Chapter 11: Love of the People
Eleanor is late.
Today his wife and his mother are scheduled to take lunch here in Loki's prison, but the time for their arrival passed ten minutes ago and he is alone still.
He paces, eyes fixed on the door. The meal awaits them in the library and Loki is anxious. His days are so damned boring and he needs this interruption to the tedium to prevent himself from going mad once more.
He fingers his wedding band. It is connected to Eleanor and designed to burn hot if she finds herself in mortal peril.
The ring is cool. Eleanor is fine.
Loki takes three breaths, finding a tenuous calm. He closes his eyes and searches within himself for the bond that has connected him to his wife for well over five Midgardian years.
Odin originally carved out this magic, but Loki and Eleanor reclaimed it.
Since he finally admitted to loving her, Loki has found himself able to access the bond. In times of calm and focus he can mentally reach out and touch the link, assuring himself that Eleanor is safe and his, even when she is away.
Her commands still hold and they can have no more than a few miles between them, but only Eleanor and Loki exist in the connection now. There are no longer any traces of Odin to be found in the magic he himself created.
Loki surmises that he was expelled near the time Eleanor decided to make their marriage a real one. Loki is reasonably certain that the Allfather can no longer use the bond to access Loki's so-called rehabilitation and this, of course, is a welcome, delightful change.
Now, Loki closes his eyes and finds the bond, finds Eleanor alive and well. While it once felt like an oppressive chain, shoved in his gut without his consent, the bond is now a treasured link that gently warms his chest when he is calm enough to mentally reach out and touch it.
He revels in the warmth until the door opens.
Eleanor seeks him out immediately, kissing the corner of his mouth. The touch is far too brief given that he's been alone for the entirety of the morning, and then she is slipping away to their bedroom without explanation.
"Sorry, so sorry," says his mother, kissing his cheek before settling at the table. "Philda of the Plains is in the capitol with her three dreadful daughters. Such a verbose creature. Eleanor has the patience of a saint as we were forced to endure the familiar lecture on why each daughter would make an ideal future queen."
Loki snorts and takes the seat opposite the current queen.
Long may it stay that way.
"If any of that trio were to wed Thor, Asgard would be doomed," says Loki. "Between the King and Queen there would only be the level of intelligence nearing that of a bilgesnipe."
"Loki, you know your brother is smart in his own right, even if you are the more intelligent sibling. Very few can compete with you in that regard, dear, myself included."
Loki grins. "Even so. Odin married someone far smarter than himself. As should Thor," he says, shrugging.
Frigga smiles and pours three goblets of wine. "One such as Jane Foster?"
"Thor's loss of Jane Foster just proves how stupid he truly is."
"Really, there is no need for that."
The subject of the oaf's intelligence drops as Eleanor arrives at the table, leaning over Loki to fill her plate with small sandwiches and various fruits. The sandwiches are one of countless Midgardian dishes now prepared in the kitchen at Eleanor's request.
"What are you wearing?" Loki asks, taking in Eleanor's Midgardian tights and tank top. It is rare to see her in such attire these days.
"These are my dancing clothes," Eleanor says around a mouthful of melon.
"Dancing?"
"Princess Lesson the Eight Hundredth."
"Eleanor, we stopped keeping track long ago. As you well know," says Frigga.
"Dancing?" Loki asks again.
Eleanor spins around on one foot and then shakes her hips a bit. Training with Sif has done wonders for her coordination. "Dancing."
"Oh, really?" Loki says, glaring at his mother as Eleanor takes the seat to his right. "And just who will be your partner be for said lesson?"
"You will be, Loki," says Frigga, smothering his rising jealousy. "Although in a fortnight Empress Oza of Vanaheim will arrive to discuss the rebels who have raided at will since the Bifrost was destroyed."
Loki shifts in his seat. Eleanor's hand finds his knee under the table.
"There will be a banquet, of course, in her honor, complete with traditional dance. As a Princess of Asgard, Eleanor will be expected to participate."
"Lovely," says Loki.
"You are such a talented dancer, Loki," Frigga says. "Who better to teach Eleanor? You are so graceful."
"He really is. I call this once dance of his the snake hips," Eleanor says, waggling her eyebrows.
Loki's cheeks burn slightly. "There will be no snake hips. This is not dancing as you know it, Eleanor."
"Such things might seem trivial, but a good deal of political relationship building takes place when partaking in such customs," Frigga says.
"Do you foresee Eleanor engaged in an excess of diplomacy with Vanaheim?" Loki asks.
"One never knows, my son. Now eat your wiches of sand."
"Step together. Come apart. Touch hands and turn." Frigga's instruction follows the music that plays, but Eleanor is rapidly losing focus. In the last few hours she adequately learned traditional dances that the entirety of the royal family will be expected to take part in, but this final number is getting the best of her.
Dancing to music is second only to creating music for his songbird, and now she finds these rigid steps to be dull and constraining. For the last few minutes Eleanor's taken to pinching Loki's rear whenever it is within her reach, much to her own amusement, Loki's embarrassment, and the Queen's annoyance.
"Really, Eleanor!" says Frigga when Eleanor cannot stop giggling after a nearly unsuccessful grope. "Outside these walls you are an excellent student, excelling in even your training with Sif! What has gotten into you?"
"In defense of my wife, I do have a very distracting backside, Mother."
Eleanor doubles over with laughter as Frigga looks to the stars and sighs. Her expression of resigned exasperation is familiar, always the result of Loki's mischief in his youth.
"These really are dances I should have taught you months ago, Eleanor. Knowing how to act in such formal situations is critical to your duties as a princess." Frigga is cross, but she scolds Eleanor as she scolds Thor and Loki. Frigga sees Eleanor as her own child.
The relationship between these two most important of women is endlessly pleasing to Loki.
"Okay," says his wife, straightening up. She stretches her arms above her head. "I'm sorry. This is just so boring. It's like a scene from Pride and Prejudice or something."
"Pride and Prejudice?" Frigga asks.
"A Midgardian tale featuring now outdated courtship customs," Loki explains.
"It matters not. Tell me, Eleanor, how would you dance to such a selection on Midgard?" Frigga asks.
Without speaking, Eleanor wraps herself around Loki, taking his hand in hers. He pulls her close with a hand at the small of her back and she squeezes his shoulder. They sway in place for a moment before he leads her around the room, sweeping her towards the balcony and back.
It's been years since they danced like this, not since a long ago Christmas party hosted by Tony Stark. He surprised her with this skill then, one acquired from watching Midgardian films.
Dancing delighted Eleanor then as it delights her now and she laughs as he dips her low before snapping her back up to his chest. He spins her around and runs a hand down her side. As the song finishes they go back to swaying with no space between them. The music fades and Eleanor stands on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth.
"See!" says Eleanor, turning towards Frigga. Loki drops his hands. "Isn't that way more interesting?"
"It was certainly more intimate," Frigga says, collapsing into a chair. "This is common dancing on Midgard?"
"Well, no," Eleanor confesses. "This is actually pretty old school. A lot of the dancing these days would probably make you faint."
Frigga laughs. "Perhaps in the future Asgard will be accepting of such old school Midgardian dancing, but it will not happen in a fortnight."
"I know. I'll try and focus," says Eleanor, sighing heavily.
"You will learn. But not today. How would you like to spend the remainder of your afternoon free of your lessons?" Frigga asks.
"She would like it very much," says Loki before Eleanor can answer. He'd forgotten that Midgardian dancing often serves as foreplay.
Both women laugh and Loki blushes yet again.
It is totally unacceptable.
It starts with golden nail polish.
Eleanor notices during the morning sewing. She hates the sewing lessons most of all, but Frigga assures her it is more about listening to the gossip of the ladies than actually sewing. Frigga says information is power, so Eleanor listens and learns the subtle politics of these women.
Still, Frigga insists that Eleanor learns to sew too.
She finds herself in the sunny sewing room for three hours every three days. After ten months on the Realm Eternal, Eleanor is finally getting used to the routine.
This is the first time Eleanor has ever seen her fellow seamstresses with painted nails. Golden polish seems to have infected the majority of the noble ladies and Eleanor shifts a bit closer to the queen.
"Hey, what's up with the nail polish?" Eleanor whispers in Frigga's ear.
Her mother-in-law smiles. "You are quite the trend instigator, my dear."
It takes Eleanor a moment to remember, but last week she did indeed paint her nails gold.
She botches a simple pair of socks and thinks back to the bunker when she painted each fingernail a different shade. Loki, never seeing such a thing before, thought the colors were permanent.
The Aesir don't paint their nails, or at least they didn't before Eleanor introduced the idea. It's a small thing, cosmetic and vain and without depth. But still, Asgard adopted a practice from Midgard at the very highest level of society.
There is something important in that, especially after their relatively quick acceptance of a half mortal abomination as their princess.
For the first time Eleanor believes Frigga. Maybe real change is possible.
"These will be the last of our training sessions for quite some time," Sif says. They sit on a low wall, drinking water and watching the other warriors spar.
"Yeah?" Eleanor never thought she would be so disappointed but after the first painful months her body changed into something lean and hard and strong. She finds that she thoroughly enjoys her new strength and can actually handle a blade without poking her own eye out. Still she isn't much of a fighter. Most of the strength she's gained would really only help her run away with speed and agility.
"We are to venture to Vanaheim. Marauding bands of fiends continue to pillage the countryside, despite our best efforts. It seems they hide in the mountains and the best are now required to dispense with them."
"Ah. And you are definitely the best. Are the other Three going too? And Thor?"
"Indeed, Eleanor."
"Shit, that means I'll get stuck sparring with Loki. And it only lasts about five minutes tops."
"Why?"
"We get distracted."
"How?"
"By sex, Sif. Sex is very distracting."
The warrior's disgusted facial expression is rather entertaining.
"Not that I have any desire to go with you to Vanaheim to battle fiends, but it would be nice if I could, you know? Not that I will ever be there, fighting-wise," Eleanor says as Fandral knocks Volstagg to his back and Volstagg retaliates by kicking the other warrior's legs out from under him.
"You will in all likelihood never be there fighting-wise," Sif agrees. "Although after those first arduous weeks, I am shocked by the progress you have made."
"Aw, thanks, Sif. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Sif rolls her eyes. It is a gesture that she picked up from Eleanor.
"You are a passable swordsman," Sif continues.
"Swordsperson," Eleanor corrects.
"Or at the very least you can keep from knocking yourself in the face with your own shield," Sif continues. "And you are quick and agile with superb balance. But you are also small and weak. If any got close enough, you would be done for. I know you have little interest in offensive measures, but your ability to defend is still lacking due to your small stature and your pathetic mortal genetics."
Sif looks pretty disturbed by the thought of Eleanor in a situation that requires she use all this training. Eleanor hopes it's because they are actually friends.
"So what do you suggest? This might be as good as it gets for me," Eleanor says.
"Rather than focus on weaknesses that you cannot change, in the future I suggest we strive to further hone your strengths. Also, what are your strengths?"
Eleanor laughs. "Well, music. Singing. But that hardly seems applicable here."
"Are you quite certain?"
Eleanor thinks for a moment before lifting two fingers to her throat and letting out an ear-piercing shriek. The pitch is high and Eleanor herself winces, but the reactions of all the training warriors is much more violent.
Sif falls off the wall, crumbling to her knees as she covers her ears. Others in the training yard do the same, turning to gape at Eleanor as they cry out in dismay.
She stops after only a few seconds.
"Sorry!" she yells as the warriors recover.
Sif manages to get to her feet.
"Like that?" Eleanor asks.
"Yes," says Sif, grinning. "It will in all likelihood not be near as effective when your enemy expects it, but that will certainly do."
Eleanor laughs and slides off the wall. She gives Sif the most uncomfortable hug in the history of the Twenty-Seven Realms.
"Good luck with the fiends, Sif. Stay safe."
"I… yes. Thank you, Princess."
"Dude!"
Sif sighs. "Yes, Eleanor?" she corrects.
"Do you want to go for a walk? I've got letters for Heimdall to deliver."
Sif nods and they exit the training yard, Ido trailing like an ever-faithful shadow. When they reach the rainbow bridge, Eleanor takes off her shoes. The pulsing, colorful surface causes a shiver to go up her spine.
"You always remove your boots when on the bridge," Sif comments as they stroll towards the Bifrost pavilion. "Why?"
"The energy tickles. Can't you feel it?"
"Not really. Only a sort of hum if I am concentrating."
"Huh." Eleanor shivers again, lifting her skirt to look at her feet. "I definitely feel it. Like, in my whole body."
"I do not have magic as you do."
Eleanor nods in understanding and they walk in silence.
The day is bright, the weather struggling to reach summer temperatures. Beneath her feet the crystal of the bridge is warm and Eleanor shrugs out of her cloak, enjoying the sun on her bare arms.
"Look at you," Sif says, reaching out to squeeze a bicep. "Not so scrawny now. I take full credit."
Eleanor grins and flexes her now defined arms. "Yeah, I've had nothing to do with it."
"I am no longer ashamed to be seen with you."
Eleanor laughs as they enter the pavilion.
"Heimdall," she greets. "What's shaking?"
"Princess." His lips twitch into a brief smile, pleasing Eleanor endlessly. She sees the all-seeing – or almost all-seeing – god at least once a week and it seems like he is finally warming up to her.
"Dude, call me Eleanor." It is a frequent request. The title still makes her cringe, even if it is at least true now that Loki is really her husband.
She still gets giddy whenever she thinks of this fact.
"You are wed to a Prince of Asgard, making you Princess. I will not do you the dishonor of referring to you as anything different. Now, how many letters do you bring me?"
"Four," Eleanor replies, pulling the nearly folded parchment from a pocket. "Darcy, Jane, Laura, and Maureen." It's not often that she writes to her mother. There isn't all that much to say to her but the other three get a weekly correspondence.
Nothing new ever happens to Laura, although she does entertain Eleanor with humorous tales of her kids. Darcy is working full time at Stark. With the Bifrost project over, Jane is at the university, dissatisfied and bored and lonely.
Eleanor misses them all terribly.
"How are they?" Eleanor asks as she hands over the stack.
"They are safe and well, Princess."
"Thanks for doing this."
"You are most welcome."
He moves his staff, the pavilion shifts around them, and her letters disappear into the roaring brilliance of the Bifrost, making the great journey to Earth.
She watches the colors and wants to go home, but the urge is not nearly as strong as it was last month.
Or the month before that.
Or the month before that.
In the year since willingly returning to the prison that is Asgard, there have been few moments where Loki truly loathed his imprisonment.
He experiences periods of great sorrow when he compares how his life and relationships are now with what they once were. Thor often infuriates him, but the golden prince calls Loki Brother once more and their sparring sessions prove cathartic. He spends time with his mother daily and on occasion this too brings him pain as he disappointed and hurt her in the past, but she is also proud of the life he's scraped together with his wife. There is very little any can do about his persistent boredom, but all things considered, it could be much worse.
It is Eleanor that keeps his bitterness and hatred at bay.
At times he loathes all those who garner even the smallest portion of her attention, but she always returns, delighted and relieved to be with him again. Most days he believes her when she professes her love and on the increasingly rare occasion when he cannot believe his good fortune, she is there to soothe his woe.
After all he's done, the idea is simply unfathomable.
Eleanor is safe and has not dreamed or sleepwalked since their arrival here. Thor calls him Brother. Mother is proud. All this is typically enough to keep Loki content, even when the boredom threatens to smother him, even if he is at the mercy of the Allfather once more.
Typically, it is enough to keep him from thinking of Odin at all, but now Eleanor is locked away with a maid, preparing to sing for the nobility and common people alike. Loki will miss it and his hate for Odin scorches his skin. No amount of reading or writing will distract him from his anger on this night.
He paces the length of their bedroom, glancing at the closed bathroom door with great frequency. His wife will emerge at any moment and he fears what he'll see when she does.
Surely she will be too beautiful, too perfect, dressed up in finery for all to see, Loki being the one exception. He hates the Aesir as he hates the Allfather. Eleanor has done a marvelous job overcoming his shattered reputation and her own heritage, but they once called her abomination – many still do – and they do not deserve to hear or see her in all her splendor.
They do not even deserve to exist in the same universe as Eleanor, as far as Loki is concerned.
The bathroom door opens and Loki freezes as Eleanor steps into the bedroom. She is a vision, as brilliant as anything he's ever seen in his lifetime. She's cloaked in the night sky, black fabric sparkling with gems that form thousands of stars.
"Get out," he snaps at the maid.
"Thanks, Neela," Eleanor says as the girl scurries away.
The billowing layers of the skirt somehow make Eleanor appear taller, and the neckline plummets far too low for Loki's liking, but he can't deny the effect is regal, powerful, and as mysterious as the depths of space itself.
The garment is belted with golden engraved metal work that matches Loki's own armor. They are not symbols Eleanor could understand, but all who see her will take this for the statement it is.
There will be no way to look at Eleanor and not think of Loki.
Eleanor takes a step and the swirling fabric of her skirts shimmers green and gold. Fascinated by this change, Loki closes the distance between them, running his fingers over the glittering, sheer fabric that covers her arms all the way to her wrists. He smiles as it too turns from black to green and back again under his touch.
"Loki?" Eleanor asks.
He takes her hand and spins her around, delighting in her giggle and the shining green and gold of her dress.
From behind, the outfit is incomplete. It appears to be missing it's back entirely and Loki frowns. Despite his displeasure he allows his fingers to follow the bare length of her spine, only reaching fabric at the soft swell of her rear.
"I know," says his wife, turning to face him "I look hot. Super hot."
When he opens his mouth to agree no words emerge, so he simply nods instead, reaching out to touch along the delicate golden tiara that spans her forehead. It is nothing like the opulent, heavy crown of a queen he saw her wear in the Tesseract, but this seems to suit her much better. The metal is braided and decorated with emerald and diamonds, a larger version of the ring that never strays from her left hand.
"Frigga gave it to me," Eleanor says. "It's my ring, but bigger."
Loki smiles and nods once more, cradling her face in his hands as he continues his inspection.
Her messy locks are smoothed out and curled back in a style that is distinctly Asgardian and distinctly not Eleanor. It is strangely comforting. The Aesir will get a version of Eleanor polished up, but her true self is for Loki only.
"Are you going to say anything?" she asks, huffing out her annoyance.
Loki shakes his head and kisses her.
He can feel the smile against his lips.
A distant knock reminds him of anger forgotten and Eleanor steps away. Begrudgingly, he follows her into the main room of their quarters. The queen enters, looking elegant and royal as ever. All the formal attire leaves Loki feeling small and rumpled in his extremely casual tunic. He forgot to brush his hair on this day.
Although he has no desire to socialize, events such as these always served to satisfy his vanity.
As Frigga gushes over Eleanor, Loki rubs his left hand and hates Odin.
Once more he is the outcast, the alone, the left behind, the unwanted.
His mother embraces him and he manages the expected compliments on her beauty but he's too consumed with anger and self-pity to mean it.
"Now, remember," says his mother. "You will open the Sumar Samnaðr with this performance. As it is a celebration of summer, I hope your song selection is accordingly chipper."
Eleanor nods and only rolls her eyes slightly.
The celebration of summer is a favorite of the common folk as it is a three-day fair complete with vendors, melees, and provisions without charge. Typically the party of the first night is started with various dull speeches and the military band blaring away on their horns.
Eleanor will be a welcome change.
"But," continues Frigga, "as it is also your introduction to the public, I hope you include bits of yourself as well."
"I've crafted the perfect set list," replies Eleanor.
"Set list?"
"The songs are all appropriate. I mean, there is a lot of metaphor and figurative language. I know Asgard isn't big on that so no one is going to have any idea what I'm talking about, but there will be me playing like twenty instruments at once. More, actually. And I'll light up my magic and everything, give them a real show."
"Excellent!" says the Queen. "We really must be getting down to the amphitheater."
"Okay, give me one little second."
Frigga nods and exits, murmurs a goodbye to Loki that he barely acknowledges.
Eleanor wraps her arms around his waist and he considers trying to hide his current turmoil.
"Hey," she murmurs. It is apparent from her tone alone that she knows what he is feeling already. "This would be a thousand times better if you were with me."
His face remains impassive but her words do slightly uncoil the knot in his gut. Eleanor wants him, as unbelievable as that may be. She married him willingly and she would have him with her tonight if she could.
"I would attend if I were able," he says, running his hands down her arms and marveling at the color change.
"I know. I'll miss you."
He touches her delicate crown and smiles softly.
"You know the voice amplification magic you taught me?" she asks.
"Of course."
"Do you think I can get my voice all the way up here from the amphitheater? It's all outdoors so that won't be a problem."
Despite her slow start, Eleanor's magic has grown exponentially in their year on Asgard. There is an unseen quality in the air here that encourages the flow of magic. It is the same ancient force that convinced Loki that Eleanor would be safer here than on the magic-stifling realm of Midgard.
A year ago, the answer to her inquiry would have been a resounding no.
"Aim for the balcony," he says instead.
"Kiss me for luck and send me on my way."
He kisses her for luck and off she goes.
Eleanor's voice makes it to the balcony.
He lays back on a lounge, enjoying the balmy evening and the impressive musical styling of his wife.
Her first selection is slow, just her and a guitar. It is an introduction, slightly self-deprecating but endearing nonetheless. She sings of being from nowhere, of dangling at the edge of the world, and he is glad for the Asgardians' inability to understand lyrics that surely apply to him as much as they apply to her.
In the next songs Eleanor accompanies herself with a complete orchestra. Music on Asgard consists mostly of great booming epics that detail glorious battles and adventure, and what Eleanor is currently playing will stun the Aesir. It is unlike anything they've heard or seen. Midgardian-influenced music created through the magic of one minuscule half mortal.
They will see her power.
Above all else, her voice shines, beautiful and strong and without rival.
Frigga is a genius. This performance will win Eleanor the love of the people.
And there is great power in the love of the people.
It is the Asgardian equivalent of playing the Super Bowl halftime show but Eleanor does not get nervous until her half hour set is over. Before kicking off the Sumar Samnaðr, the largest crowd she sang for was a couple hundred mortals.
The amphitheater is an architectural marvel to Eleanor's eyes and seats at least 200,000, but she goes beyond this stage, projecting her voice to the city: up to Loki on their balcony and to the thousands lining the streets or those who wander the field next to the amphitheater stuffed with vendor tents. People have come from all over Asgard to drink and eat and trade, all in celebration of summer.
This is her first time performing without a band to disappear into. The whole burden falls to her and there will be no one to blame if she fucks it up.
She accompanies herself with a full orchestra, singing with her whole self and adding colors and lights to her magic to make the whole thing seem that much more impressive.
Asgardians do not have concerts that are for entertainment reasons only, like on Midgard. Sold out stadium shows with lights and dancing so popular on Earth are nonexistent here, and Eleanor makes sure to give the Aesir a proper show.
She starts slow, introducing herself with no gimmicks, just her voice and her guitar. When she lifts her hands from the instrument and it plays on with her magic, the crowd gasps. When she finishes the amphitheater is totally silent for a few horrible seconds before the crowd roars their approval.
Eleanor lets out a deep breath. She raises her hands and a full orchestra of instruments hovers behind her, floating up from their stands to await her instruction.
"So we're going to have some fun," she informs her audience, borrowing from cliché concert moves on Midgard. "Are you ready for some music?" she asks, her voice filling the huge amphitheater and going beyond, up to her husband.
Her question is met with an unsure, quiet answer "yes?"
Eleanor chuckles and cups her hand around her ear. It feels a bit ridiculous to ham it up in such a gorgeous, regal dress, but after a year lurking in the palace, Frigga wants the common folk to know her and Eleanor is determined to have fun with them.
"I can't hear you!" she says.
The Aesir catch on quickly and seem to delight in the novelty of audience participation if the volume of the responding cheers is any indication.
Eleanor obliges them.
Singing for thousands makes Eleanor feel powerful and beautiful. Playing so many instruments at once makes her feel like a witch in the best possible way, like a sorceress.
And it is wonderful.
After the final piece, Eleanor bows deeply – not something royals typically do, but what the hell – her instruments floating back down to rest on their stands.
"Thank you," she murmurs, her soft words nearly drowned out by the thunderous applause. She presses two fingers to her neck, her skin warming with the magic as she stops amplifying her voice.
When she takes her seat next to Frigga in the royal box to sit through the boring speech section of the program, Eleanor finds herself freaking out.
"Wonderful," Frigga gushes, beaming as she takes Eleanor's hand. "Stunning. Perfect."
The adrenaline is draining from her as she struggles to get her head around the enormity of what she just did. She can't manage to still her shaking hands. Her heart hammers in her chest because musically, that's the biggest thing she's ever done.
"They love you," Frigga says, shouting over the continuing cheers. Odin's officials are having a hard time getting the crowd to quiet.
Eleanor nods and swallows, gripping Frigga's hand tighter.
"Are you quite all right, Eleanor?"
More than anything Eleanor wants Loki here to kiss her, to help her figure out if this is a good feeling or a bad one.
This rush is astounding, overwhelming, and perfect.
"I'm great," Eleanor says, her grin slowly expanding.
"That you are, my dear. That you are."
After the speeches, the Aesir have a party. That seems to be the main point of this favorite holiday that celebrates summer.
Eleanor strolls through the endless rows of tents that will remain up for the three days of festivities that are to follow. Ido is her shadow and she decides to make more friends than Sif and the other warriors; ones who won't rush off to glorious battle and leave her alone to explore.
The night is warm and Eleanor changed into a simple dress that leaves her arms bare. Frigga insisted she keep the diadem on. The people of Asgard smile and wave as she passes. Some touch the backs of her hands – apparently this is a normal, reverent gesture – and they bow.
"Beautiful," they say before moving on.
"Another, Princess!"
"Another!"
"Soon," she replies.
"I am sorry you were barred from the celebration, Loki," Frigga says, examining the fit of Loki's new tunic. It's the result of a fuckton of hours Eleanor spent with the Queen and her friends in the sewing room.
"Yes, one does miss the occasional party while imprisoned," Loki drawls, sticking out an arm for inspection.
Frigga hushes him. Eleanor bites her cheek and prays that the fucking shirt is up to her mother-in-law's standards. If it passes inspection, Eleanor will be deemed an adequate seamstress and she will only be forced to spend one morning a week in the sewing room.
Many of the ladies are wearing their hair loose and wild, now. Like Eleanor's.
"Although in all seriousness I do wish I was able to attend Eleanor's performance. I understand it was well received?" Loki asks as Frigga tugs on one of the sleeves. It may be a quarter inch shorter than the other.
"It was marvelous, Loki, unlike anything before heard on Asgard. Your wife's talents are rapidly challenging notions of mortal inferiority," Frigga replies.
It's a nice way of saying that the Asgardians no longer call her an abomination quite so often because she can sing real nice and play an orchestra's worth of instruments while doing it.
"Do not be so cross, my son," she says. "Is it not a good thing that the court and the people alike are coming to accept your wife? Her good reputation can do nothing but help your tattered one."
Loki grunts.
"And our Eleanor can be very charming when she makes up her mind to try." Frigga flashes Eleanor a grin over her shoulder because they both know Eleanor is not often inclined to try without Frigga's insistence. "She is an asset, Loki. Well, when it comes to her position as princess, perhaps. Her sewing certainly leaves something to be desired. Eleanor, what happened with this sleeve? Is it not shorter than the other?"
Eleanor comes forward, tugging down the accursed sleeve. Loki steals the tie from her hair, tucking stay strands behind one ear as it falls around her shoulders.
"Loki's left arm is shorter than his right," Eleanor says. "So the sleeve is shorter too."
"Is it?" asks Frigga, not buying it at all.
Loki opens his mouth to defend the symmetry of his body, but Eleanor glares at him and he sighs once more.
"My right arm is notoriously and markedly shorter than my left," he says, convincing absolutely no one with his monotone.
"He means the opposite," Eleanor says. 'The left is shorter."
"Whatever," says her unhelpful husband.
Sometimes it still knocks the wind out of her. He is her husband.
"The pair of you shall be the end of me," declares Frigga. "It is a passable effort, Eleanor. You need no longer attend sewing lessons with such frequency."
"Awesome," she says, sharing a high five with Loki. Frigga looks at them like they're crazy, but offers no comment.
"You are still required to continue with your etiquette and history lessons," Frigga says. Eleanor deflates slightly. "Also, training with Sif and your Asgardian music studies, but I hardly think you'll object to those."
"Nope, that's all good. I want to be able to beat up Loki," Eleanor says, punching his opening palm.
"All I'd need do to defeat you is sit on you," he says, grinning. "Or get my arms around you. I'm bigger."
"Oh, is bigger always better?" she asks as he gets his arms around her.
"Absolutely not," Loki says and she knows he's thinking of Thor. "Just in this case."
She struggles, but is unable to free herself and unwilling to use some of the more brutal moves Sif's showed her.
"It looks as though your every third morning is now free," Loki whispers in her ear. "However will we pass the time?"
"I could try and beat your all time record at tossing and catching the inkpot," Eleanor says.
"You could never!"
"If this is some sort of innuendo, I'd really rather not know," says Frigga.
"Mother!" Loki says, releasing Eleanor in his horror.
Eleanor laughs as Loki struggles to explain his little, lonely game of catch, but as he continues it sounds dirtier and dirtier while Loki gets redder and redder until Eleanor takes pity on him, covering his mouth with her hand.
"All right," Frigga says, chuckling and shaking her head. "That's quite enough, children. Lunch has arrived. Shall we eat?"
They settle around the table in the library alcove where Loki always takes his meals.
After Loki, Eleanor spends most of her time these days with the Queen and although she's always liked Loki's mother from the moment she surprised them in their tiny cottage in New Mexico, Eleanor genuinely loves the woman now.
Frigga is kind and generous and funny, and, most important to Eleanor, she loves her son and seems to understand him in a way her husband and Thor just can't. She is the kind of mother Eleanor always wanted, and although she's repaired her relationship with Maureen over the years, there will always be a distance between them because Maureen still cannot understand Eleanor's lingering anger.
And Frigga loves Eleanor, too.
Eleanor learned to sew at Frigga's insistence for fuck's sake.
Without Frigga, Eleanor would be as isolated here as Loki is, and although Eleanor still feels guilty when she leaves Loki to his prison for the day, she is thankful that the Queen is striving to help Eleanor carve out a bit of life here.
"I know you are not overly fond of sewing, Eleanor," Frigga says, dabbing at her lip with a cloth. "But as I learned, you too must learn. It was not until I reached old age that I appreciated the craft."
"Old?" Eleanor scoffs. Frigga laughs.
"Thank you," she says. "In my youth I was much more interested in the training yard."
"Mother was an accomplished warrior in her own right," Loki says, obviously proud.
"That I was," Frigga agrees.
"I can imagine that," Eleanor says. "So what happened? Why did you retire?"
"I had children. I did not feel both my sons' parents should be risking their lives on a regular basis, " Frigga replies.
"Perhaps Eleanor will follow in your footsteps, Mother," says Loki. "She managed to knock Sif to her knees upon their last meeting."
"I am not sure screaming at her counts," Eleanor says, grinning. "Do you know when they're supposed to get back from Vanaheim?"
"It may be some time yet. These fiends are rather adept at hiding away in mountainous caves. Apparently, reaching them is proving difficult."
"Just what do you think you are doing?" Loki comes to stand in the archway between their bedroom and the balcony. He scowls as he watches his wife walk along the railing, placing one foot in front of the other, using the thin edge of stone as she would a tightrope.
"Training," replies Eleanor, not losing focus. She places one foot carefully in front of another, but her eyes stay closed. "Sif is off restoring peace to the Nine Realms so I am on my own to maintain all my new muscles. Plus after last night, I just have all this energy."
"Understandable. You were magnificent. Although I really do wish you would utilize me to burn off your excess energy."
Spectacles such as Eleanor balanced precariously on the railing of their balcony are no longer so rare, but Loki feels twisted up as he watches her. He learned not to vocalize his fear for her safety in such moments, but his instinct is to protect her, to snatch her away from any and all dangers.
As he predicted, Eleanor is greatly changed by their year in Asgard, but he did not think she would hone her body into one of a warrior after her less than auspicious start at this particular Princess Lesson.
Although her fighting abilities remain marginal at best, she can now wield a blade without harming herself and knows where to stick it to slay an enemy. Where her body was once scrawny and angular, she is now toned and strong. Much to his pleasure, she stays soft in the right places. Her newfound agility and speed is impressive in theory.
Seeing it in practice never fails to have dread churning in his gut.
He trusts her not to plunge to death off the side of the high balcony. He trusts her to know her own limits.
But when she abruptly falls forward into a handstand, Loki is barely able to muffle his cry of dismay. He constructs a magical – invisible – safety net to catch her should she fall off the balcony completely rather than onto the floor.
"Consider this a small break between rounds of really hot, adrenaline fueled, post-performance sex."
She walks on her hands, her eyes still closed, and someone knocks on the door.
"There is someone at the door," Loki informs her.
"I'm busy being upside down," she says. "You get it."
Grumbling all the way, he obeys her instruction. He loathes opening the door, hates seeing the hall where he cannot go and the pair of guards that remind him that this is indeed a prison. The only time he willingly opens the door is to yell at Ido.
He opens the doors to reveal the servant girl that delivers their meals and assists Eleanor in dressing when the occasion calls for it.
"My Prince," she squeaks. Her bow is clumsy. "A letter from Midgard. For Princess Eleanor."
He takes the offered letter and shuts the door without even glancing at the guards posted on either side of the doors.
"Eleanor," he says as he walks back to the balcony. "You've a letter from Jane."
"Open it," she says.
His wife is now balanced one handed on the railing and Loki would much rather look at the letter than watch Eleanor. He fears the anxiety caused by watching her will bring him physical harm.
"You're not going to read it out loud?" She pushes her body up and lands on the other hand.
Loki feels faint but quickly scanning Jane's written words does nothing to improve his condition.
"Not until you dismount, Eleanor."
"Come on. I'm trying to break my own record for being upside down on one hand on the railing of this balcony."
"I will not risk upsetting you. You will lose focus and fall to your death."
Eleanor sighs heavily but launches herself in the air and lands gracefully on her feet before him.
He doubts he will ever be used to Eleanor's hard-earned physical coordination. It is perplexing, attractive, and terrifying, all at once.
"Lay it on me," Eleanor says, stretching one arm across the other.
"The good doctor has moved to London," Loki announces. "She ended her contract with both Stark and the university to move to London."
Eleanor stares up at him. Her eyes narrow slightly. When her disbelief wears off she is sure to unleash her fury and Loki braces himself.
He reads the remainder of the letter. "Ah, and she has taken Miss Lewis with her. Apparently someone called Erik Selvig happened upon some new discovery and enlisted the help of our two favorite mortals. Who is this Erik Selvig?" he asks. The name is somewhat familiar.
"Really?" asks Eleanor, full on glaring now. "You basically lived in his brain for a couple days? You forced him to build you a portal opener? Jane still gets super mad when she thinks about it? Really, this isn't ringing a bell?"
"Yes, yes, it rings a bell. Can you focus on an entirely more pressing matter? Such as Jane's extremely poor decision to move to London. There is only one in England, I believe?" he snaps.
"Fuck," Eleanor says. She scrubs her hands over her face for a moment before grabbing the letter from his grasp. "What the fuck is she thinking? London is where the unknown dangerous is that wants me to destroy the universe."
Eleanor paces around the balcony, muttering to herself as she reads. Loki can only make out the occasional profanity.
"She's curious!" Eleanor says, storming back to Loki and pushing the paper into his chest. "This is scientific curiosity. She is going somewhere possibly dangerous because she wants to know more about these anomalies. And she wants to know if they have anything to do with my freaky visions."
"Are you honestly surprised?"
"No. But I am pissed."
"Well, I am sure you will do an excellent job conveying that in your response. And you must insist that she write me a letter of my own in which she includes every single detail of her studies. Every detail, Eleanor."
Eleanor huffs. "Do you want to go have some angry-at-Jane sex?"
"That is exceedingly odd but I am amenable."
Erica and Heather beated this for me. They are both so lovely and speedy.
Thank you for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting.
Strap in, people! Things are about to get rough.