Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8614453.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Thor_(Movies), The_Avengers_(Marvel_Movies), Marvel_Cinematic_Universe
  Relationship:
      Loki/Thor, Jane_Foster/Sam_Wilson, Frigga/Odin, Odin/OC
  Character:
      Loki_(Marvel), Thor_(Marvel), Odin_(Marvel), Sif_(Marvel), Frigga_
      (Marvel), Hogun_(Marvel), Fandral_(Marvel), Volstagg_(Marvel), Heimdall_
      (Marvel), Balder_(Marvel), Vision_(Marvel), Sam_Wilson_(Marvel), Tony
      Stark, Steve_Rogers, Natasha_Romanov, James_Rhodes, Wanda_Maximoff, OCs,
      Hela_(Marvel), Jane_Foster_(Marvel), Malekith_(Marvel)
  Additional Tags:
      Sequel, Thorki_-_Freeform, Miðgarðr_|_Midgard, Álfheimr_|_Alfheim,
      Asgard, more_of_my_minor_OCs_and_twisting_Norse_mythology, Anal_Sex, Oral
      Sex, Married_Couple, Dogs, Ragnarok, or_approaching_Ragnarok, i'm_not
      sure, Canon-Typical_Violence, Alternate_Canon, Canonical_Character_Death,
      Pseudo-Incest, Angst, On_Hiatus
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_Broken_Series
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-21 Updated: 2016-11-28 Chapters: 2/? Words: 6970
****** Ardor & Armed ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Thor and Loki have encountered many dangers throughout their exile,
     back on Asgard old fears still haunt them, but life is much better
     than it once was for the young princes. As everything starts to look
     up again, and the two prepare to make their way to Midgard, natural
     forces begin to threaten the peace they thought they finally found.
     [HIATUS]
Notes
     Finally, after a too long break, I have this up, but I'm sorta glad
     because had I put it out any sooner, it probably would have been
     obviously forced writing. This is the sequel to my previous story in
     this series, Severed & Stitched, I hope that you enjoy this first
     chapter. I usually update about once a week. Thank you so much for
     reading!!! :)
***** Chapter One *****
                The maiden looked with cautious eyes at Loki, who loomed over
her with sharp glares and dangerous yaps, “If you prick my throat hence more, I
will kill you in ways you never knew possible.” He warned and her lip quivered
as she withdrew a pin that was too close to his neck, whoever’s idea it was to
create a high leather collar for a wedding costume, not even befitting to one
the groom, was loathed by Loki’s scornful tone. It had been around the third or
fourth time she’d pushed the needles into the fabric so deeply as to break
flesh, and Loki’s patience was quickly deteriorating. The room was campy and
colorful, as would be a rich tailor’s nook, the fluttering carpets and dangling
tassels hung like feathered gold and Loki was more than tired of looking at it,
accompanied by the fact that he’d now made the poor girl cry fiercely, he found
less and less reason why he was still there. He liked the older tailor much
more. “Stop your tears, not that you’re worth more times in the dungeons.” The
girl nodded silently and Loki rolled his eyes, twice, once he saw the shining
Sif enter thick oak doors and clatter the smooth opal handle. “What do you
want?” He scoffed, Sif chuckled.
                “Not that I am greeted with this kindness profusely, Loki, I’ve
only come along to see how comes your dressings, and I see that it comes well.”
She answered kindly, with too much sugar and Loki sighed, despite her truth.
The garment was gleaming and princely. Plump leather that was smooth as the
flat of a sword caped his frame, the cuffs were bound in expensive satin that
roped around in gilded edged criss-crosses, gold and emerald accented the
extravagant robe on its sides, and the inner vest was deep emerald silk.
                “Though I’m not rather fond of this process, what really comes
of your presence, Sif?” Sif smiled again, Loki never failed to see past a
varnish, no matter how thick.
                “I’d like to speak with you.” Loki looked to the maiden, the
tight sleeves of the wedding garb and shrugged it off fast, unbuttoning the
gleaming vest, he covered himself in his own jacket, dull toned and dark, like
olive smoke. He tapped his feet down the steps at the center of the station and
followed Sif through the door.
                “It should depress me that now I find your company pleasurable
when shown side the tailor’s.” He quipped as they stood inside the halls of the
palace, gilded and white; it had never looked more beautiful.
                “Come, Loki, you’d not expected this when you agreed to the
ceremony?” Loki groaned on something in his throat.
                “I only agreed due to a certain mother’s persistence,” It had
been with Frigga’s traditional mind and stubborn honor she’d practically
demanded they had a ceremony, “If you are to be married, pray that you do so
correctly, such ceremony is the properness of this realm,” she’d professed, and
Loki, tired of the lecture, begrudgingly adhered to her plea.
“And I doubt you’d come simply to wind me with your sarcasms. What was it you
meant to tell me?” Loki spoke, cutting the chase and she took a deep, audible
breath, crossing her pale arms, her dark hair hung in a low ponytail along
light armor.
                “Only that, once you and Thor have left, I am made heir, and in
it, little time is left until I am thus given my coronation.” Loki glanced
along the clean walls and lingered on a guard’s dented breast plate, as though
he was searching in the room for the reason she had withdrew him another
fitting to present him such a pathetically emoted notion. His shoulders rose
and collapsed.
                “And?” Sif smiled small.
                “Only that I wish this contempt between us is settled. Loki,
we’ve always brought our sharpest daggers to greet one another, and now that
I’ve come to meet the responsibilities I’m soon to meet, I ask that you too are
willing to free ourselves of any held concern, and move forward with strong
heads. The past is that it is, and as long as Thor is happy, I should not let
petty grudges against me.” She spoke with sincerity and Loki, was less numb
than he dared show. He smirked harshly.
                “Does this speak from the heart of forgiveness or your
eagerness to the throne, Lady Sif?” Sif’s lip tightened and she pushed on his
shoulder.
                “Why must everything be this way to you?” She demanded
impatiently. Loki chuckled.
                “A fierce tongue for a forgiving maiden, Sif, I maintain this
settlement, if you feel it so necessary. My apologies as well.” He gave with
more kindness and Sif gave a smart nod, before disappearing around the corner
of the hall. Loki’s own feet padded the opposite direction.
                While he had been stressful, he was more than grateful of the
direction of things. It was different not feeling the weight of a weapon
constantly at his waist, or more often, at his throat. He felt he could say
that for the first time since he was a skimpy adolescent fumbling in sheets
with his brother, he was finding something closer to happiness. His biggest
worry was the pricking needle of the seamstress’s pins and not soiling his
slick vest. Such leisure he’d not yet accustomed himself too. Sometimes he
found himself wishing Volstagg’s brashness would strike a petty dinning brawl,
an argument, something, and the reality only saddened him. That his mind had
become so used to war, it seemed to seek it, though he did not let such
frustrations claw at him too long, for as much as he liked a fight, he favored
the silence of physical peace, for his mind was its own warzone.
                Loki walked without direction and solemn closed his eyes in the
same simple fear he’d carried the  few months he’d been back. For it seemed as
though every time the lids of his eyes closed, he was back in Hela’s dungeon, a
feeding tube down his nose, and thread through his flesh. Perhaps the annoyance
of the sharp prick of pins ran deeper than he thought. The ponderous wonder of
his post traumatic distress was replaced with startled aggravation as two thick
arms yanked him backward.
                “Where wanders my husband?” Thor whispered in Loki’s ear,
embracing him from behind. Loki grunted and shrugged him away. Thor laughed at
his annoyance.
                “Don’t do that, do wish yourself dead?” Loki reprimanded,
swearing at his fiancé. Thor chuckled more and slung a sinewy arm along Loki’s
shoulders. “And we’re not married yet, so stay the endearments.”
                “Ah, well, soon we will be. Where were you off to, honestly?”
Thor asked again.
                “Nowhere, I was just roaming, picking away at my thoughts,
where’d you just come from?”
                “Reciting oaths to the priestess, I was going to see Heimdall
now, join me.” Their boots chimed along the hard floor and Loki’s eyes darted
up at the notion, and he shook his head.
                “No, my company isn’t often appreciated. Just, once you’re
finished talking to him, meet me in the library after. I’ll be ready to leave
this realm too damn soon.” Thor’s arm left Loki’s shoulders and traced Loki’s
arm down to grasp his hand.
                “I appreciate your company, just come, at my request Loki,
he’ll care little." Loki took not long before he released his petty aggravation
and walked through the great golden doors that shaped the palace entrance.
Their feet lit the bridge when they walked, the streaks of color blinking as
they stepped. Heimdall stood high at the Bifrost, his gleaming armor like
bright gold glass. Loki and Thor walked in with the same noisy step and
Heimdall grinned a small grin at their appearance.
                “What brings my princes this day?” He inquired. His pale eyes
seemed to look through them, all seeing and broadened.
                “Only the care of friends, dear Heimdall, tell me, what of
Earth,” Thor asked, looking at Loki with a nervous mouth, still he felt some
need to ask, “and Jane?” He owed something to her. She had played some part in
meeting them together, and with all he’d hurt her, he knew that some respects
were due. He’d thought about what he’d say when they migrated to Midgard. The
right words he’d try to string together, he’d pictured it all, and still he’d
not found anything of feasible strength. He cared for Jane, though he doubted
she’d much care for him.
                And Loki was not bitter. She hated them the same, he with more
fervency, but both none the less. He pitied her, she was but another wounded
heart tore at each their end. He sometimes wondered if their relationship had
really done more harm than it had good. They wanted to be together, but not
many others wanted them to. Both us alienated in our own home. The thought
depressed Loki sometimes, and boiled his blood others. He looked forward to
their leave, and still anxiety cut his heart. It wasn’t that any of Thor’s
crowd liked him either, but there were many people on Earth, perhaps he’d see
the reason his lover had taken such a liking to the brittle mortal men.
                “She fares well with woe, she weeps you Thor, I am not to lie.
Though, I think she’ll to find consolation among a friend of yours.” Thor’s
brow came together harshly and he let a small breath of intrigued relief quake
his lip.
                “Among who?” He asked, and scratched his bare elbow, suddenly
nervous.
                “The one known as Wilson.” Thor nodded and smiled.
                “Good, I’m glad for her.” Loki looked awkwardly around the room
and gnawed the inside of his cheek. Impatient and lost he cleared his throat.
                “Meanwhile back on Asgard,” he spoke under his breath. The day
was waning and after his walk on glass with Sif and a rouged and weeping maiden
pricking him with literal pins and needles, his patience for further annoyance
was sparse.
                “Yes,” Thor spoke, recognizing his counterpart’s short temper,
“what I meant to speak to you of was the foreign attendance, and of to ask you
if you’ll be attending.” Even more so, Loki could feel the temples of his head
begin to ache at the talk of their wedding.
                “Some of Alfheim’s and Hogun and his band will be attending, as
for me, I suppose I could watch the gate from a grand hall, get a commander to
watch my post, doubt I’ll make the reception.” Thor’s face split into a
crescent and he nodded in consonance with Heimdall’s words.
                “Your ceremonial presence is enough, thank you. All right,
Loki, no longer do I mean to push your patience.” They left the bridge quickly
and the large doors thudded behind them. They walked side each other to their
room, it had been Thor’s room, but ever since their return from their hellish
adventure, it’d become their own. And before Loki undressed, he collapsed onto
the bed, cracking bones, his boots dangled off the bed, and he kicked them off.
It was almost the hour of ten, he’d observed, looking to the boldly printed
clock that mirrored their bed, later than he’d thought. He sat back up,
groaning, he undid the clasps of his jacket and pulled the long sleeved black
under garment over his head. Thor stood in the washroom, wiping his face. When
he exited he’d taken off his shoes and his leather vest he’d worn without any
undergarment. Loki’s eyes were heavy and sitting on the bed, he found himself
on the verge of sleep. Thor sat side him and worked a knot in his shoulder.
                “Come, let’s get to sleep, we’ve more preparation tomorrow,
mother wants us to review musicians.” Loki could have whined.
                “Remind me why we’re doing this.”
                “You agreed to this marriage, and now you only complain of it.”
                “It’s not that I don’t want to be married, Thor, only that this
entire nonsensical ceremony bothers me. Tell me it doesn’t irritate you.” Thor
laid into the mattress and Loki followed suit, drawing a toned arm over Thor’s
stomach
                “Yes, it does, but if mother feels this is what is needed, than
easier for us to follow suit, at the same time, I care enough to think more of
what’s to follow. Once this is over we’ll be free.” Thor professed, his
fingertips grazing Loki’s arm lazily. As many times they’d been separated, the
more instilled the two became with some subconscious need to feel each other’s
tangibility.
                “You’ll be free. As much as I rather be anywhere but here,
being there is simply less the evil of staying in Asgard.”
                “You’ll be fine Loki, I’ll be there. Come, I tire of this
conversation.” Both them pealed the rest of their clothes off of worn bodies
and settled between thick Asgardian velvet. Sleep came quickly.
 
Thor was first to hear banging through the fancifully patterned walls.
Aggravated voices screamed with passion and rose in volume, each trying to
better the other. His eyes, crunched themselves open in painstaking hesitance,
the sun had not yet rose. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and ran his thick
fingers through his hair, he needed to piss, and so long as whoever was arguing
continued their bickers, he knew he’d not the ability to fall into his previous
state. Thus, he relieved himself quickly in the bath chamber and jerked when
the sound of thick wood falling to the floor rung through the wall, and the
voices rose even louder. He descended the staircase that lead to his bed, and
cut across the room to lean on the wall from whence the racket came.
                Upon his nosy inspection the booming voices sounded clearly,
one male and one female, though the female sounded considerably older than the
male. He listened quietly, scratching the scruff of his beard that was in need
of trimming.
                “Why? Why? Why would you ever come back?”The woman demanded,
her tone angry and shrill, it cut through the quiet of night heavier than a
sword. Thor thought he’d hate be on the receiving end. “You, cruel dumb, child!
You’re an abomination! I sent you to that cursed Hel for a reason! Why would
you ever think it wise to return here?”She continued to screech. Finally the
man spoke.
                “Mother, stop this! I am your son! Or have you forgotten? I am
as rightfully his son as he my father, and you my mother! How makes it fair, he
to favor a him, and be so cruel as to not accept his true kin?”
                “You dull, bastard boy! I sent you there for you fit not in
this golden realm! You are the offspring of scandal and sin! You ought not be
alive! Luck that you are, and it pains me that I look to you and see him in
your eye!”
          “And scandal is not with the two incestuous princes of
Asgard?” Thor’s breath was hard and Loki rustled in the sheets, sitting up in
bed, he rolled the covers from his frame and stood on tired legs, leaning over
the railing, he faintly heard the shouting and sighed.
                “Eavesdropping pesky tenants? What are you doing, Thor?” Loki
marked and Thor only held his hand.
                “Hold on.”He begged, and the shouts continued.
“UUUURRRAAGHH, BETTER HAD I RIPPED YOU FROM MY WOMB A THOUSAND YEARS
AGO!” Loki’s eyes got wide, for the mother’s words ran crystal clear through
thick palace walls. The quiet was dark in a deeper sense then the lack of
light, and then the man chuckled before he came back with doubled venom in a
sentence spoke with eloquent hate.
                ”Aye, and so I would not be born to a whore.”  Then there was
another crash, louder this time, and the man screamed. Thor ran back up the
stairs and pulled soft silk trousers from his wardrobe, Loki shrugged back on
his pants from the day lazily following, he swore under his breath.
                Thor walked fiercely on his naked feet to the chamber next his,
banging on it as greatly loud as they had made noise. The doors flung open, as
if by magic, and the woman wept next to the enormous dark wooden bookcase that
crushed her son’s frame and broke his bones like a giant’s step in a long wood.
He cried and gasped, choking on his own breath. Thor rushed to his side, and
Loki looked only to the mother, her long silvering dark hair hung low over a
pretty face, contorted to ugliness by grief. The man was around Thor’s age, if
not a bit older, and the woman met his mother/in law’s years. He squatted down
next to the woman, and at that level, one could see the way the heavy wood had
caved in his legs, almost deliberately. Loki knew the look of magic. It had not
been merely pushed, nor had it fell, and books had been flung all throughout
the room, a chest toppled over in the corner.
                “You’ll be fine, here, let’s get this up and we can get you to
a healer, come.” Thor spoke in a voice not even he could believe and lifted the
blocks of wood, broken over his body, and pulled the man from the debris. He
had thick gold locks that resembled Thor’s own dirty blond, though the man wore
no beard and he garbed himself in worn leather of Nifelheim. And while free
from the shelf, his shattered skeleton felt like cracked rocks in Thor’s hold.
His breath was barely there and his eyes were fluttering closed.
                “I finally get to see you,” when he croaked the words, it’d
startled Thor and he looked in his eyes with pain, “the prince of Asgard.” His
eyes closed, and he died quietly. Loki looked up at Thor, and Odin entered
solemn and alone, wearing his nightdress, and soft silk slippers, the patch
over his eye had been exchanged it’s heavy silver to a light strapped deep blue
velvet with curly white gold. He didn’t speak at first; taking a breath, Odin’s
face showed little of what he wanted to say, and littler of what he felt.
                “I felt this commotion, and—guard!” Odin called down abruptly,
breaking his speech. A night shift soldier came from his usual post and stepped
with the clattering steps of armor. “Take this corpse from here.” He ordered,
and the soldier complied, Thor passing the man’s body into his arms. Loki stood
and dusted his knees. Thor rose as well and took stance side Odin. He watched
the guard leave with the body. Loki only looked at the woman, tears streaked
her face, and her cheeks were hot. The night dress she wore was disturbed by a
dozen crinkles.
                “I know you killed him,” he whispered. Her eyes filled with
grievous anger and she released a small sob.
                “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know what I was doing, I was so
angry!” She pleaded, scratching at her scalp with enough force to draw blood.
Loki held her wrists and thrust them from her hair.
                “Things will work out fine, trust me.” At that the woman
snatched away her wrists from Loki’s strict hold and looked to him with a vile
emotion Loki felt not even he had ever displayed.
                “If things had ever proved to work out fine, you would be
either a dead runt in Jotünheim or the same place my son is headed.” She spat
and Loki smiled, appalled and unwilling to feel the weight of her words.
Initially he had pitied the accidental murderer, especially since he’d been let
off for much worse, but now, he felt a newer grain to peace he’d never
experienced before. As, Loki had never hoped a person would rot in the
dungeons, he often wished them dead, for death itself may have been painful,
the aftermath was peaceful. Prison was a torturous scene he’d been through in
three different realms, and none of them were tolerable, and all of them were
hellish. Thus such captivity was rarely a thing he wished on his enemies,
though now looking at the disturbed gleam in her witty eye, and the raging
anger she felt toward him for naught but his attempt to ease her pain, in that
moment, he wished those white walls drove her to madness.
 
 
***** Chapter Two *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you all for reading, prithee comment, and share. Something is
     brewing in Asgard.
                Loki had noticed the difference in the way Thor spoke to Odin
once they’d returned. He respected him, his tone of voice acknowledged his
authority and the due consideration of his title as king. Though, any
attachment he once held in his voice, any vibration that gave due to the fact
that Odin was his father was absent, he still made use the word, but it held
hardly the filial sentiment it once did. Of course, Loki had his own issues
with the man that ran further than his latest extremity, not much had changed
in how Loki saw Odin. Though, upon Loki’s proved loyalty to Thor, Odin had
seemed to have developed a stronger tolerance for the man he may have once
called his son.
                And Thor and he both had questions. Who was the painfully ill
woman, and why was she staying in the room next to Thor’s? For what reason did
she hate her son so much to send him to Nifelheim? What shame had he brought?
And of course Loki wondered where she’d inherited such abilities, and when Odin
planned on acknowledging the fact that her hands were bloodied by her son’s
death. After eating a breakfast of buttered bread and smoked meat, they met
quietly in the old family dining room, Odin sitting at the end, his robe heavy
and his armor its normal thickness, his patch gleamed gold as he summoned a
manservant with a tray of wine cups and sweet wine. He poured each of them a
cup and Loki felt the crisp dark spirit stain his teeth as he sipped it.
                “Well, father, I’d like not to waste time. Who was she?” Thor
demanded and Odin sighed, running his fingers through the snow white of his
beard.
                “A woman Thor, a woman out of home, she was given room here,
and in poor taste. It was meant to be temporary, it was ill to give her a
palace room so close to yours, but it is as it is.” Odin’s brow was tired and
exasperated and Thor’s was offensive.
                “What are you hiding? Father, who is she?” He demanded, Odin’s
coyness was of painful obviousness, and Thor’s aggravation grew.
                “It matters little, we’re to make rid the boy’s body today and
this will all be forgotten. I want no more of this to be spoken of, do you
understand?” He said firmly, there was no room to argue and Thor relented,
nodding in recognition, unwilling and not in favor of a verbal spar so early in
the day.
                “I have one thing, I’d like speak of,” Loki began, “she meant
to kill her son, bookcases do not fall like that on accident, there was more
violence before his death as well.”
                “Yes, she’s a witch from a small circle north of here. They
have a terrible habit of letting their emotions get the best of them, and of
those around them.” Odin explained with a hint of experience that Thor was
skeptical of. Loki nodded with understanding. In his passion he’d wished her
many atrocities, though it was all for naught. He’d been told worse things,
he’d practically taken his own life more than once, her anger should not have
upset him so, and yet it had, as though she’d had some fiercer aura that had
crawled under his skin.
                “Well, I have my last fitting I need to get to, I’ll see you
later, Thor,” Loki pushed on the arms of his chair as he sat up, beginning to
walk away and Thor grabbed Loki’s hand before he could leave. “What?” Loki
asked, glancing at Odin.
                “Give me a kiss.” Thor commanded, and Loki’s eyes went to Odin
again. He didn’t know what rebellious dilemma Thor had right now, but he didn’t
want to fuel any fire. Loki gave a light squeeze to his hand and moved forward,
and Thor’s need to prove something brought him from his seat fast, he grabbed
Loki’s neck and kissed him hard. Loki pulled away and sighed in exasperation,
pursing his lips, he left quickly and rolled his eyes as he walked out, saying
a silent swear.
                “Trying to upset me, won’t change my perspective on this.” Odin
affirmed and sipped his wine.
“I’m not trying to change anything, father, but this is the reality, and I’d
like that you’d soon learn to at least accept it. I deserve no less respect I
had before you knew of this," Thor was about to leave when his contempt bested
him, " and if there’s something you’re hiding from me that has to do with what
happened last night, I plan on finding out.” Thor followed Loki out and left
Odin to aggravated silence.
 
Frigga had looked forward to the day to she’d see her son marry. She hadn’t
expected it to be to a man, and she hadn’t expected to see both the boys she
raised together marry one another, but still somehow the prospect held
excitement. There was little room for women in Asgard. She was not a warrior
queen as Sif would be, and while her magic was important to her, solemn did she
use it. Her opinions were taken at some accord within council, as she was still
the most powerful monarch in the Nine Realms’ wife, but still, Odin’s male
advisors made up most of his well considered input. Thus, planning such
ceremony for her sons, (for she still saw them as both her own, no matter the
oddity) provided her something to do that was enjoyable.
                She didn’t want them to have anything less than traditional
either. If they were truly going to wed, she wanted it to be in Asgardian
correctness. She wouldn’t have either of them eloping without anyone else as
witness, or worse, having a ceremony among the mortals and defiling themselves
with so low an audience. She had respect for humans, and her son’s queer liking
to them, but she wanted a proper marriage for them, refined, royally regal.
They deserved no less, and that was the end of the story.
                The choice of plants was something of Frigga’s feminine
pleasure, a florist had gathered dozens among dozens of feathery leaves and
lacy flowers among high and low tables within her private hall. They were all
lovely, and she’d patterned the placement of its fine shrubbery along a thin
parchment in purple ink. She’d set gold petals topped with small white fluff,
combined with thorn-stemmed swirls of red throughout the ceremonial hall.
Around the stage she would set gray toned blue fans and, as she decided now,
the second arrangement she’d want to share the stage. At the altar, each
bouquet symbolized a member of the party getting married. She’d chosen
immediately the large blue flowers for Thor, and as she chose for Loki, there
were three beautiful picks she’d troubled herself choosing. She wanted green,
as had always been his signature. It was between the harsh gradient of red to
olive, dark green hooks that hung yellow bells drooping a dark black clapper,
and a pale pink stemmed flower with deep emerald petals, dotted with curly
thorns prickled with tiny hairs that hurt to the touch. She’d lightly sent a
servant to fetch Thor and pondered over them. She couldn’t have Loki pick them
himself, as he would do so with a vain view of what he was, and so he called to
the man who she had accepted, knew him better than anyone.
                Thor walked heavy, carrying a weight that fit him horribly.
Frigga was not fond of the harsh look on his face, nor the dull heat he
radiated. Frowning upon his entrance she sighed and straightened his dark gray
velvet jerkin. She smiled at him as she did so, and spoke. “You shouldn’t look
so sour, it suits your handsome features ill.” Thor pursed his lips, and
grunted.
                “If father were not so vague in his explanations, I’d not be
this sour.” He returned, upon the looks of the flowers, plump with life and
color, he relaxed a little, releasing a long cool breath that soothed him.
                “Well, which do you think, suits Loki’s character best? I
figured you’d know well enough.” Frigga asked and gestured to the three
different arrangements. Thor gave a shorter sigh and immediately felt for the
velvety emerald petals with the pink stems.
                “These.” He spoke, entirely sure. “Yellow is too proud, and red
is too passionate. Loki is like this, deep and soft as this green, sturdy and
prickly to the touch, as the thorns, and with a light sense of himself, despite
what he may make others think, which goes for this pink here.” Frigga smiled
proudly and nodded.
                “I knew you’d know for certain. They are poisonous, you know. A
drop of milk from a cut stem would to take down the strongest warrior.” Thor
finally cracked a smile. It was his first of the morning.
                “Like his wit.” Frigga looked to her son with a mask of the
softest pain. It really hadn’t been as she’d expected, or hoped for either of
them, and still, here it was. Though she’d never seen either of them fight so
hard for anything, the fact of Loki’s ill motives, stalled, by Thor’s care had
not gone unnoticed by her either. They carried one another in hard case,
protecting each other at all costs.
                “You love him as you say you do, honestly?” Frigga asked, she
didn’t normally ask questions she knew the answer to, but her reluctant mind
seemed to need a sort of final vindication.
                “More than I could ever say I do mother.” Thor finally released
the cool flower and looked to her with a sudden grimace. “Though, I think not
that father would like to hear it. All I’ve been through for him and still he’s
yet approve of this.”
                “He will in time. He must. Mere weeks pass before your
ceremony. I’d not to worry Thor. You’re father should do more to support love,
no matter its foreignness. Now go, you’ve a fitting scheduled, haven’t you? I
appointed one for you and Loki alike.” Thor nodded, waving his hand about and
Frigga gave him a kiss on his bristly cheek. She ran her fingers through his
beard and tilted her head, disapproving. “And trim your beard for goodness
sakes, any longer and you’ll be taken for Volstagg’s lost brother.” At that
Thor gave a small chuckle and touched his mother’s shoulder before he left.
                “As you wish.” He’d assured, and walked to his own wardrobe
room, separate Loki’s. His tailor was a woman of older age, her hair turned
silver, though she kept it loose and long as though she was young, and dressed
more like a chamber wench than a grandmother. She was a hard worker though, and
listened to any request he gave to the altering of his garb, so he minded her
own fashion choice with little regard.
                The robe was a velvety gray, like his vest, only striped and
accented with deep blue and red strips of fabric, the arms banded with thick
silver vambraces, etched with cluttered patterns. Each button was brightly
silver, and the armor in the front was thick enough to fight a small battle.
Ropes of lustrous chain hung at the front and rear tails. He’d look less the
prince he was and more the king he now realized he’d never be. And, after the
small taste he’d been given, he couldn’t say he would be missing out on
anything. He knew not how Sif would take to the throne. He trusted she’d rule
with mercy, and as much fierceness she fought with, but how she’d push herself
to fill the responsibility minded him little. However she went about it, he
expected she would do so well, for Sif had a certain valiance about her he’d
seen no other woman, or man, for that matter, hold quite as she did.
                Thor had stood onto the platform, and clambered into his suit,
pulling over the heavy fabrics and pushing his hands through the tight
forearms. The lady wench huffed at the seams and pricked around Thor
impatiently, marking the spots in need of tightening up, or removing, minding
the few unsown places, still in need of construction, before she ordered him to
shrug it off, and already began with her adjustments. She shooed him away
politely. His fittings always went quicker than Loki’s. Loki was impatient and
his tailors were an alternating pair of old and young women, more often the old
woman sat while she watched the young work to fit Loki, while his anger rose
deep in his throat. Thor’s seamstress, however, was more impatient than he was
and while she worked fast, she worked diligently. Her thick old hips hunched
over her work station as Thor left, she barely noticed the difference of his
absence and his presence.
                Thor was quick to head straight to his room. He felt a need to
leisure himself before he was called for another fitting, or another flower
arrangement, or affirming guest lists and tasting wedding delicacies before the
cooks picked which ones to serve. Though, passing two thick doors next to his,
two doors that had flung open the previous night vibrated tenacity onto Thor,
and layered it over his already curious mind. Stopping, he stepped slowly and
with caution to the door, he gave a light knock and the same woman, thin tinsel
streaking her brunette head, opened the door, she gave a smile Thor thought too
bright for a childless mother, yet he returned her brilliance.
                “I’m sorry to disturb you after so terrible a loss, but may I
come in for a moment and speak with you?” The woman nodded, gesturing in, she
opened the door more and Thor entered.
                “Yes, have a seat; make yourself comfortable, my prince.” Thor
did not do so, and instead stayed his stance, he walked slightly, and gave a
gander to the room, cleaned and uncluttered, no sign of death or accident
remained.
                “I’m all right thank you.” Thor rejected and the woman shifted
along the room to sit inside a deep red chair, and spread her hands in the air,
offering her words, she poured a cup of tea on the table next to the chair and
sipped it small, setting the dainty cup back onto the surface.
                “What word would my liege have of me?” She asked, settling back
both her hands on the crossed knees under her thick long dress, the same deep
red of the seat, only made of silk and not of the tautly stuffed velvet
pouching out of the glossy wooden frame of the chair.
                “A few questions, I fear. I sense that my father hides
something pertaining to you, for whatever reason. Solemn has he hid much, and
after all I’ve been through at his hand, I feel, I’ve a certain entitlement.
Let us begin with a question of poor manner, I’m sorry, but still I’ve yet to
know your name.” The woman breathed deeply and Thor could not tell if she was
nervous or sad.
                “My name is Alfyni, my
liege.”                                                                                                
                “This room is side my own, and I must say a room this close the
prince would be held to someone of much importance and dear keep. It’s one of
the nicest chambers in this castle. Who demanded you have it? They must have
begged hard for my father to allow this.” She seemed to bristle at the
question, she wiggled her nose as if it itched and sipped some more her tea.
                “I’m afraid I’d like not to answer that, Prince Thor.”
                “Why not?” He felt himself growing quicker to frustration these
days upon certain matters. His temper was almost as bad as Loki’s.
                “It would dishonor the man who’d done so.”
                “My engaged has reason to believe you killed your son, he does
magic as well as you do.” Thor moved on. Thor found it strange as his previous
inquiry had moved her so, yet his current statement seemed to settle specs of
boredom on her weighted eyelids.
                “As a witch of the North, oft are we poorly taught in handling
our emotions. While I meant not to kill him, I am at fault, and I regret so
more than ever.” Her eyes seemed to hold a thin mistiness, and she stood,
walking on air, up a coupled step, she leaned onto a risen window and Thor
looked to her queerly. “I fear I cannot speak much of this, my liege. I see
this line of questioning, the way it winds. Your detective work holds in true
nature, good nature, and that of an honest prince, willed to know the truth,
seek this with good sense. I will tell you that I may, and why I may not speak
of that I won’t. For, this realm is my home, and I hope more to protect it.”
She seemed to breathe out her entire soul as she turned from the window, facing
Thor as she spoke, though failing to look him in his eye. “I held much hatred
inside for both your fiancé and my son. Of this reason I cannot say, but know
that it comes of good conscious and love as strange as yours. I will not speak
ill of the second prince, but let it known that I like him not. I have been a
part of this kingdom’s higher circle for a longer time than you know. And in
it, many secrets have been made. One of which I hold to my son, for his secret
would only hurt him. This is the reason to why as soon as he was well old
enough and in a riper adolescence, I had sent him to Nifelheim. It wasn’t that
I damned him, but that he reminded me too much of that I loved, and in that
lost love came my hate for him. He could not stay here, his secrets disgraced
him, and had any to look him in the eye, and see what I saw, it would trouble
Asgard more than troubles your marriage. He returned at the open door of an
anomaly and confronted me thus, heated anger grew me, and well, you know the
outcomes. I say all this meaning not to sound bitter, despite the time I’ve
wasted hating your lover and my own ilk. But, if you feel as I think you feel,
and sense more of the death of my son than holds the surfaced eye, you do so
with well placed concern.” The woman turned to face the window again and stared
aimlessly. Thor’s brow furrowed still, ridden distraught by her riddled
explanation.
                “You tell that your son came here through an anomaly, a
fractured field of realms. If you speak of a true anomaly, and not of one
manufactured by this Northern magic I’ve hear do much of recently, then do you
mean the convergence to come?” The woman touched at the sill of the window for
a glowing pin, bright gold and centered with a blood ruby. Thor noticed red was
a particular theme among this witch, and looking further, he’d realized he’d
seen the pin before. It was fastened on her son’s thick leather coat when he
died. It was the only gleaming thing on his body, and hanging at the end, rung
a thick point, like a little gold dagger, poking the air. She moved it around
gently, and Thor heard her whisper lowly an apology to her son, and a smaller
mumble he couldn’t decipher. “Does it?” He repeated and she sighed.
                “It approaches.” She turned around with the pin at her side,
held tight in her hand. She wavered a breath before she spoke with a tone of
finality. “I have used my words, I hope, to guide you. For what I did last
night marked an age, Thor, and I only pray that if it can be stopped, contrary
to what spoke my circle, then you will stop it. But no longer can I offer any
other explanation, doing so, as I spoke afore, would dishonor those I’ve chosen
to protect. So I ask, do not stop at any end to find this, for your negligence,
may set in stone the end I chose to begin. Other scripts may help you to
discover what I’ve chose my entire life to keep hidden, but no more may I tell
you, for no matter the outcome of this new dawn, it was my dawn to begin, and I
wish not to witness the rising sun.” As soon as the words left her lips, and
before Thor could act, the sharp pin was in her throat and crimson split her
pale neck, her body dropped to the ground, and blood ran rivers down to match
her red gown and paint the wood of the floor. Thor’s eyes grew wide, his scream
did not pop fast enough as she’d ran it through her flesh, but looking to her
mutilated throat and the gold pin, wet and warm with fresh death, came a
bellowing “No!” that echoed the halls. Guards ran quickly at his whelp, though
few did not stop at the door, for never had anyone seen a room so filled with
red. 
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