seven4asecret

[seven4asecret]

Summary: The court grapples with what to do after the attempt on the reader’s life. Content & Warnings: Vague mentions of injury.

Chapter 12: Weaving Warnings 

He dressed her with meticulous care, fingers deftly maneuvering around her delicate wrapping as he gently laced her bodice, ensuring it rested comfortably over her still-healing middle. The fabric was soft against her skin, but he was acutely aware of the pain lingering beneath. As they worked together, his fingers brushed against hers, a fleeting touch of support as they pulled the silken gown over her head.

After she was dressed, he helped her with her hair, weaving strands into graceful braids before the mirror, repeating the kindness she had shown him during the celebration weeks prior. Loki was fully aware that she could likely complete her morning routine by now— her strength returning bit by bit—but the act of aiding her grounded him, soothing his anxieties about her recovery. His worry made him feel overbearing, but he hoped she could see the care behind his actions. 

Once she was fully dressed, he guided her arm in arm through the grand halls towards the court. The heavy doors swung shut behind them with a resounding thud, plunging the council chamber into an almost oppressive silence punctuated by only their footsteps. As they entered, the atmosphere shifted, the nobles in attendance rising to their feet in acknowledgement of her presence. 

Though she moved slowly, there was a strength in her posture; her spine was straight, and her chin held high despite the discomfort still lingering in her torso. Today, her robes were a deep crimson—a banner of both her survival and the battles still to come.

Lady Tyre broke the silence, bowing low as she addressed the Queen. “Your Majesty, it brings us immense relief to see you returned to health.”

“I thank you for your concern,” she replied evenly as she lowered herself into the elegantly carved chair at the head of the table. Loki took his place at her side. “We’ve much to discuss.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the gathered nobles, but the usual bravo that characterized their discussions had been notably diminished, replaced instead by a sense of sober weight.

General Vikar, his brow furrowed in concentration, leaned forward as he glanced around the table. “Your Majesty, while your recovery is a blessing, we cannot overlook the source of the attack. The arrow was gilded. This was no mere rogue effort.”

Lady Thyre interjected, voice sharp with concern. “This is clearly in retaliation to our actions with Laufey regarding their roads in the tundras. They are trying to end the war before it begins.”

“They fired first,” she countered, voice smooth but edged with underlying anger. “Not at our soldiers or outposts, but directly at me. Their intent was to remove the crown entirely. That is not simply strategy— it is desperation.”

Murmurs rippled across the table. A few heads dipped in grim agreement, others remained tense, unreadable.

Another noble, Lord Sigvid, cleared their throat, his tone cautious. “Their desperation, Your Majesty, makes them dangerous. If we retaliate too swiftly, we risk validating their paranoia and escalating to full war.”

General Vikar’s fist closed atop the table forcefully. “They’ve already declared war by sending assassins into our midst. If we hesitate, we could invite another arrow.”

“Both valid concerns,” the Queen nodded thoughtfully as she considered the implications. “But we must address another crucial issue. How did an Asgardian set foot on Vanaheim? The Bifrost has been inactive since the arrival of my dear Constort.”

“I believe I can shed some light on that matter,.” Loki chimed in. “My… adventures on Asgard revealed to me old passageways through space—old passageways that connected Yggdrasil long before the Bifrost’s creation. It’s possible Odin’s scouts have exploited my documentation of such paths.”

“That means we, as well as other realms, remain vulnerable even with the Bifrost closed off,” a counselor concluded grimly.

“Aye,” Loki replied evenly.. “It would be prudent to inform your allies of such potential threats. I can recall enough of the paths on Asgard to draft a useful map, though I can’t guarantee its perfection.”

“At least that reduces the chance of another surprise,” she said. “But these paths are unstable— not tamed like the Bifrost. Their connections can fail at any time; we may have that on our side as well; it's unlikely an entire army could traverse to our realm successfully.

“Correct,” Loki agreed. “But we could use such paths to our advantage as well, send a few spies and scouts through to Asgard if we wish to postpone our move.”

She remained silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of the decision before her. Finally, she turned her gaze to the assembly of nobles. “I believe our wisest course of action is to alert our allies about the attempt on my life and instruct them to locate hidden entry points into their realms for their own safety while we chart our own. I refuse to be drawn into rash retaliation, but I will not allow an attempt on my life to go unanswered.” Her voice, determined, cut through the air as she scanned the faces around the table. “We will not give them the satisfaction of witnessing our unraveling.”

“What do you propose then?” Thyre asked, voice steady..

“If war is what they desire, then we shall make the cost of it unimaginable. Have the envoy ready to take a message to Laufey, Uncle Freyr, and our allies in Niðavellir. Let us see if they are willing to play their own parts. As of now, send our best scouts to their roads and to Asgard’s edges. I want a report in full by the week's end.”

General Vikar leaned back, studying her. “Very well, Your Majesty. We shall begin the preparations.”

She nodded simply, her resolve unwavering. “See what you do. I have no desire for war, but I will not blink while our enemy draws arrows.”

* * *

Loki sat at the desk in his chambers, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the scent of ink and vellum lingering in the air. A half-unfurled map of Asgard and Vanaheim lay side by side across the broad oak desk, weighted at the corners by gold disks.

The candlelight flickered across the lines of his face as he traced a finger slowly from the palace to the vast forests. 

He remembered it as a child who had wandered too far and a young man who had played in places meant to be forgotten.

There had always been tales—smuggler routes and refugee trails swallowed by time.

He dipped his quill in ink and marked the first.

The narrow pass between the downed trees near the mountains.

It was accessible only in the drought season, when the underground stream thins to a trickle. He had stumbled upon it as a child chasing some creature or another. It came out near the highlands, just below their range of mountains.

He marked a second. 

The sea cliffs.

The terrain was jagged and almost impassable as it faced open water, except for those who knew where to step. It came out in one of the dense forests, near the lowlands.

He marked the final third that led to Vanaheim that he knew.

The old quarry. 

It had long collapsed, but if they were using the old ways, it would have been the most sound. Once the rubble had been cleared and the shaft reinforced, it would have been the best bet. It would take them through the Midlands.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his brow.

Three routes, all open and unguarded, leaving them, and her, vulnerable to spies, or worse, Einherjar warriors. 

The door to his chambers creaked open, and she entered quietly, a gentle smile on her lips. “You’re working late, I heard. What have you found?”

“Three paths to Vanaheim that I can recall from my time on Asgard.” He tapped the three marks with the tip of his quill. “Each has its own dangers, but Odin could easily make them accessible from his side.”

Her eyes traced the paths. “We’ll need to send someone to each. Confirm activity and seal them if we must.”

Loki nodded. “I’ll draft a few more copies tonight so they can be distributed in the morning to your forces. “

“Loki,” She spoke softly, voice laced with something warm.

He glanced up from the maps, “Yes?”

“You’ve done enough for the night,” she murmured, crossing the room to drape her arms around his shoulders. “Come lie with me.”

He hesitated, glancing back down at the maps. “I can draft another quick enough, I—”

“Loki.” Her tone was firmer but not unkind. “Please. I do not wish to lie alone tonight. And I won’t have you sleeping at my side in a chair any longer. I ask for nothing more of you than your company.”

It was then that he realized that she was unsettled. The discussion before brought forth new anxieties that clawed at her mind and burdened her senses. 

She was worried. Not quite scared, but unsettled enough to seek him out for comfort.

Him.

The thought made his heart flutter in his chest. He had made her think she could trust him despite the secrets he kept from her, the lies he’d never had to utter to her. But he was tired. And he was weary of falling asleep watching over her in an old armchair that made his back ache. And her promise of simple company, while more than he deserved, was welcome after such a day.

Her simple plea convinced him. He set the quill aside gently, wiping his ink-stained hands on a cloth before crossing to his bed. She sat on the other side, slipping beneath the silks and furs. He kicked his boots off and shed his shirt before slipping in beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight.

He didn’t speak as he eased beside her, and she turned just enough to face him, arm near but not touching, respecting his boundaries even in this private space.

A silence settled between them—not empty, but full of understanding. She gently reached for his hand, brushing a thumb over his knuckles.

“Rest now min kjære,” she whispered, drifting towards sleep. “There’s more work to do in the morning.”

He exhaled, body relaxing subtly against the plush mattress.

“I’ll be here when you wake.”

For the first time in days, sleep came for him peacefully.

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[seven4asecret]

Summary: The reader recovers from the attempt on her life with Loki’s assistance

Content & Warnings: Some nudity. The reader gets a bath.

Chapter 11: Of Stitches & Survival

He cried then, a choked sound escaping his lips as the relief finally burst from him in a gentle sob.

The healer seemed to take it all in stride, a mixture of compassion and gentle firmness in her conduct. “The arrow hit her liver, a botched shot at her heart, we believe. The tip was poisoned to finish the job. If you had not brought her when you did, we couldn’t have been able to draw out the poison. We would have lost her. The realm is in great deal of thanks to you, consort.”

“And now?" He found it hard to breathe as he awaited her current condition, his chest rising in shallow breaths as his heart pounded. “How is she faring?

The elder healer exhaled slowly, folding her hands in front of her stained apron. Her face was lined with weariness, but her eyes held a quiet steadiness.

“She sleeps now. The antidote is holding, and the wound is clean. We’ve given her something strong for the pain. She may not wake for some hours yet, and when she does, she will be weak.” She rested a hand briefly on his arm. “She’s a strong one. As stubborn in the flesh as she is in spirit. Do not worry.”

Loki closed his eyes, nodding as we absorbed each word into his bones. He slowly opened his eyes with a breath, looking back at the healer. “May I see her?”

She hesitated for the briefest of moments but nodded. “Quietly. She shouldn’t be alone when she comes to.”

The room was dim when he stepped inside, heavy with the scent of herbs and smoke from the brazier burning low in the hearth. Outside the great windows, rain had begun to fall— hard and fast, pouring down from the sky.

She lay beneath layers of furs and silks, color still drained from her face. A thick bandage wound around her torso in clean lines. Her lips were pale, and her lashes dark against her skin. The usual sharpness in her expression— her alertness, her command— was gone now. In its place was a vulnerable stillness that made his chest ache.

He approached her bedside, the sound of her slow, steady breathing anchoring his troubled heart. 

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice rough.

He knelt beside the bed, fingers curling tightly around the edge of the mattress. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move. He just watched her. Her hand, still and cold, but not lifeless, rested nearby. Hesitantly, he took it into his own hands and pressed it to his lips.

Loki exhaled slowly, resting his brow gently against the back of her hand as he let the weariness from the past few hours seep from his bones, eyes closing.

Outside, the rain came down harder, louder, and endlessly.

* * *

Something warm was pressed against her palm.

That was the first thing she registered.

Then the ache, sharp and deep, nestled just below her heart like a smoldering coal. Her brow furrowed.

She drifted closer to waking, to the hum of pain and the muted sound of steady breathing nearby. Her lashes fluttered.

Loki.

Her eyes opened slowly, bleary and unfocused— but the shape beside her sharpened into his bowed head, hands folded over hers. His thumb was absentmindedly stroking the back of her fingers, as if he was grounding himself.

She took a shuddering breath. 

Loki shot upright in his chair beside the bed, his hand tightening, eyes wide. “You’re awake,” he whispered, his words cracking as they left his lips. “You’re— gods, you’re awake!”

She blinked, lashes fluttering against her pale cheeks as her gaze tried to focus. Her mouth was dry, voice raspy. “Loki?” “I’m here, I’m here.” He leaned in closer, brushing a few strands of damp hair from her brow. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly two days. The healers—” His throat closed, and he swallowed hard. “There was poison, but they drew it out. You’re well now, safe .”

She didn’t speak right away— just looked at him, really looked. The circles beneath his eyes, the unshaven jaw, and trembling hands.

She tried to sit up, but she found her torso stiff, the effort sending a bolt of pain through her body. She winced, falling back with a pained hiss.

“No— don’t move,” He spoke quickly, already rising to steady her. “You’ll tear the stitches. The healers— Norns, they weren’t sure when you’d wake.”

Her fingers shifted slightly, brushing against his where they still clutched her hand. She gazed softly at him, raising her unoccupied hand to gently trace the subtle stubble lining his jaw, noting the redness of his eyes. “You’ve… been crying.”

He gave a soft laugh, almost shamefully. “You nearby died. Forgive me for having a heart.”

The corners of her lips twitched upward, smiling faintly, though it flickered with pain.

He pressed her fingers to his lips again.”Rest now. I’ll be here when you wake, darling.”

With that, her exhaustion overcame her, and she was far too tired to process the uncharacteristic show of affection from him. She succumbed to sleep once more.

* * *

“Are you well? Do you need me to fetch you anything?” He scrambled to help her to her feet, reaching for her hand as she slid gingerly out of bed. It had been a long week since the harrowing event, and gradually she was beginning to mend. 

Despite his insistence on remaining by her side since she had awoken, she had urged him to tend to his own needs, reminding him that a bath, at least, was essential if he was to keep her company.

“I’m well,” she waved him off gently with an amused huff, eyes sparkling with determination. “My legs are not broken, at least. I’m not as fragile as you believe, min kjære.”

The attack on her life had irrevocably altered their relationship; Loki could feel the weight of his affections for her growing, even as he chastised himself for daring to let such feelings emerge. But near-death experiences tended to clarify life’s most critical elements.

Loki didn’t release her hand immediately, even when she stood steady, his thumb brushing lightly over the backs of her fingers, a subconscious act to reassure himself she was indeed whole.

“I know you’re not fragile,” he said softly, his gaze tracing the contours of her face with a mix of admiration and concern. “But you were bleeding out in my arms a week ago,” he murmured, “Forgive me if I err on the side of caution, my lady.”

She paused and looked through him fully, her expression calm yet layered with unspoken emotions—tired, but resolute. Something in her gaze had changed since the assault. The sharp steel of her usual bearing hadn’t dulled, yet it had softened, as if the experience had polished her edges. She tilted her head slightly, a teasing lilt dancing on her lips. “You’re growing bold in your worry.”

“Nearly losing you has made me reckless.” His voice was heavier than he intended, and the silence that followed was thick, charged with the weight of unspoken feelings—no longer filled with uncertainty, but still delicate.

“You’re different now,” she said plainly, not accusing, just curious. Observant.

Loki met her gaze, absorbing the morning light that poured through the window, casting shadows and illuminating the trailing hem of her nightdress. “So are you.” “I nearly died.” “I nearly lost you.”

Her response was delayed, the silence stretching between them, pulsing with something unexpressed yet understood—a fragile connection shifting from fear to deeper acknowledgment. 

“You should rest more,” he said softly, lowering his gaze to her as he spoke. “Sit. Let me bring you something—tea, perhaps, or—”

“Loki.” He looked up, drawn from his thoughts.

Breaking the silence, she gently withdrew her hand from his to reach for her robe. “I need to be seen. The court will begin to question my strength if I remain hidden for long.” “You took an arrow and live,” he replied, stepping forward to help drape the silky fabric across her shoulders, hands careful and considerate. “You don’t need to prove anything.”

A faint, rueful smile graced her lips. “We both know that is not how these matters work, min kjære.”

He tied the waist of her robe with a lingering touch, his hands brushing against the fabric as he tied the knot, feeling the softness beneath his fingertips. “Shall I help you to the bath?”

She shook her head, voice quiet, though resolute, “You need not trouble yourself more than you have already. Call for the attendees.”

“I’m not leaving you to strangers while you’re still weak.” He countered firmly.

She didn’t argue. That, in itself, told him how much pain was still hiding.

Gently, he wrapped an arm around her waist, being careful to avoid the more sensitive areas where bandages clung tightly, and they moved slowly through her chambers to the small adjoining room where he had prepared a warm bath. The air was thick with steam, sweetly scented with lavender to ease her stress.

Loki knelt by the edge first, testing the temperature, ensuring it was just right before standing to assist her. 

She held onto his shoulder as he slid the robe from her carefully, maintaining a respectful gaze, despite the tightening of his jaw as he fought to keep his eyes focused on her face. Her body bore the evidence of her survival—dark bruises and stitches forming a map of her journey through the pain. Yet her expression remained calm, even as her fingers gripped him tightly in response to the initial contact of water.

“Lean on me, darling,” he murmured softly, filled with concern as he felt her tense.

“I am,” she replied quickly, voice barely above a whisper.

As she settled into the bath, he filled a small bowl with warm water, pouring it gently over her shoulder. A contented sigh escaped her lips, the tension in her body easing for the first time since she had risen.

“It hurts less now,” she spoke, as if to reassure him. “Only when I laugh… or breathe.”

“Quite the reassuring news,” he replied dryly, dipping the bowl again.” I’ll endeavor to remain less charming than.” 

She chuckled softly, but the laughter turned into a wince, making Loki flinch in sympathy. “Sorry,” he muttered, carefully, carefully wetting her hair, delicately running his fingers through the damp strands. He hummed a soothing tune, and she relaxed further into the comfort of the moment.

“I suppose I should thank the Norns that it holds true that Asgardians lack skill in archery,” she mused, her quip making Loki burst into laughter, a sound that warmed her and coaxed a smile from her, despite the dull ache of pain.

“Aye, if the arrow’s aim was meant for your heart, I’d say it proved remarkably lacking.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he shared a playful glance with her. Grabbing a cloth, he soaped it up gently. “Arms up, darling.” 

They fell into a comfortable rhythm as he tended to her, gently scrubbing her clean with the rag, his touch delicate and considerate. She sank deeper into the warm bathwater, leaning back against the tub’s rim.

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[seven4asecret]

Summary: The reader’s life is put at risk.

Content & Warnings: Mentions of blood and life-threatening injuries.

Chapter 10: Silk & Arrow

She had invited him to her bed after the festival, an alluring offer to bask in the warmth of shared intimacy. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she had touched his arm, a soft gesture that promised more. He had gently refused her, pulling back, simply saying that he could feel the wine settling over him, making him wish to simply sleep it off. He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment that had crossed her features, a fleeting shadow against her hopeful smile, but she had accepted his words, allowing him to slip away without protest.

How easily it would have been to say yes, to close the distance between him and pretend that nothing had changed. That he was still only the mischievous boy she knew and not a broken man. To lose himself in her embrace once more.

But she deserved better than the fractured man he had become. Even as the distance between them was fading, strangers were turning into something more. The image he had carefully cultivated for her, fair and blameless, was a façade he had crafted to shield her from the truth of his life. He was selfish, he knew. He had hidden his struggles well, buried them beneath layers of charm and wit, all to protect them both from the reality that he fought to keep at bay. 

As fate would have it, things had unraveled in a way he could have never predicted, leaving him with a gnawing regret about his choice to turn away that night. He found himself wishing he had accepted her invitation; perhaps then, he would have spared them both from the bitterness of this moment. 

In another reality, they would have awakened together, still wrapped in each other’s warmth, the morning sun filtering softly through the drapes, illuminating them in a golden hue. They would have stirred slowly, echoes of the night before lingering in the air, accompanied by gentle touches, soft murmurs, and the sweetest of kisses. The hours would have drifted lazily as they remained tangled amidst the furs and sheets, daring to indulge in the illusion that, just for a while, he was deserving of such happiness.

But now, instead, he found himself at her bedside, the stark chill of her hand in his, each moment stretching painfully as he grasped the uncertain reality of whether, if ever, she would awaken.

* * *

The summer market thrummed with life, a vibrant tapestry of colors and sounds that permeated the air. Silk banners emblazoned with the Queen’s family sigil fluttered gently from the tall wooden poles, their vivid hues catching the warm sunlight. The air was rich with a medley of scents— sweet roasted nuts mingled with the intoxicating fragrance of spiced wine that beckoned the passersby to indulge. The rhythmic sounds of heavy wagons gliding over the uneven cobblestones blended with the cacophony of footsteps, laughter, and chatter, creating a lively symphony that echoed throughout the square. Near the fountain, a group of bards played lilting melodies, their tunes weaving through the air while children darted gleefully past, laughter trailing behind them as they chased vibrant ribboned hoops.

A small escort of her guards trailed behind them, their watchful presence tinged with a sense of leisure, as if they were momentarily swept up in the lively atmosphere themselves. 

Loki strolled beside her, positioned a step behind, though she frequently glanced back, nudging him forward with gentle encouragement.

“Don’t make me drag you by the wrist,” She murmured over her shoulder, voice light yet teasing. “You’re not a shadow. Let yourself enjoy the vendors.”

“I am enjoying myself.” Loki retorted, tone carrying a bit of wry humor.

She huffed in reply, falling back slightly to link her arm through his. “At least try and look like you are. You appear utterly miserable each time I attempt to create an outing for us, min kjære. Am I truly so dreadful?” Her brows furrowed just enough to reveal a momentary vulnerability as she gazed gently up at him, making it difficult for him to resist the urge to smooth the crease that formed between her brows. Instead, he kept his hands awkwardly by his sides.

“No,” he sighed, exaggerating the droop of his shoulders for effect. “You’re tolerable at best.” In response, she playfully swatted his arm, her laughter bubbling forth and eliciting a warm chuckle from him in turn as they continued meandering through the lines of stalls and vendors.

Every so often, something would catch their eyes, prompting them to pause and admire the intricate crafts of alluring wares displayed on the colorful stands.

When they stopped at a stall showcasing a dazzling array of jewelry, she lit up, her excitement palpable as she held up a golden ring. It was exquisitely crafted to resemble an encircled serpent, each scale meticulously carved, with glinting emerald stones for eyes that sparkled in the afternoon light.

“Very nice.” He admitted, gently inspecting it with a tilt of his head.

“Remember that time you transformed yourself into a snake at the hot springs back on Asgard? You swam across the waters to scare everyone off so we could have the whole place to ourselves?” Her eyes glinted with mirth as she recalled the memory, a wide grin parting her lips.

Loki chuckled, the sound low, warm, and filled with nostalgia. “I remember you laughed so hard you nearly drowned.”

“You bit me!” she replied, mock indignation coating her tone, eyes sparkling with fondness. “Right on the ankle. I couldn’t walk straight for a week.”

Raising a brow, he retorted playfully, “I was very convincing. You said so yourself!”

She rolled her eyes, amusement evident as she turned the ring over in her fingers. “You were such a little menace.” “I was in love with you,” he said simply, the words slipping from his lips before he realized the weight. His jaw clenched, eyes widening as a cold wave of embarrassment washed over him, heavy and suffocating. He swallowed hard, opening his mouth to retract his statement, to take back what had unintentionally escaped. 

But she merely looked at him, a flicker of melancholy clouding her gaze as silence stretched between them.

She turned to the merchant with a quiet resolve, voice steady but soft, “We’ll take it,” and slipped a few coins from her pouch. The merchant remained quiet, though his eyes flickered between them with a glint of amusement as he exchanged the goods.

She slid the ring onto his finger without hesitation, fingers brushing against his skin, gold warmed from her touch.

As she began to withdraw her hand, a stranger collided with her side, breaking the moment.

“Sorry, my lady. Pardon me,” he muttered, urgency covering his tone.

She smiled politely, turning to murmur a soft apology in response.

Then— a crack.

It cut through the air, sharp and alarming, a sound that felt discordant amidst the festive atmosphere. 

Time slowed as Loki instinctively looked over to her, confused, knitting his brow together as the joyous chatter morphed into a chaotic din around them.

She gasped, a worrying wheeze escaping her lips, face draining of its tone.

His heart stuttered. 

He glanced down to see a vibrant red stain blooming across her blue silken gown, stark and shocking against the sleek fabric, her trembling hands pressed against her torso.

His eyes widened in horror.

An arrow, barbed and guilded. Asgardian.

The marketplace erupted into shrieks of panic and chaos.

The guards, who had lingered behind her, quickly barked orders, shielding them from the fray, urgency mounting in their movements.

He grasped her as her knees buckled beneath her, cradling her head in his hands, panic seeping into his bones. “ No! No, no, no, no …” The words spilled from his lips in desperate whispers, every syllable a plea as the world around him began to blur.

“Darling, darling, eyes on me. Focus,” he urged, concern lacing his tone as he gently patted her cheek, trying to anchor her amidst the chaos.

Her glassy eyes flickered to his, recognition struggling to break through the veil of pain. She gasped, her breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts, a sheen of sweat glistening on her pale skin.

Cursing under his breath, he turned to one of the guards, a frantic urgency echoing in his tone. “We need to get her to a healer. Quickly! She’s going into shock.” The ground felt unsteady beneath him, as if it threatened to give way under the weight of despair that had settled over him.

The guard nodded sharply, determination sparking within his eyes.

* * *

The doors burst open with a thunderous crash as they entered the healer’s ward, echoing like thunder in the vaulted stone chamber. The team of guards surged in, footsteps echoing against the stone floor as they frantically followed after Loki, the Queen still limp in his arms.

“She’s losing too much blood— get her on the table, now!” Barked the elder healer, her tone firm, leaving little room for debate.

Loki was rigid as he cautiously lowered her onto the table, hands beginning to tremble in a mix of adrenaline and shock.

“Let me stay—” he began a plea, gaze not leaving her once as she lay on the cool, hardened surface.

“No,” the healer snapped without glancing up at him, gesturing for the others under her order to fetch sterile cloths. "Out of the way. If you wish her to live, do not touch her.”

Loki reeled back a step at her terse words, blinking as they slowly made their way to his ears. He found he could only nod dumbly in reply, his body suddenly feeling like weights had been bound to him. He couldn't utter a protest, his tongue like lead in his mouth as his gaze remained fixed beyond the elder healer.

The healers took their places around her, slicing open the bodice of her dress and baring the wound to the air. Her lips seemed to move— barely. A name, maybe. Or a word he couldn’t hear over the pounding in his ears.

“She’s still conscious— Norns, how is she still conscious?” One of the healers murmured, a bit frantic as they pressed cloths against her wound, the arrow still jutting out of her flesh. The scent of herbs, metal, and blood burned in the air, a sickly sweet metallic scent that made him want to gag.

“Consort, you must leave,” a young apprentice spoke gently, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “This is no place for you.”

His eyes remained fixed on the Queen's face, her hair cascading around her head in a disheveled halo. Her eyes were glassy, half-open, as her chest rose and fell in labored gasps, each breath a struggle against the pain that had overtaken her.

“I’m not— I can’t leave her,” his whispered voice breaking under the weight of his anguish.

The apprentice, standing steady beside him, offered a sympathetic yet firm tone, "You can't help her right now. But we can. Please. Do yourself a favor, my lord."

He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to his hands, slick with sweat and trembling uncontrollably. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. He knew they must do their work, even if it tore at his heart to leave her in such a state.

"I'll be outside the door," he murmured, turning away just as they prepared to extract the arrow lodged cruelly in her side.

Once outside the chamber, her pressed his bow to the stone wall, the chill offering little relief from the turmoil within him. He gasped for air, desperate to calm the storm of emotions swirling in his chest. Tears threatened to spill over, burning at the edges of his vision.

Curse the Norns, the cruel weavers of fate that they were. Must they take every ounce of good from his life? Threaten to wring out any light that permeated his shadowy existence. 

He was the happiest he had been in years at her side, he realized. Despite his efforts to remain aloof, she had slowly chipped away at his defences, gently drawing him into a warmth he didn't know he craved. Now, the thought of losing her was like a chilled blade against his heart.

Time dripped by like molasses, slow and suffocating, each pained cry from within the chamber sent a jolt of pain through his chest, tightening with fear. The papalce halls, usually alive with whispers and footsteps, were unsettlingly quiet, as if the very walls were holding their breath, waiting for news. His fingers subconsiously suck out the ring on his finger, twisting the band anxiously around the digit.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, the elder healer stepping out, her expression a mask of unreadability, creating an anxious knot in his stomach.

“She’s alive,” she announced, voice breaking through the suffocating silence.

Loki’s knees nearly gave out beneath him.

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[seven4asecret]

Summary: Loki learns more about Vanir culture and attends their version of Sigrblót.

Content & Warnings: Brief discussions of children and marriage.

Chapter 9: Tangles & Tradition

The atmosphere within the palace had transformed from an air of tense uncertainty to a joyful celebration as spring melded into the early days of summer. Odin’s ominous promise of retaliation lingered in the back of their minds, yet it seemed momentarily eclipsed by the vibrant activities of the place staff. Ribbons and blossoms were carefully draped throughout the halls, introducing a sense of color and life that contrasted sharply with the grim realities just outside their walls. As he paused beneath the stone archway leading to the Queen’s private garden, a tranquil sanctuary he had grown fond of, his attention was drawn to the colorful strands of ribbons dancing in the gentle breeze. The joyous decorations, strung between the sturdy stone columns and entwined around the trunks of trees, featured vibrant greens, shimmering golds, and soft pinks, all adorned with delicate beads and tiny bells that chimed when the wind passed. 

Turning, he caught sight of her approaching, face illuminated with a warm smile that rivaled the light spilling into the garden. “You’ve multiplied your banners. Are we under siege by color, my lady?” he teased, his tone light.

A soft laugh escaped her lips, eyes sparkling with mirth in the afternoon glow. “Ah, you’ve noticed, then,” she replied, the corners of her lips twitching upward in delight.

“I’ve found myself tripping over three garlands and being pelted by petals at least twice,” He admitted, feigning exasperation. “What’s the occasion that warrants such extravagance?”

“Sigurblót.” She hummed, tilting her head as she regarded him with joy. “It’s quite different from how you celebrate back on Asgard. Here, it doesn't herald the old season of war but rather marks the conclusion of spring. We celebrate the fertility of our livestock, the bounty of our land, and our triumphs— focusing on life rather than bloodshed.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement mingling with skepticism. ”A little decadent for a realm on the brink of war, is it not?”

Her laughter rang out, though a flicker of concern shadowed her gaze at his words. “Perhaps that is all the more reason to honor it, then. This could be our last opportunity to celebrate before some of our warriors are lost to battle. We still possess the right to revel and make merry in the meantime, don’t you agree?” 

“I suppose so.” He conceded, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I would not dream of hindering such cherished traditions from being observed, my lady.” There was an appreciation in his tone for her unwavering optimism, even as danger loomed near.

“Tomorrow night, there shall be a bonfire in the gardens,” she announced, smiling up at him, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “There will be music, dancing, good wine, and ale. You should come.” “As your consort, then?” He inquired, brows raising in mild intrigue. The Sigrbót traditions here intrigued him, each a variation, a subtle reminder of the rich tapestry of cultures that existed beyond Asgard.

“No.” She replied, her tone shifting to a more sincere softness, “Come as yourself, min venn.”

Loki reached up, his fingers brushing against a strand of gold caught in the branches overhead, watching it as it rippled lightly in the breeze. “Alright,” he acquiesced, a sense of warmth blooming in his chest. “I’ll come.”

* * *

When he arrived at the festivities the following afternoon, he was greeted by the gardens having been transformed. The decorations had only been the first step, it seemed; lanterns were strung from the towering trees, and colorful ribbons streamed from high poles, trailing down where dancers spun wide circles. A large bonfire was set in the center of the gardens to catch the eye among the celebrations. The air smelled of woodsmoke and honeyed wine. Somewhere, pipes, strings, and tambourines wove music together.

Loki stood just beyond the edge of it all, dressed simply but well in a silken tunic and leather breeches. Anticipation coursed through him, and he did his best to push down the feeling of being out of place.

He caught sight of her before she saw him.

The Queen, hair braided with meadow flowers and ribbons, sleeves flowing, circlet replaced with a crown of ivy. Her dress was flowing but displayed more than her usual fashion, for the warm holiday, he assumed. It suited her, the way she wore it as a second skin, the confidence she exuded as she made merry. She wasn’t surrounded by guards or draped in ceremony— only laughing courtiers and commonfolk. 

For a moment, he was struck by the transformation she had undergone, spinning gracefully to the vibrant music that floated through the air. As he watched her, time seemed to slow, revealing the beauty of the scene around them. Her hair caught the golden rays of the sun, each strand glistening like spun gold, while silks of her flowing gown swirled delicately around her, creating a mesmerizing dance of fabric. He swallowed hard, abruptly reminded that this was no longer the girl he once knew. In his absence, she had blossomed into a being of undeniable confidence; the days of awkward pleasantries and uncertain glances appeared to be far behind her. Now, a spirited and valiant Queen stood before him, commanding both respect and admiration.

A complex swirl of emotions washed over him as he reflected on her change. On one hand, he understood it was foolish to expect her to remain the same, yet part of him couldn’t help but be captivated by her evolution, both in appearance and essence. Though she was practically a stranger to him now, he felt an irresistible pull to drift closer, despite his best efforts to maintain a facade of aloofness. Perhaps it was due to their shared history— part of him ached for the bond they once shared, no matter how hard he tried to suppress that yearning. 

He grappled with the painful truth that he was no longer worthy of her. She had always possessed a pure heart, devoid of malice and cruelty, traits he had long since nurtured in his darker moments. Once, in another lifetime, he might have dared to claim her affection, but that time had passed, leaving behind only echoes of innocence. He was not merely a man; he was a monster, and she was blissfully unaware of the darkness that had consumed him.

Their eyes met, and she seemed to sense his internal struggle. Her smile shifted, softening as she approached him through the boisterous crowd, gracefully maneuvering her way past dancers and revelers, some clutching vibrant, colorful ribbons in their hands. “You came,” she said, arriving at his side, her presence a welcome balm to his turmoil. “You invited me.” He huffed a breath of amusement, trying to keep the tone light.

“I wasn’t sure you’d accept.” She replied, her voice a melodic hum as she gazed up at him, a mixture of home and curiosity in her eyes.

“I was curious,” he admitted, casting a subtle smile in her direction. “Your celebrations are so different from those in Asgard. I wished to see some of it for myself.” He found, surprisingly, he was in a more receptive mood of late, though the reason remained elusive.

“I’ll show you then.” She said eagerly, taking his arm with a gentle touch and guiding him through throngs of dancers and playing children to a hill slightly removed from the festivities. She settled down among the wild grasses, the sun’s warmth enveloping them, and gestured for him to do the same. 

Loki sat beside her, the wild grasses swaying softly around them as the sounds of celebration faded into a pleasant background hum. 

“Here in Vanaheim, among any celebration—weddings, festivals, or holidays— you’ll find flowers,” she explained, a radiant smile lighting up her face as she plucked a handful of delicate blue petals from the grass.“We’re fortunate that our winters are mild enough not to freeze them.”

She looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. “To truly celebrate, a few braids would suit you well, min kjære.” With that, she began to braid his hair, fingers deft and unhurried, weaving in the small flowers alongside his dark locks. “Normally, such duties are reserved for a spouse or a family member, but since you have neither here, I’ll do it.” 

“I suppose I should feel flattered,” he murmured, his tone teasing, but warm beneath his words. “Receiving royal braids is quite the honour.” “You should,” she spoke with mock seriousness, though her fingers continued to work delicately through his hair, parting and weaving with ease. “I’ve only done this for my sisters— oh, and once for a mare when I was six.” “I’m honored to be part of such a rare company.” He glanced at her sideways, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

She laughed, tucking a wildflower into the braid she had just completed, “She bit me afterward.”

“I’ll try my best to hold my temper,” he said, lips curling into a smile as her laughter echoed in the air. 

“There,” she hummed, leaning back to admire her handiwork. “Now you look properly Vanir.”

“You’ve made me unfit for war,” Loki teased, running his fingers lightly through the woven strands. I can only imagine what Thor would have to say if he saw me like this.” She burst into a loud, infectious laugh. “Aye, it seems I have. I have no doubt he’d find it amusing. Though I’d prefer you stay away from war altogether. I just got you back, and I hope not to lose you so soon.”

Loki turned to look at her fully, the words softening something in him. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss for words as their eyes met.

The sudden shriek of laughter from a nearby child shattered the moment, breaking the spell that formed between them.

She stood, brushing off her skirts with a graceful flick. “Come, there’s wine to sip and songs to dance to,” she said, her grin bright and inviting as she extended her hand towards him. 

With a brief moment of hesitation, Loki rose to his feet and wrapped his hand around hers, a spark of warmth igniting at his touch. “Lead the way then, my lady.”

Together, they walked back to the celebration, hand in hand, the vibrant colors and joyful sounds filling the air around them once more.

* * *

They sipped the rich Vanir wine, savoring every drop of its velvety flavour, while bites of sticky-sweet honey cakes lingered on their tongues. For a brief moment, he allowed her a single dance around the bonfire, a soft admission of enjoyment despite the playful mischief in her steps. He suspected she had stepped on his toes deliberately, her laughter ringing in the air as she teased him. She had always been a skilled dancer— her movements graceful and fluid— so he had little doubt that she could avoid such slips if she so desired. Yet, despite the clumsy moments between them, he found himself content, swept up in the joyous atmosphere of the festivities enveloping them.

As the laughter of the crowd ebbed and flowed, she took a step back, gently swirling the ruby liquid in his goblet, his gaze drifting towards her as she conversed with a group of nobles and companions. She stood near the edge of the beautifully adorned gardens, laughter spilling from her lips as she conversed with a pair of women. Her attention shifted momentarily as she knelt to greet a wide-eyed child who watched her with an air of awe. A warm smile graced her face, voice softening as she offered a delicate flower plucked from her braid. The child’s face lit up with delight, snatching the bloom and clumsily tucking it into their short, curly hair. 

From his vantage point, Loki observed the scene, something stirring in his chest. A warmth, a wound.

Would they have had children if fate had not torn her away from him? If the cruel hands of destiny had not snatched her from the life they were destined to share? He would have wed her, of course; she was worthy of nothing less. He envisioned a grand handfasting ceremony, fit for a queen. The hall would be adorned with ribbons of white and green, celebrating their union as she swept down the aisle towards him, radiant and glowing. With a brief exchange of heartfelt vows, she would have been his, and he irrevocably hers.

Loki had never contemplated parenthood, especially with the faults of his fathers. But now, imagining a family stirred a longing within him; he envisioned two children, vibrant and spirited, the essence of their mother and a reflection of himself. Perhaps one would inherit her lovely locks, while the other mirrored his fair complexion. One child might possess her infectious laughter, while the other bore his wry smirk.

But in the cruel honesty of his mind, another image clawed forward: a child born not out of love but of his lineage— a cursed thing. With skin blue as ice and eyes that blazed red and wicked. Screaming and monstrous. A child who would rage against their fate, forever an outcast— a child she might never be able to love.

The thought left him reeling, and he flinched at the stark reality of it, breath catching painfully in his throat. The darkness threatened to swallow him whole, leaving an echo of hollowness in its wake. 

Loki turned his gaze away, back towards the firelight. The crackling flames, mingling with the intoxicating scent of smoke and blossoms, fought to shake the image of despair from his mind. 

Across the garden, she stood, brushing her hands off on the skirts of her dress as the woman thanked her, smiles gracing their faces before they moved on. The child, now proudly cradling the flower, toddled away with joy.

As if sensing his gaze, she turned, their eyes locking from across the crowded gardens.

Loki had drifted towards the edge of the courtyard, one shoulder resting against a weathered pillar. The firelight flicked against his features, casting shadows that softened the hardness of his expression, but could not completely conceal the heaviness swirling within him. 

She made her way towards him, footsteps light amidst the dimming twilight as the sun began to surrender to the night. Most of the guests had retired, leaving an intimacy in the air.

“You look like a man held captive by his own thoughts,” she murmured lightly, standing beside him, warmth radiating through the cooling evening air. 

He offered a faint smile, though his gaze remained averted, lost in the swirling mists of his mind. “A cruel captor, I assure you,” he replied, a bit of melancholy beneath his words. She tilted her head at him, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “Is it the wine? The music? Or has the excess ribbon offended your sensibilities?” “Nothing so dramatic,” he murmured, a hint of amusement pushing through his somber demeanor.

“You don’t wish to speak of it,” she concluded, matter-of-factly, reading the silence that lay between them.

“I do not,” he confirmed, the weight of his thoughts still burdening his mood.

A delicate silence hung between them, thick with words unspoken, before she broke it with a gentle suggestion. “I would hate for your evening to end on such a sour note, min kjære. Will you at least let me distract you?” Her glance flickered with mischief, a smile dancing on her lips. “The baker’s boy has brought a tray of honeyed fruit cakes you should try.” He met her gaze, the corner of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. “You’re bribing me,” he said, words laced with mock severity. “I’m bribing you and attempting to get you to enjoy yourself again,” she corrected playfully, stepping just in front of him, tone light and inviting as she extended a hand.

“I’ll consider the cakes,” he said, a flicker of warmth igniting in his chest as he finally took her hand, posture seeming to loosen, if only a little.

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[seven4asecret]

Summary: Loki’s suggestions impress the court.

Content & Warnings: No warnings apply.

Chapter 8: Woven Into War 

After the herald’s arrival, with no word yet from Odin, the atmosphere had thickened with an unspoken tension. The Queen had maintained a calm exterior, though the subtle tightening of her posture hinted at the unease brewing beneath. Over the past few days, she had summoned his presence more frequently, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the prolonged silence was weighing on her mind.

He lay in the vibrant gardens once more, his head nestled in her lap as she combed through his dark locks, having insisted on trying out a Vanir style on him. He found he couldn’t resist her plea despite his initial reluctance and indulged her request. 

“You know, I never did inquire whether you have any other consorts,” he murmured, his eyes closed in content as her fingers deftly wove through his hair, twisting and weaving the long strands.

The corners of her lips quirked up in a gentle smile of amusement, her eyes glimmering with mischief as her hands worked at the long strands. “What do you think, min kjære?” He huffed a faint laugh, slowly peeling open an eye to gaze up at her amused gaze. “I would wager that either you merely have me, or you have a rather envious crowd waiting their turn, considering how often you’ve called on me.” She laughed buoyantly, causing her shoulders to gently shake. “No, no. It’s only you. I intend to keep it that way for as long as you’ll allow me.” There was a sincerity in her voice that made his heart swell with warmth.

He hummed thoughtfully in reply, a quiet sound among the tranquil gardens. He changed the topic, fearing that continuing might lead down a path he was not quite ready for.

“Do you worry?” He tilted his head slightly to catch her gaze once more, concern etched on his features. “About what Odin may be plotting in Jotunheim?

Her expression shifted as she sighed quietly, her fingers in his hair stilling for a moment as she pondered over his words. “Aye. I do.” She shifted slightly, finishing off the last of his braids with a small gold bead to hold it in place. “It's not as if I fear that we may lose a potential war. With our allies in Álfheimr* and Svartalvheim**, we have some of the most formidable fighters and resources at our disposal. It’s simply the waiting— the uncertainty surrounding Odin’s response to my defiance regarding Jotunheim— that weighs heavily on me.”

“Ah, so it’s the anticipation, then, that troubling you,” He hummed softly in reply to her words, understanding her plight. “You will surely receive news of his intentions soon. Such a brazen display will not go unchallenged.”

“I’m well aware of that.” She nodded firmly, her expression resolute. “I simply wish it would come sooner rather than—” Her words were cut short as a member of her staff came rushing towards them, breathless and frantic. “Your Majesty! We’ve received word that the All-Father has ordered his Einherjar to commence building supply routes across the Northern tundras of Jotunheim. Our scouts have reported entrenched positions.”

The impact of the news stole her breath momentarily, but she quickly regained her composure, gently nudging him off her lap to rise to her feet. She brushed the blades of grass from her silken dress, her demeanor shifting to determined authority. “Have the council gathered immediately. We must discuss our next course of action without delay.”

* * *

The council was quickly assembled in the grand hall, the air thick with tension as members took their seats around the ornate table. Loki, with an air of casual confidence, lounged comfortably in his chair beside the Queen, his green eyes glinting with intelligence. The murmur of councilors filled the space, a discordant symphony of options and strategies, while the Queen listened intently, her mind already crafting a response to the escalating situation.

General Vikar, a burly figure with a voice that commanded attention, leaned forward. “We should respond in kind,” he stated firmly, brow furrowing as he spoke. “Reinforce the bases of our own troops, push them back with a show of force. The All-Father is testing our might; we can easily overpower this small show of strength.” The softer voice of Lady Thyre, a counselor from the lush lowlands of Vanaheim, rose above the clamor. “And what of our own scouts and troops?“ She cautioned, brow creased with concern. “We do not yet have the numbers for a full-fledged fight stationed on Jotunheim. A skirmish would only lead to bloodshed if we heed your advice.”

The Queen hummed thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly against her chin as she weighed the counsel laid before her. “We cannot appear weak,” she finally spoke, voice steady but authoritative. “But it serves us poorly to begin war so soon, especially with so few of our warriors stationed there. We would be ill-prepared for battle.” As silence fell over the room, Loki seized the moment, his tone shifting into one of calculated persuasion. “If it pleases you, my lady, may I offer an alternative approach?”

The Queen turned her attention to him, a spark of curiosity lighting her eyes as the councilors quieted down to listen. “Of course, you are always free to speak your mind, min kjære.” She replied, nodding in encouragement.

Rising from his seat, Loki leaned forward slightly, expression earnest. “What if we lessened their ground to advance? If the supply routes they’ve established are new, vulnerable, they have yet to be fortified. A strategic sabotage would make their efforts costly without outright declaring war. It would be but a signal that we are watching vigilantly and prepared to act.” General Vikar scoffed at the idea. “And what, precisely, do you propose? Send a handful of our troops deep into enemy lines and simply hope for the best?” Meeting the general’s gaze, Loki’s look remained steady and unwavering. “Not just anyone. We send someone who knows the terrain well—someone fast and resourceful. If Odin’s forces must continually rebuild their roads, it will slow their push and stretch their resources thinner. This way, we can preserve our own strength and still strike a blow against their advance.”

There was a brief, contemplative silence before the Queen spoke again, her voice thoughtful. “It’s a sound strategy,” she acknowledged. “We risk no soldiers to open war, while they lose precious time and resources. Vikar— see what scouts Laufey will be willing to send; they know the harshness of the ice and snow better than our own. We shall send more of our troops his way for his safety in return.”

Vikar nodded, though his expression held a shadow of skepticism. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll have a word sent to him at once.”

As the meeting concluded, she glanced over to Loki, her gaze warm with pride. “Did I not tell you that you would do well here? With this plan, we may be able to further hold our resources and save many of our soldiers. You think quickly, min kjære; you always have.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Loki’s lips as she took his arm, stepping out of the room and into the expansive hall. “I do try, my lady,” he replied, voice smooth yet laced with subtle pride.

*Álfheimr- The realm of the light elves 

**Svartalfheim- The land of the Dwarves

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[seven4asecret]

Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: Loki and the reader talk about their places.

Content & Warnings: Brief discussion of neglectful fathers (Just Odin being Odin)

Chapter 7: What We Mend

Loki sat beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak tree in the palace gardens. The grass among his legs was soft and inviting, but his mind was racing, echoes of the earlier council meeting still fresh. The Queen paced restlessly before him, graceful sandals pressing into the lush surface as she vented her anger.  

“I still cannot believe the audacity of Odin, sending you away as if you were nothing more than a mere pawn,” She exclaimed, eyes alight with indignation. “Does he truly see so little worth in his own son? It speaks volumes of his cruelty that he thinks only of himself, disregarding your value entirely.”

Loki shifted, drawing his knees to his chest as he rested, a sigh escaping his lips. “I believe he simply wished to be rid of me, in truth.” He replied, voice flat, almost resigned. “I’ve caused enough trouble over the years. Perhaps he sees this as a way to gain some peace.”

She paused, her ire momentarily giving way to concern as she settled beside him in the oak’s shade. “But he is your father, yes? Shouldn’t there be some part of him that holds affection for you?”

Loki erupted with a bitter laugh, breaking the serene atmosphere of the garden. He shook his head as he plucked a small weed, a tiny flower among the grasses, and examined it closely. She knew so little of him nowadays, but now was not the time to tell. “I do not think that all fathers love their children,” He said, voice laced with a hint of melancholy. “At least that is what I have learned. But it matters little now that I’m out of his reach.”

“I’m sorry. You deserved better.” She murmured, gently leaning against him, her head resting upon his shoulder. The unexpected intimacy made him tense, but as the moments passed, he allowed the warmth of her presence to soothe him.

He shrugged slightly, twisting the weed between his fingers, watching the small puffs of seeds take flight into the gentle breeze, dancing away into the vast garden. “There’s no need to apologize. You had nothing to do with my fate. What’s done is done. I can only look ahead.” She responded with a soft, thoughtful hum, nestling closer against his side..

He was quiet for a long moment, watching the last of the seeds drift off in the wind, carrying them far off among the garden. “What am I here for, my lady?” He asked, finding he could no longer hold his tongue from the thoughts that had troubled his mind. His voice wavered ever so slightly as he turned his gaze from her, afraid of what he would find in her eyes.

She simply blinked, furrowing her brows slightly as confusion danced across her features. “What do you mean?”

Loki inhaled slowly, fixing his eyes across the sprawling gardens. “I mean… What am I here to do? Why have you chosen to keep me by your side?” “I’ve told you before.” Her voice was gentle, as if she were treading on fragile ground, “I wish to keep you close and safe. Especially with the tensions rising between Asgard and the other realms.”

“But is that all?” An irritated huff escaped him, tinged with frustration. “Am I simply a means to an end for you, a way to defeat Odin? Or am I simply a pretty bauble for you to remember the past by?”

She startled, pulling away, her features looking like his words had cut deeper than he had intended. “Is that what you believe? That I see you as only some pretty trinket of our history, a simple political pawn to do my will?” Her voice held an ache that tugged at his heart

A tide of uncertainty crashed over him as he bit his lip, resisting the urge to reach out to soothe her. Yet he stayed rooted.“Yes,” He murmured, jaw tight with unspoken emotion.

Her gaze flicked over his face, a gentle hurt present in her eyes. “I—you have my apologies then. I had no intention of treating you as such.” Her hands in her lap began to fidget slightly, a tell-tell sign of nerves. “I had intended to give you a place of safety. I hoped by keeping you close, we might rekindle what we once had. It seems I have failed you in that regard.” 

Loki’s shoulders dropped, his frustration vanishing at her words. He hadn’t expected her to look so wounded. He assumed she would brush him off, offer another smile, and turn the conversation aside.

“I didn’t mean to accuse you,” he said after a moment, voice low and tinged with regret. “Not really. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, a weary sigh leaving his lips. “I’ve been grappling with my place in all of this. In your court. At your side. When I arrived here, I was certain I was heading toward exile. And how I’m… I’m unsure of where I belong.”

“I thought,” She said slowly, choosing her words with care, “that if I offered you a place beside me, you would understand it was because I wanted you close again. Not merely because I needed a pawn, or a relic, but because I want to know you. Not just the boy you were, not the consort you could be.” She paused, gaze steady but soft, “Just… you.”

Loki swallowed hard, feeling her words settle in the pit of his stomach, leaving him momentarily speechless. 

“I would rather face your father alone than force you into something that makes you question your worth,” She continued, voice dipping into a quiet, more vulnerable tone. “If you would rather leave the court—to leave my side— I won’t stand in your way.” Her fingers curled tightly in her lap, knuckles pale with tension.

Loki stared at her, his jaw tight as he absorbed her sincerity. The sun, hanging low in the sky behind her, threw a halo around her head, creating a soft glow as she spoke.

“You mean that,” He said, the realization washing over him as a statement rather than a question, surprising even himself. 

She nodded once, gaze fixed on her lap, afraid of what she might see in his face, “I meant it when I asked you to stay. And I will mean it if you choose to go.”

“I… didn’t want to leave,” he confessed softly, barely a whisper. “I still don’t. I had convinced myself that I was only here because of what I represented to you back then, or what you could use me for now. But if you’re offering me the choice in what I become here, who I am to you…”

“I am,” She said quickly, voice firm yet gentle. “I don’t expect you to be the person you once were, nor do I intend to use you as merely a pawn.”

A wave of relief washed over him at her words, ridding him of some of the doubts he had carried. If he wasn’t simply a puppet or a reminder, perhaps he could truly carve out a new path, free from the shadows of his past. Still, a lingering uncertainty clawed at him: would she still allow him to stay if she truly knew the depths of crimes he had committed?

His hands fell to his lap, fingers fidgeting as if unsure what to do with themselves. “Then I’ll stay,” he declared, words firm yet filled with the weight of lingering insecurities.

“Then stay,” She whispered, shifting closer against him, her hand hovering over his for a brief moment before she gently intertwined their fingers. “And we shall figure out the rest together.”

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Loki found it easier to breathe.

They lingered like that for a while, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the garden in the warm oranges and deep reds of dusk, painting the sky with a tapestry of colors.

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[seven4asecret]

Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: Loki attends court.

Content & Warnings: Uses she/her pronouns for the reader; no other warnings apply.

Chapter 6: Silk & Strategy

They stood side by side, gazing into the ornate mirror in his chambers as he adjusted his new garments, the rich silk glistening softly in the morning sunlight, as he prepared to make his way to her court. He took a moment to appreciate his appearance. It had been years since he felt this way—revitalized by warm baths that had washed away the grime, his once oily hair now beginning to curl. When he looked in the mirror, he was surprised to find a flicker of hope sparkling in his eyes, a look he had long since faded.

“What if they don’t care for me?” He glanced down at her, a hint of apprehension rising under his calm demeanor as he studied her delicate features. “The court, I mean.”

She tore her gaze away from the mirror, looking up as a hint of worry danced across her features and a frown pulled at the corners of her lips. “Whatever do you mean, min kjære? What troubles you?”

He took a breath, collecting his words with care, “I simply mean…” He paused, hesitating as he searched for the right words, “That I am not the type of man you should be presenting on your arm today, my lady. I’m no strong warrior; I’m a seiðmaðr, a practitioner of magick. I am not some lively, golden-haired, blameless god for you to parade around without ridicule. I am less than, I always have been. I do not wish to place the shame that surrounds me onto your shoulders as well.”

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, gaze unwavering until a sudden laugh escaped her lips. “Min kjære, I do not mean to be rude, as you know so little of my land and its customs. Among my people, you would be seen as quite the catch. You’re a master of seiðr— if your reputation holds true. Here such talents carry great respect.” Her eyes crinkled in amusement as her laughter faded into a warm smile. She gently wound a strand of his dark hair around her fingertip, the gesture playful yet intimate. “Moreover, dark hair and fair skin are rare in these parts of Vanaheim. Such qualities are highly sought after among my people. Why would I desire someone like Thor when I have you?”

He was momentarily speechless, his heart quickening in a confusing blend of embarrassment and flattery. “You… flatter me, my lady.” He managed, an unexpected smile creeping onto his face as he met her gaze.

* * *

“In here, min kjære.” She gently guided him, arm in arm, towards a pair of large doors that were quickly opened, revealing a spacious room that housed a lengthy rectangular table for the royal council. Nobles and advisors murmured in low tones, voices soft as they filtered in and found their seats. 

“You’ll sit next to me, of course.” She smiled, eyes glinting with warmth. “ I have faith that you shall do well here among my court. Let yourself feel the same.”

Loki simply nodded, a subtle pause before he spoke hinted at his hidden nerves. “ I can only hope to live up to such expectations, my lady.” He glanced at her, his brows furrowing slightly in apprehension. “But are you certain you wish me to be here?” She gently tilted her head, a flicker of surprise crossing her features at his words. “Of course. You’ll be invaluable not simply for your cunning, but your deep understanding of Odin. You could more easily predict his actions than any of us. You’d be offering valuable counsel should you choose to do so.” With that, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze before taking her seat at the head of the table. 

He deflated slightly as he settled into the chair beside her, jaw tightening imperceptibly. Was he relieved to be here for the sake of politics, or irritated that this was the extent of her regard for him? Did she see him merely as an ornament in her court, a pretty bauble to enhance her image? Thoughts churned within him, but he kept them at bay for the moment, unwilling to disrupt the ambiance of the session.

A member of her staff proceeded with introductions, his voice a monotonous drone that sent Loki’s attention wandering. A glance at his side showed him that she was in a similar state of boredom. Her own eyes dulled from their usual sparkle, and her hands fidgeted in her lap, a habit it seems she was never rid of. The sight nearly made his lips quirk up in amusement. Almost.

Then, finally, the man announced, “Presenting Price Loki Odinson— Constort to Her Majesty.” Loki responded with a nonchalant hum, his focus shifting back to the proceedings at hand. “Friggason.” He gently corrected, not looking up from his nails, voice devoid of any show of emotion. “I have no support from my father, nor do I condone his actions. I prefer Friggason to honour my late mother.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a fleeting smile blooming across the Queen’s lips at his declaration. 

The man quickly adjusted his wording and continued with the formalities, barely rattled by the subtle correction. 

The atmosphere, though early in the proceedings, held an unexpected tension. Thus far, nothing had gone awry, no hostile whispers or glares sent Loki’s way at the mention of his name. The momentary acceptance caught him off guard, granting him a brief moment to breathe. 

The man cleared his throat, preparing to get to the gathering’s main purpose. “Ah, your majesty, Odin has sent a herald to inquire of the…  success of the gift he has forwarded to you.” His eyes flicked to Loki, not unkindly, more out of simple observation. “Shall I have the guards fetch him?”

At this news, her gaze snapped to the man’s, the dull light in her eyes suddenly taking on new life. It flickered, renewed with the hint of fury in the deep pools of her irises, spurred on by the news. “Next time something of this nature arises would ask that I be informed of such immediately.” She commanded, voice measured yet firm. “Time is of the essence, even if war between us and the All-Father has not truly commenced. Our situation is tense enough to warrant such news to be brought to me as it arrives. Have his herald brought here at once.”

A few moments later, an Einherjar messenger was escorted into the chamber, the sight of him sending a wave of irritation through Loki. He had endured his fair share of encounters with them during his time in the dungeons of Asgard. 

At the foot of the gathering, the herald straightened, bowing stiffly before the Queen. The court observed in a tense silence, the courtiers frozen like statues of marble, mouths set in grim lines. “My Queen,” the herald began, with a haughty air about him. “Odin sends his regards and well-wishes. He requests that you cease your efforts to take Jotunheim now that you have received such a generous gift from him.”

“You can inform Odin that I will not accept his attempt to placate my efforts against him.” She sneered, voice laced with contempt at the Einherjar messenger, words measured but harsh. She sat poised on her chair, yet the sharp glint in her eye betrayed the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Beside her, Loki maintained a relaxed posture, seemingly unconcerned, but any of the courtiers watching would see the intensity in his gaze locked onto the messenger, unyielding and intent. 

She leaned forward in the direction of the envoy, her demeanor transforming into one of forced indignation. “To send his son as though he were little more than a pawn simply solidifies my case against him.”

The messenger flinched, momentarily at a loss for words. “The All-Father only wished to extend a token of goodwill. Odin is an honorable—”

“Odin has no honor.” She snapped, rising to her feet with a commanding fervor. An air of unease swept through the court, the tension palpable as all eyes turned towards her. “You speak of the same tyrant that pillaged realms for the sake of their wealth and power centuries ago.”

Loki remained seated, presence deliberate and unwavering. His gaze remained on the herald, neither judgmental nor scornful—simply present, seen.

He observed quietly, an unsettling calm radiating from him as if he had unraveled a new thread of fate in this realm he now lived in. A way to have Odin know that he failed to punish him for his deeds. Sending him to an ally rather than a cruel fate. All the better to drive the old man mad.

“You will return to the All-Father,” She spoke cooly, her voice steady as she descended a single step from her chair, “and you will tell him I do not accept trinkets, nor will the rest of the realms that suffer at his hand. His son is under my protection now and we have no intention of withdrawing from Jotunheim.”

With that, the herald bowed hastily, murmuring a quick farewell, and was quickly ushered from the room by guards who barely concealed their disdain for the Asgardian envoy. The atmosphere shifted as the court resumed its restless murmurs. 

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[seven4asecret]

Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: Loki ponders his new home and his place with the reader.

Content & Warnings: She/her pronouns for the reader, no other warnings apply.

Chapter 5: Stitching & Seams

She had left him to rest, giving his hand one last reassuring squeeze before bidding him well for the night, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone in his new chambers. Loki lay in the ornate bed, staring up at the silken canopy that fluttered gently in the warm night air.

His mind was still spinning from their earlier conversation, a tangled mess of uncertainty and concern. She never did clarify exactly what she expected of him. A political tool, yes, it seemed, but she had evaded the more personal aspect of their relationship. What did she expect from him beyond practicality? Wasn't the role of consort supposed to encompass more than mere formality? They had shared laughter and secrets in the past, but now, when faced with the reality of their new dynamic, he found himself grappling with anxiety and anticipation. He hated the speculation that gnawed at him, preferring the grasp of predictability, where he could wield influence over his fate. Yet she had left him unsure and shrouded in doubt. 

He was not sure how to feel if she broached the topic of companionship, in truth. Before she had left, he would have had little problem with such a thing, even being eager at the prospect. And it was not as if he hadn’t bedded lovers after their parting, each a fleeting moment of distraction. But this was different; this was her. Somehow, it was different now that she was practically a stranger. And somehow it made him hesitant. It was unsettling, the thought of approaching her now, the intimacy once shared overshadowed by their years apart.

He felt hollow, an empty vessel filled with self-loathing and the scars of his past grievances. The thought of her witnessing his current state— a mix of bitterness and despair, a man corrupted— filled him with dread. Would he even make a worthy partner to her anymore? Would she even recognize him as the same person who used to play with her so long ago? Or would she recoil in horror at the man he had become, whose crimes and guilt had left a lasting mark?

Tomorrow, he would have to present himself before her court, face the judgement and scrutiny of the courtiers. Would they know of his crimes? Would they whisper into her ears all the evil he had done since they last saw one another, sowing seeds of doubt and disdain? Would she spurn him then, upon hearing of his misdeeds, cast him aside and uproot him from this new life to send him to her dungeons, or worse, back to Odin? The thought of returning to his former father figure left a bitter taste in his mouth. Would she even harbor any fondness for him after she saw his true self, broken and spoiled, wicked and selfish, always out for his own?

He tossed and turned, restless as the hours slipped by, as sleep evaded him, haunted by old memories that clawed at the edges of his consciousness. In the early hours of the morning, Loki, finally, fell into a light sleep, a moment of peace among the nightmares.

* * *

He blinked awake the next morning, the early sunrise bleeding its vibrant colors through the small gap in the drapes. Loki ran a hand over his face with a sigh, feeling the sheets beneath him damp with cold sweat. He was no stranger to a restless night of sleep, but last evening had felt unusually rough as he relived the images that had played behind his eyes. The Titan was there, as always, plaguing him at every moment of his slumber, stripping from him the privacy of rest. He should have been used to it by now, but visions still made him ill.

He swung his legs over the bed, finding a pair of slippers fit for him and a robe resting on the edge of his bed. With those in hand, he padded down the hall to the baths.

Once again, he was thankful for the warmth of the water, feeling it wash away his stress from the night prior, and felt as close to Valhalla as he would ever get. He closed his eyes with a sigh, breathing in the scent of soap and lavender that permeated the baths. The steam drifted through the air, a welcome veil that offered some much-needed privacy after his night as he rubbed himself down with a cloth. 

A short time later, he dried himself off and slipped on the robe, returning to his chambers, preparing to further contemplate his new standing. However, he started slightly when he saw her sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Min kjære*!” She smiled, getting to her feet. She had already dressed for the day, donning a new silken blue gown that hugged her waistline. Her hair was braided intricately— he assumed it was more a fashion in Vanaheim than back in Asgard. “I’ve brought a tailor for some fittings. I shall not have you in plain robes if I have a say. Come.” She offered him her hand with a gentle smile, her eyes sparkling in the early light of morning.

He noted an older man with thin spectacles perched delicately on the bridge of his nose, standing by the sturdy wardrobe. A set of garments and an assortment of pins were arranged carefully on a table beside him. Loki took a breath, gathering his thoughts and willing away his troubles for the moment being. He accepted her hand as she led him toward the stool that the tailor had brought over. The realization struck him: he would need new clothing if he were to be making this place his home. It had been years since he’d last needed a proper fitting.

“Iric, this is my consort. He hails from Asgard." She announced, voice warm with pride as she released Loki's hand. "I trust you to do your work well with him. Greens and golds are his colors.” The flicker of satisfaction in her eyes was unmistakable, a subtle glimmer that made Loki's heart quicken despite himself.

“Aye, you know I always do my work well, my lady,” Iric replied, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smile as he regarded Loki. “He will wear such dyes well. Furs and velvet would suit him nicely during the winter months.” The man glanced at her, seemingly gaining her approval with a sharp nod. “Arms out, my lord.”

Loki complied, letting Iric begin the fitting process. The tailor moved around him, placing pins and making marks as needed.

“I shall come with breakfast later, min kjære." She promised, her voice soft yet reassuring. "I promise the fitting shall be worth your trouble before we make our appearance at court.” She walked over, offering his shoulder a gentle squeeze that filled him with a subtle warmth before taking her leave.

A brief silence enveloped the room, a moment of near solitude amid the chaos before Iric broke it with a light-hearted hum of amusement. 

“You should hear how she speaks of you, that one,” Iric remarked, eyes sparkling with mischief as a pin glittered between his teeth, ready to pierce through a patch of fabric. 

Loki blinked, momentarily caught off guard as he glanced back at the tailor. “Hm? What do you mean by that?”

“You must’ve done something terribly right to earn her fondness.” Iric chuckled, a knowing smile stretching across his face.

“I didn’t earn it. We grew up together; such attachment is to be expected.” He murmured, trying to downplay the unexpected flutter of warmth that spread through him at the tailor’s words.

Iric paused, raising a brow as he leaned back to examine the fit of the sleeve, a bit of curiosity on his features. “Expected, is it? Hm. Her Majesty’s words of you sound more like admiration than nostalgia, if you ask me.”

“I did not.” Loki countered softly, going still as he thought over Iric’s words. “Whatever she says, I’m sure it’s only kindness. You know how she is—sentimental.”

“Ah.” Iric sighed dramatically, a glint of humor in his eyes. “How surprisingly modest. So tragically unaware. A real tapestry of denial, if there ever was one.”

Loki gave a faint scoff, but could not help the color that bloomed on his cheeks. “It’s your job to stitch garments, not fancies, ” he murmured. “Besides, she hardly knows me now; I haven’t seen her in centuries.” 

“And yet, here I am, dressing a man who doesn’t know he’s loved.” Iric grinned, sticking a pin into the fabric with a flourish, the atmosphere tense with a truth that left Loki to ponder the depth of their connection. 

* * *

“Oh, you look stunning, min kjære!” She laughed in delight as she stepped back into his chambers. “Iric has done well.” She set the tray of food aside to examine him, running her fingers along his cloak. “I trust you are pleased, Your Majesty?” Iric’s eyes crinkled with his smile, obviously proud of his handiwork. “I shall have the rest of his garments fitted in a few days' time.”

“Very.” She smiled, satisfied as she nodded. “Your work always impresses, Iric, you have my thanks.” She turned to look at Loki next. “And you? How do you feel, min kjære? Are they up to your standards?”

Loki shifted slightly under her appraising gaze, the rich weight of the cloak shimmering in the early sun behind him. “I feel… overdressed,” he admitted, running a hand along the front of the tunic, though his mouth twitched into a smile at the softness. “But I suppose that’s the point.”

Iric let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you’ll get used to it, consort. You’ll be drowning in silks soon enough.”

She stepped closer, brushing a bit of lint from his shoulder, touch lingering just a fraction longer than it needed to, fingers trailing down the front with something gentler than appraisal.

It suits you,” She said softly. “The colors, the cut… You wear it like you were meant to.”

Loki glanced down at her hand, then up to her face. There was a pause, brief but dense. “You asked for this,” he said, more quietly. “I only hope I don’t disappoint.” Her brows raised, pinching together as she gazed up at him, a flicker of concern showing in her eyes. “Is that what you think? Do you need to prove something to me?” He hesitated, then shook his head.”No, only that I hope to be worth the trust you’ve placed in me.” And he meant it. There was a part of him that wished to return to the familiarity of their past, the sense of ease between them, the same carefree joy. But he knew better than to hope for something that could no longer be recaptured. And his innocence was not one of them. 

But perhaps, just perhaps, Vanaheim could be a new beginning for him and his healing mind. 

Something in her expression softened, and she reached up to gently adjust the clasp of his collar with care. “I have little doubt that you will.” From the doorway, Iric cleared his throat—not rudely, but with the familiar grace of someone used to slipping out at just the right time. “I’ll return in three days with the next set,” He stated, bowing languidly. “Though I dare say you’ve made my work look good already, consort.” He flashed Loki a subtle wink.

Once he was gone, she stepped back to retrieve the tray she’d brought, her voice returning to its familiar lightness once more. “I brought breakfast. I figured you must be hungry after all that poking and prodigy.” Loki hummed quietly, relaxing a bit. “Only a little.”

Min kjære- my dear, my darling

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[seven4asecret]

Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: The reader offers Loki a choice.

Content & Warnings: She/her pronouns for the reader, vague descriptions of sex.

Chapter 4: The Thread Between Us

Loki’s breath hitched slightly at the blatant sincerity in her tone. It left him somewhat disarmed, and for a moment, he was that mischievous child again, not whatever broken man he had become at the hands of another. 

How long had it been since he had felt truly wanted?

Loki wasn’t sure. 

Perhaps it was the night he spent in her arms the evening before they had to part ways, wrapped in warm, thick furs as their breaths mingled in soft pants and brushes of lips, hands intertwined. Her lovely eyes locked on his as she gazed up at him through her lids, cheeks flushed as they rocked together. The way his name spilled from her pink lips as she reached the edge, arms holding him tight. 

Perhaps that was as close as he ever got.

His expression softened, and the teasing lilt in his voice faded, giving way to a hesitant curiosity that was palpable in the air between them. A fleeting look of uncertainty flashed across his face, his emerald eyes flicking away as he spoke, setting his empty plate aside with a quiet clatter. “You would truly have me stay?” The weight of the question hung between them like a fragile thread.

She let out a gentle huff of laughter, nodding subtly, just enough to make the hair resting on her shoulders bounce lightly. “Min venn," she began, voice warm but resolute, "do you not think I would offer a safe haven during such turbulent times? No, I wish to keep my friend unharmed and close by. I had intended to offer you a place in my court, should you desire it. Rumor between realms is that your wit and cunning are unmatched— qualities I could greatly use in my bid against Asgard.”

Ah. So it was a matter of duty that compelled her now, was it? As the realization settled in, an unsettling thought flitted through his mind. Perhaps he was misreading her warm gaze, his fondness for their past blinding him to who she had become.

“You would trust me so easily?” After so long? He nearly spoke it aloud, but the question lingered on his tongue, caught between hope and disbelief.

“It has been a long time… and I do not pretend to think you are the same child I knew all those years ago.” She replied, her features shifting to earnestness, a sincerity shining in her eyes. “But I believe that there is enough trust woven in our past to say that you would not so easily betray me. Perhaps it is foolish, but I hold onto that hope tightly.”

“Aye, it is foolish.” He said, the corners of his lips quirking up in a wry smile, amusement dancing in his voice despite the tension. “But I cannot fault you completely for such thoughts, my lady. You always saw the best in me, even when I scarcely deserved it.”

“And I shall do so till you prove me otherwise, min venn.” She affirmed, her smile growing warmer as she gently reached for his hand. Her touch was both reassuring and inviting, a temptation to consider her words. “Shall you stay with me then? I will see that you are clothed in the finest silks, given access to the most ancient tomes within our vast libraries, and more, if only you would allow me to know you again."

He stiffened as she took his hand, but did not protest or pull away. The feeling of her skin felt foreign after so long, but held a distant memory of days spent together. He studied her for a moment, eyes flicking over her face, unsure of what to say, as words raced through his mind. 

He glanced down at their hands, resisting the urge to run his thumb over the back. He let out a soft huff as he took in her words, his brows raised in gentle amusement. “Such a generous offer for the sake of my company, my lady? Is that truly all you shall ask of me? To attend your court and play a part in your war?”

“Ah.” She grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have forgotten how effortlessly you would catch onto my intentions, min venn. While I could ask more of you, I hesitate to overstep such delicate boundaries so soon.”

A small smirk came unbidden to his lips as her words hung in the air. “Do you worry that you might scare me away? I would say you know me well enough to speak your mind.”

She hummed thoughtfully, her gaze flicking over his face, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary as a hint of a smile formed at the corners of her lips. “I would take you as my consort.” 

He had opened his mouth to speak, expecting a request for a simple political favor, but the words died in his throat as her words registered. Consort?

The implication struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Disbelief washed over him, leaving him momentarily at a loss for words. The teasing smirk vanished, replaced with wide eyes. He could not help, nor control the sudden beating of his heart at her boldness. “I-” He struggled rapidly to regain his composure, blinking rapidly to clear his racing thoughts. “Your consort?”

“Aye.” She affirmed with a playful grin that brightened her face. “What better way am I to make you a prince again than this? Besides… It would allow me to know you again, to keep you close, and treat you as befits your status. It would also shield you from the hands of your father.”

A whirlwind of thought stirred within him. Should he stay in Vanaheim, where the vibrant beauty of the realm provided refuge? Or should he ask her to let him go, freeing him from Odin's wrath and allowing him to roam the realms as he wished? He was not keen on returning to Odin’s ‘loving’ embrace anytime soon. Here, he at least had one ally, assuming she remained unaware of his dark deeds. Vanaheim and she stood between him and the Titan. So safety, he thought, could be found in her proposal, even as uncertainty loomed over him.

A brief flicker of hesitation danced in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a sly smile that curled at the corners of his lips. “Now I know you are a fool, my lady.” His voice was light and teasing, as if they were not discussing something of weight. “I would make a rather poor Prince consort.”

She huffed a gentle laugh and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “How so, min venn?” She asked, expressing a mix of playful curiosity and challenge.

With a glint of mischief, he raised a brow and shot her an amused look. “Have you truly forgotten who I am? I admit a life of lavish luxuries is… undeniably tempting. But I am, at heart, a trickster.” He spoke casually. “You would truly want me as your consort?”

Her smile widened, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Min venn, you have always kept me on my toes. That was one of many things I adored about you during our youth. A devious, unpredictable politician— one skilled enough to navigate my courts with his wit and cunning— would make a brilliant strategist on my side.”

For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something like pride flashed in his eyes at her compliment. He gave a small huff, unable to keep an amused smile off his lips. “You flatter me.” He murmured before he smirked, genuine appreciation lacing his words.

Yet beneath his playful demeanor, he contemplated the deeper implications. He was tempted to ask her if she was truly aware of what being a consort entailed. It was not simply a title for political convenience; it carried quite a heavy weight. It would mean sharing more than mere companionship— indulging in her ambitions, desires, and something more intimate than the chance of a renewed friendship.

A thought crossed his mind: perhaps she only saw him as a tool to further her court's agenda. A man with a silver tongue to turn things in her favor. Accepting him as consort might simply mean keeping a closer eye on him, a calculated move he would not fault her for. He may have called her a fool, but he knew she was far more cunning than she let on. He was well aware she knew of his nature, though she only had to refamiliarize herself with it.

After a brief silence, she leaned closer, gaze steady and unwavering. “So what say you, min venn? Have I yet convinced you of my offer?” She asked, squeezing his hand again. He tensed momentarily, realizing their hands were still locked together, before allowing himself to relax slightly, the warmth of her touch helping to soothe the thoughts within him.  

“I believe so, my lady.”

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[seven4asecret]

Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: Loki reminisces on the past concerning his childhood friend and what it could mean for his present.

Content & Warnings: Uses she/her pronouns for the reader, brief mention of the loss of virginity.

Chapter 2: Unraveling the Past

The warm water enveloped Loki, soothing his muscles and relaxing his racing mind. Steam swirled around the heated pools, creating a soft haze that cloaked him like a veil. He grabbed a soft cloth and lathered it with the fragrant soap given to him, the scent of lavender mingling with the steam. Each stroke of the cloth against his skin felt luxurious, as he surrendered to the tranquility of the moment, momentarily letting his worries go.

How long had it been since he’d had a proper bath, he wondered. Surely not since he’d been stuck in the dungeons, nor even before. It must have been before he was discovered floating between worlds, taken in, bound, and subjected to agonizing tortures by…

He shuttered. Now was not the time; he had more pressing matters at present.

Odin had made him a pawn, bargaining away his life for the sake of whatever was going on in Jotunheim. Surely such an act meant Odin was desperate. And Odin, being such, was a rarity.

Loki had grown up with tales that painted the Vanir as wild things and untamed things— witches, and spell casters, shrouded in mystery, said to practice their evil in the woods. Such stories claimed they were born from elvish blood long ago, a legacy steeped in magic and primal forces. That they took their pleasure under the stars in fields to celebrate their seasons, and who sacrificed their own in the name of the Norns, the mysterious weavers of fate. Several tomes recounted tales of their cunning and deception— horrible tricksters who delighted in outwitting their opponents, their sense of honor fleeting. Unlike the noble and civilized Æsir, they were simply primal and chaotic.

And then he met her. And the stories that he had read, that Odin had told him after the war between the Vanir and Æsir, fell apart. 

Instead of some feral being, a young girl stood before him, whose presence was both captivating and unknown. Her eyes shone with an untamed light, hinting at the wildness just beneath the surface— a mischievous spirit simply biding its time. A witch, not exactly, but a sið-kona in training, studying the runes like his mother, like him. 

Loki was taken with her from the start.

Her parents had pleaded for her to stay with his family to escape the Dökkálfar* that threatened her realm, hoping that the thin ties to Asgard might save them. And Frigga, ever the kind-hearted Queen, agreed. 

And so she stayed. 

He quickly found he liked her even more. She was a spirited child who adored the gardens and all within them, embracing everything within their borders— even the unsightly reptiles that he used to playfully tease her with. Rather than shrieking with fear, she practically cooed over them, as if they were cherished pets. Every time he performed his tricks, her eyes lit up with wonder, gasping in delight as she hung onto every word as he wove fanciful tales of heroes and monsters. She would gaze up at him with those large, 

shining eyes, filled with admiration and curiosity.

But her attention was not only captivated by his stories; she also listened to his worries, offering her gentle, wise-beyond-her-years counsel. After every scrape or fall, she would rush to his side, her hands carefully tending to his wounds. It was her he first opened up to his feelings of otherness, of finding himself a woman at times, or both, or neither. She simply took it in stride, telling him she was proud of him for speaking of it. Her presence was a comforting balm to him among tumultuous times, and there was always a safety in her presence.

But most importantly, she preferred him.

Not Thor.

Loki.

She entertained his brother, even cared for him, of course, but merely out of necessity. He could see the spark in her eyes dull when Thor would ask her to spar with him or chase her around the gardens. Or when Thor, under the image of some brave hero, rescued her from Loki, the villain, in their games.

It was Loki she came running to when the other children taunted her for her pointed ears and large, expressive eyes. In those moments of hurtful laughter and stares, it was he who provided refuge. Him, whose shoulder she shed her tears when she longed for the realm of her birth, the dense forests and open fields of the deepest green that had no match, and that of her sisters, all six of them. It was he whom she gifted her first brush of lips, and when the time came for them both, everything else.

And then she was taken from him.

Brought back to Vanaheim just as something had changed between them, threatening to blossom into something more. Just as he began to hope he could attain the one thing Thor had yet to.

But the war between the Vanir and the Dökkálfar had ended, and her healing was needed back home. So she left.

The one precious thing in Asgard that anchored Loki among the teasing and ridicule, the blazing sun to his shadowy existence, was stolen from him without a moment's thought for his wishes. Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to fault her. She longed for her own home, and the arrangement for her safety was always meant to be temporary.

Initially, they made an effort to maintain their connection through letters, pouring their heartache onto pages that carried the weight of their loss. Each message was a lifeline, a fragile thread that wove their lives together despite the distance. But as time passed and their responsibilities grew greater, burdened with duties and expectations, their correspondence began to suffer. The letters, once filled with longing, slowly turned to mere acknowledgments, until they ceased altogether, leaving an aching silence in their wake.

But Loki had not forgotten her, she still lingered in his thoughts. And when he found out his heritage, his true heritage… he wished more than anything that she was by his side to dry his tears and hold him tight. He hoped the same when he found him, tortured and used him, implanting thoughts not of his own into his brain. He prayed that she would find him then, in his darkest hour.

But she had not. But time had been kind to her, it seemed.

And if Odin was truly desperate, then Vanaheim and she posed a greater threat than he had ever bargained for.

*Dark Elves

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[seven4asecret]

Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: The reader explains Vanaheim's situation to Loki.

Content & Warnings: She/her pronouns for the reader, no other warnings apply.

Chapter 3: Broken Ties

As the last drops of water fell from his skin, he finally emerged from the baths, feeling calmer after indulging in some much-needed solitude. The warm steam clung to the air, wrapping around him as he toweled off. As he turned to reach for his clothes, he was met by one of the attendants from earlier. She greeted him with a soft smile, her hands held out in front of herself.

In their grasp was a beautifully arranged bundle of green silks, rich and lustrous, catching the light with a shimmer. He ran his fingers over the delicate fabric, noting the lightness, so different from the fitted leather he was accustomed to back in Asgard. It was undoubtedly a representation of Vanir fashion. With a sense of anticipation, he accepted the silks and dressed.

They brought him back to a large, opulent chamber. The centerpiece was an extravagant bed, adorned with furs and silken sheets. In one corner stood a grand wardrobe, a door ajar, revealing an empty interior that had yet to house any fine garment. Beside it, a sturdy desk was arranged with sheets of parchment neatly stacked, waiting for thoughts or musings to be inscribed upon them.

Against the wall opposite the bed, a large hearth loomed, its wood untouched by the flicker of fire, but held promise of warmth and comfort. The air smelled of aged wood and distant herbs. Finally, two large golden doors swung open to unveil a balcony that offered a striking view of the rolling hills and lush forests stretching out beyond. The landscape was bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, painting a picturesque scene that momentarily distracted him from his inner turmoil.

As the attendants departed, leaving Loki alone in his lavish sanctuary, he was granted the opportunity to rest before dinner. However, the silken sheets and heavy furs, though inviting, offered him little comfort. He tossed and turned, mid racing with the weight of uncertainty and dread that his new predicament brought upon him.

His friend had always been a kind, gentle soul, so her newfound prowess in war surprised him. How well did he truly know her now? They had been apart for centuries, and obviously, he had missed a lot. Neither of them was quite the same as they had been before; they were both now grown and into adulthood. He wasn't sure how their discussion would unfold. Would she truly see him as a twisted sort of prize— a once-prince turned criminal, reduced to a pet for her pleasure? Or would such a notion disgust her completely? He supposed he would not know for sure until they spoke.

Loki loathed being out of depth, and he could practically feel any semblance of control he still possessed slipping through his fingers like water. 

He knew he had to ensure her continued patience with him. Every action he took should nurture any favor she still held for him for his own sake. Every gesture and word would be essential in such an effort. Her support may be his only lifeline for the time being.

A soft knock echoed through the quiet room, pulling him reluctantly from the warmth of his blankets. He cracked open the door, revealing her standing there, bathed in the soft twilight that shone through the windows.

“Min venn,” she said with a gentle smile, eyes glimmering. “You look well after your time in the baths. The robes— they suit you.” She paused, a hint of uncertainty flickering across her features. “May… I come in? I  brought you dinner if you feel like eating.”

He blinked, her presence momentarily distorting him as he absorbed her words. His gaze lingered on her face, noting the graceful maturation of her features: The subtle curve of her jaw, the way her hair framed her face, and the delicate blush on her cheeks. "I... yes, of course. Thank you." He replied, stepping aside and allowing her to enter.

As he watched her move past him to settle on the thick furs before the fireplace, once again, he felt strange. This woman, once his closest friend, now felt like a stranger. The air between them was laced with an unfamiliar tension, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the simplicity of their past. He closed the door softly behind him as he approached her to retrieve the meal she had brought: a small feast of roasted meat, vibrant fruits, and a bottle of rich, red wine.

The scent of the food filled the room, mingling with the rich scent of old wood and the faintness of herbs, yet he found it difficult to shake the feeling of distance that had grown between them. He settled across from her, attempting to mask his unease with a thankful smile.

"I've missed you, min venn." She murmured, her voice soft as her gaze danced over him. It swept over his face, tracing the sharp lines that had replaced the softness of boyhood. So much had changed since their last meeting, and she took in the subtle shifts that marked his transformation. “I’ve always regretted letting our correspondence fizzle out. I can only imagine how much has happened during my absence.”

Loki felt a wave of uncharacteristic shame wash over him at her words. Would she even recognize him if he told her the truth of who he had become? Not simply a man, but a monster. A tried destroyer of Jotunheim, a tyrant who had attempted to invade Midgard, driven by a mind warped with poison and ambition. Would she care for him then, still call him a friend? Or would the truth of his deeds cause her to cast him away to remain only in the shadows of her memory? He did not wish to find out.

"Much has changed since we last spoke," He admitted, tone purposely vague. "Yet it appears I'm not the only one whose life has taken unexpected turns. You've ascended to Queen and I cannot help but wonder how such a thing came to pass. What led to such a change?"

“I do not truly know myself, if I am honest. My mother chose me, her youngest child, out of all the children that she had with my father. But I cannot help but trust her judgement, no matter how unworthy I see myself, she has never proven wrong in her choices.” 

He nodded, picking at his plate. “I cannot help but trust Freya’s choice. You would have made a decent one even as a child. Strong-willed but with a good, kind heart. That is more than some could ask for.” He paused a moment, weighing in his mind whether to ask the question that had been plaguing him since his bath. “What… is your interest in Jotunheim, my lady? Why risk the All-Father’s wrath?”

“Long before Odin united the realms under his iron rule, Jotunheim stood as an ally to the Vanir. We have witnessed the suffering of our neighbors as they endure the heavy hand of his tyranny that has turned their lands into barren wastelands of ruins. Just last year, we watched as Odin attempted to unleash the concentrated might of the Bifrost to obliterate the Jotun's realm, a blatant display of his growing malice."

His stomach dropped as her words sank in. That action was not the doing of Odin. But he chose to hold his silence for now, aware of the delicate balance between them.

"Our treaty has been shattered, and it pains us to see our once-thriving neighbors teetering on the brink of extinction." She spoke, voice filled with fervor. "The All-father is slipping deeper into open hostility against those of us who are not Æsir. If it continues, we may find ourselves next in line, perhaps even the Ljiósálfar*, facing annihilation as well. We must take measures to ensure our survival and safeguard the future of the realms that stand with us.”

“So it is not simply the Vanir who tire of Odin’s rule, is it?” He murmured, half to himself. His time in the dungeons had kept him in the dark concerning the state of the realms more than he thought, it seemed. “You’ve taken the initiative and gathered allies. Impressive.”

“Aye.” She hummed softly, her features set in a solemn frown. “It pains me that I must challenge the rule of the man who raised me, who nurtured me alongside his own sons, but his tyranny has grown unbearable. I refrained from taking action sooner for the sake of your mother. It grieves me to learn of her loss; it weighs heavily upon you I'm certain."

At the mention of his mother, he exhaled sharply, a wave of sorrow crashing over him, quickly followed by a surge of rage. He pushed the feelings down; now was not the time for emotions. "There is no love left in me for my so-called 'father,'" he growled, voice laced with venom. "You were wise to consider your actions carefully... But what of Thor? He is bound by loyalty to Odin, that is certain."

She shook her head, the severity of the situation evident in her furrowed brow. “It matters little at the time. Despite my efforts to reach him to inform him of the shift happening in the realms, he remains out of reach for the time being. I am confident, however, that he will eventually come to understand the truth of my intentions."

“He may not take the news well.” He muttered, picking at his plate. “He is a fool that has always put our— his father on an untouchable pedestal.” The corner of his lip twitched up as he spoke in a bitter smile, disdain mingling with sorrow in his darkened gaze. “You truly mean to confront Odin? You are set on waging war against Asgard itself.”

“No.” She spoke firmly, voice resonating with conviction. “Asgard and its people are not the root of our troubles; it is simply the man who leads them, who twists his power for his gain.”

Loki leaned forward, intrigued, his emerald eyes glinting with mischief. “So you plan to seize the throne from him then, my lady?” Loki hummed, a small, playful smirk on his lips as he raised the goblet to his lips, savoring the cool, rich wine that slid down his throat. "You seemed quite well acquainted with ruling, but Asgard is a different beast altogether.”

“Not necessarily, no." Her tone softened as she contemplated her next words. "What I truly wish is to see Thor ascend to the throne. If he has matured since our last meeting, I believe he could be a wise and just king. And let me clarify, my interest in challenging Asgard is not born from a desire to claim Laufey's throne either. It is simply about removing Oldin's Einherjar from our lands. One throne is quite enough for me.”

“Very admirable.” He muttered, the corner of his lips quaking up into a sly smile as amusement graced his tone. “You seek to dismantle Asgard, but only to hand the power over to another. If word of your intentions got out, the other realms might consider you a fool for such generosity."

“A fool, perhaps.” She replied with a nod, eyes filled with determination. “But it matters little to me as long as we do not have a tyrant reigning from the throne."

Loki gave a soft huff of laughter. “Such a kind, humble queen.” He mused, teasing lilt in his voice. “And yet, a cunning one too, it seems.” His smile faltered momentarily as his gaze flicked back to hers. “And what of me? Your… gift, as it were. Am I to play the part of a pet, or shall you be returning me to Odin’s doors?”

Her reaction was immediate; she seemed to startle at the suggestion, her brow furrowing in surprise. But within seconds, her expression softened, releasing the warmth behind her composure. “I— no, nothing of the sort, min venn." She replied, voice steady, but tender. "I will not have you reduced to a mere plaything, nor will I return you to your tyrant of a father. I… I would ask you to stay.” The sincerity of her eyes spoke volumes, hinting at the depth of her feelings and the bond that had once been between them.

Ljiósálfar- Light Elves

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[seven4asecret]

Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: The reader explains Vanaheim's situation to Loki.

Content & Warnings: She/her pronouns for the reader, no other warnings apply.

Chapter 3: Broken Ties

As the last drops of water fell from his skin, he finally emerged from the baths, feeling calmer after indulging in some much-needed solitude. The warm steam clung to the air, wrapping around him as he toweled off. As he turned to reach for his clothes, he was met by one of the attendants from earlier. She greeted him with a soft smile, her hands held out in front of herself.

In their grasp was a beautifully arranged bundle of green silks, rich and lustrous, catching the light with a shimmer. He ran his fingers over the delicate fabric, noting the lightness, so different from the fitted leather he was accustomed to back in Asgard. It was undoubtedly a representation of Vanir fashion. With a sense of anticipation, he accepted the silks and dressed.

They brought him back to a large, opulent chamber. The centerpiece was an extravagant bed, adorned with furs and silken sheets. In one corner stood a grand wardrobe, a door ajar, revealing an empty interior that had yet to house any fine garment. Beside it, a sturdy desk was arranged with sheets of parchment neatly stacked, waiting for thoughts or musings to be inscribed upon them.

Against the wall opposite the bed, a large hearth loomed, its wood untouched by the flicker of fire, but held promise of warmth and comfort. The air smelled of aged wood and distant herbs. Finally, two large golden doors swung open to unveil a balcony that offered a striking view of the rolling hills and lush forests stretching out beyond. The landscape was bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, painting a picturesque scene that momentarily distracted him from his inner turmoil.

As the attendants departed, leaving Loki alone in his lavish sanctuary, he was granted the opportunity to rest before dinner. However, the silken sheets and heavy furs, though inviting, offered him little comfort. He tossed and turned, mid racing with the weight of uncertainty and dread that his new predicament brought upon him.

His friend had always been a kind, gentle soul, so her newfound prowess in war surprised him. How well did he truly know her now? They had been apart for centuries, and obviously, he had missed a lot. Neither of them was quite the same as they had been before; they were both now grown and into adulthood. He wasn't sure how their discussion would unfold. Would she truly see him as a twisted sort of prize— a once-prince turned criminal, reduced to a pet for her pleasure? Or would such a notion disgust her completely? He supposed he would not know for sure until they spoke.

Loki loathed being out of depth, and he could practically feel any semblance of control he still possessed slipping through his fingers like water. 

He knew he had to ensure her continued patience with him. Every action he took should nurture any favor she still held for him for his own sake. Every gesture and word would be essential in such an effort. Her support may be his only lifeline for the time being.

A soft knock echoed through the quiet room, pulling him reluctantly from the warmth of his blankets. He cracked open the door, revealing her standing there, bathed in the soft twilight that shone through the windows.

“Min venn,” she said with a gentle smile, eyes glimmering. “You look well after your time in the baths. The robes— they suit you.” She paused, a hint of uncertainty flickering across her features. “May… I come in? I  brought you dinner if you feel like eating.”

He blinked, her presence momentarily distorting him as he absorbed her words. His gaze lingered on her face, noting the graceful maturation of her features: The subtle curve of her jaw, the way her hair framed her face, and the delicate blush on her cheeks. "I... yes, of course. Thank you." He replied, stepping aside and allowing her to enter.

As he watched her move past him to settle on the thick furs before the fireplace, once again, he felt strange. This woman, once his closest friend, now felt like a stranger. The air between them was laced with an unfamiliar tension, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the simplicity of their past. He closed the door softly behind him as he approached her to retrieve the meal she had brought: a small feast of roasted meat, vibrant fruits, and a bottle of rich, red wine.

The scent of the food filled the room, mingling with the rich scent of old wood and the faintness of herbs, yet he found it difficult to shake the feeling of distance that had grown between them. He settled across from her, attempting to mask his unease with a thankful smile.

"I've missed you, min venn." She murmured, her voice soft as her gaze danced over him. It swept over his face, tracing the sharp lines that had replaced the softness of boyhood. So much had changed since their last meeting, and she took in the subtle shifts that marked his transformation. “I’ve always regretted letting our correspondence fizzle out. I can only imagine how much has happened during my absence.”

Loki felt a wave of uncharacteristic shame wash over him at her words. Would she even recognize him if he told her the truth of who he had become? Not simply a man, but a monster. A tried destroyer of Jotunheim, a tyrant who had attempted to invade Midgard, driven by a mind warped with poison and ambition. Would she care for him then, still call him a friend? Or would the truth of his deeds cause her to cast him away to remain only in the shadows of her memory? He did not wish to find out.

"Much has changed since we last spoke," He admitted, tone purposely vague. "Yet it appears I'm not the only one whose life has taken unexpected turns. You've ascended to Queen and I cannot help but wonder how such a thing came to pass. What led to such a change?"

“I do not truly know myself, if I am honest. My mother chose me, her youngest child, out of all the children that she had with my father. But I cannot help but trust her judgement, no matter how unworthy I see myself, she has never proven wrong in her choices.” 

He nodded, picking at his plate. “I cannot help but trust Freya’s choice. You would have made a decent one even as a child. Strong-willed but with a good, kind heart. That is more than some could ask for.” He paused a moment, weighing in his mind whether to ask the question that had been plaguing him since his bath. “What… is your interest in Jotunheim, my lady? Why risk the All-Father’s wrath?”

“Long before Odin united the realms under his iron rule, Jotunheim stood as an ally to the Vanir. We have witnessed the suffering of our neighbors as they endure the heavy hand of his tyranny that has turned their lands into barren wastelands of ruins. Just last year, we watched as Odin attempted to unleash the concentrated might of the Bifrost to obliterate the Jotun's realm, a blatant display of his growing malice."

His stomach dropped as her words sank in. That action was not the doing of Odin. But he chose to hold his silence for now, aware of the delicate balance between them.

"Our treaty has been shattered, and it pains us to see our once-thriving neighbors teetering on the brink of extinction." She spoke, voice filled with fervor. "The All-father is slipping deeper into open hostility against those of us who are not Æsir. If it continues, we may find ourselves next in line, perhaps even the Ljiósálfar*, facing annihilation as well. We must take measures to ensure our survival and safeguard the future of the realms that stand with us.”

“So it is not simply the Vanir who tire of Odin’s rule, is it?” He murmured, half to himself. His time in the dungeons had kept him in the dark concerning the state of the realms more than he thought, it seemed. “You’ve taken the initiative and gathered allies. Impressive.”

“Aye.” She hummed softly, her features set in a solemn frown. “It pains me that I must challenge the rule of the man who raised me, who nurtured me alongside his own sons, but his tyranny has grown unbearable. I refrained from taking action sooner for the sake of your mother. It grieves me to learn of her loss; it weighs heavily upon you I'm certain."

At the mention of his mother, he exhaled sharply, a wave of sorrow crashing over him, quickly followed by a surge of rage. He pushed the feelings down; now was not the time for emotions. "There is no love left in me for my so-called 'father,'" he growled, voice laced with venom. "You were wise to consider your actions carefully... But what of Thor? He is bound by loyalty to Odin, that is certain."

She shook her head, the severity of the situation evident in her furrowed brow. “It matters little at the time. Despite my efforts to reach him to inform him of the shift happening in the realms, he remains out of reach for the time being. I am confident, however, that he will eventually come to understand the truth of my intentions."

“He may not take the news well.” He muttered, picking at his plate. “He is a fool that has always put our— his father on an untouchable pedestal.” The corner of his lip twitched up as he spoke in a bitter smile, disdain mingling with sorrow in his darkened gaze. “You truly mean to confront Odin? You are set on waging war against Asgard itself.”

“No.” She spoke firmly, voice resonating with conviction. “Asgard and its people are not the root of our troubles; it is simply the man who leads them, who twists his power for his gain.”

Loki leaned forward, intrigued, his emerald eyes glinting with mischief. “So you plan to seize the throne from him then, my lady?” Loki hummed, a small, playful smirk on his lips as he raised the goblet to his lips, savoring the cool, rich wine that slid down his throat. "You seemed quite well acquainted with ruling, but Asgard is a different beast altogether.”

“Not necessarily, no." Her tone softened as she contemplated her next words. "What I truly wish is to see Thor ascend to the throne. If he has matured since our last meeting, I believe he could be a wise and just king. And let me clarify, my interest in challenging Asgard is not born from a desire to claim Laufey's throne either. It is simply about removing Oldin's Einherjar from our lands. One throne is quite enough for me.”

“Very admirable.” He muttered, the corner of his lips quaking up into a sly smile as amusement graced his tone. “You seek to dismantle Asgard, but only to hand the power over to another. If word of your intentions got out, the other realms might consider you a fool for such generosity."

“A fool, perhaps.” She replied with a nod, eyes filled with determination. “But it matters little to me as long as we do not have a tyrant reigning from the throne."

Loki gave a soft huff of laughter. “Such a kind, humble queen.” He mused, teasing lilt in his voice. “And yet, a cunning one too, it seems.” His smile faltered momentarily as his gaze flicked back to hers. “And what of me? Your… gift, as it were. Am I to play the part of a pet, or shall you be returning me to Odin’s doors?”

Her reaction was immediate; she seemed to startle at the suggestion, her brow furrowing in surprise. But within seconds, her expression softened, releasing the warmth behind her composure. “I— no, nothing of the sort, min venn." She replied, voice steady, but tender. "I will not have you reduced to a mere plaything, nor will I return you to your tyrant of a father. I… I would ask you to stay.” The sincerity of her eyes spoke volumes, hinting at the depth of her feelings and the bond that had once been between them.

Ljiósálfar- Light Elves

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[seven4asecret]

Yours, Eventually has officially been completed! 🎉

A big thanks to everyone who followed along! 💙

.⋆•. ๋𖥔. Yours, Eventually Pt. 15 .𖥔 ๋ .•⋆.

Viktor x Gn! Reader

Content & Warnings: No pronouns, no Y/N, no Smut, & badly written flirting.

Letter 71 

My beloved,

This is likely the last letter I shall send you before you arrive to meet me in Piltover. I can hardly believe it’s happening.

The thought of you finally being here with me and only a simple journey away is more joyous than you can imagine. I’ve already begun to clear space for your things in my apartment.

I cannot stop smiling at the idea of you gathering all my letters, so you can bring them with you. Knowing you have kept our hundreds of messages over the years warms my heart. 

There are no words to describe how relieved I am to finally have you back, permanently this time.

I shall see you soon, 

— Yours (For all eternity if you’d let me)

Letters 1-5 | Letters 6-10 | Letters 11-15 | Letters 16 - 20 | Letters 21-25 | Letters 26-30 | Letters 31-35 | Letters 36 - 40 | Letters 41-45 | Letters 46-50 | Letters 51- 55 | Letters 56- 60 | Letters 61- 65 | Letters 66- 70 | Letter 71 |

Masterlist!

[seven4asecret]

.⋆•. ๋𖥔. Yours, Eventually Pt. 15 .𖥔 ๋ .•⋆.

Viktor x Gn! Reader

Content & Warnings: No pronouns, no Y/N, no Smut, & badly written flirting.

Letter 71 

My beloved,

This is likely the last letter I shall send you before you arrive to meet me in Piltover. I can hardly believe it’s happening.

The thought of you finally being here with me and only a simple journey away is more joyous than you can imagine. I’ve already begun to clear space for your things in my apartment.

I cannot stop smiling at the idea of you gathering all my letters, so you can bring them with you. Knowing you have kept our hundreds of messages over the years warms my heart. 

There are no words to describe how relieved I am to finally have you back, permanently this time.

I shall see you soon, 

— Yours (For all eternity if you’d let me)

Letters 1-5 | Letters 6-10 | Letters 11-15 | Letters 16 - 20 | Letters 21-25 | Letters 26-30 | Letters 31-35 | Letters 36 - 40 | Letters 41-45 | Letters 46-50 | Letters 51- 55 | Letters 56- 60 | Letters 61- 65 | Letters 66- 70 | Letter 71 |

Masterlist!

[seven4asecret]

.⋆•. ๋𖥔. Yours, Eventually Pt. 14 .𖥔 ๋ .•⋆.

Viktor x Gn! Reader

Content & Warnings: No pronouns, no Y/N, no Smut, & badly written flirting.

Letters 66 - 70

My Viktor, If I am to be a thief in your eyes, then the only thing I’ll admit to stealing… is your heart. I won’t deny it outright; some things are worth the risk. On a more serious note, hearing that Jayce has vouched for me only adds to the hope I’ve been trying so carefully to manage. You’ll have to thank him on my behalf. I’m grateful for both of you, for everything you’re doing to bring me up there. I’m trying to be patient, truly. But the thought of being close to you again makes that patience stretch thinner by the minute.  Until then, — Yours (utterly and without question)

Milý,

Your lines are a bit tacky, but the sentiment is appreciated, my dear. You stole it from me years ago when you came into my life and never truly left. I would not trade that for the world. 

However, I’m writing you with some good news. Jayce has pulled some strings, and your application is currently pending. It’s times like these that I’m very grateful for the benefits of Jayce’s position. At this point, if your permit is indeed granted, I believe I’ll be thoroughly indebted to him.

Don’t worry. Just wait a little longer.

— Yours (completely and thoroughly)

Darling, Your letter nearly made my heart stop. Pending. Finally. Please thank Jayce for me properly. I’ll find my own way to repay him once I’m there… assuming the permit request goes through. Regardless, his assistance means the world. Just a bit longer, like you said. I’ll keep waiting, albeit impatiently.  — Yours (and counting every moment)

Miláčku,

My hands are trembling if I write this, so please excuse the messiness of my penmanship. I don’t believe I have ever felt so delighted in my existence. (Except when I last saw you, of course.)

It is with the utmost joy that I’m writing to inform you that your request of your permit application… has been officially approved!

Jayce and I were informed this morning, and I knew I had to write to you straight away.

I can hardly believe that it’s finally time for you to come back to Piltover.

I could not be more pleased!

You should receive your permit any day now.

— Your partner (who looks forward to seeing you soon!)

My dearest, I’m shaking with excitement as I write this. I don’t know how to describe my delight. I’m ecstatic beyond measure at the thought that I’ll be (legally) allowed to stay by your side for as long as you’ll allow. I’ve already begun packing my things as I await the delivery of my permit. I’ve found that my excitement is preventing me from being idle for too long. I’ve already bundled up all of your letters to bring with me as I cross over the bridge. I cannot wait to see you again! — Your (elated) partner

Letters 1-5 | Letters 6-10 | Letters 11-15 | Letters 16 - 20 | Letters 21-25 | Letters 26-30 | Letters 31-35 | Letters 36 - 40 | Letters 41-45 | Letters 46-50 | Letters 51- 55 | Letters 56- 60 | Letters 61- 65 | Letters 66- 70 | Letter 71 |

Masterlist!

[seven4asecret]

.⋆•. ๋𖥔. Yours, Eventually Pt. 13 .𖥔 ๋ .•⋆.

Viktor x Gn! Reader

Content & Warnings: No pronouns, no Y/N, no Smut, & badly written flirting.

Letters 61 - 65 

Milý,

You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that!  Of course, it won’t be an easy process— I remember my own experience. But I will do everything in my power to get you across the bridge. I’ll pull as many strings as I have to in order to keep you in Piltover. If they reject your permit request, then I will write to the council myself.

Though… your apparent criminal record may complicate things. Let me know how things progress on your end.

— Your partner (who would simply like you to be closer)

My dearest, I was hoping you would forget that aspect. It was only petty theft. Besides, it was years ago, shortly after you were accepted into the Academy. I haven’t gotten caught again. There are things that I will miss down here in Zaun, but I miss you more. I can only hope my application is approved. I plan to fill it out first thing tomorrow. I’m flattered by your determination, but Jayce may be the only one on our side for such a request. (Tell him hello for me) With fondness, — Yours

Miláčku,

I suppose you’re not wrong about the “petty theft” aspect— given that it was years ago. Just don’t let me hear about you stealing again, malý zlodějíček. They will most likely consider that little incident of yours.

You don’t have to worry about Jayce. He’s already made himself aware of our situation. He may have been a bit nosy, but he’s supportive. He says hello. (He’s also eager to see you again.) The two of us are discussing the best way to go about helping you..

You know how determined I can be if I set my mind to something. Rest assured, I’ll do everything I  can to ensure your application is accepted.

— Yours (with love)

My darling, You wound me— “malý zlodějíček”, really? I’ll have you know I’ve turned over a new leaf. (Mostly.) I promise, no more stealing… unless it’s your attention, which I thoroughly intend to keep taking whenever I can.  I had a feeling Jayce would be nosier after my visit, but I’m relieved to hear he’s supportive. Tell him that I’ll try not to cause too much chaos upon my return. Try being the keyword. I submitted my application today. I can only hope for what comes of it. Knowing you both are working to help me means the world to me. You two have made the impossible possible once before; I have little doubt you’ll do it again. With all my love, — Yours

Moje láska,

You’ll always be a little thief in my eyes. No matter how much to convince me you no longer steal, I know better. 

Your intent to keep my attention is endearing. Though I assure you, it is not something you have to try to do. It is already yours without any effort. 

I’m glad to hear you’ve submitted your application. Jayce has happily put in a good word for you, and I’m certain our efforts will ensure your arrival in Piltover. But as of now, there’s only one thing left to do.

Wait.

With fingers crossed,

— Your partner

Letters 1-5 | Letters 6-10 | Letters 11-15 | Letters 16 - 20 | Letters 21-25 | Letters 26-30 | Letters 31-35 | Letters 36 - 40 | Letters 41-45 | Letters 46-50 | Letters 51- 55 | Letters 56- 60 | Letters 61- 65 | Letters 66- 70 | Letter 71 |

Masterlist!

[seven4asecret]

.⋆•. ๋𖥔. Yours, Eventually Pt. 12 .𖥔 ๋ .•⋆.

Viktor x Gn! Reader

Content & Warnings: No pronouns, no Y/N, no Smut, & badly written flirting.

Letters 56 - 60

My darling, This past week has been some of the most treasured time of my life. Your admission of affections, while not too surprising considering your previous letter, felt like a natural continuation of things between us. And I was overjoyed to have my feelings returned. It saddens me that I had to return to the undercity so soon after such a meaningful exchange. I particularly enjoyed when you showed me around your lab, the delighted passion in your eyes was unmatched as you spoke. It's always incredible to witness the enthusiasm you put into your work. I also enjoyed the few outings we had together. The small bakery among the corner shops remains my favorite. I hope I can visit you again soon. With love, — Yours

Miláčku,

You have no idea how wonderful it was to see you again after so long. The anticipation I felt each day leading up to seeing you felt like never-ending torture. As soon as you stepped across the bridge and I saw you, I felt all the anxiety that had built up melt away. 

I was overjoyed to finally confess my feelings. Holding it in for so long was beginning to drive me mad. I had no idea what to expect when I chose to say my piece in person. But hearing your voice and seeing your smile was everything I wished for. (The kiss was unexpected, though thoroughly enjoyed.)

I also enjoyed showing you the lab and the Academy in general. The wonder in your eyes was far better than any praise I could receive. This past week was much too short for my liking. It’s my sincerest wish to see you again soon.

I can only hope that one day you’ll be able to come to Piltover permanently, to be here by my side.

— Yours, heart and all.

My dearest, I feel like we simply made things worse by parting, and I absolutely regret not finding a way to stay on our final day together. But I know my visit was well-known enough to prevent any easy stay. Would you truly wish for me to come and join you in Piltover? I don’t wish to intrude more than I did already. With affection, — Yours

Moje láska,

I wish you could have stayed longer as well, believe me. I had half the mind to simply keep you there in my apartment. But I know the risks are too great for you to remain at the moment. Though I miss you greatly.

You were never intruding. You never could. You’re not only welcome, but wanted here. I’d be overjoyed to have you within my reach at all times. I do mean it when I say I wish you to be with me, if not permanently, then at least for an extended length of time. I can assure you I’d be ecstatic if you came and joined me at the Academy. I’d be even more thrilled to be able to see you daily and come home each night to you.

With all the affection I can give,

— Yours

My darling Viktor, Your words inspire me to believe it would simply be that easy to return. Though if you're so fond of the idea, I may attempt to apply for a permit in Piltover. Though you know as well as I how little of a guarantee there is.  With hope, — Yours

Letters 1-5 | Letters 6-10 | Letters 11-15 | Letters 16 - 20 | Letters 21-25 | Letters 26-30 | Letters 31-35 | Letters 36 - 40 | Letters 41-45 | Letters 46-50 | Letters 51- 55 | Letters 56- 60 |Letters 61- 65 | Letters 66- 70 | Letter 71 |

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