Chapter 5...
Loki had never felt like this. He had been ill with fevers on occasions, he had been injured numerous times on the battle field, and in the early days of practising the Magic Arts he had many mishaps that had resulted in minor maladies, but he had never been rendered completely powerless before. The pains that wreaked his body he could endure, but this debilitating fatigue, this weakness of his limbs, was unbearable. Even something as simple as trying to hold on to the mortal had proven an effort, his initial flare of strength gutting like a candle flame.
She was watching him hesitantly and there was suspicion in her eyes. She didn't trust him. Why did that not surprise him.
Ignoring her, he contorted his fingers again, trying to conjure his magic, but now there was nothing at all, just that same pins and needles sensation. He wondered whether the shape shifting had been too much and had drained him of energy. Maybe it was what had sparked the intense pain and made him lose consciousness. The thought that such a simple incantation could do that made him feel genuine fear for the first time in his life. His mother had not been lying when she said there would be risks.
What if it wasn't temporary?
Without his magic, he had nothing. Was nothing. He would rather be dead. Valhalla wouldn't be so bad...unless he ended up in Helheim...and he feared his recent actions on Midgard might have him heading for the latter.
No, he tried to reassure himself. He was being melodramatic. It was temporary. It had to be. He had no intention of dying today, especially on Midgard of all places. He was destined for greater things. He was destined to be a king.
Bolstered by that thought, he made an attempt to move but it felt as if Thor's hammer was pressing down upon his chest again, while beneath him, the floor was hard and unyielding against his back.
"I need to gather my strength," he said at length. "I cannot do that lying upon this floor. You will provide me with a bed in which to rest."
Loki observed a flicker of a frown upon her face but was satisfied to see that her fear was still predominant. She would bend to his will.
"So you're...not dying?"
Her words amused him. "You sound disappointed."
When she didn't answer, he sighed his vexation. "I know not, whether I am destined to live or die. But until I do I wish to be comfortable."
"How will you get upstairs?" There was a flash of defiance in her eyes as well as her tone. That fire was back. He liked it. It restored some life back to her bereft features.
He swallowed down his pride. "You will assist me." He regarded her undernourished frame doubtfully. "Somehow." She was wearing those blue britches that all Midgardians had an inclination to wear, and a white tunic top. Both seemed ill fitting. Grief appeared to have stolen her appetite as well as the woman in the photographs.
Battling his exhaustion, he made a second attempt to rise, clenching his fists through the pain.
When the woman didn't respond he grew impatient. "I said help me, mortal!"
She reacted instantly this time, returning to his side, wrapping her arms around him as he did the same to her. Struggling to their feet, he staggered again, and felt her clutch him tighter. He was trying hard not to burden her with his entire weight - he had no desire to collapse a second time – but it was proving difficult.
"You are stronger than you look," he lied, in a vain attempt to encourage her.
"And you're heavier than you look," she countered breathlessly.
He smirked through his pain. "Touche."
They stumbled out into the hall and Loki just caught a flash of grey furry tail fleeing into the woman's living quarters. The cat wasn't so brave after all, he thought dryly.
They hesitated a moment at the foot of the stairs and Loki was glad he was positioned closest to the banister. He leaned against it for added support and the woman sighed beneath her breath, grateful for the relief.
"This will take my weight?" he questioned.
"I've no idea."
"Your optimism is most reassuring," he threw back sarcastically.
"Well, it's old."
He glared up the stairs. A mere dozen at most. Steps he could practically fly up in his normal state. But could now barely ascend without the aid of a petty mortal.
"Perhaps you could divide your weight between me and the banister?"
Her words made him see red and his anger flared. He hated feeling so helpless, so fallible. He was a god. A force to be reckoned with! "Why not carry me like a babe in arms and have done with it!"
She promptly released him and he had no choice but to lean his whole weight against the banister.
"Or why don't I just leave you here and call the police?" she finally snapped. "I could've left you on the study floor and done just that!"
He scowled back at her realising that they had met an impasse. "And why didn't you?"
She faltered, her spirit deflating. "I...I don't know."
She was lying. He could see it in her eyes. He knew exactly why. The fact that he had shape shifted into her husband. Sentimentality. He decided not to rile her further by saying so, however, reluctantly accepting that if he wanted her help he had to be both tactful...and co-operative. Such a pity neither trait came easily to him.
He feigned a smile for her benefit even though he could tell that she saw straight through it. "Your assistance would be...appreciated."
They stared at one another a moment longer and she eventually yielded, reaching out for him, though somewhat grudgingly. As he wrapped his arm around her again he kept the other pressed heavily against the banister.
They had barely traversed the first step when she stopped. "You know, there's always the sofa."
"I've seen it. And I think not."
"Just a thought."
"Not a very productive one."
Though she didn't reply he could sense her irritation and his mouth twitched into a discreet smile. She was so easily nettled. She might prove an entertaining distraction while he recovered. In fact, it might even be beneficial to her. Bring some colour back to those pale cheeks. He could be doing some good while having some fun at the same time. He doubted his mother would exactly approve his tactics but then, she did understand and accept his nature more than most.
He felt his chest tighten again when he realised that he was thinking about her as if she was still alive. In the present tense.
She had understood his nature more than most.
He found it impossible to believe she was gone. That he would never see her again. That they would never discuss magic as they walked through her beloved gardens. Never share their favourite window seat in the library and read in companionable silence. Never hear her delightful laugh when he confessed some trivial but amusing shenanigan.
How could she be dead? Death was the curse of this miserable world, not Asgard. He vowed he would avenge her. Hunt down those culpable. His desire for revenge burned as fiercely as the pain through his veins but his present circumstances left him helpless. Even if he recovered, even if he delayed his mother's wishes, returning to Asgard would be as risky as fleeing it had been.
He and the Midgardian had almost reached the top of the stairs when he stumbled, his left leg almost giving way beneath him. As he fell into the woman, knocking them both back against the wall, he lashed out, still heated from thoughts of his mother's murderer.
"Have a care, mortal!"
She struggled to regain both her balance and her hold on him. "I have a name, you know! And it's not mortal!"
Their faces were mere inches apart and for the first time, Loki acknowledged the intensity of her green eyes, the thickness of her long lashes, the sweeping arches of her brows.
"What is it with all this mortal stuff, anyway?" she snapped venomously, her courage growing with her frustrations. "Are you trying to say that you're not? That you're immortal?"
His gaze continued to roam her face. The sprinkling of freckles across her small nose, and the full, rather sensual mouth. All framed by that fire-red mane of spiralling hair. She could certainly benefit from some regular meals, but she wasn't exactly hard upon the eyes. Not quite beautiful, but certainly endearing.
He smirked again. "Give or take five thousand years."
She flushed at his scrutiny, though at the same time, confusion swept across her features, followed by a hint of alarm.
She swallowed nervously. "How can you be immortal when you claim to be dying?"
He frowned. "That is the crux of the matter. And the sooner I lay down and rest, the sooner I will discover what fate has decided for me."
Hope you're enjoying!
This chapter was written a bit quickly so might be tweaked a bit more.
Reviews muchly appreciated, thanks!