His Valkyrie

His Valkyrie

It had all started with a dream. A wonderful dream, one from which one would wake up smoothly, but longing to go back to sleep so they could stay within their fantasy.

In the real world, Loki lived in the shadow of his brother, always trying to be helpful, but in the end, always suspected of hatching some terrible plan.

He was not going to lie. Sometimes, he was. Not because he wanted the throne. Who would want that dreadful old chair? No. He just liked to shake things up a little bit, making them interesting. His father’s court was so boring, dominated by some ancient, senseless rules. Was he not allowed to a little fun from time to time?

Thor’s friends, though, did not seem to appreciate his sense of humor. Neither did his father. Their loss, he supposed.

However, even when his tricks were successful and he was laughing at their faces, there was something missing.

Thor’s friends were… well. His friends. They were loyal to him, they cared for him. The one they wanted to talk to and go on adventures with was their beloved Golden Prince, not his mischievous younger brother.

There was a missing piece by his side. Someone who would be his friend, not Thor’s. Someone who would smile at his jokes, laugh with him, chat merrily with him.

He tried to befriend some lords and ladies, but all of them were more interested in Thor and only got closer to him with the hope of getting acquainted with his heroic brother.

At some point, he just gave up. No one would ever want to be his friend. And if some day he fell in love, they would most likely completely besotted with Thor… or at best, he would be their second choice, after his dazzling sibling had rejected them or grown tired of them.

In his dreams though, it was a very different matter.

There was this person, and they were wonderful. They loved him, and held his hand, and never let go. He could not see their face, but he knew they would always be there for him, whatever happened. Alas, the moment he would open his eyes, they would dissipate with Sol’s first rays.

He sometimes wondered if putting himself under an endless sleeping spell would not be the answer to all his problems. He would be with his dream lover indefinitely, and the others could have Thor to their heart’s content. Would they even realize he was gone? He doubted it.

He was seriously considering this idea, reading magic books that might contain such enchantments, when one fateful day, all changed for him.

For better or for worse.

Vanaheim had been under attack for some time now. Thor had interfered many times, though the Vanir in truth did not need his help. Their Queen, Freya, had been Captain of the Valkyries before some monster killed all of her sisters. Barely escaping with her life, she had gone home to her realm and accepted her father’s crown.

However, she had never forgotten her days as a sacred warrior. Skalds sang her grief over her lost sisters, and Loki sometimes saw his mother write her long letters, inviting her and her daughters to Asgard, so they could share memories over a comforting cup of mead.

But Freya was proud and did not seem the type to talk about her feelings. She was a woman of action before anything else. And so, when word reached Asgard that a new legion of Valkyries had been chosen in Sessrumnir, no one was truly surprised.

His father seemed annoyed he was not informed or consulted about it, but he knew Freya well enough not to bother her over such details. He would lose his head, or worse, his dignity, over it.

Most of the new Valkyries were Freyadottirs, and Sif complained vehemently over this outrageous nepotism.

“I could do a better job than most of these fickle princesses”, she whined repetitively.

“Have you ever met them?”, Loki asked, but already knew the answer.

“Well no, but the fact that Queen Freya chose them only because she was their mother, it’s unfair!”

“Welcome to royalty, my dear”, Loki snorted, “Nothing is fair. Our political system is based on nepotism. Last time I checked, you were pretty fine with it”

She rolled her eyes at him and walked away, showing her usual despise for him. Oh well. That was another thing that would never change, he assumed.

He had to admit, he had never been much interested in those Victorious ladies, but Sif, though she was annoying, was not completely wrong.

What made them so special that Freya would give them this shiny title? Or was she just trying to recreate the past? If that was the case, her daughters were more to be pitied than envied.

Screams were coming from everywhere, as Thor confronted some trolls from the Thrymheim mountains. Sif was busy fighting some lesser pests, and the Warriors three were protecting the civilians. An ordinary day for them, truly.

He had been distracted by Thor’s theatrics once again, and had not seen the creature coming his way, ready to throw at him a fatal blow. It was too late to get out of the way. He only had the time to realize he was going to die and prepare himself to join Valhalla, when all of a sudden, he felt his body being lifted up, escaping’s death by a hair.

Had one of the eagles at the top of Yggdrasil flown all the way to Vanaheim to come and rescue him? No. It was not claws that had grabbed his shoulders but cute little hands. He could feel a soft body pressed against him and barely repressed a little moan at the pleasure suddenly taking over his senses.

It was truly not the right moment or place for these types of thoughts, but they could not be avoided.

He needed to see her face, to hear her voice. He was sure of it now : this was the lady haunting his dreams. Now that he had found her, he would not be parted from her.

When she delicately put him on the ground, he held his breath utterly mesmerized by the sight of her. Beautiful red curls adorned her pretty face. Her eyes were the color of the Vanir seas on a sunny day, when the waters were peaceful and clear. He needed to be in her arms again, to feel her warmth, to embrace her and never let her go.

But alas, his intrepid beloved was already reaching for the sky, ready to save another unfortunate soul. Damn them all. They did not need her, not like he did. Now that he had met her, how could he ever forget her? How could one expect him to keep on living without her smile, her touch, her sweet perfume? He longed for her, craved for her.

After the battle, he looked for her, desperately, asking everyone if they had seen his Valkyrie. Unfortunately, they had already gone home once everybody had been safe.

“They never stay”, Hogunn told him, “They are not here for the glory, only to help secure victory”

Loki simply nodded. What about his Victorious friend? Would he ever see her again? Would he ever get to taste her lips?

“You’re Vanir, so you know them, don’t you?”, the Dark prince asked, “One of them saved my life and I’d like to thank her. She was rather small, with long red hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had an axe too”

“Sparkling blue eyes?”, Fandral chuckled, “Someone got a crush”

“I do not”, Loki lied, but could not hide his blushing cheeks, “I just wanted to thank her in person.”

“That’s Princess Sigyn”, Hogunn replied, “But you shouldn’t get your hopes up. She’s Freya’s precious daughter. If you ever get too close, the Queen will surely emasculate you”

Welp. He did not want that. He did not doubt Hogunn’s words, as he never lied and everybody knew Queen Freya’s fierce reputation. If he ever dare lay a finger on her daughter, she would take more than his dick. Pursuing his Valkyrie was a dangerous endeavor, but he was not a coward.

Did his own mother not want a Freyadottir bride for Thor or himself? He remembered long conversations with the AllMother on the matter. Surely she would be happy he had picked such a worthy wife.

Unless, of course, she did not want of him. The few Freyadottirs he had met had been madly in love with Thor, barely noticing him. Sigyn had not been present, but that did not mean she did not share her sisters’ feelings for Asgard’s Golden Prince.

If she loved Thor, what would he do? Would he be the better man and arrange the match, securing her happy ending?

No. He would not. He refused. She ought to be his. He had seen her first after all. He would fight for her, do anything necessary to be with her.

Still, the risk of rejection was there, and the anguish was eating him up. In his dreams, she always loved him back. In his dreams, she would kiss him sweetly and let him ravish her as he pleased. In his dreams, she would scream his name in utter bliss and wear proudly his colors and stand by his side in his Father’s hall.

But those were only dreams. In the real world, she did not even know his name.

Well, he was a Prince of Asgard and an Odinson, so of course she would know of him. But she did not know him, the real him. Not the Dark Prince, Thor’s unworthy brother, but the man who was deeply, unapologetically in love with her, craving for her, dreaming of her, longing for her.

Thor and the others knew of his crush and teased him mercilessly, as they witness his lovesick gazing at the skies.

“You could ask Skadi for one of her hunting traps”, Fandral laughed, “Surely, she could help you in catching that lovely bird”

“Princess Sigyn is not a bird”, Hogunn corrected him, “She spends most of her free time as a fox, anyway”

“Oh, a vixen, brother!”, Thor laughed, “How perfect for you!”

For once, Thor was right. She was perfect for him. After that fateful day, he had seen her from afar quite a few times and she had looked smaller than her sisters. She would fit so well into his arms, her voluptuous chest pressing against his hard one, while he stole a kiss from her plump lips. He let out a happy sigh as his fantasies grew wilder. Yet, every time they visited Vanaheim with the AllMother, Loki would feel his palm starting to sweat and his face turn red at the idea of talking to the beautiful Valkyrie.

He was supposed to be the Silver tongue. Gods and mortals alike admired his wit and his way with words. But alas, whenever his sweet beloved was close, he turned into a blabbering fool. Nothing that came out of his mouth made any sense, and Thor, the Warrior 3 and Sif laughed openly at his face.

His mother proposed to actually arrange a marriage with the Princess, since it was so obvious to everyone he wanted her, but he refused. How could he marry her when he was not even able to talk to her?

And then, the Norns did their worst. When the reveal of his true origins came to be, his world burned and everything he knew was called into question. He was not an Odinson, but a Laufeyson. He was not an Aesir, but a Jotun, one of the terrible beasts the Valkyries slayed for sport. Well, he had heard his lady complained about it and actually pitied the Giants, so she would not want to cut off his head to decorate Sessrumnir’s gate.

That was a relief, he supposed.

He was glad she was not his bride, as he hated the thought of a Frost giant soiling his precious lady. He could only picture Freya’s face and anger had he married her daughter. And what of the children…

It was better that he had not courted her. Of course, she was still in his heart. He still craved her company more than anything. However, she was now out of his reach, a dazzling pretty bird flying aways from the beast.

With Thor exiled and his Father in Odin sleep, Loki was now king, yet Sigyn was still much too good for him. She would have made a great queen, but her king should be a Vanir, or an Asgardian, or even an Elf. Not a Jotun monster, her mother would see to it.

As Asgard’s new sovereign and protector of Yggdrasil, he was supposed to get the support of the other realms. Eitri stayed silent. So did Freya and Feyr. Well, he should have known this would happen. Neither of them ever liked him much. At least, they were not using his Father’s Sleep to attack the Golden realm.

He had lost hope to get any form of approval from Asgard’s supposed allies when Tyr announced the most incredible arrival at Gladsheim’s door. Loki could feel his heart beating in his chest. He was king of Asgard, and yet he felt as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night. In his dreams, he could have run to her, taken her into his arms, kissed her lips and made her his, propriety be damned.

However, this was not one of his lustful fantasies. This was the real world, in which her uncles and her mother never saw eye-to-eye with him to say the least. Why was she there? She could not be there for his pleasure, or even to congratulate him. No. A fear started eating up his heart. What if she was there to declare war on Asgard? What if the kings of Yggdrasil finally decided to show their true faces and see his inexperience as an opportunity to take back control after centuries living under Odin’s thumb?

Well, he could understand that. And was he not the one in charge, he might even have applauded their boldness. But since he was king, it was his responsibility to defend his father’s throne… even though the blood of Asgard’s natural enemy ran through his veins.

Just like the AllFather before him, he would crush anyone who would dare threaten Asgard or look down on him in defiance.

He had already tasted Sif’s and the Warrior three’s mistrust and disloyalty. They were never his friends, but he was not expecting them to betray him. At least not so early, or so openly. He did feel a little pinch in his heart when he realized they would never chose him over Thor, yet did he not already know that fact?

He did.

It still hurt, though.

What of Sigyn?

He could not call her siding with Thor and the rest as a betrayal. After all, they had never officially been introduced. His fault. Who would have guessed the God of Mischief would be so shy in front of the maiden he liked?

Yet, if a war started between their realms, what would he do? Would he let her slay him as the monster he truly was? She would have a glorious victory and all the skalds of Yggdrasil would sing her name and feats.

It would not be a bad death for him either. Better die by her hand than by Sif’s or Thor’s.

Yes. He could die. Or he could be the victorious one, trick her and sweep her away in his lair, never letting her out of his bed, proclaiming his love for her, making her his consort, under her mother’s screams of protest.

If it was war Freya wanted, she would get it. And the price of peace would be her sweet daughter.

To his surprise, though, Sigyn was not there to take him down, insult him, or kill him. Quite the opposite.

“Your royal Highness”, she greeted him with the most graceful curtsey, “I was pained to hear of your father’s illness and your brother’s exile made my many sisters weep. Yet, I was glad to hear of your glorious and deserved accession to the throne. May your reign be long and prosperous”

He had not been expecting this. He had hoped, of course, and called himself foolish to do so. And yet, here she was, kneeling for him, in front of him. The very image made him burn with desire. Oh he needed her in his arms more than he needed air in his lungs.

“Rise, Freyadottir”, he said, trying to stay calm when every cell in his body was screaming for her.

“My mother and my uncles send you their best wishes and hope for peace”, she proclaimed, freeing him of quite a burdensome war.

Were the Valkyries not supposed to be messenger of war and death? His seemed to be quite the opposite, bringing him nothing be happiness and serenity. The Victory bringer, indeed.

From that moment on, she stood by his side, ready to defend him against any attack or insult or scorn. Had she been there all those centuries ago, his life would have been pure bliss. Every now and then, he allowed himself to look at her and every time, his heart missed a beat, seeing her smile back at him.

He thought she had only become his guard out of duty, but she actually seemed pleased and content with her fate. That made him pause. If she was happy with protecting him, what would she say if he were to propose more? Since the Vanir did not want war, surely Queen Freya would be satisfied with an alliance, and finally see one of the Freyadottirs on the throne of Asgard.

Sigyn would make such a lovely queen, both worthy and brave. She was as beautiful and strong as her mother, and as sweet and wise as the AllMother. She would be perfect.

The question was now burning his lips. But what if she did not love him? Of course, love could grow in an arranged match. Had it not for Odin and Frigga? Yet, his proud Valkyrie, daughter to the Goddess of love, might have dreamed of a sweeter bond. He could not guarantee she would ever reciprocate his feelings, though he was pretty sure he loved her enough for the two of them.

Then, there was there was the perilous question of his origins. Once she learned who he was, what he was, would Sigyn still want to serve him? No. And there was no doubt in his mind she would never love him whenever his real name - Laufeyson- was revealed.

If he wanted to stand a chance and conquer her love, he had to get rid of the evidence. If he could peel off his own skin, take every drop of Jotun blood out of his veins, he would have. But that was impossible. The only thing he could do was to destroy Jotunheim. Odin would never tell a soul. He had kept his secret until then, and it was obvious he still did not feel like sharing the news with anyone.

The only people who might have known were the Frost giants, most of all the ones who had been there during that fateful brawl and witnessed his real face.

He had to kill them all.

Yes. That was the perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Dead people, after all, did not talk.

Unfortunately, none of his plans seemed to ever turn in his favor, and when he fell from the Bifrost, he could only hear Sigyn’s screams calling out his name.