Author's Note:
This story is set in the Marvel Universe, but it takes place long before Phase 1 and only loosely ties into the main film storyline. I've also woven in elements of Norse mythology because, frankly, it's dope AF. My writing often serves as a way to explore relationships and process my own thoughts and emotions around them, especially when it comes to the imagined conversations I have in my head. Most of this was written in the aftermath of a toxic relationship, so the central relationship in the story is far from healthy. I want to be upfront about that—it might be triggering for some readers. Please keep that in mind as you read.

In the Dark

Somewhere in a dungeon in Svartalfheim, lost to time...

The chains had torn and numbed up the skin around Astrids ankles so much that she could barely feel them rub on her bones anymore when she moved. The rattling bothered her at first, but now it was a comforting noise, reminding her that she was still somewhat alive.

The empty darkness in the dungeon had been easy to get used to, as the realm of the dark elves was already cold and colorless. Yet she still found herself staring into the tiny window at the edge of her prison cell, wanting to see the sky. The pale rays of the dim sun brought her a small sense of comfort from time to time, slightly easing the mental torment she felt every minute of every day.

It was time that was the most difficult; she couldn't tell the difference between a minute and an hour anymore. The days and nights just blended together, and seemed to simultaneously be passing quickly and slowly.

The only reason she had been able to somewhat keep track of the days she was imprisoned was from the baby growing inside her. She could feel her growing more and more each day. The more time passed the more she was sure it was a girl. It must have been several months now; her stomach was so big it looked like it would pop soon.

She rubbed her belly and grew angry when remembering how this abomination had come to be, how it had damned her to this cell. When she first realized she was pregnant she had wanted to cut it out but could never bring herself to do it. Then as time went by, she began to feel pity for the little girl growing inside of her. She still knew she could never keep her, not as long as she was locked up in this horrid dungeon, so whenever the little creature moved in her belly it filled her with unbearable grief. If Astrid couldn't get out of this prison, she would have to do the unspeakable to the baby when the time came, there was no other way. The thought made her grit her teeth and shudder.

She leaned back and sighed, when the face of the man who was responsible for her agony suddenly appeared in her mind, as it often did day in and day out in this cell. Her heart pinched and ached whenever she thought of him, the small blades of betrayal piercing her chest. As deeply as she hated him, she also knew her love for him ran deeper. No matter how hopeless it was she still couldn't help but love him, which just made her hate herself. In fact, it was starting to drive her mad.

Escape was all she longed for, from this dark mental and physical prison she was sentenced to for the rest of her days.

Svartalfheim, During the Aesir-Vanir War, 300 years ago

King Ivaldis was pleased; at last, he had been able to get one step ahead of the Asgardians by capturing none other than Odins son, Prince Loki.

He smiled as he sat down on his throne, watching his men drag the wounded prince down to the dungeon. Freya, the elf queen of the Vanir, would be very pleased when she found out. The war might even be won for the Vanir and their faithful allies, the dark elves, if they played their cards right.

His daughter, Astrid, approached him quickly with a look of slight shock in her eyes. She knelt before him.

"Father, is that really him? The prince of Asgard?" she said, staring up at him, still kneeling. He looked down at her with the smug look of victory on his face.

"It is, daughter." At his words she turned her head to watch Loki be dragged out of the castle hall, in awe that they had captured the powerful sorcerer.

"He is badly wounded. Are we going to keep him alive?"

"Yes, but merely for the time being. I finally have an opportunity to bring Odin at our mercy and I will not see it wasted," he looked down at her hesitantly, "which is why I need you to attend to him." She snapped her head up.

"But father, after one of our bloodiest battles I would be much more useful tending to our wounded men, not one of our greatest enemies!" She said with disdain in her voice. She did not want to tend to the man who had killed so many of her people, most whom she had known and cared for during her many years as a healer. "Surely Madame Gertrud or Aelytah would be a more fitting-"

"Astrid, my dear," he interrupted her as he held up his hand in a silencing gesture, which meant she needed to tread carefully, "you are the greatest healer in the kingdom, and keeping him alive is of the utmost importance. It could mean the end of this war and no more death to our people. Think of how many you will save!" he said triumphantly, his voice booming through the tall stone walls of their great hall. He then leaned down closer to her and spoke more sternly. "I would never trust it to anyone but you." he said, staring intensely into her eyes. She hesitated but then bowed her head. He acted as though there was a choice, but they both knew there was not.

"As you wish, father." she said in the most obedient tone she could muster.

"Good!" he said, clapping his hands, "They are bringing him to your healing quarters, he is in bad shape so you must attend to him immediately. That is all."

With that Astrid stood and bowed, then reluctantly turned down the hall following the prince, not doing a very good job of hiding the fact that she was fuming on the inside.

~oOo~

Astrid took a deep breath as she entered the private healing room to tend to the prisoner of war, Prince Loki. He had been prepped by the other healers while she had changed into her proper attire after speaking with her father. His eyes were slightly open and moving a little, dazed and unfocused, so he seemed to be conscious, but barely. The room was buzzing with her apprentices trying to keep him alive on the king's orders, fearing the grave consequences if they did not. He was securely fastened down to a healing table with nothing but thin knee length trousers, and when she caught sight of his bare wounds for the first time, she let out a small gasp. Even though she had tended to many wounded soldiers over the years she was still shocked at how badly his torso had been injured. It looked as though a ball of magma had been thrown right at his rib cage, and that was one among many smaller wounds that looked similar. She was amazed he was still conscious, let alone alive at all.

Must be harder to kill a god than I thought. What could have possibly done this?

The thought made her uncomfortable; her father had been increasingly unstable lately. What dark magic were he and the elven Queen Freya getting into? She pushed the thought aside, not wanting to go down that road quite yet, and continued to study his wounds, trying to think of how she could possibly heal him.

"Keep cleaning the wounds and giving him the heart strengther. Why doesn't he have oxygen? He isn't used to the atmosphere on this planet, give him a mask." One of the apprentices ran over and put a mask to his face, giving him air set closer to the atmosphere on Asgaard. She took out her trusted medical body scanner, the alethometer, that brought up a 3D chart above his head with all his vitals and an image of his various inner body systems. She studied it closely, moving in on more troubling areas. He was in bad shape, but he would make it.

She went over to her table and began mixing her elixirs, until the solution she needed began to boil in one of her vials. It was red and bubbling, one of the apprentices looked at it with slight alarm as she turned back towards the prince and moved toward him, getting ready to pour it on his wounds.

"But miss Astrid, without any painkiller, even a mild one, won't that-"

"He'll be fine." Astrid snapped. Her apprentice, Sheira, was right of course, it would be extremely painful to apply without any anesthetic. Not the most ethical thing for any healer, but he wasn't just any patient, and it wouldn't kill him. Right? She walked over to him and started to pour it on his biggest wound, making an unpleasant hissing sound as it dripped down.

"AAAHH!" Suddenly he shot up so quickly the strap on his arm broke, and he grabbed Astrids wrist so hard she immediately lost grip of the vial and it crashed to the ground. It was so fast that it sent her into a state of shock, and she was not able to break away from his strong grip. He then locked eyes with her, with a look of such deep anger that it filled her with terror, like an enemy about to strike the final blow in battle. Suddenly, everything around them seemed to move more slowly, the sounds seeming farther and farther away, including the snap in her wrist as he broke it. All she could see were his rage-filled eyes lit like blue fire, hypnotizing her as a ringing in her ears drowned out the screams of her apprentices. The guards came in and subdued him, and as soon as his grip released, the ringing stopped, and Astrid fell to the ground. She had no idea what had just happened. She tried to gather herself quickly as the apprentices gave him a sedative but found herself unable to stop shaking. She realized Sheira was over her, trying to help her stand and asking if she was alright. Her wrist was throbbing with pain, but she was trying her best to hide it. An impulse she learned from her father; it was shameful to look weak.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Sheira... its alright, thank you." she said, still clearly not fine but able to slowly stand, "Now that he's sedated, use um- more of the telemnar elixir to clean his wounds. B-but just a little, just to be safe. I'll be back in a moment, I-I just need a quick tourniquet for my wrist." Sheira nodded as Astrid turned and left the room, still trying to catch her breath.

Out in the hall she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths but starting to feel feverish and sweaty. He must have used some kind of spell on her, which was shocking considering he was barely clinging to life. Now that the initial shock and fear were wearing off, she hated to admit she was slightly impressed with his power. Impressed, but also frightened. This was going to be more difficult than she thought.

God of Mischief indeed.