Chapter 3
Before long, Loki was ordered to bed by his father, who still acted as a caretaker. He was lying, unable to sleep, when Laufey came up to speak to him privately. He had brought water, and set it down quietly, smoothing the sheets with his hands. Putting Loki to bed like a child. On some level, Loki appreciated it.
Laufey told him in a low voice – as he did so, glass shattered downstairs, provoking laughter – that he wasn’t to go down to the bay in the morning. His mother’s return had made everyone, as it always did, slightly intoxicated. Decisions like this needed to be informed by clarity. Loki felt his stomach twist.
He pleaded, halfheartedly. He had never been displaced like this; not for so long. His heart felt half empty from longing for the ocean. Loki wondered vaguely whether it was the mer-person himself, enthralling Loki from a distance.
Laufey was a concerned father and an experienced seaman; he knew the dangers of what Loki was flirting with, long since disillusioned. He was unyielding. Away from Fárbauti’s coercive influences, he made Loki swear not to leave, which he did.
When the night sky became soft, in the hour before dawn, Loki awoke.
He skirted the edge of his room, connecting the places where the floorboards wouldn’t creak. He collected a walking stick, which he tied to the sack from under his bed, prepared in anticipation of the event; in it was a crumbling loaf, a pomegranate, old wine and two glasses, sheets of paper, ink and a pen, and a few other trinkets. He put it all over his shoulder.
Loki climbed, with the confidence of experience, out of his window and down the vine which dominated that side of the house. Halfway down, growing impatient, he jumped, landing almost soundlessly in the dirt. He glanced tentatively up at the house, then around him. Nothing stirred.
Loki smiled widely. He started the trek down to the bay.
The ocean, massless and provocative entity, was no longer a mysterious addendum to the glorious, impartial world Loki lived in. It was no longer romantic. He supposed, when he first saw it on the horizon and felt himself pale, he should always have known this.
Loki was a scholar, too. He chastised himself. If the fear and respect he now felt had come before the experience, then perhaps it would never have happened. He would not be in mourning. I can only be guaranteed of influence over myself, he reminded himself, thinking of Niccolo, who, of noble birth, had more or less been brought up to understand that he would never truly be wrong about anything. Loki doubted he could have convinced Niccolo to abort the celebrations.
In there, he thought, watching the dull horizon, just like on the land, terrible things happen. But-
But it was thrill he felt, moving through him, as he reached the shore. And comfort, too; at the familiar. Loki was awash with contradictions.
He followed the beach, throwing starfish, trying not to hum in excitement. Trying not to smile. Every now and then he furtively cast his eyes over the waves, but saw only vast emptiness. Yes, there were fish there, small and quick under the crests, but nothing further than that.
When Loki reached the place where he knew, from description, he’d been found, he sat down to wait there. He took a breath to collect himself, to try and calm down. He knew what was going to happen now. There would be a merman here with him. Or nothing at all.
Loki looked to the sea. He saw the face under the waves almost immediately.
Loki’s shoulders would have drawn up in anticipation, had he not forcefully repressed the reaction. The face was waiting, unmoving, watching him in return. So completely surreal his mind had almost denied its existence. Loki might have glossed over it, relegating it alongside the other great ambiguities of existence; something to never understand.
But there it was, close enough to see clearly; a handsome, sun-bronzed face, but not overly elegant; beautiful through its strong and enunciated features. It was swathed in long tangles of dull gold hair which floated weightless under the water. Below it, a strong chest and shoulders. And below that...
Loki greeted the man, trying to keep his appearance relaxed. The merman, in response, hesitated, then rose above the water, which Loki found quietly stunning – breaking the surface, coming into the air, made him indisputably real. And he was real, in expression as well; a curious, uninhibited countenance. In fact – laughably – the merman appeared just as mesmerized by Loki as Loki was by him. His brow was furrowed in concern.
The merman spoke in a low tone that was somehow both expressive and obdurate. ‘You are well,’ he said; it was a question. ‘You will be well.’
Loki couldn’t help but smile. It was a gesture of appeasement, but, further to that, he was exhilarated. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Because of you.’
They spoke softly, then; Thor was embarrassed. He filled in the gaps. Eventually, Loki pushed his apprehension aside and rose, offering the man - Thor - his hand. Loki hoped it wouldn’t scare him away.
On the contrary, Thor almost beached himself trying to reach him. Thor was, Loki realized, quite naïve. He walked down to the water.
They shook hands; their eyes met. Loki grinned. Each was transfixed.
They spent the whole morning getting to know one another. Thor had indicated a willingness to troubleshoot their races’ hostilities, to try to prevent further attacks, but the topic was benchmarked. Each was caught up in their discovery of the other. Loki yearned desperately to hear of Thor’s life below the waves. Thor, in turn, wanted to know each minute detail of Loki’s life. What Loki dismissed as mundane, Thor insisted on hearing. There was almost nothing, Loki realized, about life on the land that could bore him.
Thor had been worried at first; apologetic, about the shipwreck. Before long Loki could reassured him – Thor discussed it with grave sincerity.
Before long, they spoke freely, just like long-term friends. Thor became cautiously tactile. It was, Loki learned, a characteristic of his race. As they spoke, where the water was perhaps a foot deep – Loki sitting fully clothed, and Thor reclining on the sand – Thor slowly rolled up Loki’s trouser legs, and put his hands on Loki’s shins, starting to inspect them.
‘-But each one is different,’ Loki said. ‘Um…’
‘Fascinating,’ Thor murmured. He caught Loki’s bemused stare. ‘Oh,’ he said, withdrawing his hands. ‘Is it taboo?’
Thor behaved like a giant puppy, Loki thought. Strong and gentle – if about eight feet long. He was gazing up at Loki, trying to convey sincerity. ‘You can touch my legs,’ Loki told him, wryly, ‘if I can touch your tail.’
Thor laughed. ‘Of course!’ He lifted it – not too easily – and lay it over Loki’s toes, slapping the water heavily as he did so and spraying them both.
Thor was amused by Loki’s legs. ‘Why is there hair?’ he asked, as Loki, in wonderment, stroked his tail, which seemed to be flecked with blood and gold. Thor had delicate fins at his hips, on either side. Their membrane was thin enough to be translucent, just like the one between the tips of his tail. Thor had traces of webbing between his fingers, too, and gills. And he had, Loki realized, no body hair. ‘Why are their scales on your tail? Don’t be silly,’ Loki said.
Thor smiled. He seemed rarely offended. His inspection moved down to Loki’s feet, which interested him greatly. He held Loki, tenderly, by one ankle, and lifted up his leg to regard Loki’s toes and sole. Loki had to lean back on his elbows to allow it - inconvenienced, but not yet quite embarrassed. There was, still, something quietly intimate about it. This interaction held an honesty of expression Loki appreciated, but was unused to. He grinned to himself.
‘You know,’ Thor told him, softly, meeting his eyes again, ‘there’s a part of me that wants very badly to kill you.’
‘Have I done something wrong?’ Loki wondered, half joking.
‘Not like that,’ Thor said. ‘It’s like this itch, I can’t get it to stop; I can only ignore it. I think it’s innate.’
Loki swallowed. ‘There’s a voice that says, “drown him”,’ Thor said. ‘”Make him forever yours”.’
‘Well, please don’t,’ Loki said, trying to withdraw his foot. Thor didn’t let go. In fact, he tightened his grip.
Loki looked Thor in the eye. He jerked his leg back violently but couldn’t get free; Thor’s eyes widened. There it was again; not fascination, though. Need. ‘Thor,’ Loki said.
Thor released him suddenly, coming back to himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He gazed at Loki with a piercing and complex expression. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘I would never do it, of course.’
‘You didn’t know that for sure,’ Loki said, slowly, ‘until just now.’
‘No,’ Thor admitted. ‘It’s… something of a relief.’
They watched each other for a while. Eventually Thor’s gaze turned inwards. ‘I’m really not like you,’ he realized.
No, you’re not, Loki thought. He took Thor’s hand. Thor held his gently, like something delicate he did not understand.
‘It’s alright,’ Loki said. ‘Now, tell me- how do you breathe when your head’s above the water?’
Eventually, the conversation drifted back to the hostilities. Loki and Thor agreed to meet at the same place at the same time the next day, and bring along which choice companions they thought relevant. It was to be a small and informal meeting.
Afterwards, Loki stood up and shook himself off. He made for the shore, where his satchel was waiting.
‘Are you leaving?’ Thor asked him, trying to follow.
‘No; I am hungry,’ Loki told him. ‘Do you want to try human food? I brought some other things too. I see that you like our jewelry, at least.’
Thor brought a hand up to the dragonet charm he now wore. ‘Do you want it back?’ The thought made him melancholy. He already seemed quite fond.
‘No, you can keep that,’ Loki said. ‘You know you have my gratitude.’
‘I should have brought something for you too.’
‘You can shower me with gifts the next time we meet. Thor, stop ther. You’re going to be exposed if someone comes.’
When Loki turned around, Thor, great magnificent beast that he was, had flopped and dragged himself almost entirely onto the beach, and was lying, breathing hard from exertion. The water only reached him when the waves came in. ‘I want the food,’ he said.
Loki paused and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘You’re far too trusting,’ he said. ‘I can bring it to you.’
Thor smiled. ‘I wish I could stand like you,’ he said. ‘Conversing horizontal is not really befitting of a prince. Or a warrior.’
Loki laughed. ‘Well, I wish I had a magnificent tail that could take me across the seven seas. We can’t all get what we want.’
Thor didn’t have much praise to sing of the fruit or the bread, but when Loki poured him a glass of red wine, he appreciated that a great deal. Loki was quickly refilling it.
‘You know they grow it – the grape - all around these parts,’ Loki told him. ‘It’s the best in the world.’
‘Oh, I’m aware,’ Thor said. ‘Of course the knowing is pointless, since we’ve a significant lack of suppliers.’
‘That could change.’ Loki, said. He looked into the distance. ‘You just want to use me for alcohol.’
‘I do now,’ Thor admitted. Like great men before him, he was thoroughly lost in the bottle. ‘Is there more?’ He adressed this question to the bottom of his cup.
Thor, Loki realized, had built up no tolerance, and despite his size was already drunk.
Loki looked up. It was noon.
‘It’s a bit early for this,’ Loki said. Then he looked around, finally taking a moment to see from the outside the genial bubble they’d been in all morning. It was early for drinking, yes, but he’d been here since dawn.
Thor asked, ‘are you worried they’re looking for you?’
‘They certainly are. I’ll tell you what,’ Loki said. ‘Do you see that cove down the beach?’
Thor saw it. It was nice and secluded; in the opposite direction to the town.
‘Don’t mention it tomorrow, but I’ll meet you there again in the evening, alone. Then we can talk more. And I’ll bring you a nice supply of this.’ He shook the empty bottle. Thor beamed.
‘And I can bring gifts from my kingdom,’ he said.
Loki began to pack up his things; Thor held up a hand. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘In my kingdom, we bid goodbye with a kiss.’
Loki smirked. Thor was brazen. He leaned forward towards Thor, though, since his custom was the same; three kisses to either cheek. Loki saw Thor’s eyes widen, slightly, in surprise, although he had tried to mask it. He stopped.
‘You are lying,’ Loki realized. Thor bit his lip, grinning. Loki couldn’t help but do the same.
Loki could see already that Thor was addictive, inevitable. It would be very easy to orbit his brightness. He didn’t deserve to have everything so easy, Loki thought, so he shoved Thor, lightly. ‘That is the custom in my kingdom,’ he said. ‘Then a good slap.’
But Thor turned his cheek to Loki. He was not expecting a slap.
Loki paused, only briefly. Then he put his hand by Thor’s jaw and kissed his cheekbone, once. It was cold, was his first reaction. But not slimy, like he;d thought. Thor smelled desperately of the sea. Further to that, he had a particular, personal scent, which seemed deep and old and vitalizing. Loki cleared his throat as he sat back on his haunches, trying not to flush. For the first time, words caught in his throat.
Thor watched him steadily, smile knowing, but a bit surprised. Bastard, Loki thought. He is a real bastard.
‘Well, then,’ Loki said, and he stood to go. Thor continued to beam up at him. ‘I’m so glad I could finally meet you,’ Thor said, in his deep pitch. ‘I- be well.
‘And yourself,’ Loki said. He didn’t know how to end it. Every silence, he wanted to fill with more words. He didn’t know nearly enough.
But Thor spared him. With a shallow bow, the merman returned to the water. He travelled with remarkable – almost dangerous - speed once submerged. Soon he had disappeared entirely. He could have never been there. The air around Loki was silent; the day went on.
Loki walked home.
His mother was waiting, not far from the beach. This did not surprise him. She stood there wrapped in her cloak, consideration on her face. Loki knew she had not been watching them; he’d been aware of being seen.
‘Lose your way to the sea, did you, mother?’ he asked her. Fárbauti smiled widely. The beauty of the smile was, as always, eclipsed by the eerie nature of her many stained, pointed teeth. ‘Naughty boy,’ she chastised him, her tone mocking itself. ‘Father and I have been very worried.'
‘I am sure,’ Loki said. He took her hand – a rare opportunity – and together they began to walk home. They took Fárbauti’s path – over-literal and hazardous, straight to the house. The selkie did not understand roads.
Loki had salt on his lips.