Chance and Fate

“So,” you begin shifting your weight from one foot to the other, “how do we start?”

You try to focus on Loki’s face as he opens his mouth to speak, but you are hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. You blink hard and shake your head, trying to ground yourself. The effects of your adrenaline rush are wearing off. The strain of your previous sprint and accompanying jarring collision makes you feel like you are about to collapse. Your body is too heavy to hold up.

A look crosses Loki’s face. Concern? It disappears as quickly as it appeared, and he raises a critical brow at your sudden change in demeanor. He smiles, leans towards you, and gently pats the top of your head. You think that might have been condescending, but your eyes feel heavier than before, and his hand is a cool soothing temperature. So, instead of snarking back at him you lean into his touch and allow your eyes to slide shut for a second.

“We rest,” he drawls, “Ver-ǫld á meðal is a place outside of time. The wisest course of action is to gather our strength. Worry not, mortal, I will be able to get us out of here.”

“That’s wonderful news, just great news,” you slur. A light sound escapes you, it’s something like a laugh.

Your knees buckle, and you make no effort to catch yourself. You are very content to collapse into the grass, it looks soft. Before you can hit the ground, though, you feel strong arms wrap around your waist. You smile dopily and look up to see Loki shaking his head at you.

“Do try not to hurt yourself further, little one,” he says. He keeps speaking after that, but your half-asleep brain doesn’t catch it. You don’t worry about it long; you divert all your brainpower to admiring his chiseled features.

Somewhere in your mind, you register confusion as you feel yourself being laid down in what feels like a bed. But that’s not right, you think, we’re in the middle of nowhere, in between the middle of nowhere. When did your eyes fall closed again? Before you can feed the tired pain you feel in your head, all thoughts leave your mind, and the tension and pain begin to leave your body. Your body feels light, cradled on a cloud. Completely content. Your foggy mind starts slipping away.

At the farthest reaches of your consciousness, you hear Loki’s voice, “Rest now. Here there is no time. Perhaps you and I will enjoy a small eternity together.” His silken voice pushes you further from reality, but as his words register in your mind, happiness bursts in your chest.

—

Loki heaves a deep sigh and whispers a few choice words aloud to himself. A distraction from his brother he wanted, a distraction he received. He purses his thin lips and moves to sit on the bed beside your sleeping form, careful not to wake you. He can’t help admiring you, peaceful and beautiful like a flower. Just as fleeting as one too. Such a shame your being is wasted as a mortal. Loki realizes that this attraction to you he feels—this care, this connection—is very unusual. Perhaps you are a creation of his mind fabricated in this place so that he does not feel alone. Or you are the Earth Giant’s illusion.

He knows both of those things are not true. Sitting here beside you, he knows you are real. A real mortal, who knows nothing of sedhir, that somehow draws him in. He is not sure that you don’t have some sort of knowledge of magic, but not to the effect of being able to create this thrall over him. He has never felt such possessiveness over any being before, not over Sigyn and certainly not over Andrbroda. You feel different.

When he gets you to Asgard, and he will, he will consult Frigga about you. She will know where this power of yours comes from. Loki feels deep jealousy overtake him at the thought that others on Asgard may fall under your spell as well. He resigns himself to scheming a way to keep you as hidden as possible. This feeling is not something he can do away with now, so he might as well lean in.

He plops himself down on the ground and forms a pillow to sit on. He leans against the bed he made for you. He does his best to push thoughts of you away. He attempts to conjure in his mind a way to be precise in the destination of the rift he must create to leave this place. He can feel his own tiredness creeping up on him though. His ride with Brygir, his conversation with Thor, it all feels so far away. He enjoys the fresh air, the fluff beneath him, and most of all your presence. Within minutes he nods off.

—

You come into awareness with your entire body aching. But it really doesn’t bother you all that much. The dream you had, of meeting Loki, was so good. You turn over content to fall back asleep. Wait, you think, what time is it? Have I missed my classes? Your eyes fly open, and your heart stops. Not a dream then. Unless you’re still dreaming.

You sit up in a plush bed in the middle of a forest. To your left is Loki. He’s asleep. He’s sat on a cushion with his neck extended, so his head rests on the bed beside you. He looks stunning, even with his head tilted at an odd angle. It’s frustrating that even in sleep he looks perfect. He wears a peaceful expression and looks younger than he did when he was awake. You find that you like the look of this Loki.

So, of course, Loki awakes to the feeling of being watched. You jump as his green eyes shoot open. He looks alarmed, but when he sees you, he relaxes. He stands and sits on the bed beside you instead of on the cushion.

“Nice nap?” You ask, propping yourself up with a hand against your cheek.

Loki offers you a half-smile. “Indeed. And yours?”

“Hey, all jokes aside, best sleep of my life. This bed—These pillows! My neck has never felt better.” You can’t contain your excitement. To avoid him seeing your stupid gleeful expression, you throw yourself back to land in the heavenly pillows he conjured up.

“Well,” he purrs, “I’m glad—”

He isn’t done speaking, and he looks a bit shocked as you cut him off, “Thank you, Loki. Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off I just…” You trail off. He rolls his eyes.

“Yes, yes, mortal, you’re welcome. Now,” he says, standing up to his full height, reminding you that he is just slightly larger than human, “tell me, how did you end up here? Did you encounter anything strange before seeing the light?”

You sit up again and swing your legs over the side of the bed so that you can face Loki. “Well, I had this weird dream, about a wolf. And when I woke up, I went for a walk, but I went farther than I normally do. That was pretty stupid of me in hindsight,” you say, feeling your face heat up.

“You could not have known,” he says. From the face he makes, you think he was going to add something a bit snarky or rude, but he decides against it. Instead, he just pauses to let you continue.

“Yeah, I guess not. I was spacing out pretty hard I couldn’t think straight, I got to a place where the path looked weird and something in my head was like ‘We’re already in it, can’t turn back now.’”

Loki looks out at the trees and worries his lip. “The path ‘looked weird’ how?”

“It was like—Hmm, okay. It was wide enough for a person to walk and stuff but like it didn’t look like anyone ever had. You know, walked there,” you feel a little silly, but he is gazing at you intently, so you continue, “Like all the plants were parted but it didn’t look like someone landscaped, nothing was dug up. The grass didn’t even give the impression that animals had walked there before.”

“Interesting,” Loki begins pacing again, “I will admit I was not paying very close attention to my surroundings, though I knew the area well and so did my horse.” You perk up a bit at the mention of a horse. Hehe, a horse and Loki. “You said you were ‘spacing out’ I think that I was too, certainly I was not thinking clearly. It didn’t even occur to me how odd it was that I was following an unfamiliar path.”

“You knew the area?”

“Like the back of my hand. Thor and I have been exploring there for several centuries. There should not have been something new to discover. There isn’t anything new to discover there.”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart around the trees as you try to gather your thoughts. “So, does that mean we both got here on our own somehow and then something here brought us together?”

“Maybe so. Though…” Loki trails off lost in thought.

“Though,” you prod.

“I cannot fathom what could have brought you here.” You give him an incredulous look. He sighs at you, “I’m serious. There is any number of reasons I could have ended up here. But you, a Midgardian? Why would—Who or what would have any motivation to bring you here?”

“I don’t know. Yesterday you were… you were a fictional character I used to be obsessed with. A mythological figure I liked.”

“Obsessed with, huh? Well, I do hope the real thing lives up to all your expectations, little one.”

The nickname sends white-hot heat through you again. “Shut up. I’m not even sure that you’re real. That this isn’t just some sick dream. That my brain isn’t just pushing itself off the deep end. Giving me the one thing I’ve always wanted just to have me wake up to my alarm tomorrow.”

“The one thing you’ve always wanted?”

“Not you.”

“Oh?” He shoots you a look that says he is thoroughly unconvinced.

“No. Not you,” you pause but decide to be honest, “All I’ve ever wanted was for something to be real. Something fictional, something outside the bounds of what I’ve always known deep down is reality, to be real. I’ve always wanted to be taken away…”

You fall silent as recognition passes across Loki’s face, and he moves to sit next to you swiftly. He grabs both your hands in his. Before you can question him, he asks, “Were you thinking of this wish before you came here?”

“I’m always thinking about it,” you reply honestly, “Always.”

“Remarkable.”

“What? That I’m the world’s most gullible optimist?” Embarrassment has its claws dug in you firmly. You can’t imagine how childish you must appear to Loki, someone who’s thousands of years old.

“No,” he shakes his head, “Your wish. Your desire to be away from your world. I desired an escape as well. It seems the universe has granted us one. It is remarkable that your will, the will of a mortal, was strong enough to tear you through the fabric of reality.”

“Well, that’s definitely not what happened,” you say with a mirthless laugh.

“I don’t know, it seems reasonable enough to me.”

“Come on, just a few seconds ago you couldn’t ‘fathom how I got here’. There’s no way I did it myself.” Nervous anger begins forming in your gut. He must be making fun of you, and if there’s one thing you absolutely cannot stand its humiliation.

“And why not?” His voice is rather gentle, and he speaks with effortless confidence as if he’s not being utterly ridiculous.

“Because!” You insist, face heating to an uncomfortable degree.

“Because why?” he prods, smirking. He isn’t taking you seriously.

“Because” you explode, “Because, I’m not special! That’s impossible. Even if this shit is real, it would never happen for me.” Your eyes sting, so you blink a few times to clear them. The last thing you need is to cry, that would just make the anger and the embarrassment worse. It’s hard to swallow around the lump in your throat but you do your best, in an effort to calm yourself.

“There seems to be empirical evidence that points to the contrary,” Loki starts. You contemplate how far strangling him would get you. “Now,” he says, “I don’t mean to get your hopes up, little one. You aren’t special.”

“Wow, how sweet of you.”

“Wait a second I wasn’t done,” he insists, annoyed, “No, you aren’t special. You just are. And it seems more likely than not that ‘being you’ includes more than you realized. More power or luck, maybe even relevance.”

His comment flusters you further somehow. No longer are you on the verge of tears, but something else, something you feel you need to defend yourself from. “Ugh, you are awfully nice. Much nicer than I imagined you would be.”

“Oh, and how did you imagine me?” His tone makes you cringe, hard. His words are already dripping with disgust, malice, and resentment. It seems you’ve struck a nerve.
He continues, “Did you imagine me a snake? A devil? A being wholly uncaring and unfeeling? That wants nothing but to bring others pain. Wants only to please myself. Do tell me what you imagined, mortal.” There it is, that word. No affectionate ‘little’ or warm tone to cushion it, just that word, and everything it means. That you are lesser. That you are temporary. That you are a bug beneath his feet.

Time to do damage control, “Loki, no. I’m sorry I really am. I’m sorry—I just—” You pause for a long second staring down at your feet. They’re bare, Loki removed your socks and shoes for you. He left them neatly beside the bed. You swallow the lump in your throat. “I want this to be real. I want you to be real, believe me. But I can’t trick myself. I can’t believe for even a second that this is real because…If it turns out it isn’t…It’ll destroy me.”

Loki must hear the tears in your voice, or maybe you said the right words. Whatever it is, when he steps forward and moves your head to look at him with a gentle hand on your jaw, the pain and anger are gone from his face. “I am real,” he says voice and eyes soft, “I’m sure there’s nothing I could do to convince you, not for certain. And, I have done nothing to earn or deserve your trust, but… I need it. I need you to trust me.”

He’s right. There is no reason to trust him. He’s done nothing for you, not really. Nothing besides the bed and helping you off the ground. And he isn’t like the Loki you recognize. Of course, he isn’t. This Loki, the one in front of you, is real. This Loki, who is a bit broader and taller than you imagined. This Loki, who simultaneously makes you feel nervous and safer than you ever have before in your life. This Loki is real. So,

“I do,” you say, more confident than you’ve ever been, “I trust you.”

“Good, good. I promise I will get us out of here and that I won’t disappear until I do.”

“What about after?”

“I won’t disappear then either, not if you don’t want me to.”

“Why? What have I done to deserve that?”

Again, his face makes you think he means to say something else, something more serious. Perhaps too serious because instead he shoots you a wolfish smile and says, “Nothing yet, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Perv.”

—

You twiddle your thumbs feeling like a complete idiot. Loki stands a little way away, sometimes he paces sometimes he is still. All the while he quietly broods. Oops, you think with an amused grin, I mean works on a spell or something to get us out of here. Feeling mostly useless you shift around on the bed for a moment before sliding to rest on the ground, desperate to get comfortable. It’s not as if the ground is too hard, in fact, the grass is soft and cool beneath you. And your legs haven’t fallen asleep yet either. Still, you can’t get comfortable.

Loki calling your name breaks you out of your struggle for comfort. “There we are, little one,” he smiles and kneels down next to you, “Now, from what I can gather it seems that our magics are compatible. Together, if I draw on our collective power, if I draw your power out of you, I should be able to open a rift back to Asgard.”

You are about to ask what the hell he means but his expression stops you. He looks concerned, but that doesn’t make sense. Well, it does if, “Is it going to hurt or something? Is that it?”

The guilt-stricken look that takes over his face turns your stomach. Okay. Cool. Yeah. But you have to know, “How much pain are we talking?”

At this, Loki relaxes. His careful, natural charm falling back into place. “Nothing you cannot handle; I am certain of it.”

His gentle and vague warning is not at all helpful in preparing you for this experience, not in the slightest. Loki grabs your hands and helps you off the ground. You tug slightly so that you can pull your hands away and wipe them on your pants again, but he holds tight. He looks genuinely upset, almost pained, and can’t seem to look you in the eye.

You go to console him, to tell him that you’ll be alright but all at once, you aren’t. It feels like Loki is ripping your heart from your chest. The pain is excruciating, well past the point of tears almost enough to make you lose consciousness. You wish you would lose consciousness. If you could open your eyes, you are almost certain you would see him there: triumphant, with a blood-soaked hand clutching your still-beating heart.

Of course, this isn’t really the case, but it sure as hell feels like it, it’s all the same to you. If the sound of the literal fabric of reality tearing open wasn’t so loud and you weren’t so disoriented, you’re sure your own blood-curdling screams would have ruptured your eardrums. You wish you had the strength to open your eyes and see him, to assure yourself he needs to do this, that he doesn’t want to hurt you. But you can’t. You aren’t sure how much more of this you can handle. Pleas for mercy die on your lips and in your mind as, finally, the rift is wide enough to pass through.

You force your tear blurred eyes open to see that this portal looks very much like someone ripped a tear in a paper background, only to reveal a second paper underneath. It’s shockingly two-dimensional. The rift sucks the two of you through it in seconds, as if it is desperate to patch its hole with anything, even your bodies. Luckily neither of you are big enough to become the tape that holds the paper walls of reality together. Unluckily, however, the two of you are now hurtling towards the ground at top speed. You fall headfirst, and the only thought you can grasp as you see what you are hurtling towards is: Certainly, this is not Asgard.

Then you land, head and arms first into the metal-plated crotch of a frost giant.