Fifteen words, a short transition.
After nearly an hour after waking with the sun, insistent on touching the threads above you, your body had yanked itself onto your feet after pondering whether or not the cord is actually moving within its track or if its a lighting effect it has upon itself. This is where you're found by the handmaiden sent to gather you for today's festival, standing on your mattress, reaching up to the butterfly above your head.
With the light knock she had offered being heard only by the wind, she opened the door and now stands in the doorway of your chambers. “Excuse me, Goddess,” your head snaps in her direction over your shoulder, your hand an inch away from the lowest dip in fabric, “I did not realize you were awake. I apologize. I have been sent to call upon you for today’s Water Celebrations.”
As the tall Asgardian dips into a bow, you straighten yourself on the bed and nod softly to her in apology, “I’m not sure as to whether or not I should explain-” she looks up to you, your hands moving about the area, “well, explain why I’m up here, I suppose.”
The girl smiles softly, “Your actions may remain a mystery if you wish, though I do wonder if it has anything to do with the golden thread above you.” Her eyes trace the fabric.
“It does!” Your voice croaks a little too loud, “I’m very curious as to how it moves in such a way.”
“Magic.” She walks closer, looking up at the dancing thread. “I noticed it yesterday while changing the bedding, almost jumped up there myself to get a better look.”
You hold out your hand, “Come, then. I can’t seem to figure out just what makes it move in such a way.” Her hesitation is eased by your encouragement, “It’s my own bed, is it not?”
Taking your hand, she climbs onto your bed and looks up. Her head only an inch or two taller than your own also gives her a longer arm. Her finger lightly poking the golden thread causes a ripple to travel in either direction of the stitch, gold illuminating brighter as it moves before meeting at the opposite end of the bed.
You giggle to yourself, “Well, that is certainly not moving I suppose.”
“No,” she steps around the bed, “It is not.” She ponders the images above her for a moment, talking almost to herself, “It is the same story found on the bed in the Prince’s room.”
You tilt your head at her in confusion and she continues, “On the headboard of Prince Loki’s room, nearly the only decorative piece he has, this story is carved into the wood.”
“It is,” you confirm, remembering the start of the imagery you didn’t get to finish prior to tea.
“Did you intend that?” she asks, looking away from the threads with the question in her eyes.
“I-,” you think for a moment, watching her. Sure that rumors and stories had begun since last night’s formal introduction from Odin to Asgard, you opt to keep your confusion to yourself. You had not intended it, you’re not quite sure you truly had a say in it. Yet, it was. Much like the rest of this universe, it was.
“You said you were here to call on me for the celebrations.” You change the concern, “They take place in the day, then, instead of the evening?”
“They do,” she steps down from the bed, “I’ve come at request of The Mother and Allfather to prepare you for the activities.”
“And what, exactly, is on the itinerary for today’s festivities?” You take her hand, joining her on the floor.
“There will be a joined court breakfast, with seven courses;” the girl walks across the room towards the changing closet, ”a ride through the east lining woods along the Ifing, which will be followed by high tea in Frigga’s personal garden-”
“Ifing?” You question, “Is that not the river that separates Asgard from Jotunheim?”
“It is.”
“We will not be in danger?”
“There has not been a history of altercations on this path during the Praise of the Water for many, many centuries as the giants participate in offerings to the same water spirits as the Aesir.” Twisting the handle to the changing room, the girl motions you inside as she explains.
You follow, “I see.”
“Yes.” She hums, ”After tea, the day will be up to each party to roam as they please.”
“Thank you,” you turn to her as you step into the room, “I don’t believe I know your name.”
“Thyra,” she bows once more.
You smile, “Fitting, as you have been quite helpful thus far. What shall we be selecting from?” You motion to the racks of garments around you.
Thyra leads you to the back left corner of the room, pulling out three day dresses in varying shades of blue for you to choose from. The lightest blue, matching a clear sky, is the one that draws you in with a direct opposition to the deeper waves you spent the prior evening in.
Helping you find the proper layers and accessories, Thyra moves about the room around you as you stand in the center, watching the peace she composes in each item added to your ensemble. You watch in the mirror as the parts of your outfit shape around you, each complimenting the aspects of the celebrated element. The dress sits off your shoulders, though more secure than the previous night’s slip, this fabric is taut on your chest and back. The draping waterfall-like sleeves remain a theme as they split where your elbow bends, cascading to the floor.
Thyra adds a metal ring around your waist and just under the chest, where small jewels and chains fall, adding texture to the smooth fabric. She repeats the metallic texture adding rings around your arms and fingers, one is placed atop your head as well as several decorating your ears. The silver shines and dances with the same gemstones from last night; sapphires, opals, and pearls scattered among the valleys of fabric.
Once done, Thyra stands to the side and admires her project. “You look absolutely marvelous, My Goddess.”
“Thank you, Thyra.” You smile and dip your head to her. “Though, am I able to ride in this?”
“There will be time to change after breakfast, I will have your riding ensemble ready for you after your meal. I shall find you when it is time.” Thyra bows once more and exits the changing room and your chambers, leaving you for one last look in the mirror.
Three knocks echo through your room, pulling you away from yourself.
The door frame encapsulates Loki, dressed in his own lighter blue attire. Though the god doesn't stray far from his deeper hues, he reflects the same direction you took in finding a lighter outfit appropriate for the day-time outing.
His navy pants and white undershirt are only noticeable under a blue coat embroidered with light blue cotton and silver, separated by panels with more stories to tell. The layering of fabric on his torso contains less harsh lines than what he typically dons in his black and deep green, soft curves wrap his body and hug his waist. A navy cloak dons both his shoulders this morning, though the silver chain remains with a similar pin holding its place with risen shoulders. Loki’s waist is donned by a silver set of chains, separating his torso from his legs as three blue stones hang from his right hip. The same blue and silver jewelry pins his hair from his smiling face, behind his ears.
“Good morning,” Loki bows, interrupting your staring, “You look wonderful, Goddess.”
You bow in return, “As do you, God.”
“May I ask you to accompany me to breakfast?” Loki’s eyes shine from the light in the hall that envelopes him.
“Of course.” Taking his arm, hand on his bicep, your feet follow Loki’s to the dining hall.
The same doorman from last night pull the doors open for you and two other couples entering at the same moment, showing the five long tables perpendicular to the king's table at the head of the room. Guided by Loki, you find your seat amongst the very many around the perimeter of the longest table you’ve ever had the enjoyment of seeing. With towers of fruit and cakes cascading down the middle of the table you’re seated to the right of Odin as Loki pulls the chair back for you before the servant behind you may get a chance.
You smile a thank you, turning to look at the guests around you as you wait to be seated as Loki finds his way in front of his own chair to your right. The king’s table seems to be set in a more friendly ambience, with guests having seats on all sides with Odin and Frigga at either end instead of the middle. This meal has been set for a conversational breakfast with the company of others at the lower long tables able to join, no unbalanced guest.
Across from you stands a tall, red haired woman with a silver chest plate covering the soft waves of blue that wrap her. Her arms are circled in thick silver bands stamped with wings that match the icons on her armor, symbols of the Valkyrie.
To the Valkyrie’s left is a man who looks too wide for the seat he stands in front of. Chest and shoulders covered in only silver leaves, his statue-like stomach in a window above the blue cloth that falls from his hips. The cool tones of his ensemble are a vast contrast to the deep sun-kissed skin and dark golden hair and beard which frame his dark eyes. The waves of golden hair are wrapped with dyed leather to match the blue of the festival and braids hang, capped with silver bands. Though his stature takes up much space, the small smile he offers you is calming, almost shining.
Your attention is brought back to yourself as the chair begins to be pushed under you, Odin having begun his motion to sit.