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hysterialevi · 4 years ago

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Hjarta | Chapter 5

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

BJORNHEIMR

Galloping directly for the longhouse, Sigurd rushed through the streets of Bjornheimr like a mad bull as he brought Eivor back to his home, grabbing the immediate attention of scattered onlookers. Men and women alike stopped in their tracks to see what all the commotion was about and stared at them in alarm, causing the paths to be littered with curious passersby.

As for Sigurd, the man had been riding relentlessly ever since their unexpected battle in the forest. Eivor insisted that his new wound was nothing to worry about, but even then, the prince could see that his friend was growing weaker by the second.

The younger man’s skin had become increasingly pale within the short span of their onerous journey, and despite his efforts to sit upright, Eivor’s body was clearly fighting against him more and more with a desperate urge to lie down.

At this point, he was simply trying to make sure that he didn’t tip off the saddle. Enough blood had gushed out of Eivor’s wound that his vision was starting to turn prickly around the edges, and he felt as if he was going to collapse at any minute.

He needed to see Ingrida, and fast.

Yanking on the reins of his horse, Sigurd forced the animal to come to an aggressive halt as they finally reached the longhouse, causing the steed to let out a panicked whinny. No one in the village had come to see what was going on just yet, but the prince noticed a small crowd of people gathering not too far away from where they stood.

They didn’t seem to realize that Eivor had been injured or that Kjotve’s men were lurking in the woods, but Sigurd’s state of distress was enough to put them on edge. The expression on his face had been knotted into a scowl of heightened concern, and the brisk pace in which he walked gave off the impression that he was in the midst of dealing with an urgent matter. They just didn’t know what it was.

“We’re here, Eivor,” Sigurd reassured, swiftly hopping off the saddle. “Hold on just a little longer.”

Grabbing the other man by the waist, the prince gently helped Eivor down from the horse and allowed him to lean on his shoulder, ensuring that he wouldn’t stumble to the ground upon returning to his feet. He appeared to be keeping his balance with a minimal amount of trouble, but even then, Sigurd didn’t want to risk taking his eyes off him.

“I’m... alright.” Eivor reiterated, his voice faltering at the end. “I only... need to sit down.”

“Don’t be silly,” Sigurd replied. “You need someone to take care of that cut. Look how much it’s bleeding. Just stay with me for now, alright? You’ll be fine.”

Dragging the younger man away from the horse, the prince escorted his friend into the longhouse as the sound of other voices started to reach his ears, bringing him a subtle sense of relief.

Through the tall archway ahead of them, Sigurd saw Arngeir, Ulfar, and his own father conversing with each other in the distance, pacing around the throne room as their words bounced off the wooden walls.

They were speaking in solemn tones that were sharpened with a hint of concern, and it sounded as if their discussion was about the very same subject that brought Sigurd here in the first place. Kjotve.

“Kjotve’s been quiet for too long,” Ulfar remarked, his mood laden with suspicion. “I don’t like it. For the first time in years, two of his primary enemies are in the same place, and yet, he does nothing to take advantage of the situation. Why? It’s not like him.”

Arngeir nodded in agreement. “I understand your concerns, old friend, but we have no reason to act yet. Our warriors have reported no sightings of Kjotve’s men in this region, and Styrbjorn says that his clan managed to reach Bjornheimr without encountering them at all. Let us not instill fear into our people’s hearts. This is meant to be a time of celebration.”

The other man wasn’t so sure. “All I’m saying is, if I were Kjotve, I’d take this opportunity to snuff out this alliance. I wouldn’t give my enemies the chance to band together against me. We should at least place some more defenses around the village; have more men on the lookout. We can’t take any risks, especially when we have a king in our company.”

Styrbjorn offered a compromise. “Perhaps there is another solution. Instead of using the resources to place more defenses, we can simply send a patrol into the surrounding areas. They can eradicate any threats they come across while we focus on getting this wedding in order. If the patrol finds something worth noting, then we will act.”

Sigurd jumped into the conversation. “No need, father. We already did.”

Turning towards sudden interruption, the three men brought their attention to the opposite end of the hall, only to freeze in shock when they noticed the startling amount of blood streaming down from Eivor’s face.

“Odin’s beard...!” Arngeir exclaimed under his breath, striding over to them. “What happened to you two?”

“Kjotve’s men,” the prince explained, meeting the jarl in the middle. “They ambushed us at the waterfall to the north.”

Ulfar glanced outside. “You mean the Tears of Ymir?”

Eivor nodded, his movements slothful due to exhaustion. “Yes. Sigurd and I were out for a ride... they leapt out of the trees like a pair of wolves.”

“And where are they now?”

Sigurd answered his question. “Dead. We managed to kill them. There were only two, but I suspect there could be more. We would be fools to let our guard down.” He turned to the younger man, throwing in another piece of information. “...Eivor saved my life today. If he hadn’t been there, I’d likely be dead by now.”

Styrbjorn gazed at Eivor, bowing his head in respect. “Is that true? Well then, you have my eternal gratitude, Wolf-Kissed.”

Ulfar crossed his arms, gesturing to Eivor’s injury. “You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about. We must take more precautions, otherwise this will surely happen again. Kjotve won’t back down.”

Arngeir let out a wary sigh, finally conceding the man’s point. “Very well, Ulfar. We shall proceed with your plan. Find Eirik, and gather a small party of men. Scout the woods around Bjornheimr. If you find anymore of Kjotve’s clan in the forest, kill them. And if possible, bring some back alive. The information they have could be invaluable.”

Ulfar gave him a firm nod. “Of course, my jarl. I’ll start immediately.”

“In the meantime,” Arngeir continued, addressing the prince, “Sigurd, could you please escort Eivor to the seeress? I hate to ask this of you since you’ve already done so much, but...”

“Have no fear.” Sigurd replied. “I’ll bring him to Ingrida.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. And thank you for bringing my son back home as well. I don’t know what we would do without him.”

Arngeir began making his way to the war room, anxious to set his ideas in motion. “Anyways, we should return to our duties. The preparations for this wedding will continue as usual, but now I fear we must also focus on keeping Kjotve’s men at bay. He will return with a second strike -- this I am sure of -- and we must be ready. Otherwise, this alliance will have been for naught. Take great care in the days to come, all of you, and may the gods guide your path.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

THE TEMPLE

Standing idly in the corner, Sigurd watched quietly as Ingrida frantically made her way around the hut and gathered a handful of materials, muttering to herself in frustration. Eivor was currently sitting in a chair not too far away from the prince and holding a rag to his face, preventing the blood from making any more of a mess.

Despite the pain he was experiencing however, Eivor appeared to be doing much better compared to how he was before. A healthy tint had returned to the surface of his skin, and the world seemed to realign itself the minute he sat down. He no longer felt as if the ground was going to drop out from underneath him, and Sigurd’s presence only added to his well-being.

Overall, he had returned to normal in spite of their chaotic morning, and suffered no more than what was probably going to be a deep scar in the future. A part of him admittedly worried about what it would look like in the days to come, but the other part was just happy to be alive.

Eivor could’ve been killed today after all, and he would’ve been lying if he said that didn’t frighten him.

“...Foolish boy,” Ingrida scolded under her breath. “Look at what you’ve done. Had the blade cut you any higher, you’d be missing an eye like Ulfar by now. And what if Sigurd hadn’t been there to bring you back? You’d be stranded in the woods, bleeding all over yourself.”

Eivor smirked at the seeress’ words, admittedly somewhat amused by her motherly nature.

“I know, Ingrida.” He replied affectionately. “I’m sorry.”

The elderly woman crouched down in front of Eivor and held his chin in place, snatching the rag from his grasp before dipping it in a fresh bowl of water.

“Thank the gods it was only two of Kjotve’s men. I shudder to think about what could’ve happened if there had been any more. You’re both warriors of great skill, but even you’re not invincible. You must be more careful in the future. Do you understand?”

“...Yes, Ingrida.”

The seeress sighed and shook her head, twisting the rag dry of any excess water. “Good. It is a great honor to walk through the gates of Valhalla, but we needn’t rush the journey there. There are plenty of ways to reach the Corpse Hall, and none to return. Remember that.”

She paused for a second and glanced around in confusion, clearly searching for something.

“Where have my herbs gone?” She wondered aloud. “I had them right here. Did I--”

The woman let out an annoyed tsk and stood up from the floor, turning to address Sigurd.

“Sigurd,” Ingrida said, handing him the rag, “I need to collect some more ingredients before I can treat Eivor’s wound. Would you ensure that it stays clean in the meantime?”

The prince took the cloth, mindful not to touch the area that would make contact with Eivor’s face. “Of course, seeress.”

“Thank you. I won’t take long. Just wipe the blood away, and make sure it doesn’t get infected. I’ll be back shortly.”

Taking her leave from the hut, Ingrida strode through the door at a brisk pace and headed into the nearby gardens, gently rattling the charms that hung from the frame on her way out. They swayed into each other with a series of faint clinks and twirled calmly in the breeze, morphing the sunlight that flowed through the archway.

Meanwhile, Eivor stayed in place as Sigurd quickly took the seeress’ position and knelt in front of his friend, attentively looking after his wound. He dipped the rag in the water and wiped away the streaks of blood staining the other man’s face, careful not to apply too much pressure.

His touch was delicate and soft contrary to what Eivor expected, and as time went on, the younger man actually started to feel comfortable under his care. Initially, he found it a bit odd to be in such close proximity to someone he hardly even knew, but surprisingly, Sigurd didn’t appear to reflect his timidness.

Instead, the prince simply leaned closer to Eivor and continued to clean his cut, seemingly preoccupied with something else. His brow was crinkled in deep thought as he wrestled with his inner concerns, and his eyes had returned to the same look of lostness that he had when they first met. A cloud of remorse dimmed the usual twinkle in his gaze, and his expression hung low with a grim sense of conflict.

A thousand things seemed to be colliding inside Sigurd’s head at the moment, and yet -- as always -- he cared to share none of them.

So, finally, Eivor decided to ask.

“...Are you alright, Sigurd?” He suddenly said, causing his friend to pause. “You look troubled.”

The prince woke up from his state of contemplation and locked eyes with Eivor, faltering as if he had forgotten where he was.

“Oh, I’m... I’m fine, Eivor.” Sigurd replied. “I just...”

The older man sighed deeply and placed the rag down for a moment, slouching his shoulders in defeat.

“...Forgive me. I lost myself in thought. I was just thinking about everything that happened in the forest earlier, and... well, I’m sorry.”

Eivor cocked a brow at him. “Sorry? For what? You can’t possibly think this is your fault.”

Sigurd’s tone hardened with guilt. “But it is. I should’ve known better than to drag you into the woods with Kjotve’s men still threatening our shores, especially when there’s an alliance in the making. They’ve already caused both our clans an abundance of issues, and yet, I thought it wise to wander into the forest alone. If you hadn’t been there, gods only know what would’ve happened to me.”

He gave Eivor a glance of sincere gratitude. “Thank you, my friend. You saved me from my own foolishness.”

The younger man deemed the apology unnecessary. “Don’t forget that you saved me too, Sigurd. Without you, I probably wouldn’t have gotten back to the village in time. I was... actually surprised when you didn’t mention that to your father.”

“It wasn’t important.” Sigurd stated. “I was the one who put you in danger to begin with.”

“No,” his friend insisted. “You weren’t. Kjotve’s men are the ones who would’ve killed us. If anything, you protected me when I was most vulnerable. I don’t like being the one who needs to be rescued, but you saved my life, Sigurd. There’s no denying that. I owe you as much as you owe me.”

Sigurd smiled warmly at the sentiment, appearing slightly more relaxed than before. “Then I suppose we’re even.”

Eivor chuckled at him in return. “...I suppose we are.”

Falling silent for a second, the prince retreated to the safe haven buried inside his mind and returned to the task Ingrida assigned him with, dabbing away some more blood that was gathering on Eivor’s skin. A familiar type of affection now softened the edges of his usually stern gaze, and without even realizing it, Sigurd found himself peering longingly into the Wolf-Kissed’s eyes.

He seemed to be experiencing the same emotions that Eivor had been continuously battling with ever since encountering his new friend, and much like the younger man, Sigurd’s first response was to stifle these feelings.

It may have been no more than a spark for now, but he knew better than to dismiss the sincerity of the embers flickering in his heart. He could feel something more profound brewing beneath the surface, and he doubted he’d be able to fight against it if he allowed it to blossom any further.

At the same time though, Sigurd wondered if this was what the gods intended. Originally, he assumed that the Nornir brought him to Bjornheimr for the sake of meeting his future wife, but now... he could see that they led him here for someone else.

Randvi may’ve been the one he came here for, but Sigurd could already tell she wouldn’t be the reason he was going to stay -- and the realization shook him to the core.

“...Sigurd?” Eivor repeated, speaking quieter than usual. “Is everything alright? You look like you have something to say.”

The prince remained sullen with disconcertment and attempted to straighten out his thoughts, unsure of how to put them into words.

“You know, Eivor...” Sigurd whispered vehemently, “...when that man struck you with his blade, part of me truly believed you had been killed for a moment. You were completely motionless, and there was so much blood pooling on the snow beneath you. It... it frightened me. I’m aware that we haven’t known each other for that long, but...”

He trailed off into silence, causing Eivor to urge him on. “...But what?”

Sigurd let out a breath, completely forgetting about the other man’s wound for the time-being. “...Part of me is already afraid of losing you. I know it sounds silly, considering we’ve only just met.”

The younger man shook his head, admittedly touched by the confession. “No, I... I think I understand how you feel, actually. You and I have only seen each other twice in just as many days, and yet, it almost seems as if I’ve known you for much longer than that. There’s just... something there. Something that I don’t have the words to describe.”

“Indeed. I know what you speak of. Ever since we first met at the feast, I’ve had this foreign sensation blooming inside me, but I never thought to bring it up out of the fear of sounding deluded. So I’m relieved you understand.”

Eivor laughed softly at himself, giving the prince a tender look. “You know what’s strange, Sigurd? I hardly delve into these kinds of conversations with anyone else. Typically, Ulfar is the only one who can engage with me in such a way, but... it feels completely natural around you. You draw it out of me like it’s nothing. I enjoy our talks.”

The prince wiped away some more blood, unintentionally allowing his hand to linger on Eivor’s cheek.

“It gladdens me to hear it. Perhaps we can meet again before the wedding occurs. Hopefully under less dire circumstances. Only if you want to, of course.”

The Wolf-Kissed beamed radiantly. “I’d like that.”

Bringing their discussion to a halt, Ingrida suddenly came barging back inside with a bowl of new ingredients in her hand, causing Sigurd to retreat his hand as if he had touched an open flame.

Meanwhile, the seeress hastily shooed him to the side and took his place in front of the injured man, wasting no time in tending to Eivor’s wound.

“Hold still.” She instructed, dipping her fingers into the herbal mixture. She grabbed his chin and began applying the ointment, ensuring that it covered the entire area. “This will stop the bleeding and prevent it from getting infected. Keep it on for the rest of the day. Do not wipe it off. Understand?”

Eivor nodded, only to have his head wrenched back into place by Ingrida’s firm hold. “Of course, Ingrida.”

“Good. The sword cut you deep, but thankfully, you should have no more than a scar to remind you of your carelessness today. If the wound starts to swell, come see me again. We’ll sort you out. Otherwise, just make sure that it doesn’t fester.”

“I will. Thank you, seeress. For everything.”

The old woman released Eivor from her grasp and rose to her feet, allowing the young man to walk free. She patted her hands clean of any ointment that remained on the skin and brought the bowls back to their shelves, emptying the diverse range of contents that sat in them.

“You’re welcome, little cub.”

She turned to the prince, giving him a small bow of respect. “And thank you, Sigurd, for looking after him. Despite his recklessness, Eivor holds a special place in our heart. We would be lost without him. I know many folks will be grateful for your assistance as well.”

The man returned the bow with a smile. “I only did what I felt was right.”

Ingrida thought to herself for a moment, crossing her arms in ponder. “Hm. Perhaps I misjudged you. The gods advised me to be wary of your arrival, but so far, you’ve done nothing to lend merit to their warnings. I trust it will stay that way?”

Sigurd nodded assuredly. “Of course, seeress.”

“Good. Then I can rest easy, for I know Eivor will be in good hands. Anyway, you should return to your duties. I’ve occupied you for long enough. Take care of yourself in these troubling times, and stay away from the woods. We needn’t tempt the Valkyries anymore. In the meantime, Eivor, I’d like to have a word with you.”

The prince strolled towards the exit and glanced over his shoulder, saying one last thing to the other man before taking his leave.

“I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready, Eivor.”

Removing himself from the vicinity, Sigurd gave the seeress some space to talk as he stepped back out into the wintry air, practically being slapped in the face by an icy chill. The temperature had barely warmed up since their escapade in the forest, and the only thing providing the village any sort of heat was sun’s exuberant rays, trying desperately to pierce through the glacial breeze.

As for Ingrida, she approached Eivor as soon as the other man was gone and kept her voice low, making sure that Sigurd wouldn’t overhear them. Her gaze seemed to be stuck on the prince’s distant figure, and the hushed manner in which she spoke led Eivor to suspect that she knew more than she was letting on.

“Listen to me, young cub,” the seeress murmured as she continued to clean the hut. “It is a dangerous path you walk. I would advise abandoning it as soon as possible.”

The viking blinked in confusion, uncertain of what she was talking about. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. What path?”

Ingrida tilted her head towards Sigurd. “Do not think me blind, Eivor. I see how you look at him. It is the same way my son Eirik looks at Thora. Your heart is fueled by passion, but it will only lead you into disaster.”

Eivor chuckled, admittedly impressed by the woman’s instincts. “Is it truly so obvious?”

“Indeed. I’ve never seen your soul burn so brightly before. This man ignites something within you... and you must snuff it out. For the sake of this marriage.”

The young man attempted to reassure her. “Have no fear, Ingrida. I won’t allow these thoughts to spiral beyond my control. I understand the necessity of this alliance. I wouldn’t put it in jeopardy.”

The seeress decided to let go of the topic for now, albeit reluctantly. “If you say so, Eivor. But this kind of love is not restrained so easily. Trying to control it is like trying to control the ocean. See that it does not overwhelm you.”

“I will, Ingrida. You don’t need to worry about me.”

The woman snickered. “On the contrary, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

Ingrida stepped in front of Eivor, smiling proudly at him. “Ah, but you are a man now. The way ahead is your own. How you decide to tread its waters is up to you. I cannot guarantee it will be safe, but I trust that you will approach it with wisdom.”

She flicked a dismissive hand towards the door and turned her back to Eivor, focusing on the collection of scattered herbs lying throughout the hut.

“But enough of that. Your friend is waiting for you, and I have work to do. Come see me again if your wound deteriorates. We should be able to take care of it with no problem.”

Eivor waved goodbye to the elderly woman, making his way out the door.

“Farewell, Ingrida. Stay safe. And thank you again. I’ll speak with you soon.”

“You too, Eivor. Be careful out there.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

Sauntering away from the warmth of the seeress’ hut, Eivor strolled out into the open once again and pushed himself through the arctic weather, squinting in the light that suddenly hit his eyes. A calming wind could be felt whistling through the heart of the village, and stretching out in front of him, the young man saw a trail of sunken footprints leading to Sigurd himself.

At the moment, the prince was sitting on a bench next to the row of statues that towered over Bjornheimr and waiting patiently for Eivor to rejoin him, undeniably curious about what Ingrida had to say.

He fidgeted with his hands in an anxious manner and stuck to his own thoughts, not even realizing that he had company again. His ears were seemingly deaf to the series of footsteps that crunched their way towards him, and when Eivor’s first greeting didn’t manage to catch his attention, the younger man repeated his name even louder, throwing a puzzled look at him.

“Sigurd?”

The redheaded viking jolted his head towards the intrusion, shifting his mood entirely once he laid eyes on Eivor.

“Ah, Eivor. There you are.”

The Wolf-Kissed laughed, placing a foot on the bench. “Has anyone ever told you that you get lost in your thoughts easily?”

A grin spread across Sigurd’s face. “My father, Dag, our own seeress... the list goes on. I fear it’s a habit of mine that I’ve not been able to discard.”

Eivor rested an arm on his knee. “You must have a lot on your mind to constantly slip into a trance like that.”

“Who doesn’t? Especially nowadays?”

He shrugged. “Fair enough.”

The prince turned around to face his companion, gazing upwards with an expression of embarrassment.

“Listen, Eivor... I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable during our conversation earlier. I realize I opened myself up quite a bit. Perhaps even too much. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

The younger man shook his head. “Stop apologizing for everything. You did nothing wrong. In fact, I enjoyed the talk we had. So there’s no need to fret.”

Sigurd sighed in relief. “That’s good to hear. Your feelings are important to me. The last thing I want is to back you into a corner.”

Eivor put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Believe me, I’ll let you know if that ever happens. There won’t be any need for guessing.”

The older man smirked at that. “Sounds good to me.”

Sigurd stood up from the bench and stretched the stiffness out of his neck, eager to get back to their normal lives.

“Shall I walk you back to the longhouse?” He offered, gesturing to the distant building. “I imagine you want some rest after everything that’s happened.”

Eivor smiled fondly at him, not quite ready to part ways just yet. “Actually, I was planning to visit the tavern. I could use a hot meal right now. And a good drink as well. Care to join me?”

“Are you sure? I assumed you would’ve gotten tired of me by now.” Sigurd joked.

The other man threw an alluring glance at him, strolling ahead of the prince as he steadily trekked down the path snaking away from the temple.

“Not in the slightest.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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creative-frequency · 5 years ago

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Cal Kestis x Reader: DEAR STAR SYSTEM Ch. 05

Word count: 2331 Pairing: Cal Kestis x Female Reader Summary/Contains: Flashbacks & getting handsy after Kashyyyk. Partial canon-rewrite. Two idiots being dumb in the company of each other. Someone just kick their asses already.

Previous Chapter

My Writing Masterlist

DEAR STAR SYSTEM // 05

“What did you say we’re doing here again, Cere? On this… Bogano?”

You peer outside the Mantis’ windows at the grass and sunshine outside. The planet doesn’t seem to have much in terms of infrastructure; just a few well-established huts getting bleached in the sun. It looks like a planet with nothing in the middle of nowhere but Cere always has her reasons.

The new addition to your group and the one you have to thank for the luxuries of traveling in relative solitude turns in the pilot’s chair and flashes a cheesy grin. He is the first Latero you’ve ever met face to face and he seems okay.

“It’s best if you both sit down.” Cere motions towards the dining table and you trade equally baffled looks with Greez the pilot.

“Did something happen?” you ask carefully and pull a chair back.

“Uh. No.” Cere struggles to find the words. Her elbows lay on the table, fingertips occasionally touching, about to intertwine and then retreat. “No. Not recently, if that’s what you mean.”

She clears her throat and you and Greez strain your hearing, gently motioning her to continue.

“I have a plan.” Cere’s serious look sails from you to the new pilot. “And you probably won’t like it.”

“Oh?” you say, surprised but pleased. “What for?”

“Hang on. Is this something I really need to hear? ‘Cause I kind of thought the less I know…” Greez interrupts by waving one of his four hands.

Cere huffs. “I’ll tell you as little as you need to go with, Captain.”

“Alright. Good, good,” Greez approves and eases back into the chair.

You bite your lip, sternly watching every micro-expression going through Cere’s features. She’s not one to share anything more than you absolutely need to know. It’s frustrating, but you’ve learned to trust her. You just wish she would trust you.

Cere takes in a deep breath and says: “We are going to find a Jedi.”

You survived Kashyyyk, all according to the plan and with minimal injuries, even. The mood aboard the Mantis is relieved but also dejected since you couldn’t find the Wookiee chieftain. Cal is certain that Mari Kosan and Choyyssyk will come through and find Tarfful.

The crew agrees to have a breather before the next destination: another tomb on Zeffo. When you were returning from the refinery, Cere picked up an Imperial transmission, hinting that the bad guys are close to finding another tomb on Zeffo. While Greez isn’t happy about it, Cal stays true to his character, ever the optimist. The Imperials are offering the next step of Cordova’s path on a silver platter.

There’s also the fact that the only other clue leads to Dathomir and no one wants to go there unless it’s the only option left.

But first, you have to lick your minor wounds from Kashyyyk and relax. Cal has been resting in one of the cabins and he missed the delicious dinner Greez whipped up. Out of the goodness of your heart and concern, you decide to bring the Jedi something to eat.

Heart beating suspiciously fast, you rap your knuckles on the metal plating. “Cal? I’m coming in.”

You press the door open while balancing the tray on one hand.

Cal sits on the bed, just caught in the middle of a stretch, arms in the air and hair ruffled. He bends his neck to both sides and settles on looking at you attentively. There’s a cooler patch next to him and an opened pack of bacta gel strips.

“What’s that?” Your brows furrow and Cal turns into the paragon of innocence. BD-1 twirls approvingly at you for arriving just in time.

You place the tray on the small stand next to the bed and plant your hands on your hips. “And where are you hurt?”

“I’m not… hurt.” Cal grimaces like child caught red-handed at the cookie jar. At least he is not visibly bleeding.

“Really?” you ask slowly, eyes narrowing.

BD-1 wastes no time in jumping onto Cal and kicking his left shoulder blade. “Bop!”

“OW! Hey!” Cal chases the droid away and hunches forward, failing miserably at hiding the pain.

“Let me see,” you say in the most commanding tone you’re able to muster. BD hides behind you, chirping in agreement.

Cal hesitates. His ears feel hot. He can think of a thousand excuses but knows that he really has no choice but to obey.

“C’mon. Off with the poncho. The shirt’s gotta go too,” you add when he begrudgingly begins undressing.

The initial thought at seeing Cal’s bare, bruised chest is definitely not oh no he’s hurt. BD showers the blue scanning light on Cal’s injuries and you’re so glad you’re allowed to stare because it would be hard not to.

You’ve seen shirtless, extremely fit men before too, but this is Cal kriffing Kestis, the sweet, kind Jedi and you gave him no permission to look so… preposterously hot. Sternly reminding yourself now is not the time for wanting to lick his pecks doesn’t really help and before long you feel the heat on your cheeks mirroring his. Why did you want him to undress again?

“Your back is hurt, right? Turn around,” you hear someone say in your voice and BD twitters again in agreement. It’s easier to breathe when the risk of meeting Cal’s gaze is minimized as he faces the wall.

Considering the amount of fighting he had to do on Kashyyyk, you’re surprised that he isn’t in in worse shape. Some smaller bruises have turned towards a shade of violet, but unlike on the other side, there are no larger ones. You frown as you think someone probably kicked him in the chest.

You carefully sit down by the bedside. “Left side?” you utter as a warning that you’re about to touch him.

Cal nods but still slightly lurches forward under your fingertips. “Y-yeah, I think that happened when the Purge trooper knocked me down…”

You sigh heavily but abstain from commentary. You gently feel out the area BD kicked to check that nothing is dislocated or torn. Because Cal is turned to face the wall, you can’t see the ravaging blush that expands out to the tip of his ears. His skin feels hot and his muscles tense. The bacta gel might help with the pain but there are more traditional ways to ease his suffering too. Ways in which you pride yourself to be an expert.

“Lie down,” you urge him softly.

Cal gives you a hesitant look over his shoulder, eyes wide like a porg’s, but swallows his protests. He lies down onto his stomach and you inch closer, leaning over his back. He has trouble finding a place for his arms and head, partly wanting to look bashfully away and partly wanting to seek eye contact because the situation feels new and intimate. You have to resist the itch to tease the poor guy because settling astride on his back definitely crosses your dirty mind.

“What’re you doing?” Cal asks in a raspy tone.

Seeing his reddened cheeks is thrilling and brings out the worst, sadistic parts of you in the form of a crooked smile. He can be so innocent.

“Sorry, my hands might be a little cold…” You place both palms on Cal’s back and gently begin massaging the largest muscles. He needs a moment to adjust to even start thinking about relaxing.

“It’s okay… Do you think I need a stim?” he asks nervously. You shift closer to reach better so that your bodies are touching.

“Well, I don’t think anything’s broken but you’re stiff like a protocol droid,” you say and try to steer clear of any seduction in your tone.

You press your thumb under Cal’s left shoulder blade and feel him go rigid.

“Relax,” you murmur.

You’re a slight too gentle in the motions but deem it best for both of you to hold back. The silence starts growing heavier, especially since Cal can’t help the low grunts and huffs in sync with your hands. The sounds he makes involuntarily are making you quiver despite how much you try not to hear them. Your hands are moving on their own and you wish you would have to focus more on what you’re doing instead of what he is doing.

“What was it like on Bracca?” you ask quietly to fill the silence.

Cal hums to have more time to think. Looking back at that chapter of his life hurts but there are also good moments, happy moments. However, he isn’t ready to open those memories yet. The pain of loss and trauma weighs too heavy.

You’re about to pull the question back just when he starts talking.

“It was survival. Every day,” Cal says.

You wait for him to continue while trying to soften another knot in his back.

“I kept telling myself: Whatever you do, don’t reach within. Trust no one,” he recites like a mantra. The tone is lighthearted, conversing one, but you can feel the underlying hurt.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you hum. BD-1 makes a sad noise.

“What about you? What did you do before this?” Cal asks and waves his wrist nonchalantly.

You pause your motions to take a deep breath. There’s no sense in trying to hide what you were since it’s only a matter of time when Cal either guesses or goes to Cere.

“This won’t improve your opinion of me,” you say quietly and continue onto massaging his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Cal asks, confused and alarmed.

You swallow. “I was in this clan… or rather, a crime syndicate. The Kalari.”

Cal jolts.

“They took me in when I was still a child, to train me. It’s really common among the clans. The best way to mold the most loyal soldiers.” You need a moment to figure out how to form the thought. “I killed my first mark when I was sixteen.”

“First mark… So wait, you were an assassin?” Cal yelps.

So much suddenly starts making sense to him that you can practically see the gears turning in his head. You put more effort into the motions of your hands to avoid replying. Cal tries to squirm in order to turn to look at you.

“Stay still. Yes and I’m not proud of that,” you whip out the commanding tone and he settles.

“Thank you for telling me.” He sounds somber.

“Yeah, well. That’s about it on my past,” you say after a few moments of silence and stop trying to move your palms over Cal’s skin. “I… I hope you won’t think worse of me now that you know.”

“I could never think badly about you.” He doesn’t even hesitate putting the words out there and you feel ridiculously relieved.

You realize it’s the first time you’ve ever told anyone what you just told him – voluntarily and hoping it won’t affect your relationship.

Cal turns slightly around to see are you finished with the massage and when you don’t react, he sits up and pulls his legs closer to him.

“Thanks, Cal,” you say quietly and muster a smile to which he responds with his own. Your pulse has been miraculously steady so far despite the situation, but when Cal smiles so genuinely, you’re having difficulties at remembering your own name. He holds your gaze and you quickly lose the reason to be glad about your normal heart rate and non-shaking hands.

“Our pasts don’t define us. I’ve learned that… and I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly.

The smile on his lips is so calm and inviting and you just wish you could possess a fraction of that serenity and confidence. Why isn’t he affected by the tender feeling in your stomach like you are? Does nothing move this guy beyond the blush when you tease him? Is it a Jedi thing or just Cal’s character? The moment things take a turn to heartfelt and genuine, you’re thrown into the deep end of the pool only to find out someone changed the rules on how to swim. Maybe you’re overthinking whatever is going on between you.

You see how your hand rests on the covers and how Cal glances at it, starts moving and you already feel his fingers ghosting over yours. You can’t take it anymore. Snatching the hand back, you dart up as from a whiplash. Your heart is again running a mile a minute and you think you’re going to faint any moment now. This is exactly the kind of heady you can’t handle. Too sweet.

If you let the stupid, attractive Jedi take your hand one more goddamn time, you won’t be able to face the consequences.

You grab Cal’s shirt and throw it at his face. He catches it with ease but has to lean to the side to hold the line of sight to your face.

“You can dress now!” you yelp, turn on your feet and narrowly avoid tripping on a tool box on the floor.

“Huh? Where are you going?” Cal questions, dumbfound by your sudden change in demeanor.

“Bop bop?” BD chirps in tandem with his surprise.

“Uhh.” You try to think fast. “To… get you some more food.”

The door opens so slowly that you count seconds until you’re out of the cabin.

“Bo-boop.” BD-1 tilts his head after you.

“What do you mean I need it,” Cal huffs in annoyance and pulls the shirt back on.

His whole body feels hot in an uncomfortable and unfamiliar way. The soft marks your fingers left on his back are burning and the more he thinks about it, the hotter he feels. For the life of him, he can’t understand what he said or did to make you run like that but forbidden disappointment nags his insides. Getting carried away in your company is dangerously easy and Cal quietly decides he needs to do better.

Next Chapter - Coming Soon™!

Tagging: @sherniwrites @lucianhuntress @singlebecauseofthechocobros @sevansheart @owlwritesagain @stellar-trinity @bd1babey @winchestergirl907 @thuutthuutbilly @rilakkyungsoo @lizbid33 @twistnet @fangirl-inthe-us @campmccarran @grandadmiral @droidrights @maulblr @la-vide @dej-okay @annoyedguildmaster @xncasii @sparrows-books @calx-kestis @messrrs-prongs

#cal kestis #swjfo fanfiction #cal kestis x reader #jedi fallen order #swjfo #star wars #cere junda #greez dritus #bd-1 #my writings #dear star system

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

Text

Loki’s Daughter Trigger Warning - Child Slavery, Mental illness and past abuse

TITLE: Loki’s Daughter

CHAPTER/ONE-SHOT: Chapter 2 A Drink

AUTHOR: traveling-classicist

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine Avengers: Endgame AU Loki that gets away with tesseract has been using it to explore the universe. During his adventures, he comes across a little girl with developing but oppressed magical abilities. Intrigued (and subconsciously lonely) Loki keeps her around.

RATING: Mature for possible triggering content

NOTES/WARNINGS: Previous trigger warnings apply to the whole fic. So:

-Child slavery (this topic is being explored throughout the story) Nota bene: I promise I’m not making Loki enslave any children, that’s not our guy -Mental illness including mentions of schizophrenia, depression, and anxiety -Mentions of past torture and abuse: physical, emotional, and mental

In this chapter however, it’s mostly fluff. A bit of foul language.

Also AO3 Link here.

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Loki walked away towards a hill that rose up at one end of the meadow. Kuna stood, staggering a bit as the world still spun a little around her. She followed him up the hill. At the top, Loki stopped. Kuna stumbled up towards him, but the sudden stop made the ground go all off-kilter and she fell down beside him.

Loki, unfazed by the blundering child beside him, looked out across the valley below. His eyes landed on a small, dilapidated looking building, sheltered by a cluster of trees. A small stream ran beside it.

“How idyllic,” Loki mused, looking down at Kuna. She was still fumbling around on the ground next to him like a newborn foal trying to find its legs for the first time. Eventually, she regained her feet but was facing the wrong direction. Loki placed a gentle hand on her head. She flinched beneath him, but he gently turned her round to face he right way.

“Look down there,” he said, pointing at the building. “There’s an old shack. Maybe we can stay there for the night. Let’s go see if anyone’s home.” He started off down the hill.

Kuna shook her head, trying to make the world stop spinning. However, this only made the world spin more. She took one step forward and fell, rolling down the hill; rolling past Loki. He stopped, chuckling as she tumbled, not-so-gracefully, down the hill. She came to halt at the bottom, sitting up, her legs splayed out in front of her. She wobbled with dizziness for a moment before flopping back onto the grass.

“Yes, that could happen for while,” he chuckled. He turned back towards the shack and began walking again, stepping high to get through the tall grass.

Kuna stood once more, determined this time, to walk normal. She fought her way through the tall grass, trying to follow the sound of Loki’s footsteps. The blades rose well above her little head. She pushed her arms out in front of her, wobbling with the effort, and tried to clear a path for herself as she stumbled forward. She caught up with Loki who had stepped out of the tall grass and was slowly approaching the door of the hut with his dagger tucked up his sleeve.

It could hardly be considered a door as it hung, broken from its hinges. The windows were broken. Moss and thick ivy grew on one side, creeping up the chimney and onto the roof. Kuna braced herself on Loki’s leg, trying desperately not to fall again.

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” he said. “Good thing, I thought I was going to have to stab someone.” Kuna looked up at him, terrified at the thought of him killing someone again. He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he examined the old hut. “Good thing for them, that is. It’s a shame for me,” he continued, muttering more to himself than to Kuna. They walked up to the threshold. Kuna stood behind Loki, cowering a little.

“Hello?” Loki called. He pushed gently on the door. It broke off its hinges and fell with loud bang onto the floor inside. “Well, that’s lovely,” he remarked and stepped in.

Kuna followed, apprehensively. Her gaze dropped to the large step. She took her time to prepare herself to lift her foot. Slowly, she put weight onto the foot, then the knee. Straightening up just too fast, the room started to spin again. She groaned. She did not like this at all.

Inside the small, one-room shack, old straw and broken furniture littered the floor. The smell of earthy decay and damp filled their nostrils. It smelled old. On one wall, close to the hearth, a rickety bench covered in tough leather hides, leaned up against the wall.

“Here,” Loki said, turning to pick the girl up. “You need to sit down before you fall over again.”

She backed away, instinctively but Loki put his hands under her armpits and lifted her up. She whimpered, not fully understanding why he was carrying her. He walked her over to the bench and set her down gently. It creaked but held beneath her minimal weight. In truth, the furs that covered it probably weighed more than she did. She put her hand to her head and swayed.

“Just stay here,” Loki said, pushing her against the back of the bench with a gentle finger. She leaned back, her head lolling against the wall. He made a gesture for her to stay and then turned towards the cabinets on the far wall. He rummaged through the debris and forgotten household items and found a small pot and a couple cups. Standing up again, he glanced at Kuna.

She was slumped over to her left, nodding off. Her matted brown hair kissed at the furs as her head instinctively tried to right itself to a sitting position. He wasn’t surprised by her exhaustion. After today’s ordeal and what was likely several years of torture at the hands of those men and who knows who else, on top of a world jump, she was right to be exhausted.

He walked back over to her and gingerly took her shoulders, trying to lower her to a prone position on the bench. She jumped, suddenly very awake, and grabbed defensively at his hands, crying out.

“It’s alright,” he said, coolly. “Just lie down and try to relax.” Her jumpiness was beginning make him jumpy. “I’m going to go fetch some water for us. I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out of the shack and walked towards the stream. She was a mess, Loki thought to himself. He paused for a moment and considered teleporting away, jumping to another planet and leaving the girl behind. He swatted the thought away as quickly as it had come, shaking his head to physically remove it from his mind. That would be insane, cruel, even, to do that to a girl who had already suffered so much.

He stomped towards the stream and knelt to scoop up some water. The stream bubbled over smooth, rounded pebbles and was quite clear. He took a cup and dipped it into the water, having a taste for himself. It was refreshingly cool but had a slightly strange taste. He waited for a moment and then shrugged. Seeing as he did not immediately keel over and die, he assumed the water was clean enough.

He filled the pot to the brim and rinsed out the old cups. He set off again for the shack. He took a deep breath, taking in the pristineness of the valley around him. His head spun a little with excitement. Loki loved the freedom to do as he pleased; to go wherever he wanted in the whole universe. Even now, with his impromptu little companion, he felt for the first time in his life, true happiness. Or what he thought was true happiness. In truth, he could not really remember a time in his life where he felt happy, so all these feelings were new to him.

Returning to the shack, he ducked under the low doorframe and walked to the center of the room, beside the bench. Setting the pot down on the floor, he carefully filled one of the cups with water. He sat down and took another sip, looking up at the sleeping child. He did not want to wake her as she seemed rather peaceful now.

She was dreadfully thin. Her face was gaunt and pale. Loki could practically see the sinews holding her bones together under her skin. She needed a bath too. Her body was caked in what he imagined was weeks, if not months, of grime and her hair was tangled in thick mats. But her thin figure was what worried him the most. He needed to find food for her and quickly.

“Food first,” he whispered to himself. “Bath later.”

He stood once again and ducked outside. The first sun was just beginning to touch the horizon while the second loomed above it. Looking about at the trees behind the shack, Loki wondered if he would be able to locate edible food on this foreign planet.

It was easy for Loki to go several days, even weeks, without eating if he needed to. He supposed he had his lineage to thank for that, at least. However, he often would teleport to more civilized planets and purchase food that was already prepared for him. Foraging was not exactly something he had needed to do often in his life.

He walked back into the copse of trees and came to a small grove where his eyes were caught by a familiar looking green fruit. He walked closer for a better look. To his amazement, an apple tree grew amongst a cluster of oaks and elms. As he looked about, he realized he recognized many trees that were native to the Nine Realms, yet he did not know of any habitable planets anywhere near their system that orbited a dual sun.

He shrugged this off. Perhaps these species were invasive and slowly took over other planets when their seeds were carried to new realms by more advanced travelers. He wished he could do that; take over other realms so easily. He needed whole armies with advanced weaponry and strategic plans and yet even then, he had his butt handed to him by six freaks.

Frowning at the unpleasant memory, he climbed up the tree a little way to grab a few apples. Letting them fall to the ground, he collected several for both he and Kuna, before dropping down himself. He pulled his tattered cape from around his back and folded it over on his stomach, making a small pouch. He gathered up the apples in his pouch and returned to the shack, content with how his hunt for food had gone.

Kuna had not moved from the bench save for adjusting the fur over her to a more comfortable position. She was still fast asleep. Loki sat down again on the floor beside the water pot and cups and took out his knife. He cut an apple in half and examined it. It looked perfectly normal to him. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. Smelled like an apple. He took a small nibble of the skin and meat of the fruit with his teeth. Tasted like an apple. He waited to see if the apple might kill him, but it did not happen.

If it was safe for him, it was safe for Kuna. He cut out the core and seeds of the other half of the apple and filled the other cup with water. He gently nudged Kuna with his finger.

“Kuna,” he whispered, afraid she would freak out again if he were too loud. “Kuna,” he said a little louder but still the child did not move. Was she dead? He watched her chest for a moment. It rose as she took in a deep breath and fell again as she exhaled. Deep down Loki felt a bit of disappointment at the still living child. Perhaps, it would be merciful to kill her.

It would be easy, a voice crept out of the depths of his mind; his voice.

Loki shook his head as hard as could to get the voice to return to where it had come from. He had struggled for weeks to bury it so it would leave him alone.

She’s just a child.

“Shut up,” Loki muttered and turned back to the child. “Kuna?” he said once more, poking her again with his finger. “I have some food and water for you.”

She groaned and sleepily turned her head towards him. Her eyes opened slowly. She looked up at him for just a moment before looking away again.

“Good evening,” Loki said, softly. “I hope you like apples and weird water.” He handed her the cup first.

She lifted it to her lips and drank deeply and then shyly took the half of the apple he offered her. The water did taste weird. It burned a little in her throat, leaving a bitter taste behind, but it was still more refreshing than her own saliva which she’d been sucking on for hours. She took a small bite of the apple but upon tasting the sweet juice and crunch of the fruit, she took several large bites and it was gone.

“Slow down,” Loki laughed. “Don’t hurt yourself. There’s plenty.”

He sat back down and cut up another apple, this time giving it to Kuna in small slices so she could not bolt it down again. She took each slice, gingerly, and ate it. Now and then, she would pick up her cup and take another deep drink. When it was empty, Loki took it back and filled it again before returning it too her.

Her face contorted in confusion when he handed the cup back to her as if she had never been given anything in her life. When she took it from him, she bowed her head low in gratitude. He could tell she did not fully trust him yet, but she was coming around it seemed. He did not blame her for not trusting him. Despite the fact it was often the feeling people had around him, Loki thought Kuna had good reason to not trust a stranger. He certainly wouldn’t if he had experienced what she had.

Loki filled his cup again and took another swig of the strange-tasting water. He swayed a little as he put the cup down. Perhaps, he too was a bit tired from the jump. Big world jumps like that often left him exhausted too. He shrugged and drank again.

He sat for a moment, trying to place the strange taste again. It was subtle but familiar. He frowned at the cup and drank again. Smacking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, he tried to recall what it tasted like. The aftertaste was rather bitter, but it was more than that.

He took another sip and concentrated on what he tasted. He felt like one of the ridiculous mead-tasters in the palace at Asgard; swishing the liquid in his mouth and trying to come up with some ludicrous description of ‘malty, sweet honey’ for a sour tasting bad mead.

Focusing on the water again, he felt a sort of warmth in his throat as it descended to his stomach. The feeling reminded him of home, of Asgard, of mead, but perhaps, stronger? He spit out the water in a burst of spray across the room, making Kuna jump nearly to the ceiling.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “It’s alcoholic!” He jumped up and took the cup from Kuna, who shied away, cowering, wondering what she had done wrong to induce such a frenzy from Loki.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said. “But you cannot drink anymore of that. I think it’s what’s making you ill.”

Kuna did not understand. He had been so nice to her up to this point. She still had not decided if she were in hells or still alive. While he had been out looking for food and water, she had dreamily begun to wonder about him. When she had first seen him, as she dangled from the chain on Torileena, she thought for sure he was a demon from hells, there to haul her down to punishment.

When he had offered her water and freed her from her restraints, she wondered if this were some twisted torture meant to tantalize her. He had reassured her that he was not a demon and she had almost believed him. She had wondered to herself if Loki’s grace would end and if he would begin to hurt her like all the others before. She determined that, if it did, she was probably dead, and Loki was probably a demon and she was being tortured in the hell reserved for the worst of slaves.

She cowered away from him, wondering what her first punishment would be and for what horrible deed she had committed. Perhaps she would be beaten for the time she had stolen a moldy bit of bread from the garbage of her fourth master. Or the time with her sixth master, where she had sat down to rest her feet in the fields on Spintula.

She buried her head into the furs, awaiting the pain of the torture all her masters had told her she deserved to suffer when she finally died. Tears wetted the tough fur of the animal skin under her. She took in a shuddering breath and sobbed.

Loki panicked. She was crying. He had been a little too aggressive in getting the alcoholic drink away from her and now she was crying. And she was drunk. He had intoxicated a child into a stupor. He put his hands on his head, running his fingers through his hair in desperation.

“Oh, oh, no,” he said, bending over her, putting his hands out to console her but hovering just above so as not to scare her. “No, please don’t do that. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just… You can’t – you can’t have that drink. You’ve had too much of it and it’s making you sick.”

She looked up from the furs. Her eyelids were flinching, expecting a blow at any minute. Her tears made her eyelashes stick together and feel heavy. This demon was scary. He was nice and then mean and then nice again.

“No, no. I’m not a demon. I promise,” he said desperately, as if reading her mind. Only demons could do that, she thought to herself. Demons or sorcerers. “No, Kuna. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. At all. I promise.”

Kuna was still breathing hard, trembling with fear, but something in his voice felt sincere.

Loki thought of what he could do to make her believe him. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. He shook his head, trying to think about how to convince a child he was not a demon.

He stuck out his pinky finger to her. “Kuna, I swear I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. His voice was soft but determined. “I pinky swear.”

She stared at his finger from under the furs. A pinky swear was no joke. There was some serious cosmic magic behind them, everyone knew that. The kind of cosmic magic not even the rich people could ban them from.

Kuna stared for a long while at his extended finger. Her brain felt foggy. She couldn’t think straight or really even see straight. She still felt horribly dizzy and nauseous. A demon could not possibly break a pinky swear. No. She believed him. She stuck out her pinky from the safety of the furs and took his.

“I pinky swear,” he said. They locked pinkies. Loki nodded at her in affirmation. She nodded back at him and then pulled her hand away.

“Now,” Loki began, again. “I need to get more food in you.” He glanced down at their remaining apples. He shook his head. He didn’t think that would help to stem the effects of the alcohol. She needed bread. He remembered, suddenly, that he had saved a partial loaf of bread from a market on the planet he had found Kuna on. He mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it before.

He made it appear from the miniverse he lovingly referred to as his ‘pocket’. Wrapped in a small cloth, he uncovered the loaf and tore off a small piece to give to Kuna. She took it and gave him an uneasy, distrustful look.

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s from the marketplace on Torileena. It’s still fresh.”

She took a nibble, tasting it. Upon determining it was good, she happily ate the rest. Loki handed her another piece and another until she had eaten the rest of the loaf. She blinked sleepily at him and then, for the first time, smiled. She giggled a little at him. She was plastered.

“What?” he said, laughing with her. Her happiness was alarmingly contagious.

“You’re funny,” she said.

“Is that right?”

She nodded her head up and down like proud horse. Loki laughed and rolled his eyes, putting his tongue in his cheek which elicited even more giggles from the child. He couldn’t help but be a little amused at the drunken little girl in front of him.

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The second sun had long set. A cold draught blew in through the failure of a door. The cold didn’t bother Loki, but he felt pangs of fear for Kuna. She had been sleeping peacefully for hours. He physically shuddered at the thought of having any sort of attachment to this child. He had to keep on the move, ahead of his brother - should he have chosen to chase him – and whoever else would be after the tesseract.

You know who else will want it, his more sinister voice in his head hissed. Loki physically shook the voice away. Today had been the first time in a while that he had surfaced. Loki looked out the window to distract himself from himself.

It had taken a surprisingly long time for both suns to set. They had painted the distant clouds beautiful shades of pink and orange. Now that it was dark, Loki could see three small moons orbiting the planet from the window. Their phases were unusual to him as the dual suns and multiple moons cast whimsical shadows onto their surfaces. However, without the warmth of the sun, the cold had begun to settle. Loki stood. Kuna, waking at the sound of him standing, watched.

“I think we need a little fire in this hearth,” he said.

Kuna sat up, dizzily, swinging her legs over the side of the bench to go gather some firewood.

“Oh, no. Not you,” he said, gesturing for her to stop. “I’ll do it. You just lie down and rest.”

She drunkenly slumped back onto the bench and passed out. Loki let out a little sigh. It was rather normal for children on Asgard to share a drink or two with their parents, but it hardly led to any drunkenness. He thought Kuna had probably never even tasted alcohol, let alone been intoxicated before. And the lack of food and water in her system probably only augmented the effects. He shook his head at himself and walked outside.

He walked around the yard of the house, picking up branches and twigs. He took in a deep breath as he worked. Today had been a rough one. Attacked and chased by monsters, fooling two morons into their deaths, saving a child and then getting said child wasted on alcoholic water. He let out his breath in a heavy sigh.

He swayed a little from a sudden dizziness. Even he was not immune to the effects of the alcohol water. He smiled. At least he could handle himself drunk. Kuna, on the other hand, had no business being in such a state.

Loki pondered for a moment about the chemical make up of this planet. He assumed that it also likely rained alcohol mixed with water. He chuckled to himself at the thought of frozen ice caps where icy drinks could be served straight off the ground. He finished gathering up the wood and returned to the hut, laughing at himself.

He placed the wood into the hearth and crouched down, assembling a little tee-pee with the sticks and branches. He took some straw from the floor for kindling and used a simple sparking spell to light it.

An explosion of flames erupted into his face. He jerked back and fell onto the floor, grabbing his blistered hand. He cried out in pain as he looked at his burned, red hand. He seethed and turned over onto his sides, hissing at the pain and heat that radiated up his arm.

Kuna cried out too but in fear more than any physical pain. She leapt off the bench and dove underneath it, hiding from whatever fire monster had just attacked Loki. She mewled, burying her face in her arms.

Loki felt for her. He had done nothing but scare her all day. He regained himself and sat up, examining his hand. He had no idea why the spell backfired so literally. His fingers shook with the pain. He cradled it again for a moment. He hated burns. His cursed frost giant blood hated burns.

He glowered at the floor and the singed straw that lay upon it. He shook his head and kicked it in anger. This only frightened Kuna more. Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to ground himself. He was acting like his brute of a brother, lashing out like that. He exhaled slowly and turned his head to look at Kuna, hiding under the bench.

“I’m sorry, Kuna,” he said. “I should not have lost my temper like that. And I’m sorry about the explosion, too. I guess I put a little more power than was needed into that spell.” He looked again at his burned hand. The pain still smarted down his fingers and into his wrist. “I’m also a little tipsy, too,” he added, smirking at her and chuckling.

“Is your hand okay, sir?” she asked. Her voice was barely audible, her mouth still covered up by her arms as she peered up at Loki.

Loki sighed. “Yes. I’m fine,” he said. “And you don’t have to call me ‘sir’. You can just call me Loki.”

Kuna swallowed hard. No one had ever allowed her to call them by their first names. Not out loud. And not at least without a ‘master’ or a ‘my lord’ or a ‘sire’ before it. She inched out from under the bench and came to sit beside Loki. Her movements were hesitant but eventually, she came to rest by Loki’s side. She looked at his burned hand and then at the pot of water on the floor. She pulled it close to them, wanting to clean his wound but Loki stopped her.

“Oh, well, it’s nice of you to offer, Kuna, but this water would not make my hand feel any better.”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, pushing the pot away in shock. Had he poisoned her? She couldn’t remember if he too had drank the water. Her memory felt heavy and foggy.

“It has alcohol in it,” Loki said, hesitantly. “A lot of alcohol. That’s why you got so sick and dizzy and sleepy when you drank from it—” Loki trailed off.

Kuna peered down at the water in the pot. It looked normal to her, but it had tasted really weird. Loki stood up quickly and stared down at Kuna. She froze but did not run from him. His mouth dropped open for a moment and he looked around in the air as if searching for something. He suddenly picked Kuna up and moved her to the cabinets on the other side of the room. She was confused. Had he heard something outside? Maybe it was the gigagrunt again! Maybe it followed them from Torileena!

“Stay behind this counter, okay,” he told her. She nodded but peeked out from the corner to watch what he was doing.

Loki ran back to the hearth and leaned over the sticks and branches he had built up. He extended his burned hand towards them. He shook slightly, only a little sure of what would happen when he used the spark spell again. He focused his seidr and conjured a small spark.

He dove out of the way of another fireball that erupted in front of his hand. The heat and flame were enough to send renewed twinges of pain down his already burned hand but did not make the injury any worse. He leapt to his feet and ran to Kuna.

“Gah!” he exclaimed, scooping her up. “The air’s alcoholic too! I am a moron! We have to get out of here.”

Kuna looked up at him. He switched her to his opposite hip and arm. He summoned the tesseract to his hand and conjured up its energies. He glanced down at Kuna again. He the brief thought crossed his mind that she might not have the strength to make it through another jump like this. But they could not stay here.

“I’m sorry, Kuna. We have to jump again.”

She clutched his leather jacket in her little hand and held on tight, shoving her face into his chest. She had no idea what he was on about or what ‘jumping’ meant but she had an awful feeling about it.

“That’s right,” Loki said. “Hold on to me.” He looked down at the tesseract. “Somewhere with no alcohol in the water or the air,” he hissed at it. He concentrated and the vapors enveloped them, whisking them away to a new realm.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Father #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #Loki's Daughter #chapter 2 #traveling-classicist #Trigger warning #child slavery #mental illness #past abuse

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lokis-daughter-fic · 5 years ago

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Loki’s Daughter Chapter 2: A Drink

Same Trigger Warnings as Chapter 1 apply to whole fic. Enjoy! Let me know what you think! Also AO3 Link if you’re interested