#eir//little bird and little prince

[tilosecretbirb]

eir//blackhairedarcher+ dream sequence

gif credit

“Ho-how did you pull it out?!!? No one's done that before but me?!” Eir gasps from where shes fallen on the ground. Swirling into a solid form the water and ice manipulates itself into the Kingsword within Kíli's hands. 

He had gone to pull her to her feet and instead the ball of light had flashed into his hand like a bolt of liquid lightning. His eyes blowing wide with horror were now changing to enchantment at what he held in his hands.

“It's fae! It's magic! Be careful!” She warns staggering to her feet still catching her breath, looking back to where their enemies lay before them. All milling about waiting for them to make a wrong move. “It's not normal.” Eir whispers gravely, none of this was normal. Not the sword. Not the dream. Not the ravens with teeth and saliva that burned through the branches and caused the leaf litter to catch a light beneath their roost.

Slowly she draws her bow taking aim at the nearest one. “On your mark,” She begins steadily, “get set.” Her arm remains stock still watching his stance from the corner of her eye. “Go. Go!” Eir let's one fly following it up with another and another and another and another and another. 

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Rest Your Weary Hands Part 7

Here comes the comfort.

Part 6

Contains: Bruises and a beating not graphic, unwanted arranged marriage, violence, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, the bad guys get what's coming to them.

1,950 words

Comment to be tagged

Queen Aslaug walks into your little Healers store with one request, help her son. Said to be blessed by the gods, you find your life becoming more and more intertwined with the young prince as you do your best to ease his pain. It will soon be apparent that outside forces have other ideas.

The bird followed him around everywhere, anytime he tried to leave Kattegat it would attack him until he turned around and went back. Aslaug had told him to wait four days, that the gods had shown her a vision that if he went before then, something terrible would happen. So he did, he spent his time pacing and sharpening his weapons.

He was woken on the fourth day to squawking in Ubbe's room, the bird had left his side and turned to his Brother. Ivar got dressed as fast as he could, he didn't even bother putting on his braces, choosing to crawl to save on time.

When he opened the door the scene that greeted him was comical, this birds was hovering over Ubbe while he dressed, if he took too long the bird would swoop down and peck him.

"I'm coming, I can only dress so fast with you at me!" By the time Ubbe was done, it looked like he had lost of battle, his hair was a mess and half his clothes were inside out or backwards.

"I'm coming with you, I have to speak to y/n before you bring her back to Kattegat." The bird let out a terrible shriek and flew at his face. He ducked out of the way before it hit him.

"I think you should stay, that is if you want to keep your eyes."

Bjorn was waiting by the door when Ubbe walked in. He was dressed to leave but he and his Mother were meant to be staying in Kattegat for the next week. He looked like he hadn't slept at all.

Nightmares

"I think Father is trying to tell us something."

They rode as hard as they could, the Berserker who was Aslaug's personal guard had asked to come as well. He had grown very fond of you. You had noticed how much time he spent by the horses when he wasn't working and when no one was around, you had taken to calling him 'Leif the Gentle' rather than 'Leif the brutish'.

There were armed men outside when they rode up. It was clear they weren't happy that anyone was here, let alone the Sons of Ragnar.

"You should leave, she's busy." Ubbe was too mad to react at first so Bjorn cut in.

"You will let us through or you will be in the mines by the end of the week." He put his hand on his sword for emphasis.

When they walked in you had your backs to them, and you were hunched up like you were hurt.

"Please go, you can't be here." You sounded ill.

"Turn around Dove, we're here to take you back to Kattegat." You did so very slowly, your eyes cast down the whole time.

You were covered in bruises and there were scrapes on your cheek, you were breathing like your ribs were broken and you were pale and washed out.

"What in the Hel happened to you?!" you flinched at the Ubbe's raised voice but gave no other indication that you heard him.

"It doesn't matter, I will be fine. You should go, unless someone is dying there's no need for you to be here." you wiped a tear from your face.

"I'm sad to say this will be the last time we see each other. I am to be wed next Sunday." You held up your hand to show a ring on your finger, it was gaudy and hideous. The only Jewellery you wore was the Eir necklace that hung around your neck, and even then, it was tucked into your top most of the time.

"To whom?!" Ubbe was shocked, you had expressed before that you had no desire to marry.

"Earl Knut's Son Brant." The men were looking back and forth from you to each other.

"The morning I got home, my Father informed me that somehow his debt had been paid in full. I have outlived my usefulness and now he is getting rid of me. It turns out that at least to Brant, I am worth quite a lot of money." You paused to take a sip of something from a mug.

"You're a free woman, you're also of age, he can't do that." Ubbe looked disgusted.

"Please let it go, there's nothing you can do about it. Earl Knut made it very clear that if I told a soul what was going to he would make sure the people of Kattegat and by extension, you and your family suffer. I have to go."

Bjorn whispered to Leif and Leif left to wait outside, you could hear something going on, but it sounded like someone moving outside.

"As your Prince, I am ordering you to collect your things and come with me to Kattegat, if you don't I will arrest you and have you carried there." You wanted to protest but Ubbe was already crowding you.

"After this issue is dealt with, someone will accompany you to get the rest of your things and all your supplies and you will be moving to Kattegat permanently."

The truth is that you had never felt more relieved, but you felt duty-bound to say no.

"If I go, Knut will go to war with you, he has promised he will make sure that he wipes your bloodline off the face of Midgard." Leif came back inside, he was covered in blood and it wasn't his own.

"Your minders have been taken care of, you will pack a bag and get on your horse or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you all the way home."

************************************************************************

The ride back was rough, you would have to stop ever so often to cough but whatever you were drinking for your flask was helping.

"Are you sick?" Bjorn sounded very worried.

"I just caught draft riding back in the cold, it will take a few days but I will feel fine, the sooner I get into the warmth the better." They seemed to accept that, there was no reason for you to lie.

You practically sagged into your horse's spine when you saw the smoke of the city, had Ubbe not been so angry his heart would have hurt for you.

"Mother had a spare room set up, it should be ready now. Go in a rest for a few hours, then we will need to hear the full story." You didn't have the energy to protest.

*******

Ivar was waiting at the great table when you walked in, he looked at you like he was ready to cut off his legs and offer them to you as a sacrifice.

"I am so sorry y/n." You walked by him without even looking at him.

"Don't worry, My Prince, you have nothing to be sorry for. I forgot my place." He was too heartbroken to follow.

************************************************************************

You came out of your room a few hours later, looking and feeling much better. Everyone was waiting for you. There was no casual posture or relaxed speech, it looked like they were in a war meeting.

"Please tell us everything that happened, don't leave off any detail no matter how small." Lagertha was already dressed for battle.

It took you about an hour to tell them everything, no one spoke unless it was to ask you if you needed a moment to collect yourself. When you were done Aslaug spoke for the first time.

"We will send out armies to Earl Knut land before the end of day, unless absolutely necessary he and he son are to be brought in alive. As for your Father, he is on his way here in chains as well speak, it is your choice what happens to him." You wanted to cry with joy.

You were free

"Whatever you wish, he is no longer my problem." You didn't miss the sadistic look that crossed Ivar's face.

"Right then, I think it's time we leave. We should be home with our prisoners by they end of the week." Hvitserk tone was jovial, but in the 'I can't wait to get my hands bloody' way.

You went to open your mouth to tell them it wouldn't be that easy but Lagertha stopped you.

"We have been having problems with Earl Knut for months, this was going to happen sooner or later. We are fully aware of his capabilities, including those he has tried to hide."

There was a bustle of movement and you were left alone with Aslaug and Ivar.

"I have many people to see, you may do what you like for the rest of the day but I would like to see you here for dinner." You nodded but got up without saying anything. As you were walking away she spoke again.

"The room you are in is yours now, I will have some servants in tomorrow to help you unpack and when you are fully healed, you can start to work again, until then, you will rest and settle into your new home.

*********

The room was in the same hallway as Ivar's. It was huge and open, it had to be the same size as Aslaug's. It was enclosed so there were no windows but that gave it a safe, cozy feel. It was already dressed with furs to the point where you couldn't see the stone floor and there was space for scrolls along one wall. There was a similar servent nook, although this one had a door, and at the far and of the room was an area for you to bathe and dress.

You went about unpacking your clothing when there was a knock on the door, it was Ivar.

"Can we speak, please?" You opened the door more so he could walk in.

"What can I do for you My Prince." Ivar looked like he was on the brink of tears.

"Can we go back to how things were before that night? I don't want you to hate me." you had no doubt in your mind that he was telling the truth.

"I'm sorry I never told you why, I couldn't risk you intervening." you were sitting with your knees touching now, it felt like you had never left.

"I'm sorry I was so cruel. For the first time since my Father's death, I felt like I mattered and when you told me you couldn't stay, it felt like he was leaving all over again." He took a deep breath.

"Since Odin told us of his death, I wanted nothing more than to avenge him, but the battlefield is no place for a cripple."

You couldn't stand up long enough to Blood Eagle him.

"But now I can walk, and fight. You have given me a way to avenge my Father and I will be indebted to you until the day I die." He went to keep going but you stopped him.

"I understand why you did what you did Ivar, and I don't hate you even a little. All has been forgiven, but if you ever speak to me like that again, I will leave here and you will never see me for as long as you live. He nodded emphatically and you could hear a raven calling from his room.

"Do you have a bird?"

************************************************************************

It had been two weeks since you arrived, you had seen your Father briefly before he was thrown in jail. Ivar bird which he had taken to calling little beast, kept bringing you little gifts like rocks and bit a wood, much to Ivar's annoyance.

You were packing away your scrolls on the shelves when Aslaug walked in.

"Are you in love with Ivar?"

Part 8

Tag List: @ladynightshade30 @katshuya @istorkyou @smears-and-spots @youbloodymadgenius @draculasbride-blog @profoundtyrantharmony @vikingsfranatic @hellie98 @localtrashopossum @polly-jayne @serenitybloodmoon @southernbe @rebyl-dollface @hamburgerslippers@wintersire

[thebifrostgiant]

If You Know Where to Look - Part 11

Summary: in which Loki makes a few audacious remarks and gives you a “cute” nickname. You come to a few realizations and give Loki some information

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 4,690

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

*

Chapter 11: Half a Loaf

Loki’s thumb traces the blunt corners and smooth facets of the emeralds overspreading the interlaced silver handle of his knife. There are black streaks of tarnish forming on the metal. Loki knows this because he is looking at it with the sort of over-attentiveness that comes to him when his thoughts are too numbered and turbulent to efficaciously sort through, tossed about his head like water in an upset bucket.

The stretchy wrapping around his chest presses against his ribs as he breathes, confining him to quick, shallow pants and the trifling, quietly smoldering anxiety that comes with not enough air. But when he tries for deeper, soothing lungfuls, his chest clenches up and aches and all the air is expelled in a rush of coughing so ragged it leaves him lightheaded and his whole side burns with the movement of it. It’s... it’s scary, in a way he doesn’t want to admit to, not even to himself, because it should not be so. Sure, he’d had his fair share and then some of injuries severe enough to merit a visit to Eir to have the healer patch him up — more often than not involving Thor somehow — but that was for head injuries and blood loss, and that one unfortunate time with the aurochs, never something so petty as bruises.

But his ribs are much worse than they have any right to be, and the sense of dread that’s been creeping like frost across his nerves now freezes solid, makes him tense against the need to shiver.

He scratches at a clump of dirt dried in a crevice with the side of his nail, watches it break apart and fall into the wind.

Whatever had happened to him, to his magic, is making him weak and vulnerable. His sole defense lies in his hand, the meager blade of one small dagger. Perhaps it is all he needs. Perhaps he won’t need even so much. But uncertainty casts a much bigger shadow with the knowledge that it may not be enough.

His other hand holds the bag that Charlie had given him, now mostly water, to the worst of the bruising, the cold of it dulling the pain and, with any luck, reducing the swelling also. With any luck, the analgesics the man had given him will take effect soon. Loki hates that in particular, that he can’t just grit his teeth like he wants to, just push through. He hates it nearly as much as having his authority, by both title and autonomy, challenged.

He feels eyes on him, and he turns his head without slowing his not quick but staunch, trudging pace, the black pavement of the road crackling with each step.

“What?” Loki’s voice is hoarse and comes out closer to a bark than anything. He covers it up with a glare, not feeling particularly magnanimous.

She blinks, surprised. Caught, more like. He sneers at her for good measure, and she looks away, her scarred cheek prominent in her profile. He lets his eyes trace the length of it, feeling something squirm in his gut, something he does not recognize.

Her mouth presses into a thin, frustrated line.

“Nothing,” she bites back.

Loki raises his eyebrows.

“I beg your pardon?”

Her head snaps toward him at that, hair loose and swirling, mouth slightly gaped. Her eyes flick over his face like she’s trying to figure him out. He looks back at his knife. Clearly, she has not figured out what it is she’s done.

If he cannot command respect, then perhaps he can tease it out of her by impressing the need for it.

“Is that any manner to talk to a prince? Or have you forgotten already to whom you speak?”

The metal is warm under his palm, cold where his hand does not touch, and as he wraps and rewraps his fingers around it, shifting his hold in increments, the contrast is a sharp and pleasant distraction. But he notices, nonetheless, when the second set of scuffing feet have ceased their movement, and he stops as well, listening to the silence.

“My apologies, my prince.”

It’s terse and barbed and dismal all at once, but she does start walking again. He has gotten under her skin, it would seem. He tries not to feel too pleased. Which isn’t hard, he realizes as the sunlight glints off the shiny hilt, worn smooth from years of use, because he does not feel pleased at all.

***

The inn is small, the old yet picturesque building tucked away in a corner between a dress shop and a teahouse, paneled in light blue with darker shutters and brick chimneys. A sign is posted by the front, wooden and weathered, with the words The Primitive Raven Inn in chipped black paint.

Loki stares at it, stares at the painted silhouettes of a pair of ravens that look hauntingly, impossibly familiar, identical in shape to two such birds he had known intimately. The beady eyes of Huginn and Muninn — for who else could they be? — seem to follow his movement, watching him, and he wonders, trepid, hopeful, if his father can see him here, if the Midgard ravens would return from their long absence, fly back to Odin’s shoulders and whisper in his ears of his lost son.

But then Loki blinks, and the figures on the sign are just two birds.

***

Prince Loki hesitates at the entrance, one foot on a rickety stair and his attention toward the sudden point of focus he’s found, inexplicably, in the denominative sign. A brief moment later, he’s shaken off whatever distracted wariness had taken hold, and you pretend not to notice, and merely wait for him to continue on his way with a slight bow that feels petty even as you’re coming up from it. But it’s the respectful thing to do, ostensibly, even if there’s nothing respectful about your motives.

The inside of the building is a mishmash of richly colored rugs, patterned walls with framed paintings and shelves of vases and baubles, floral curtains and striped couches, and a winding staircase with polished wooden railing in the center. It’s dizzying, and walks the line between garish and quaint, but it smells like blueberries and it’s out of the wind, and there’s a cheery fire in a hearth. Before long a woman comes out of a kitchen area with a smile on her face to greet you and Loki.

“Hello there!” She takes in the sight of you with easy grace, hardly seeming bothered before saying, in a bubbly way that’s genuine enough, “I guess you’re looking for a room for a night or two. Do you have a reservation?”

Loki steps toward her, a grin of his own on his face and his dagger nowhere in sight.

“I’m afraid we do not. I hope that isn’t a problem?”

He sounds sorry enough, polite enough, but the confident expression, the head cocked just so, the pleasant upturn of his lips all register as roguish, in a way distinctly and — to you — uncomfortably charming.

And the woman, the poor woman, drinks it in.

“No worries,” she rushes to assure him, leaving you to sink into the background of blurry afterthought, as she directs her words almost solely to Loki. “We’re not completely booked. You came just in time; we’ve still got a room open.” And she does look at you then, as if upon sudden consideration, and it registers that there is only one room available. “It’s one with two full-sized beds, not a queen or a king. Is that alright with you and your,” she pauses, obviously trying not to sound presumptuous, “lady friend?”

As if that’s the only issue there could possibly be. Not that she would know just how unpleasant a night sharing a room with Loki would be, for both of you, apparently, since the prince seems to treat everyone he meets with more courtesy than he’s ever directed at you, since he seems determined to disparage you at every turn, and you don’t understand why. A perfect stranger gets his good graces and you get his claws, even though you’re stuck here together and you’d saved his life and helped patch him up. A rough night indeed, you think bitterly.

“What, no prince-sized beds?” Prince Loki quips, and the woman laughs, tossing her head back, even though that can’t have made sense to her, damn her.

“Unfortunately, all those rooms were booked,” she returns easily.

Loki flashes his teeth at her, a reward for the banter, before he turns to you. And then he winks, at you, whatever weird mood he’d fallen into earlier completely and bafflingly absent. You have a stretched second to catch on, enough time to think No, but not enough to intervene.

“Well, it’s not ideal, I admit, but it shall suffice.” Damn him. It shall do no such thing! “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, and all that,” Loki sighs, and looks at you again, seeming wistful but for the sparkle in his eyes. “I suppose we could always push the two beds together.”

It’s all you can do to hold something approximating a neutral face, or perhaps just one that’s not caught between ire, mortification, and disbelief. It’s a good thing you gave the dagger back to him, or who knows what you’d be tempted to do for that unnecessary insinuation.

“There’s always that,” the woman agrees cheerfully, not at all deterred from her enchanting chat with Loki, who, if anything, seems to soak up her attention just as much. It’s... you’re not entirely sure what it is, but you don’t like it. It just... feels off. “Can I get a name?” she asks.

“For business or for pleasure?” Loki offers immediately, though it’s clearly meant as a joke, because he follows, just as quickly, with “Odinson. Loki Odinson.”

At that the woman does let her smile drop, just fractionally, her eyes drifting to the side in thought. “Loki...” she says like the name has caught her memory and she’s trying to place it. “Like the god?” she asks conversationally, as she puts down his surname in a little booklet of papers bound together, presumably for record keeping.

Loki leans toward her, grin impossibly wide.

“Yes, exactly. Loki, the god.” He holds out his hand, positively buzzing with magnetism. “May I have yours?”

She eyes him a moment, as if aware of the undercurrent of mischief, and says, “You can call me Kathy,” as she takes his hand. If she was expecting a shake, she shouldn’t have been, because Loki, Prince Loki, presses a kiss to her knuckles, the gesture both genteel and evocative, and how he manages that you may never know.

Kathy blushes at that, utterly delighted, but she seems to rein it in, with a quick glance at you.

“How many nights are you planning on staying, Mr. Odinson?” There is no less enjoyment in her demeanor and tone, but she does take a step back and insert some professionalism, which you feel is long overdue.

And that presents another issue. You have no money to offer, no way to pay for even one night. And unless Prince Loki thinks he can charm his way into a free room — and you really, really, hope that’s not the angle he’s going for — one of you is going to have to come up with something, quickly.

And instead of answering Kathy, and consequently answering your unspoken worry, Loki pulls out his dagger and, with reluctance obvious despite his attempts to smother it, wedges a nail under one of the gems and pries it up. He holds it out to Kathy, bright green and as large as his thumbnail.

“How many nights will this cover?” And his eyes, bright green and narrowed in smug satisfaction watch as Kathy openly gasps in amazement, reaching out and then pulling her hand back as if she daren't touch the emerald, before snatching it up and holding it to the light.

“Is... is this real?” she marvels, turning it this way and that and finding no fault with it.

“It is.”

“I... You... Stay as long as you’d like!” Kathy gushes, looking between the emerald and Loki like she’s hoping she won’t wake from a dream. “Make yourselves at home, Mr. Odinson and Ms...” she trails off, because you have not given your name. You open your mouth to provide it, but Loki answers first.

“In-Hvassa.” The lie rolls easily off his tongue, so smooth you can not determine if it’s meant as an insult to you — or, as unlikely as it sounds, a compliment — some strange attempt at humor, or if you’d simply misheard.

Kathy doesn’t bat an eye, doesn’t understand, doesn’t recognize it as anything other than a surname, even as you fail to make sense of it.

“It’s the second room on the left, room 202” she tells you, somewhat distractedly. “Breakfast is at 7 am, and dinner will be at 5, so you’ve still got a few hours until then, but you can feel free to the leftovers from this morning if you’re hungry in the meantime. And there are several little dive-type restaurants nearby in the Quiet Corner, if that’s your thing.” She looks up, at both of you, with a heartfelt smile, holding up the emerald with a little wave. “And, thank you.”

You do take her up on the offer of food, filling a couple of plates with thin slices of cured salmon, some soft white cheese, hard cooked eggs, and various greens, and grabbing the uneaten end of a loaf of crusty, oat-strewn brown bread. You carry most of it, and Loki doesn’t fight you over it.

You follow him up the stairs, the curve of them leaving you slightly off balance, with soft carpet muffling your feet. He opens a door with a plaque engraved with 202 on it, and you step into a room that’s far more subdued and comfortable looking than the downstairs areas. Aside from the beds, that is, side by side with only a scant armslength and a tiny table between them, which are too close for comfort. If anything, you want to move them farther apart.

The walls are pale green with textured ferns and leaves. There’s a large mirror on one wall, above a black desk, and there are several lamps, paintings, and windows around the room, and even an armchair in one corner. The wood floor creaks beneath you, but it’s an almost pleasant sound, and it reminds you of your home.

You flop down gracelessly on the bed farthest from the door and hand Loki a plate of the food without a word, breaking the piece of bread and handing him one half. He perches against the iron headboard of his bed and absently peels the shell off an egg. When he had zoned out before, he’d been sulky and miffed, but now he just seems... tired, perhaps. Not entirely in a bad way. Whatever perkiness he’d been injecting into his badinage with Kathy had probably been forced.

When you’ve finished your food, you set your plate on the intermediate table and turn toward the prince, who is picking at his food more than eating it, even though he must be hungry.

“Are you alright?” You ask it softly, neither pitying nor pushing.

Unexpectedly, Loki doesn’t seem bothered by the question. He merely looks up at you briefly, before picking up a chunk of bread topped with the salmon.

“I’m feeling better than I was,” he answers before taking another bite. “Thank you.”

And just like that, you’re yet again feeling like you don’t know at all this man before you, who is ever changing and continues to surprise you at every turn with his artful pretending and scarcely perceptible maneuvering. The prince with the sideways, shifting nature of a serpent and the grin of a wolf, at once brave and skittish, vicious and affable in turn. But somehow, that quiet response did not seem like a mask.

“Would you like to bathe first?” you offer, the hard set of your heart strangely thawed. You’re beyond tired as well, apparently, too tired for idle pettiness. And, well, he had said thank you. “I’ll help you with the bandage when you’re done. If you’d like,” you hurry to add, “my prince.”

Loki sets his plate aside and nods. He rises to his feet slowly and carefully and makes his way to the washroom, and as he shuts the door behind him, you feel a flicker of genuine anxiety, because you know Loki is the proud sort, and if he’s not able to muster up a little strength to try to hide the limp in his step, then things must be considerably worse than a normal case of contused ribs. You wonder what exactly Bǫlverkr and Lyngvir did to him to increase his pain exponentially. And, well, the blow from the staff probably didn’t help, you think with a wince.

The distant sound of running water fills the room with a backdrop of steady noise, like a calm rain on a roof, and you might have been inclined to nod off if you weren’t so distracted by a storm of thoughts crashing through your mind like thunder.

***

Loki lets the bandage fall to the tile floor with a sigh of relief and inhales blissfully warm and steamy air, feeling his chest loosen. The pain has been blunted by the medication he’d taken, and he takes advantage of the opportunity to just breathe.

He stands in front of the mirror, running his fingers over the swelling and bruises, and watching his reflection start to fog. It does look dreadful, he realizes, worse than he’d been able to determine from the glimpse he’d caught earlier. But, truly, the bones don’t feel broken, and he supposes he will heal, eventually.

As he lets the warm water cascade over his head and body, lets it wash him and lull him into a calm, sleepy haze, the redolent scent of the shampoo wafting over him, he realizes he does know what’s wrong after all. His assaulters hadn’t prevented him from using his magic. They had, somehow, taken it away, or else suppressed it to the point where he was effectively mortal.

Eventually, he is clean, and immensely refreshed for it, and he wraps himself up in a fluffy, towel-like robe, tying it loosely around his waist. After hanging his cloak up and stacking his dirty clothing on a wire rack to deal with later, he exits the bathroom and steps into the cooler, dryer air of the main bedroom, bandage in hand.

The girl, In-Hvassa, he had aptly called her, he recalls with no small trace of amusement, sits with her arms around her knees on the armchair, legs pulled up in a way that doesn’t look entirely comfortable, but when she looks up and sees him, she stands and steps toward him, reaching for the bandage.

“Not yet,” he tells her, sounding a bit too much like a command he hadn’t meant it as. “It won’t hurt to leave it off a little bit longer. You may bathe first.”

She dips her head with a murmured, “Yes, sir,” and ducks into the bathroom. It makes Loki grit his teeth, the propriety. It doesn’t suit her at all, especially not on Midgard of all places, where he truly is not a prince. But it’s better than that miserable, hateful look she keeps giving him, that one that echos the first of such looks, the one that hurt more than it should have, the accusation of monster implicit. An accusation that he can only go so far in denying. What reason has he given her to believe otherwise?

She returns before much time has passed, quicker than he had been yet still longer than an average shower would be, plenty of time undoubtedly spent scrubbing every inch and basking in how good it feels to not be dirty and chilled. She also is swathed in a white robe identical to his, toweling at the ends of her hair. She sits facing him on the edge of his bed, drapes the towel over her shoulders, and silently picks up the bandage. Loki wriggles out of the top part of his robe to give her better access and holds as still as he can.

She’s not one for undue scrutiny, and Loki is grateful, not liking having a bit of cloth over his lap as his only clothing at the moment, not liking the exposure, the lack of even such a flimsy protection. Her hands are soft and gentle and methodical, and she does not poke around this time as she rewraps the bandage about his chest.

“What exactly happened?” Her voice is quiet despite her nearness. “How we got here, I mean. What was that? Do you know?”

Loki is not sure he does, not entirely. It was some form of transit that spans realms, some second-hand teleportation obviously meant for Loki that she had gotten in the crosshairs of. Loki tells her as much, but as for the how of it, the way Bǫlverkr or Lyngvir or someone had managed to do so, he cannot say. Especially without them touching him whilst doing so.

“They said you’d be ‘gone.’ I didn’t realize they meant it so literally,” she says, a touch of wry humor returning as she clasps the end of the bandage. She scoots back, leaving him room to wrestle his arms back in his sleeves, but she stays sitting on the bed.

“I suppose what remains to be answered is why they’d want me gone.”

Loki turns to her, expectant.

***

He knows. You’re not sure how, but there is no mistaking that keen gaze. He wants you to provide that answer, and he knows that you can. That’s... awfully astute of him, actually.

You’re not sure where to begin. Ülle, treason, Prince Thor... oh Ymir, Prince Thor. He is in danger. Distantly so, you hope severely. Ülle had mentioned a baby. That would take at least some amount of time. And surely the Allfather wouldn’t marry Prince Thor off the second Loki went missing. There would be more time on that for searching, for mourning. And that’s a bleak thought, because they’d have no choice but to presume the prince dead, and you as well, if anyone even noticed you were missing. Your family would eventually, you suppose. There is no telling how long any of that would take, how long before time is up and Thor is the second prince dead to Asgard. How long before you’d figure out a way back, if it would be soon enough or... or not. You don’t want to think about the not.

“There’s a conspiracy,” you say matter-of-factly once you’ve sorted through your thoughts well enough to begin. “To supplant an illegitimate ruler on the Allfather’s throne.” You gauge his reaction, waiting for some subtle sign in his watchful, intense eyes. “A Vanir ruler.”

“Ülle.” It is no question. He knows it just as easily as you’d meant him to. “How are you sure of this?”

“I heard her, as well as the ones called Bǫlverkr and Lyngvir and one other, an older woman, discussing it. They thought nothing of my presence. For whatever reason, Ülle thought me to be incapable of speech, and they seemed eager to dismiss a mute servant, believing I’d be unable to tell anyone about it even if I’d wanted to. They planned to get rid of you somehow. Ülle said something about bestowing you a gift. I... I don’t know what she meant by that.” You frown, because Bǫlverkr had that pouch, and he must have done something with whatever was inside it, and it must somehow be connected to all this. Loki clears his throat, prompting you to continue — or perhaps stifling a cough — but you do nonetheless, shaking off the trepidation for the moment. “She plans to marry Prince Thor, with you out of the way. Have his baby and stick him on the throne. ‘Vanaheim will have the throne’ is what the woman said. Then,” you pause to take a steadying breath, “then they mean to kill Prince Thor.”

Loki is unable to stop a small flinch at that, just a flicker of his eyes pinching shut for a moment, but it’s there, earning a twist of sympathy from your chest. As much as you like and venerate the crown prince, and don’t want to see anything terrible happen to him, Loki is his brother, and, well, you can imagine how difficult it would be to hear of a plan to have your brother killed.

Then Loki’s black eyebrows furrow with a sudden, confused thought, and he blinks at you.

“How did you know where to find me?”

You don’t quite manage to stop a sudden laugh at that, because it so is not what you were expecting, and it would be hard to explain, if that were the case. Most people wouldn’t have even known to begin looking in the forest for him, let alone the exact location within. You certainly hadn’t. However your feet had managed to wander on the right tracks, whatever had led you to the smoke trail and the ravine had been too faultless to be mere serendipity. Perhaps fate, the Norns, whatever higher power there may or may not be, had pushed you in the direction you were meant to go.

“I didn’t.” He jerks his head up with a sharp look at you, and you hold up a finger, asking him not to interrupt while you explain. He closes his mouth and nods for you to speak, which is the second sort of respectful thing he’s done in the last hour, and you... appreciate it. “I looked everywhere in the palace first, or at least it felt like everywhere. I wouldn’t know, exactly, I suppose, I’m not all that familiar with the layout.” You tuck a damp lock of hair behind your ear. That was as close to admitting that you had been completely lost in the halls as you are going to get, even though you don’t doubt Loki’s ability to see right through it. “But I... I couldn’t find anyone, not a single person. I had... I had seen Prince Thor earlier,” and you try not to flush at that, or let on just how much else you’d seen — or heard — then. If he doesn’t know you had eavesdropped, you certainly aren’t going to tell him. “I thought he should have been around somewhere, but he wasn’t, and no one was.” You look at Loki, remembered distress on your face and in your voice. “There should have been someone, shouldn’t there?”

“Yes. There should have been any number of guards and servants about. Unless, of course, someone were to, say, cause a distraction.”

“Right.” You nod a little, and bite at the inside corner of your lip, eyes loosing focus around the edges as you revisit your memory. “I ended up outside, and I remembered something Bǫlverkr had said, that you’d been spending a lot of time in the forest, so I thought, maybe...” You let the rest hang, and pull your legs up under yourself, fiddling with the ties of your robe, the fabric thick and fuzzy beneath your thumbs. “I guess it didn’t really make any difference, in the end.” Oh, the bitter reality of that sinks deep. “You still ended up here anyway.” And so did I.

Loki sighs, a deep, soul-weary sound that might as well have been pulled from your lungs, so similar is it to your own feelings.

“And that, of course, leads back to more unanswerable questions.”

Indeed. Indeed it does.

“What now?” The question is barely whispered, so full of uncertainty that’s reflected in green eyes, just for a moment before they close and turn away.

“I don’t know,” Loki says, just as softly, just as lost. “I don’t know.”

Part 12

[thegoddamnfangirl]

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice- Part 3

Part 2.5 (contains links to rest of the parts).

Pairings: Loki Odinson x Reader

Plot: Loki takes an apprentice he finds himself getting unusually attached to.

When he finally reached the palace, it was late. Dinner had started, he was informed, so he cleaned up and dressed in a rush.

  “Sorry I’m late, I got caught up in practice,” he explained as he barged into the dining hall.

  He blinked in confusion for a few moments- there were two other people seated at the table along with his father, mother and Thor. They had company.

“Be seated, son,” growled Odin. “I must apologize on behalf of the young Prince,” he said as Loki quietly took his seat, “you must excuse him for being late, he is often absent-minded when he is studying.”

 Loki bit his lower lip in embarrassment. His position was to his mother’s left- one of the guests, which he recognized as a Lord Bjorka from the court, was on his own left side; Father was to the Lord’s left, Thor was to Father’s left and so on.

 “Ahem, Prince Loki,” said Queen Frigga, “you have not yet been introduced to Lady Astra, correct?”

 For the first time, Loki properly took notice of the other guest, into whose ear Thor had been whispering.

 She sat right across him- her large, pretty eyes met his and she smiled.

Loki found himself smiling back.

  “Lady Astra has just returned to Asgard after years of studying at Vanaheim,” Odin supplied. 

 This piqued Loki’s interest.

“Vanaheim? That’s an interesting coincidence,” he said to Lady Astra as Lord Bjorka, who seemed obviously her father, engaged in conversation with the King. “I’ve spent an extensive period studying there myself; what is your subject, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” she replied, tilting her head to a side. “I have studied magical warfare.”

 This part caught Lord Bjorka’s ears.

“Ah, yes, Prince Loki, Astra is quite a warrior!”

“So I’ve heard,” said Odin. “It is said that you’re gifted with a treasure of magic in your veins, m’lady.”

  “Well,” chuckled Lady Astra. She neither denied nor accepted the praise.

  “I couldn’t have guessed you studied warfare,” Loki mused after the two men had returned to conversation, this time involving Thor and his mother as well.

“Do I not look like a warrior?” she laughed. “I should like to aver that I am one. In fact, I was wondering how one is to apply to your mage army, sire, it is said to be one of the best in the entire Yggdrasil.”

 Loki’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. He imagined a woman like her in his army- his soldiers would fall over themselves to try and court her. The thought made him giggle slightly.

 “Does the prospect please His Majesty?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You sound pleased at the prospect of me joining your army.”

“Oh, well, I am,” he replied politely.

 He was about to say something else when Thor caught his eye, signing a discreet gesture in the air. 

  Their gesture for ‘get me out of here, emergency’.

“Oh!” Loki cried out, clutching his head.

  The table fell silent. All eyes were on him.

“Loki, dear?” Queen Frigga asked.

  “Ooh, oh, Norns, Mother- I just felt the most dreadful pain in my temple- it’s been a dull throb all day, but now-”

“Is it the same place where I struck you with the hilt of my sword this morning?” Thor asked in (fake) alarm.

 “That is the place, ay,” Loki played along with an agonized expression.

“You must see Lady Eir, I suppose,” Odin said, clearly suspecting a rat.

 “-oh! Perhaps it can wait until after dinner, I do not wish to leave our guests,” Loki said, blinking rapidly.

“Of course not, Your Highness!” said Lord Bjorka “You may be seriously hurt! You must go see a healer this instant.”

 “Mayhap I can assist you on your way to the infirmary,” said Lady Astrid, with an overly innocent expression on her face.

 “No!” Thor jumped up. “Do not trouble yourself, m’lady, I shall aid my brother. Do excuse us!”

  And then, he hoisted Loki off of his chair and carried him out of the hall like a child.

 As soon as they were a sufficient distance from he dining hall, Thor set him down.

  “Thank you, Svfalo*,” he grinned.

  Loki suppressed a smile at the old nickname and said:

“Yeah, yeah...what is the big emergency anyway?” Loki asked.

 “I-uh-”

  “Thor?” Loki asked- his brother was grinning all over his face like an absolute idiot.

  “I have to see a woman,” he said.

“Ah-ooooh! I see! But were you not flirting with Lady Astra at the dinner table, right before I arrived? I do not easily miss such things brother, now what was that?”

 Thor shrugged. 

“She likes you better,” he said. “Anyway, I must go.”

“Fare fair,” Loki told him, before turning on his heel.

  He walked slowly down towards his chambers, his mind full of thoughts. Lady Astra Bjorkdottir, Thor, his mage army...he shook his head- a thought seemed to be missing.

  It came to him when he went to bed and Aren flew up to sit on his face- perhaps one day, he could train his apprentice and have her join his mage army; she would be a very valuable addition to it.

  He shoved the bird off of his cheek and fell asleep, dreaming of strange things.

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[pendragonfics]

Ten years, One day, Four hours and Seven Minutes.

Paring: Loki/Reader

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Slight Violence, Not too much violence to be tagged, just a flesh wound, Brief moment of medical procedure, Loki is stubborn, Awesome Frigga

Summary:   A young maid comes at the wrong end of Loki's wrath after an unimpressive royal family dinner. Folly entails.

Word Count:  2,494

Posting Date:  2016-05-19

Current Date: 2017-05-08

You had served the royal family of Asgard for nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirteen minutes of your life. It had begun as a bargain for your life - either be taken by raiders, forced to do who knows what to who knows who, or be relinquished by Odin to serve his family. And so you did. You wore your woollen maid's dress with as much honour as a common woman could, and did your best at your job.

It so happened, that nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, four hours and eleven minutes ago, you'd been assigned to be Prince Loki's personal chambermaid, and, you'd done what his brother joked often about at the table.

It was nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, four hours and eleven minutes ago that you'd found yourself completely and honestly...in love with him.

Love was often confused with lust, or blind devotion when it came to young women watching men from afar. They see bodily traits and love them. They see personality quirks and love them. They see charm and money and love them. Maybe that was you, at first, but it certainly was more than that.

Like, now.

The door slams to open, a loud crack! sounding in the the room. His eyes are wild, as if he's searching for blood to spill, and has come for an alternative method of release. You've known Prince Loki from the shadows for a large portion of your life.

You can't both love him and be afraid of him.

Yet you are.

You stand still.

Loki's dinner had gone the same way as the food did; it had started off lovely, then it all went to shi- how did Thor become the golden child of their family? He remembered a time when the two of them had been equals, but more and more, Loki feels Odin's distain for being a magic-user, a book-reader, a useless son in battle.

Dinner was horrid. And so he let out steam.

His mind was racing, his pulse aching, his words lost to him as he let out a roar that was so ungodly, it could be heard all over the land.

Loki slammed the door closed, and began methodically tossing things everywhere. A chorus of crashes and shatters filled his ears of things he'd collected over the years. Loki's boots crunched over the splintered china and pottery. He felt immortal, then, truly. Like a young god who could do whatever he pleased.

He could be better than Thor.

One intact vase on the bedside table - a hideous orange tone with orange flowers -caught his eye, and he flung it into the wall over the other side of the room.

Loki wasn't aware of the girl standing there, and watched in stilled horror as she threw herself to the floor, the vase hitting where her head had been.

Loki's breath caught in his chest.

He knew this girl. Not her name, because they'd never directly crossed paths, but her face. Her kind (s/c) face and her deep (e/c) eyes which he'd once or twice spelled himself to be invisible on slow days to watch work. She had been his servant for almost ten years, and for that long a time, he couldn't help but admit that he'd fallen a little in love with her.

"I'm a monster," Loki woke from his fit of anger, numb. He saw all the destruction he'd caused, all the lovely trinkets in his room, destroyed. He'd never done that before. "Oh no," he muttered, treading toward you.

He met your eyes. All that had been cut was a sliver under your cheekbone, and the trickle of blood shocked him. He'd never seen a servant, or even a resident of the palace bleed.

"I'm so very sorry, please forgive me -," he began.

You leapt to your feet, head swimming with white noise. He's apologising, he's a prince, he's the prince, he's Prince Loki and he's apologising for his own act. No. It was your fault you were in the way. Not his. Not his.

"My lord," you speak your first words to him, heart racing not only from the fact you're speaking to him, but that the blood from your cheek keeps you alert and you can't believe this is how you finally talk. "S'not your place to apologise - it's it is my fault I am injured, I was slow today with my chores."

You look to the wall that is half scrubbed, and now half re-dirtied with the water of the vase, and inwardly sigh. You can't look at him. Not now. He's a caged animal, a beast you find at a zoo to ogle at, and you're a mouse.

"Little bird, I hurt you, it was I; my fault alone." Loki goes to cradle your face. "Let me help-,"

You back away from his touch. No. No. He's your master. You're the servant, scum of the palace to clean the actual scum and be silent and invisible. It was a dream to work for him, but you should have known; every dreamer must wake.

"My lord, I must go," you cry, his touch stinging your wounded cheekbone, and leaving your pail and brush, you flee.

It had been nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty three minutes since you began working for Prince Loki. Maybe that was too long.

The next day, Loki woke to all the damage he'd caused to be cleaned up, the wall mopped and rescrubbed, the pail his (h/c) haired chambermaid had left gone. His room was perfect; there wasn't a trace of what he'd done in there at all. Except for his heartbeat, which worsened his pain. He was blinded in his anger from what couldn't be helped and hurt those around him.

Loki rose and went about his daily duties as a prince - giving his stiff smile at functions, watching the entrance to the servant's quarters to see if he could find his (e/c) eyed maid...reading to forget what he'd done, and then walking a bout in the garden with his mother, Queen Frigga.

"I suppose you miss her, isn't that the trouble with you today, Loki?" The Queen pondered, producing a small pair of secateurs to trim her garden.

Loki couldn't look at his mother. He couldn't look anywhere.

"I also suppose you're wondering how I know what's happened? And that I know what exactly took place last night after dinner to your maid." The Queen continued, her smile sad. "I've moved her to a more quiet part of the palace, Loki. Somewhere where she won't be hit by vases and subjected to fits of rage."

Loki bit his lip. "I was so infuriated, I -,"

The Queen pocketed her garden tools, and turned to her younger son, her joy and pride she wasn't so prideful and joyful for for this act he had done. "Tell me everything that happened, and I'm sure we shall work out how never to allow this sort of thing to happen again."

Nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty nine minutes, and you were assigned to work as an assistant cleaner for the royal medical wing. It was a stressful job, being around Asgardians in so much pain, around Healers who never lost hope in a patient, but you found a sort of serenity in it. A calm in a storm. You cleaned the marks and messes the floor would have spilt, remove taints from the bed sheets. You even shadowed the Healer Eir as she worked.

It had been now nine years, eight months, nineteen days, eleven hours and fifty five minutes, and you had somehow become more than a chambermaid; more than what you had been for so long and forged a part of your identity in. You now worked alongside the Lady Eir, still learning the ways of healing Asgardian wounds, but helping clean and heal the afflictions that came. Lady Eir was certain you would become a great healer one day.

You only hoped you could one day heal your broken heart.

Nine years, nine months, thirty one days, two hours and fourteen minutes. There was tell of battle arising around the palace, after Prince Thor's coronation was interrupted by an invasion of the Frost Giants from Jotenheim. From a patient you tended to, you heard that Prince Thor and Loki were in the foreign land themselves, gone to fight for Asgard. You shouldn't have felt that tug in your chest. Prince Loki was a man grown, and he chose to do with his life as much as a prince could.

Ten years, one day, four hours and seven minutes.

You stand in the Healer's wing, slowly wrapping a man's wrist after an ill-thought out twist to it in mock battle. You have forgotten to keep count of how long you've worked for the royal family, because it's not a tally of a sentence anymore. You've found peace in this place, you found something you are valued for, as a person. No longer are you called 'maid' or 'girl' or a variation of bad names for unfaithful women, but your own. You are Lady _______, Healer.

"Lady ________, Prince Loki needs tending to! He's injured from the battle of Jotenheim!" A healer in training, Terra, calls to you. You hear panic in her voice.

Before you can respond, Loki is brought in by two of Thor's friends, Hogun and Fandrall. Loki's face is paler than his normal ivory, and limp. There's a gash on his side that seems to have taken upon itself to recolour his emerald robes red.

"Terra, prepare a bed. I need the healing slab cleared and ready for use," you tell your healing staff. "Where is Lady Eir?" You ask Terra, who has made a bed.

"I am unsure, m'lady," Terra stammers.

"Find her, please." You tell her, and turning to the rest of your fleet, say, "I need his armour taken off!"

Loki becomes lucid, falling in and out of sleep like a babe with an inflicting tooth. He's in pain, so much pain, but he doesn't want Lady Eir and her healers to see him like this.

"I need his armour taken off!" He hears. He can't put a finger to it, but that voice...he's heard it before. Somewhere.

His heart beats a little quicker. He holds on.

"Yes m'lady," a chorus of healers follow her words.

Loki feels a bout of pain course his veins, sway his mind into following into a stupor of sleep. He nearly does, it hurts so much. He can barely feel the armour from the battle slide off. But he hears one thing.

"Stay with me, my prince. Please," he hears a whisper.

Feels a kiss upon his brow.

His eyes flicker open. Has he died? Has he passed onto Hel and met with the one person he believed never to see until the end of his life? Loki doesn't believe any other possibility that could have him face to face with you, the maid he loved, the maid he hurt, the maid he regretted losing for months and months.

You.

"How?" He whispers. He isn't sure if he's asking how he's died, or how to stay with her. But she knows.

Loki's vision begins to tunnel, his gaze focused on his maid, his girl. His biggest regret. "Be strong," you murmur, hands working deftly on his chest. "Drink this," you add, lifting the milk of poppy to his lips. "I know you can."

It all fades to black, and Loki accepts it. He can die in peace. He's seen you again.

"I see you've been busy."

You sit straighter. For hours, you worked on Prince Loki, cleansing his wounds, working around the clock to pause the bleeding, changing the bandages...sewing. And now, its nearly daybreak, and you're still by his bedside.

For...other reasons.

"My lady Eir," you rise quickly, stumbling over the hem of your skirt, awkwardly. "I am so sorry, yes. Prince Loki is going to live."

She smiles. "So I've told his parents," she comments, moving to you. "And, according to the Queen, I've found the reason for your devoted application to your healing last night." She smirks.

"Lady Eir, it is not what you -,"

She waves her hand. "The fact you are in love with the Prince is your ailment I cannot cure. Though, what you did was the most apt display I've seen a student of mine perform." You're speechless. For your months working for Lady Eir, you've not heard such praises from her, "Lady ________, I am not saying your love for the prince has made you better. I am saying you are better...though I do not dare say than me."

"Thank you, my lady," You curtsy, a little wobbly still from your fatigue. You can't find yourself to sleep, yet you're dead on your feet.

"Now, sleep, _________," she ushers you to the bed beside Prince Loki, and unable to do a thing but comply, you curl up. "He will be here when you wake."

Loki's eyes feel heavy when he wakes. It takes a moment for him to remember, and when he does, his heart races. He was dying. Did he die? He saw his old chambermaid, the maid he didn't know the name of yet. A kiss...

The prince is a smart man. Intelligent beyond comparison to any scholar in the castle, and he soon works out he's in the healer's wing of the castle.

"My prince?"

His heart misses a beat.

His head turns.

It's her.

She looks so tired, weary beyond anything he's seen in his life; her bright (e/c) eyes seem to be carrying baggage, her (h/c) locks limp. But Loki can't see you and see someone who looks like they've seen Death. He sees utter beauty in your features.

"My name is ________ ________, and I was your maid for many years," she introduces, her hand moving slowly toward his bed. "Since leaving your quarters, I've become a healer..."

"___________," Loki tries out, your name soft on his pallet.

"I know you are a prince and I am only a common healer, but it's been slowly poisoning me for years keeping this out of me..." He listens in rapture. He can't get enough of your voice. "For the last ten years, a day, four hours and seven minutes, I've been completely and honestly in love with you. And I know you'll marry someone worthy, someone of a position of power -,"

"________," Loki interrupts, reaching over the side of his bed. His hand is weak, but it finds yours, and together, your hand warms his. "You have forgotten to think of the possibility that I could - and do - love you."

He feels your pulse race in your hand. "And I you, Loki."

[tilosecretbirb]

Blue. Swirling bubbling blue. Foaming blue. Twisting blue. Peacefulness settling around her. All is still and quiet. All is safe. Finally and for once All is still.

But it doesn't last. This tranquility is not meant to stay for this world had other plans. This place has unusual methods and means. From beneath the pondweed it awakens from centuries slumber.

Taking the place of the sword within Eir's chest, the Kingsword makes its home. Hilt still visible just as the prior one was. It's Mavic coursing life blood back to her veins. Oxygen back to her lungs. Soul back to her body from the halls beyond.

It wasn't her time yet. Her body lurches to the surface and eir crawls up onto land coughing and choking on water. Lily pads cling to her battered and bloody body which kneels on the muddy shore line. Hands wavering over the exposed hilt glowing like quicksilver in the moonlight.

Her dark eyes wide in confused horror searching it. Reasoning with it. Trying to barter. But then the hilt sinks into her chest. Her face contorts in agony and screaming echos off the heavy pine limbs arching over the pond and the trails beyond.

Then. As sudden as it started it was over. The sword was gone and she was there. No sword. Just an exposed pale blue scar upon her chest. It seems to ebb and flow like water under the moons pull. Her fingers touch it gingerly all as she staggers to her feet. Stumbling this way and that.

Clutching at her chest trying to reason with what had just happened. She almost falls to the ground but a pair of hands steady her- she knows this didn't happen in the real world. Eir's head snaps up and alight upon Little Prince.

His hands steady her with ease but her mind is reeling too quickly to stop. "Little Prince. Little prince- there is a bloody magic sword in me- Little Prince what do I do? Little Prince?" Her voice drops instantly to a whisper. " little Prince I'm scared. Don't leave me."

@blackhairedarcher

[tilosecretbirb]

Her dream snaps into the memory. Head foggy like the air is her hands grasping for the low lying foliage that would cure her persistent fever. A fever that had run her otherwise flush stores down to nothing.

But now she was out and still it raged. But here he manifested within the tall growing yarrow and field of grasses and herbs. Her mouth opens to warn him. Warn him of what was to come. This was not going to be a good dream.

Warping from the shadows the men appear. Men she had fought before. Men she had been a thorn in their side as they tried to rob and hurt anyone they came upon. But they never got her. She got them first. But not this time. Not when she was too weak to even draw her bow.

Reaching out she instinctively puts an arm in front of Little Prince's chest. "Run." She urges softly, her eyes never leaving the approaching forms morphing into her biggest foes. "Run little prince."

He shakes his head grasping her arm with his hand, lowering it. "No. Never without you. We are together in all things, even this."

"Please, little prince." She pleads unable to turn to read his face. Her eyes glued as the figures finally freeze, their arms morphing into swords. Gasping she shoves at his chest, "go- go!"

Instead he draws his own sword and drives forward into the fray. A true Dwarven warrior unafraid and powerful in every blow. Only death would be a match for him. Only death could catch him defenseless and hold him fast.

That's exactly what happens. Before she can even get a blow in the sword that struck her appears plunging into her chest. A sickening crunch and a pop as it punctures her body. Blood. Red red blood. She hits her knees. Her hands flying up hesitating above the handle.

Did she even try???

But something else pulls her upward. Little Prince.

Sword half in his foe his head twists. Hair whipping around like a comets tail. His dark eyes wide in mortified horror watching her fall to her knees. His voice screams her name but it's no use. It's too late.

Too late for either of them.

She can't even get a word out to warn him. Can only watch as his face twists in agony and the blade punctures through his stomach from behind.

All those years of training destroyed because of love. In battle it only takes one second of inaction to cause a death.

Eir collapses onto her side into a familiar prone position. Her world beginning to fade. Coldness overcoming her body. Kíli crawls hand over hand to her, his hand trembles barely able to close as he clutches her face from above. A tear sliding down his face falls onto hers. She reaches, motions jagged and harsh faltering as the blood leaves her body. But she makes it. Her hand lands to cup his cheek. Lips moving to mouth a final message as he fades 'together. Always. Love'

The last thing she sees are his lips slowly moving in return ' love you'. Kíli falls beside her, resting his head against hers, his head rolled so he can gaze upon her as darkness over takes him too. His hand clutching hers.

Burying her face deep into the blanket she shudders. Shaking her head over and over. No! No. No! Her hand presses against her chest checking for the familiar cold scar that lay there. It had happened. ....

But Little Prince had to be alive. He had to be alive still. Heart breaking she burrows deeper fighting back a chest heaving sob. Her Little Prince's final moments tore open a new hole in her heart.

"Stay alive. Please. Please. Stay alive. I'll find you. Stay alive."

@blackhairedarcher

[tilosecretbirb]

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Eir knew him. Knew him from so many dreams. So many twilight encounters both horrible and splendid. But here he was; laughing, pounding the table, drinking, and singing with his friends.

Never had he been more glorious. Even with a mouth full of food. She leans against the rounded archway watching his sloppy chugging of beer. Food flying to and fro her brows arch higher and higher. Lips thinning barely containing laughter and a smile. But oh how she couldn't help but focus on him.

This place was strange but weren't all the dreams so far? All these other friends-and the smallest of them all looking so stressed by the disruption. Covering her mouth she stifles a snorting laugh. A laugh that blows her cover.

The Little Prince's eyes glance up and time slows as their gazes entwine. No one else existed but them. She barely notices him get up she's so held by his eyes alone, and when he's finally before her? It's all over.

All over before it begins.

Eir grabs him by both wrists, dragging him off down the hallway.

"Little bird??" He's not dead weight behind her so she keeps going until she finds the storage room. Yanking him inside she doesn't look at him. She can't.

"Little bird?" He begins again but stops at her actions or at something else she isn't sure. Closing the door she shoves a knife into the crack by the hinges: no one would be opening it.

No one but her.

Running a hand through her hair she growls in frustration. Oh what he was doing to her was madness!

Again he's by her side, and she knows he's looking at her with those stupid beautiful brown eyes when he asks, " did I do someth-MMPH!!"

He doesn't finish. Her hands grab his collar yanking him sharply into a rough kiss. One they both melt into instantly. Shoving at his shoulders the boulder of a dwarrow finally obliges and backs up. Eir keeps pushing him and pushing him until he's against the shelves. Keeps kissing him and kissing him. Harder. Deeper. Getting it all out.

If he was a dream so be it she would have it all out and never see him again. That's how dreams worked right? Once the emotion was gone they vanished.

Breaking she pants heavily against his open mouth, catching her breath. He begins to speak and she shakes her head, "shut up. If I hear your voice bewitching me anymore I won't be able to stop."

Kisses return steady and ebbing like the lakeshore tide. He was hers. Her dream prince. Who knew she would have one of those in her life? It sounded preposterous. It was ridiculous. Her hands brush away table scraps then mechanically they go to the buttons of her own shirt. Undoing every single one slowly and steadily. "You're magic. You're magic and i love it. Do more magic on me, I need it."

[tilosecretbirb]

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She wasn't used to dreams being so pleasant even a dream taking place at night. But there she was, getting help from a total stranger. He was so familiar, wasn't he? Her eyes travel his kind face as he returns her childhood horse by the reign. He had bolted into the woods dark as velvet. "Thank you, master Dwarf. There are many things that would have eaten Thistle for dinner."

Dark eyes catching the moon aglow allowing him sight in the opaque evening air, for her an impenetrable veil. One he seems to fade in and out from. But when he smiles. Oh when he smiles up at her it shoots to her heart.

Her hand lingers on his on the reigns, unnoticing the touch too distracted by him. A small bashful smile meeting his in the dark." Thank you...." She repeats not realizing she's speaking again. " Oh, sorry, I said that already...."

Stirring at Dawn's lazy light her eyes crack open. Her mind still clinging to him. So clear his smile stays with her. His eyes so vivid in her memory. Like she could reach out and conjure him with her bare hands. Sleepily she wanders the cabin. Searching for him. Shoulders slouching when she finds she is still alone.

[tilosecretbirb]

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" what do you mean you're not worthy of a painting?" Eir repeats setting down her brush, narrowing her eyes upon him in the springtime meadow. He was fantastic, his features. The color of his eyes! " Your jawline and nose alone are incredible but add in your eyes and hair? Stunning! Now shut up and sit still while I show you how wrong you are. Ugh the nerve of beautiful people." Her eyes roll grabbing a different brush and small containers of the colors she'd need, muttering to the pair of them the entire time. " You're all ' I'm not pretty' 'im half bad' ' I'm average'," she makes a cutting motion at her throat with her brush. " Shut up. I will paint a whole series of your eyes alone to show you otherwise you're like autumn or a thunderstorm or a cup of tea."

[tilosecretbirb]

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Her eyes meet his. Wordlessly. Soundlessly speaking what her heart was saying so clearly. This was the place. Would you leave me too?

A challenge she issues not out of spite but out of loneliness and pain.

Could they remain friends when she was kindling meant to burn and he? Born to defend and rule his people. Could they each lay down the stone foundation for a bridge to one another. Passing rocks when the other ran low. Smoothing the grout when things became messy and repairs were needed.

She would.

Holding out her hand she passes him a lake stone worn smooth over centuries of wearing at the bottom of the water behind him. Grey as her clothes except for the white thin band encircling the middle. "It's a wishing stone, if you find one you can make a wish on it." Her eyes drift along its surface one last time before meeting his, " I wished everyday for a friend. It took you many years to get here, little prince, but you did." Swallowing emotion she blinks back tears," it's time for you to make a wish on it now. Perhaps it will come true one day as mine has."

She would never leave him but she would allow him to leave should he turn and go. She wouldn't trap him. He deserved to soar.

what a miserable dream......

[tilosecretbirb]

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"Little Prince?!?" Eir whispers stopping at the familiar face, her eyes finding him by instinct alone. Her hands reach to grab the bars. Face pressing to stare down at him, "who did this to you? Tell me. Tell me and I will take care of it. I will kill them for caging you." Her voice shakes with rage, no one touched him. No one stopped him. No one took his freedom.

"Are you hurt? " her arm reaches through trying to grasp him, fingers stretching but he just seems to get further and further away. "Where are you?" His lips move but no sound comes out. It only infuriates her further, "I will find you and I will get you out."

Voice trembling her eyes narrow the rage billowing like smoke igniting her heart ablaze. " I will kill whoever did this to you, my little prince. I will make them pay."

[tilosecretbirb]

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"I cannot see in the dark like you can!! Of course I tripped! Slow down or leave me behind already!" She snaps eyes sailing back to the rustling in the leaves above. Stomping after him she tries staying in his wake to avoid another trip and fall. "At least your eyes glow like fire flies." Snorting eir nods, " nickname acquired: firefly eyes. Brown in the light. Yellow at night."

That's when something crunches beneath her boots, something hauntingly familiar. Reaching down her fingers search in the darkness before they find the long thin branch fragments. But her fingertips know the texture through horrifying circumstances. "Firefly eyes-" She calls out, grabbing out blindly in the dark at where he had just been. "Fire fly eyes- these aren't sticks!! They're bones!!"

[tilosecretbirb]

eir//blackhairedarcher +dream sequence

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Eir's fingers trace the burn scars along her arm. Spider venom. The evidence it happened and it wasn't simply the nightmare that had shaken her from fitful sleep.

The moon hung low sending sharp crystalized beams through the cabin below. There was still hours before dawn but she dare not sleep a moment more. How different it had been with him there.

How different it could have been if little prince had actually been there. Her arms wrap around her knees tugging them closely to her chest.

Remembering vividly how the nightmare mirrored the horrific reality. Giant twisting grey trees. Mushrooms larger than her head. At 14 she had tried to touch one with a gloved hand.

Her brother, Egil, smacks it away with the butt of his spear.  “Don't! Could be poisonous. You want to make it, don't you?” Egil chastises his dark eyes searching the shadows, swallowing nervously.

“Stick close to Maire.” He orders tossing his head to their youngest sister, who hovered near Teodor and Hannu. Both boys looked up into the canopy with pale faces, wide eyes transfixed by moths swarming round  tangling branches.

Eir hitches her bow off her shoulder, and trails back, taking Maire's hand in hers. “Stick close. Stab anything that moves, got it?” Nodding the smaller girl follows glued to Eir's side, clutching a sword to her chest. 

It was only a few yards down the winding trail barely discernable among the ever shifting leaf litter that the skittering began.

Teodor's head snapped towards the sound, shoving Hannu closer to Eir. His eyes dart towards the noise and back to Maire.  Silence falls. Silent except the thump thump thump of their hearts beating in their ears.

Eir prays it stops only so she can hear what happened to the skittering. Prays it stops so she can hear what was following them. But it doesn't. Her heart continues racing faster and faster. 

“What do you thi-” Hannu begins only to be cut off by a rough shove from Egil. His head shakes sharply, finger resting on his lips ordering silence. 

Egil steps towards the noise poking the sharp end of his spear into the thick brush edging the trail. Eir steps back pulling Maire with her. Hannu follows suit flanking Maire's other side.

The branches part revealing nothing but shadow and sticks. Trellising undergrowth and vine.  The siblings let out a breath of relief.  Too soon.

A rattling hiss erupts behind Eir causing Maire to bolt into Egil's arms. Spinning Eir turns just in time for the spiders arm to smash down beside her. Missing her by inches. Sending her falling to the ground with a THUD! 

Hannu shrieks in terror. Whacking at a leg with his sword. “Spider! Spider!! It's a fucking Spider!!” Scrambling to her feet she ducks and dodges out of the way of fangs and legs.

Back peddling she notches an arrow and sends it into the spiders gaping maw. It shrieks. Shaking and tossing its thorax and head. Hannu stabs his sword into its head finishing the job. 

But more are descending from the shadows above. Eir and Hannu exchange a look of pure panic.

“Run??” Hannu asks, stumbling to her side rejoining the group.

“No. Stay together. We fight them.” Egil barks, “mai stay with eir. Eir pick them off. Teo, Han, and me will handle the rest.” The rest blurrs. Blurrs with chaos and screams of spiders and the sharp swish of arrow after arrow.

The crunching and smashing sounds of spider's armor versus Dwarven blades from Dale- handed down through generations to her brothers.  It's only when a shadow crosses hers that that realizes too late one is above her.

Swearing she fires above into the trees but the shot misses. The spider doesn't. Pouncing down it slammed Eir to the ground with its forelegs stunning her. Acidic saliva dripping onto her arms where her guards weren't. Her leather chest armor saving her from the puncturing spear like ends of the spiders feet. 

Through the pounding of her head she can see what she knows is Maire screaming beside her.  But this is where things changed

The spider screams and withdraws from Maire and Eir. A dagger sticking from its mouth causing it to recoil another sails in landing right in the spiders brain. Sending it into a fitful death. Shocked her eyes frozen wide she twists in the direction the daggers came from.

There he was in a beam of light from a rare hole in the canopy: Little Prince.

Their eyes meet and his mirror hers blowing wide in surprise. His jaw slacking recognizing her despite her age, "Little bird!?"

"Help us!!!" She cries desperately grabbing at Maire's prone form, the smell of her own charred flesh stinging her nose. "We're gong to die!!"

we weren't.

The dream fades in a chrysalis of spiders webs.

The reality doesn't. Her brother screaming after Maire echoes in her ears for the rest of the week. Her body drug off into the canopy. one second is all it takes to lose someone. If you froze in combat it wasn't always you that died.

her father's disappointed words ring in her ears, "only one of you? That's a surprise."

[tilosecretbirb]

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"I know the dragon took your brother, and I promise you we will get him back. "She pauses pushing around the embers. "Do you remember the story of the Dwarven prince and the dragon? How he slayed it from below with only a sword? I think that should do the trick. We just need to be careful. I can draw his fire if you can do what needs to be done. Only then can we assure your brother survives and at least one heir lives." Her eyes stay on the end of her now burning stick, holding it aloft reflecting on how it will soon be her. "Do me a favor, little prince? Move quickly and make it two who survive. Two princes. " Her dark eyes flit to him with a solemn light to them, "don't follow where I go. I am kindling and you are not meant to burn. You are meant to rule."

[tilosecretbirb]

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"Who are you?!" Eir's knife finds his throat with practiced ease. He was back. The stranger from the dream before had appeared again. a horrible confining feeling of being pursued overshadowed everything. Her eyes risk looking into the shadows surrounding them. "Speak now! I am not known for my patience."

Above them branches crack and sway, something is lurking. Many somethings with blinking iridescent red eyes, growling she grasps his other shoulder harshly. The plan was changing. " Fuck my luck! We don't have time for this, we need to get out of here!"

@blackhairedarcher