Frigga
The next few days had been a blur. You knew that if you didn’t give yourself over to him…find something that pleased him sexually as well as you…he would discard you like trash, back to Earth where you belonged.
Back to Earth, where your past was searching for you.
Shuddering at the thought, you take a deep breath, catching yourself in the mirror one more time before placing the last bobby-pin in your hair, your bosom hiked to your chin as his jade green shackle closes in on your neck. Your curly locks piled high on the crown of your head, a few light ringlets lining your forehead, distracting from the prominence of your head and urging your gaze to wander down to your sparkling eyes, your hair pulled your gaze ever lower to your ruby red lips.
Clearing your throat, feeling the shackle that was the jade green symbol of your being owned, you take a deep breath as you turn slowly, your green and golden dress bellowing with every step you take.
Slipping in to your heels, you turn towards the door, standing to the right before you realize that he isn’t coming for you.
This time, you would have to go to him.
Opening the door, you see the couples, one by one, filing in to the hallway, wrapping down the corridor, and entering the Great Hall.
It was the engagement ball, where Sif and Thor’s marriage was to be announced to the masses, and you wouldn’t miss your friend’s engagement party, even if it meant being discarded from this world and in to the next.
You were used to being property, anyway.
Sif had become somewhat of a confidant while you were here, helping you cope with the new realm, and the new customs, along with the new way of life…
She even tried to help you cope with the new title.
“The term ‘concubine’ here isn’t what the term ‘concubine’ is on Midgard,” she says, thrusting her sword towards you as you block her shot, your elbow straight up in the air as you balance the heaviness of your sword with the strength of her blow. “It is more of a term used to describe someone who could, ultimately, end up as a wife.”
“So, you’re Thor’s concubine?” you ask, gripping your sword as you swing it towards her, watching her back-flip out of range.
“Good heavens, no.”
“And why do you say that?” you ask, bringing your sword back around, cartwheeling to avoid her immediate counter-attack.
“Because we are engaged.”
“But, before you were engaged, you were his concubine?” you ask, a smirk crossing your lips as you slowly back her in to your verbal corner.
Sighing, she puts her sword down, sweat dripping from her forehead. “It is hard to explain. Here, you are not trash. Not like you explained your situation with Michael on Midgard. Yes, here you are considered property, but property here is protected, and taken care of, not sloshed about and scarred like the ‘precious’ things mere human beings say they hold dear.”
Physically wincing, she steps forward and puts her hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to bring up past grievances.”
“It’s alright,” you say, shaking your head as you try to give her a kind smile. “It’s just hard to let go of...that.”
“Loki…he is, how shall I say it?…different. He is not as outgoing and as boisterous as his brother. He is quiet, well-read, well-versed in the idea of tactics in war…”
“So I’ve been privy to,” you spit, your teeth clenched as the image of your brother’s dead body comes flooding back to your mind.
“Let’s give today a rest, shall we?” Sif asks, her eyes exploring yours as you drop your sword to the side.
“Besides,” she says, coming up and putting her arm within yours, “I would hardly be able to admit that a meager human would have beaten me today in a scuffle should we not.”
And as you had smiled lightly, chuckling to yourself that fine afternoon, you had felt that nagging sensation in the back of your head, begging you to tell someone…anyone…what you truly were.
Maybe then, things might change.
Maybe then, you could be something more than mere property.
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Walking into the ballroom, your gaze sweeps over the floor as you slip in thru the side door, spotting Thor and Sif in the middle of the room. Sif’s hair was adorned with flowers and jewels, and you can't help but smile at the genuine happiness thrust upon your friend's face…the gentle way she looked at Thor as he leaned down and kissed her upon her forehead.
How secretly jealous you were of her.
As a glass clinks softly amidst the dull roar of the room, everyone turns to Loki, who is standing by yet another woman, initiating a time of speech as the crowds gather and soften their rousing conversations.
“I do not wish to take up much of your time, brother dear, for I am eager to get to the dancing,” he says, his eyes shooting to his side and hungrily eyeing the bosom of the maiden beside him. Flushing with embarrassment, you yank a scarf out from under your sleeve and tuck it into your corset as it drapes over your prominent cleavage, giving yourself an heir of recompense as well as modesty.
After all, you didn’t want to throw yourself at him. You just wanted him to allow you to stay.
As the men of the room rouse with laughter, you watch Sif shake her head, a giggle playing at her lips as she tries to bury a smirk.
“All I ask is that our children be best friends, this kingdom be prosperous under your reign, and for Sif to treat you as well as you treat her.”
“Here, here!” the room shouts, holding up their drinks before taking a big, unanimous gulp.
“Hello, there,” a gentle voice says within your ear.
Jumping to the side, your breath hitching in your throat, you smile and curtsy when you realize the Allmother has graced you with her presence.
“Don’t you dare do that in my presence, Miss Y/N,” she scorns, pulling your gaze to meet her eyes with her finger.
Furrowing your brow, you cock your head in confusion, a smile playing lightly on her lips.
“You know, my son thinks the world of you,” she says, turning back to Loki as a sneer quickly crosses your face.
“Yes, Allmother, it looks like it,” you retort sarcastically, resulting in a chuckle from the Queen.
“You shall not call me that either,” she says, eyeing you as she watches your reactions.
“So, you wish me to believe that your son wants me to stay, all the while not wishing me to curtsy or address you as Allmother.”
Watching the Queen nod lightly, you ask, “Then, Miss Frigga, what do you expect me to do?”
Turning towards you, your body imitating hers involuntarily, she takes your face in her hands and kisses your forehead gently.
“Oh, my Angel…”
Hearing that name, you hold your breath, your eyes widening as you begin to wonder who else knows…and, if so…wondering if she was about to banish you from their world forever.
“If you want Loki back at your side, all you need to do is show him who you are.”
Raising your eyes to look in to hers, you swallow hard, the jade green shackle slowly ebbing as the spittle runs down your throat, burning with the embarrassment of a thousand suns.
“You know I cannot do that, Miss Frigga,” you whisper, pleading as she pulls you in to her in a gentle embrace.
“Your 29th birthday is in two months,” she says, her voice more stern. “How do you think he is going to react when you look like this one day, and then something else the next?”
And as you look towards the dance floor, Frigga’s hands moving slowly up and down your back, you see Loki, completely entranced with his big-bosomed dance partner.
Drawing back from her hug, you let out a big sigh, suddenly exhausted from all of the interaction of the evening as you tilt your gaze back up to hers and part your lips.
“I believe, Miss Frigga, he wouldn’t even notice the difference.”