Chance and Fate

“No, no,” you cut in. Your friend’s voice on the other end of the line stutters, so you begin again, “You just do not get it. I would kill and die for that man, for real. I mean not for real. But it’s so good—”

Now it is your turn to get cut off. Your friend rolls her eyes, “I know. It’s a new anime man every week, I get it.”

You glare at her for rolling her eyes at you and downplaying the beauty, elegance, and power of L. You can’t stay in character for long though, and after a few seconds, you laugh. She cracks a smile. It feels good to laugh with her, it always does. Now, especially. Moving into college wasn’t quite as bad as you always imagined it would be, but you would still rather be home. Though you can feel the concept of home beginning to get muddled too. It’s funny how quickly it’s begun to feel like you’ve always been here. It makes you miss your friend all the more.

“Okay, enough about—”

“—Your obsession.”

“How dare you!” You say with plenty of mock indignation. There’s a pause and you add, “I wouldn’t say obsession.”

“I would,” your friend says firmly. She can’t help but giggle a little bit.

“Fine, fine! Enough about my extremely healthy obsessions, with L and other men of his caliber, how’s Tampa? Is it gross? I’m just kidding, I know it is.”

“Hey c’mon,” she says through laughter. Your smile weakens a bit. “It’s so beautiful here, I love it. I’m glad to be back, it feels like I never left. You wanna room tour?”

“You know I do.” You have to force a bit of your enthusiasm. For one, a dorm room tour isn’t the most exciting thing, but you’ve also begun to feel a little bit pensive. Being on campus has forced things you would prefer not to think about to the forefront of your mind. Having a career, the distance between you and your dog, just to name a few.
You realize you’ve spaced out a little when she says, “How’s Salem?”

“It’s pretty awesome here,” and it is, “I really like it here,” and you do. “I actually feel a lot more comfortable than I thought I would. My roommate, Valery, is really nice. She’s already told me she’s spending almost every weekend at her boyfriend’s, so I basically have the room to myself.” You are thankful for Valery. You always worried about having a roommate, but she’s been gone most of this first week and a half. That seems like a good indicator of your alone time for the rest of the semester.

Before long, you’ve been on the phone with your friend for hours. You say your goodbyes and sigh as your screen goes black. You pick yourself up off the couch in your suite’s common room and decide to get something to eat in the dining hall. You’d much rather just crawl directly into bed, but you know you should eat, so you go.

Peaking your head into your dorm, you see that it’s empty. I guess I’m dining alone tonight, you think sighing again. You hope for a brief moment that this is not what college is, sighing interspersed with classes and classwork. You figure that there are worse things than sighing and essays, honestly, the entire train of thought brings a little smile to your face. Ridiculous.

After forcing down food that is not worth the thousands of dollars you are spending on it, you crawl into bed early. You fall asleep much faster than you normally do too.

—

Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. No matter how hard you try, no matter how much you want to, you can’t scream. Your feet ache, every time they hit the pavement beneath you sparks of pain shoot up your legs. Every breath is a knife ripping apart your lungs—but you can’t stop now. You spare a glance over your shoulder, and hot-cold fear runs through you. It is right behind you. A wolf: a hulking mass of black fur and shining stark-white eyes. It’s gaining on you. One of your feet skids, and you try desperately to correct yourself. In less than a second, you can feel its breath on your neck, hot and wet. And then—

And then it’s gone. Not chasing you any longer, no. Now it’s in front of you. You are standing on the front porch of a wooden cabin. Shivering. Blistering winds whip around loose snow, but even through it, you can see the wolf. It’s eating something. You can’t quite make out what it is. You step forward to get a better look, and its head shoots up to look at you. Steaming entrails hang from its maw. You don’t need to know what it’s eating.

You decide to go inside the cabin, but as you shut the door an odd feeling washes over you. You turn to face the door you just came through and lean your head against the cool wood trying to name what you feel. Something makes a noise behind you, but it doesn’t scare you.

Oh, of course, you know this feeling. It’s longing.

—

The next morning when you wake up, you are deeply unsettled. You are so out of it that it takes you a second to realize that your alarm didn’t wake you up. You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep, but you abandon that plan within the minute. You look over at the other bed and feel a little surprised to see Valery in it. She’s snoring slightly. That and the fan you have running leave you comfortable enough to slip out of bed without waking her.

You switch your sleep shorts for jeans, thankful that you had a shower last night. You take your phone, a mask, the key to your dorm, your headphones, socks, and sneakers for the day before you slip out of the room. You arrange yourself in the common room and decide to go for a walk to the bay. You have a lot of time, enough that you should be able to enjoy a walk, come back, and eat breakfast before your first class.

It’s a little chilly, being so early in the morning, but not so that you regret not grabbing a jacket. If anything, the breeze feels nice. It’s been much too hot out for much too long. You let your mind wander as you walk along the paved bike path. You glance around at the trees and smile imagining what everything will look like when fall sets in.

Dazed from your dream and your dreamy fall thoughts you almost don’t catch what’s so odd about your walk. Almost. But the lack of cars on the road as you stop at the crosswalk makes your brows furrow. You know it’s early, but not that early. Oh well. You cross and place your hands on the cold stone that makes up the wall separating you from the sea.

Something compels you to keep walking down the path. Granted you were intrigued the first time you came here with one of your suitemates, that must be why you want to explore. No other reason you can think of would make you feel so strongly. A chill runs down your spine and makes you physically shutter. One of your feet skids on the ground, and you realize the tire-worn dirt path is giving way to a fully grassy one. Well too late to turn back now, you think. If you were thinking more clearly you would question just why in the hell it’s too late to turn back. But you aren’t, so you don’t. You just gaze at the trees and continue forward.

————
“Your obsession with besting Thor. Loki, this fixation is nothing but detrimental to you, my love,” Frigga says. She leans forward against an ornate marble railing to gaze out at the lush royal gardens. This balcony, the one attached to her private rooms, is one of her favorite places in the entire palace. And by extension is a place Loki is found frequently. Frigga spares a glance at her youngest son.

Loki, in all of his stubbornness and pride, refuses to look at her. Instead, he stands ramrod straight with his hands folded neatly behind him. He looks out at the same garden as his mother without seeing anything. His jaw clenches, and he squeezes his hands together before he decides to place them on the railing in front of him. Frigga notices his knuckles turning white, but only for a moment. In the blink of an eye, his resolve returns tenfold, and he turns to meet her stare impassively.

“I would hardly call it an obsession, mother. Friendly competition amongst kin is healthy,” Loki says and after a pause adds, “that’s what father always says.”

Frigga huffs and shakes her head, but she doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Loki steels himself. Thinking over the last few minutes, he wishes he could kick himself. If only he could have appeared less expressive, less bothered. Why wasn’t he able to mask his irritation? Well, he’s never been able to hide from his mother, not with his words, and it seems, not with his actions either.

“Mm, let us agree to disagree then—about your healthy obsession, my son.” Frigga takes a step towards Loki her face soft. Smiling she places a comforting hand over his own. Loki sighs but does not yet allow his posture to relax. “You have nothing to prove, Loki, not to me. You fill me with unending pride every day.”

Loki’s expression softens, and he lets his shoulders relax. He offers a small smile and a small shake of his head. He takes a step to close the distance between them and embraces her, “Thank you, mother.”

There is a pause. The world seems to stop moving, stop spinning. Every plant and animal in the vicinity seems to hold its breath and look away. And in this moment of stillness, Loki allows himself to be held by his mother. Frigga smiles and rubs small circles into his back, further loosening his tense muscles. The moment passes for Loki. The world begins again. So, he breaks away first, letting his hands linger at her elbows before dropping them and stepping back.

“I think I will go for a ride. Ponder your words,” he says looking out past the gardens.

“Of course, my son. Ride well,” his mother answers. Her eyes crinkle as she steps forward to give the side of his face a light pat.

“Always, mother,” he says catching her hand in his own. He gives it a gentle squeeze before turning to leave.

Loki forces himself to watch his pace, to take slower but more precise steps. He may not be able to fool his mother, but his fame is fooling others. He schools away any lingering softness, buries the irritation his mother could not expel in its entirety. He keeps his face neutral, his body language unreadable, as he makes his way through the palace and to the stables.

The direction he gives the stable boy—to ready his horse and make it quick—has more bite to it than he intended. This blunder does not occupy his mind for long though, as he sees Brygir being fastened up.

Brygir is a formidably sized black stallion. His coat shimmers in the afternoon sun, and Loki can hear his impatient huffs. The horse does not take well to being handled by anyone but Loki. After all, Loki has had Brygir since he was just a foal. Odin meant him to be a teaching tool for Loki to learn responsibility and care. He raised his horse well, and in doing so, Loki found his greatest confidant.

It is an ideal arrangement, for Brygir will never be able to relay anything Loki shares with him. Not even that Loki shares anything with him at all.

All of the energy Loki had been diverting to keep himself calm dissipates as he mounts Brygir. Something unpleasant bubbles in his gut. Instead of letting the feeling spread Loki delivers a swift kick to his horse’s sides, races across the palace grounds, through the fields, and into the woods. He enjoys the familiar landscape of the forest as he rides. He has been visiting this exact forest for hundreds of years. He wouldn’t be surprised to hear if his many voyages had helped smooth the path and keep it clear. After a while he dismounts, recognizing a bubbling stream. He pats Brygir, signaling to the horse that it is okay to wander. The horse trots dutifully to the water, leans down, and takes long loud gulps.

Loki is aware that he is not as relaxed here as he usually is. So, he draws a deep breath of the fresh cool air into his lungs. As he lets it out, he tries to rid himself of the conversation he had with his mother. To no avail, Loki cannot seem to rid himself of his brother. Not from his thoughts and not from his space. He fails to see his older brother cantering down the path heading towards him.

Thor is returning from an unsuccessful hunting trip upon his own horse, Sigr. Sigr is an auburn-coated horse and brother to Brygir. Just like his rider, Sigr is older having been fathered a couple of seasons before Brygir. Unlike their disagreeable riders though, the equine siblings get along quite well. The brothers even fuss when they are not stalled adjacent to each other.

It’s Brygir’s whinny that tears Loki from his reverie and draws his attention to Thor. Loki’s expression hardens. Any progress Loki made has been taken away in an instant.

Thor beams, “Brother! What a happy coincidence to find you out here.”

“Yes, oh yes. What wondrous luck I have,” Loki replies. The sarcasm in his voice and the accompanying eyeroll are not, for once, lost on Thor.

Thor dismounts. A concerned look mars his features as he steps, with caution, over the stream to reach his brother. A smile starts on Thor’s face as the horses greet each other with glee. As quick as it came his smile leaves, and he frowns, “What troubles you?”

“Nothing troubles me,” Loki replies immediately. His facade is solid, he makes sure it is. “Whatever would make you say that?”

Thor pauses to think for a second. Choosing his words as carefully as he can he says, “You look troubled, Loki. I can see that something is weighing on your mind. Please, do not lie. I am your brother. You can always be truthful with me.” Thor is giving him what can only be described as a pleading expression. Loki’s blood boils. He is not some wounded and dangerous animal, but his brother approaches him as such.

Loki, in his softer moments, feels bad when he thinks of how he treats Thor. He can’t help the rage that builds, just the sight of his brother sparks it off. The love that he knows is somewhere, deep in the past, fades to nothing when Thor is standing in front of him. Later, Loki knows there will be hurt when he thinks back to the expression—to the words—Thor is showing him now. But now he can’t fight it. Anger, like bile, rises in him: uncontrollable and needing to be released.

Loki scoffs, “The god of mischief and lies. Remember, brother?” Though it is meant as a clever quip, one aimed to shut the conversation down, Loki does not manage nonchalance. There is too much emotion in his voice, something sad, something hollow. Thor can see the rage in his brother’s face. And something else too. Loki turns before Thor can make it out.

Loki calls Brygir with one sharp command and mounts his horse. Thor moves forward and reaches to grab Loki’s arm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Loki,” he starts, “please be rational.”

Wrong choice of words. Loki’s face twists into one of disgust as he rips his arm out of Thor’s grasp. Be rational? Hilarious. Even when he stays in line, he’s still irrational. Loki’s fury burns even hotter. Who was Thor to ask him to be rational? His bumbling buffoonish older brother saying he should be rational. What a cruel joke. His brother who—despite his many shortcomings—will always be better than himself.

His anger cools, not gone, just silent and dangerous. Loki stares off deeper into the woods, unable to look at his brother any longer. After all, he must be rational.
Though, the longer he stares into the trees the less familiar they look. The shock of this discovery leaves him in a bit of a trance. His tone and demeanor change in the blink of an eye. Barely aware of himself Loki says, “Not today, brother, not today.”

Loki is unrecognizable to Thor in this moment. Thor expected a blowout fight, he expected…well, he expected something, anything. Thor is left reaching for air as Loki starts Brygir with sudden urgency and disappears with the sound of hoofbeats.