for a discussion such as this."
"Just give him a purpose. A task. An activity. Because he's bored and a bored Loki is a dangerous Loki."
"Brother!" The booming voice is an extremely unpleasant way to wake up and Eleanor jerks against Loki. "Sister! Eleanor!"
Her still-traumatized god sits up, eyes wild and frightened. A wicked dagger appears in his hand. Eleanor clings to his side.
"It's just Thor," she murmurs, rubbing his back. "It's just your brother. We're safe."
His breathing settles and he nods. The knife disappears. They lie back down.
"Why is he here?" Loki mutters, rolling on top of her. She gives him a sleepy smile as he pushes her hair off her forehead.
"We should get up," she says. "We have a guest."
"I am up." Loki grinds against her, proving the truth in his words.
"Loki." She tries to scold him but his name comes out a breathless sigh. As she shifts she is reminded of her soreness.
"Eleanor."
"Loki," she says, wincing and pushing on his shoulder. "Thor is here."
He kisses her neck.
"I mean it!" she says. "You wore me out yesterday and Thor is here."
"Brother! Sister!" Thor yells, banging on their bedroom door now. "Arise!"
"Why does he insist on calling you that?" Loki mutters, rolling off her. As he pouts Eleanor kisses his pale shoulder.
"Because you are his brother and he thinks we are married."
"We are married," Loki snaps.
The door is thrown open. Eleanor shrieks and pulls the blankets over her head, hiding her nudity.
"Thor, you fool!" Loki shouts, hands fluttering around Eleanor to make sure there are no naked bits visible to his big brother.
"Good morning!" replies Thor.
"Get out," says Loki.
"He'll slay you where you stand!" Eleanor imitates Loki, her voice muffled from under the blankets.
"Eleanor, upon dressing, I must request you alter your command that keeps Loki contained in these rooms to include the courtyard below us," Thor says.
Eleanor grins and sits up, securing the blanket under her armpits to keep herself covered.
"Why?" Loki hisses, eyes narrowed and suspicious.
Thor shuffles, glancing at Eleanor. The Crown Prince really doesn't have a poker face. He could learn a thing or two from Loki. How he plans to rule Asgard with the whole I-cannot-tell-a-lie thing he's got going on is beyond Eleanor.
She glares at Thor now, who stutters out nonsense.
"What?" Loki says, turning to scowl at Eleanor now. "Have you two been conspiring behind my back?"
Oh damn. He's pissed.
"Brother, you misunderstand," Thor says.
"Yes," replies Eleanor. "I went to Thor. There has been conspiring."
Loki snarls. It's not all that scary with his hair adorably mussed.
"You, my God of Mischief, have been fucking with my instruments," she says with a glare of her own. As she pokes him in the chest, punctuating her words. Loki's expression changes from pissed to baffled to gleeful to innocent.
"I know not what you mean," he replies, studying his fingernails.
"I'll put my guitar down for ten minutes and you'll tweak it just enough to annoy me. Don't even try to deny it. I know."
Loki chuckles and kisses her soundly. Thor clears his throat and Eleanor forgets what they were just discussing.
"My wife," he says, making her heartbeat get a bit wonky. "Ever perceptive."
"Eleanor," Thor says, clearing his throat again. "The courtyard?"
"Why?" demands Loki, angry and suspicious again.
"I, well, you see." Thor is stuttering. It makes Eleanor smile. "I thought perhaps we could spar. As we once did."
Loki raises an eyebrow and stays quiet.
"No weapons, of course," says Thor.
"Of course," says Loki, mocking his brother.
"That's perfect," Eleanor says, tugging on Loki's arm. "You can burn off all that energy you spend pranking me."
"I fear I allowed myself to fall grotesquely out of fighting condition in recent years. You would be bored to tears, no doubt," Loki replies.
"What? No. You're doing it." Eleanor turns to Thor. "He's doing it."
"I though you would like to return to optimal physical condition to best protect Eleanor," Thor says. "What with these alleged dangers looming."
Loki smirks, recognizing Thor's blatant manipulation.
"When do we start?" asks Loki.
"What is this?"
Eleanor sits on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, fiddling with her banjo as she watches the brothers duel in the distance. At Sif's question, Eleanor jumps slightly.
"Does no one knock anymore?" mutters Eleanor, abandoning the instrument in her lap to clutch at her rapidly beating heart.
"Pardon?" The warrior takes a seat next to Eleanor.
"This is a banjo." She plucks out a few infamous chords of Dueling Banjos. Unsurprisingly, Sif does not get the joke.
"How peculiar," Sif says, joining Eleanor on the bench.
Eleanor hums in acknowledgement, switching to clawhammer, something more old time than bluegrass. For long, peaceful moments they do not talk.
"How did this happen?" Sif asks, nodding towards the fighting brothers. Loki is quick and graceful while Thor is all power. Watching makes Eleanor nervous.
"This is my doing," Eleanor says.
"Why?"
Eleanor shrugs, seeing no reason to fill in the warrior on her little domestic drama. Sif huffs, obviously pissed.
"You don't like me," Eleanor observes.
"I would not go so far as that, Princess."
"Oh, Jesus, do not call me that."
"Jesus?" Sif asks, blinking. "What does he have to do with my opinion of you?"
Eleanor sighs and really misses her friends back on Midgard. She takes a deep breath and tries again.
"So is it my friendship with Jane Foster or my relationship with Loki?" Eleanor asks, putting the banjo down as Loki narrowly dodges Thor's fist.
"On numerous occasions he attempted to kill Thor," she finally replies. "This is unforgivable, yet you wed him."
"He's a flawed individual," Eleanor agrees. "But he is trying. And he loves Thor."
"I do not think him capable of such a thing."
Eleanor sighs. "Do you have any girlfriends, Sif?"
"Pardon?"
"Friends who—"
"I have friends!"
"— are women."
"Oh," says the warrior. "I'm rather fond of my maid. And I believe the Queen holds me in high regard."
Eleanor watches Sif watch the boys. "I recently discovered how great it is to have girlfriends," Eleanor says. "I have two. And my sister. I miss them. Letter writing is no replacement for girl talk."
Sif nods.
"We could be friends," Eleanor says, the eagerness in her own tone is embarrassing.
"Could we?" Sif asks, turning to stare at Eleanor.
They are opposites in every obvious way. Sif is strong, her body a honed war machine. She is tall, dark, and ripped. Eleanor shamelessly covets her curves. The warrior doesn't seem to have much of a sense of humor and she is intense in a way that Eleanor so is not but Eleanor recognizes a loneliness in the Lady Sif that she is very familiar with.
"Sure," Eleanor replies. "Why not?"
"I am not particularly fond of your husband."
"That is the general consensus around here," Eleanor mutters. "We just won't talk about him."
"And what exactly shall we talk about?" Sif asks.
"You could tell me how you became such a bad ass fighting machine," Eleanor says.
Asgardians, for all their beauty and wealth, are a sexist, racist, classist lot. There seems to be virtually no poverty here, even beyond the opulent confines of the palace. Their access to resources and ancient culture has led to the kind of superiority that has Asgard condemning Jotunheim as evil and Midgard as stupid. The place is rife with misogyny and racial superiority, but here is Sif, most respected of warriors.
Frigga talks about Eleanor changing things, but Sif is actually doing something. Has been for a long time.
"Bad ass?" Sif asks. Glaring at Eleanor, she crosses her arms over her chest. "Is this a bizarre Midgardian insult?"
"No, it's a compliment. It's good."
"Bad means good?"
Eleanor laughs. "It means tough. Strong. Awesome."
"You find me awesome?"
"Um, yeah."
Sif's reply is cut off by Thor's booming laugh, but she smiles slightly and Eleanor feels like they have made some progress. The boys approach and Eleanor is struck with that familiar jolt of attraction when she meets Loki's gaze. She forgets that he's been using sex as a distraction from his boredom and frustration for the last few weeks and she just wants.
It's a little bit like all her organs have detached. They float around, anticipating his touch. Butterflies, she thinks they're called.
There is a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. Thor speaks to him and he smiles slightly in response, but his eyes never leave Eleanor.
"Ladies," Thor says as they stop in front of the bench. Sif leaps to her feet but Eleanor stays seated with the banjo in her lap. It is difficult to move her legs when Loki is looking at her that way, with such intense lust and promise. "You are a pleasant sight after such vigorous activities. How fare you on this day, Sif?"
"Very well. Princess Eleanor was just explaining an odd Midgardian colloquialism."
With half an ear, Eleanor listens to Sif telling Thor that bad can be good. Loki smirks down at her, mouthing "princess." Eleanor scowls, hating her fake new title more than seems rational. Sif will have to cut that shit out if they have any chance of being friends.
"Were you impressed with your husband's skill, Eleanor?" Thor asks.
"Usually," Eleanor replies, thinking of Loki's tongue. With great reluctance she looks at Thor as she speaks. "What skill are we talking about here?"
Loki chuckles and Eleanor grins.
"Why, his skill in hand to hand combat, of course," Thor says, blinking in confusion.
"I don't know," Eleanor replies with a shrug. "I couldn't really watch."
The admission is embarrassing but when she glances at Loki he is smiling softly. He understands.
"Why not, Sister?"
"It makes me nervous. Someone could get hurt."
Sif and Thor laugh.
"And we are to start with your combat training on the morrow," says Sif. "Tell me, Princess, will you be able to assault even the practice dummy? Or will this offend your Midgardian sensibilities also?"
Sif's gentle teasing makes Eleanor smile. "I might not be much of a fighter, turns out," she says. "Guess we'll see tomorrow."
"Fortunately for you, your husband is quite skilled, even after years with no practice," Thor says.
Loki frowns.
"He did a lot of jogging on Midgard," Eleanor says.
"Jogging?" Sif asks. "What is this jogging?"
"Running," Eleanor replies, smiling slightly. "To stay active. To get in shape."
"Where do you run?" asks Sif.
"Nowhere in particular," Eleanor replies.
"But why—"
"Enough!" Loki snaps as Thor and Sif attempt to ask more questions. The God of Sex is reaching for Eleanor and she recognizes the look on his face, all predatory and licentious.
"The banjo!" she squeaks, anticipating his next move. "Watch the banjo."
In a series of smooth, practiced movements, Loki confiscates her instrument and lifts her easily from her seat on the bench. As he tosses her over his shoulder she squeaks and giggles. "You brute!"
"My prince," Loki says, bowing deeply to Thor. Eleanor is along for the ride and the shift in position makes her giggle again. "Sif. You must excuse us. We have a most pressing engagement."
"Yeah, we do," Eleanor says, speaking to his lower back. She slaps his ass, clothed in soft leather pants, and Loki holds her a little tighter. Loki gives the gaping warrior and prince a final salute using the banjo before turning on his heel and marching towards the stairs.
"Bye, guys!" Eleanor waves, grinning wildly. "This is most definitely in violation of some Princess Lesson."
Loki laughs and Eleanor could live off the sound of it.
"Do you require assistance?" Sif says, looming over Eleanor in all her naked warrior glory.
The bath houses attached to the training grounds are pretty fucking bomb and Eleanor had no problem disposing of all those layers of leather and metal foisted upon her when she showed up this morning, but now that her battered body has been languishing in the heated water, Eleanor really does doubt her ability to get out on her own.
"Five more minutes?" Eleanor begs. "Please, Sif. This feels so divine."
"It is customary to spend no more than twenty minutes in the pools," Sif says, crossing her arms over her naked chest. "You have soaked for near an hour."
"Please?"
"No. I have far more pressing matters to deal with than the whims of the half mortal wife of the Dark Prince. Arise now, Princess, or I will be forced to remove you myself."
Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Don't fucking call me Princess, Xena."
"I will not stay in this bathhouse another moment. I care not if you drown."
"Dude, I can swim," Eleanor says, paddling over to the stairs in demonstration. She gets her feet on the bottom step but the climb seems impossible.
"Do you require assistance?" Sif snaps again.
Gritting her teeth, Eleanor somehow manages to stand. Her muscles scream in protest and she stands still on the bottom step for a full thirty seconds before she can summon the energy to take the step.
Asgardians take their combat training very seriously and Sif does not adequately understand the meaning of the word beginner.
Somehow Eleanor braves all four steps without passing out from the pain. It's a great success.
Sif makes a disgusted sound and tosses Eleanor a fluffy robe. It catches her in the face because Eleanor couldn't lift her arms quick enough to grab it with her hands. The thing dwarfs her and for this Eleanor's glad. It means that she can fully wrap it around her whole body without having to lift her arms through the sleeves.
"You are truly so sore?" Sif asks, skeptical.
"I'm fine," Eleanor says, waddling towards the changing rooms.
"If the training was too difficult, you could have said."
Eleanor thought about complaining a lot over these last few hours, but pride kept her silent.
"I'm just out of practice with, you know, wielding heavy weaponry," she says, gritting her teeth again.
"Practice? You claimed no experience with this sort of combat training," Sif replies, glaring.
"You are very literal, aren't you, Sif?"
The warrior says nothing as she pulls on another armored outfit that is much shinier than the one she donned for training Eleanor.
Three hours of running around on red clay with a fucking wooden sword and a goddamn shield has made Eleanor feel like she has the body of a very old person. Everything aches, even the places between her fingers. Fisting her hands hurt after lugging the weaponry, and if Eleanor can't lift her guitar by tomorrow she's going to be pissed.
Sif leaves quickly, apparently satisfied that Eleanor will not be stupid enough to get herself killed in the changing room. The lady warrior might have been overly optimistic with Eleanor's current state.
It takes her an embarrassingly long time to get her dress over her head. Making her way back to Loki is an equally arduous affair and Eleanor feels bad for the skinny, stern faced guard that accompanies her because it takes so long.
When she pushes through the door to her new home Eleanor does not even look around for her fake husband, heading straight for the nearest lounge and lowering herself as gently as possible. She ends up face down in the cushions.
"Eleanor?"
She groans something in response.
"Eleanor!" Loki is panicking and crouched at her side, hands fluttering around as he searches for injury. "Are you hurt? What happened?"
"You Asgardians take your training far too seriously," she mutters, turning her head to look at him. "I'm sore everywhere."
Loki smirks. "Everywhere?"
"My ears might be okay. I can't tell. I'm one giant bruise."
"What did Sif have you doing?" Loki demands, taking her hand. After the heat of the baths, the chill of his skin is refreshing.
"First there was stretching. And then there were pull-ups and lunges and all that horrible stuff Sif called a warm up. Then there was a really heavy shield and wooden sword that Sif said were actually made for children. Then there was whacking away at a practice dummy and Sif yelling at me."
"This all sounds rather standard," Loki says, frowning. "But this level of pain is unacceptable."
"Someone needs to clue in Sif on the meanings of beginner and half mortal. Fuck, I'm supposed to be meeting a shit ton of Frigga's fancy noble friends for lunch," Eleanor says, groaning into the cushions.
"Are you even capable of sitting up?"
It takes a moment, but Eleanor sits up.
"Ta da," she says, flashing him a weak smile. She's met with enraged Loki, the expression on his face so dark that Eleanor actually flinches away. His beautiful features are twisted with rage and it reminds Eleanor of before, of the bunker. "What? Honey, you're freaking me out. What is it?"
"Your eye," he growls out.
"Oh," Eleanor says, absently touching the dark bruise beneath her left eye. The soreness in the rest of her body distracted her from the black eye, but she winces as she touches it. It is definitely bigger and much more tender than the last time she checked it out. "Yeah. Ouch."
"I will end her for this. She will burn." The quiet, resolved voice has always been more intimating than yelling when it comes from Loki, and now is no exception. "If it is the last thing I accomplish, I will take her life in the most barbarous way imaginable."
"Whoa," Eleanor says, latching onto his shoulders to keep him kneeling at her feet. "Who are you going to kill?"
"Sif will die."
Eleanor stares at him in confusion for a moment before she gets it. "Oh! No, sweetheart. Sif didn't do this to me. I smacked myself in the face with my own shield pretty much the moment we started training. It's not Sif's fault."
Loki relaxes fractionally.
"And this supremely over-protective thing you do is nice sometimes, but you've got to tone down the homicidal rage, okay?"
"You hit yourself in the face with your own shield before training even began?" he asks, smirking now.
Eleanor nods, feeling totally ridiculous. The whole point of this traumatic move to Asgard was to keep her safe and she wants to do well in this combat training, ensuring that she is capable of protecting herself.
It might not be the best of ideas.
"Give it time, my love," he murmurs, touching her eye. The sensation is soothing and Eleanor groans. "It is my hope that you improve. Feel better?"
Eleanor hums something and leans back against the couch.
"Sif should have taken you to a healer," Loki grumbles. "A healer would be quicker."
"You are perfect."
"That is an exaggeration. But I will have you fixed up enough to make luncheon with my mother's minions less painful."
"Loki, babe," she says with a laugh. "Nothing is going to make that any less painful."
"Do not call me babe."
"Sorry I'm late," Eleanor says, bursting onto the terrace where Frigga is already seated with a collection of perfectly posed noble women. Even lounging around a table heavily laden with beautifully presented food, they seem big to Eleanor, taller and majestic. They are the same women from the sewing room and after these last few weeks Eleanor should be comfortable around them, but she most certainly is not.
"It is no bother, my dear," says the Queen. "Come, you shall sit at my side."
"I really am sorry," Eleanor says, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"My dear Princess," says Zara, Frigga's right hand buddy. "Whatever did your husband do to you?"
"Huh?" Eleanor says, feeling stupid, confused, and slovenly. Most recently Loki took the edge off her soreness and made her eye look like it happened a week ago rather than a couple hours ago.
"Has he hit you?"
Eleanor shares a look with Frigga. The queen appears equally offended by the inquiry, but she leans back in her seat, allowing Eleanor to deal with the unpleasant situation.
Her first instinct is to rage. She'd like to scream at Zara and throw around some food for good measure before storming out, but that sort of angry behavior hardly seems appropriate for a princess.
"Loki?" she says instead with an inane giggle. "Hit me?" She laughs and beams. She feels ridiculous, but the tension drains from the table. "No, he would never. This is all my doing, I'm afraid."
"You really should not go around hitting yourself, darling," says Frigga, chuckling and shaking her head.
"It was accidental, in fact," Eleanor says, continuing to smile. "I trained with Sif this morning and found the shield to be rather unwieldy."
She then progresses to give a lively demonstration on the unwieldiness of shields that has all the ladies tittering in a matter of moments.
The conversation shifts away from Eleanor and she relaxes. Under the table Frigga squeezes her hand.
1st beta: Heather
Final beta: Erica
GO BRONCOS! That is all.