Jaktselskapet
Frigga cannot help but sigh wearily when the Bifrost opens and Sylvie saunters over to her reeking of mead. Her daughter, sworn protector of the realm, is so full of cheer, her eyes are entirely glassy and unfocused.
"Mother" she hollers jovially, throwing her arms up into the air and spreading them wide.
"Too what do I owe the pleasure of this urgent summons?"
Behind her, the rest of Sylvie’s retinue stumble forward into Asgard, their bodies shaking with laughter as they fall drunkenly to the floor observatory with little grace. Their current condition no doubt from consuming even more mead and wine than their plucky queen.
Great.
It will be hard to quell their indulgence in this state, the festivities unlikely to be derailed by Frigga's intended caution.
"Your safety may be compromised my love,...." Frigga begins gently, her brow serious and eyes beseeching as she catches Sylvie’s wandering gaze “....I think it best to explain once we are safely back in the palace.”
“Pshhhhh......never fear” Sylvie scoffs dismissively “For how can there be any danger with such warriors at my side?”.
Frigga looks despairingly back at the staggering group behind her daughter, for each one of said warriors are visibly unable to walk in straight line. Hogun has taken to crawling on his hands and knees, while Fandral is talking animatedly to the bottle of wine in his left hand as he slumps to the floor.
“Oh yes, they all seem completely capable of protecting you right now!” she gripes unhappily, her hands firmly on her hips.
“Always ma’am....my sword (hic)…..is forever primed to defend the realm” Lady Sif announces, pressing what seems to be a soup ladle to her breast, her weapon nowhere to be found. Sylvie roars with laughter as she catches her mother’s increasingly enraged frown.
“I transformed her sword about an hour ago and she still hasn’t noticed” she giggles loudly “The only thing she’s fit for defending tonight, is her flagon downing record!”
Frigga grips Sylvie by her elbow firmly, her touch gentle but insistent.
“All the more reason for you come with me now…..you and your friends are in no state to be fighting anyone!”
Sylvie yanks her arm away, a petulant pout replacing her once bright and happy grin.
“I am fine mother….and I will not be coddled like a naughty child.”
She huffs loudly, her patience already worn thin.
“Just tell me here and now your concerns and I will deal with them as I see fit, as is my right as queen!”
Frigga blinks back at her daughter in exasperation and mild shock at her belligerence, beyond frustrated by her ornery mood.
“There has been a disturbance to the realm your majesty….” Heimdall interrupts, his rumbling, steady voice a welcome support to Frigga’s desperate endeavor.
“Someone has breached the Asgard’s shield under a cloak of magic so dark, I can only see the vaguest shape of them, the barest whisper of their aura…..”
Sylvie’s frown deepens as she digests the gatekeepers' words, her mood immediately alert and tense as she meets his amber eyes.
“Someone bypassed the Bifrost into Asgard…..how is that possible?” She asks gruffly, gaze sharpening as it sweeps between Heimdall and her mother.
“Somethings are beyond even my keen sight and ears….whoever they are, their magic is strong.”
“I guarantee mine is stronger” Sylvie spits back, her chin rising in defiance.
“So let them come, for our intruder will find no quarter or mercy if they dare steal into my kingdom and cause strife.”
“Here, here!” Hogun bellows proudly from the floor, his stocky body still poised on his hands and knees as he whoops once more in support of his queen and shakes his false leg in place of his sword.
“My blade is ready if needed Sylvie"
“As is mine” Sif bellows in agreement, waving her soup ladle boldly.
“Norns…..” Frigga groans as she scrubs at her face “this is impossible”.
“Don’t I know” Heimdall chuckles lightly, shaking his head at the drunken warriors all but rolling around his floor.
“Idiots, the lot of them”
However, in a strange moment of clarity, Sylvie finally sees some sense as she eyes her friends carefully.
She sighs heavily and begrudgingly accepts her mother may be right.
“Let us go home my warriors, let us sit and drink and be merry…..but be in no doubt, we will be ready to strike down anyone that dares threaten our evening!”
“My darling, it is almost the morn, the evening has long since passed.” Frigga begins more gently before Sylvie interjects with a brazen smirk.
“Ahhh yes mother, but on Vanaheim, from whence you cruelly dragged us home, the first shadows of dusk have barely kissed the sky!”
The warriors roar again, and Frigga can do nothing but roll her eyes and sigh in defeat.
While she is not entirely satisfied with the prospect of enduring their continued inebriation well into the breaking day, she knows, a compromise will have to be made. Sylvie’s hedonistic and uncompromising mood will not be deterred by anything.
Even the threat of death.
“Promise me you’ll at least remain in the palace walls, at least until we find this intruder?”
“Fine” Sylvie huffs cheekily, before squeezing her mother’s hand gently “I promise not to wander too far”
“Thank you” Frigga sighs again with growing weariness, wincing slightly when Sylvie drains whatever remains in her drinking horn and tosses it over her shoulder with a grin. She strides forward and catches her arriving sister around the shoulders with a determined grunt as she enters the Bifrost observatory. Thora looks down at her in bewilderment before a conjured flagon is thrust into her hands.
“Come sister, today we feast!”
“What about the....” Thora begins, her startled gaze falling on Frigga with an arch of her dark brow.
“Intruder” Sylvie finishes with an arch of her brow “.....It is nothing but overzealous caution. So come sister......come join us in the spoils of our hunt!”
“And what spoils would that be?” Thora snickers lightly, looking around at their empty hands with an amused expression. Sylvie’s playful mood deflates for a beat as she looks around and realizes they have left their prized quarries in Vanaheim.
“Norns....Fandral you had one job! One! Where are the boars?” she growls as her friend looks up at her sheepishly.
“Many apologies my Queen......I got a little carried away” he mumbles as his face colours in embarrassment, stooping low in deference.
“I will immediately return and retrieve them”
“I will accompany him your majesty” Sif roars in enthusiasm “......because, you can never trust a man to do a woman’s job”
Sylvie smirks back at her, before nodding in agreement.
“Don’t take too long....I seemed to have worked up quite the appetite.”
Her tone is playful if not flirtatious as she winks at them both, turning to her bemused sister with another winning smile before gesturing to the still full flagon.
“And you, my dear sister, have a lot to catch up on”.
Thora sighs and drains the healthy measure of ale in four large gulps.
“Fine....but I’m blaming you if I miss my dress fitting tomorrow! The wedding is only a week away”
“Deal! You may tell Jean I am a terrible influence”
“As per usual.....”
With that the sisters amble away while Sif and Fandral look at Heimdall expectantly. The remainder of Sylvie’s retinue follow with little pause, their raised and rambunctious voices a cacophony of cheers and laughter as they leave Frigga and Heimdall behind.
“Why do I get the sense this is a recipe for disaster?” Frigga drawls dryly, sharing a look with Heimdall as the gatekeeper chuckles knowingly.
“At least she is home your majesty.....rest assured I will keep watch from here in case that new veil clears. I will report changes when I can”
Frigga nods and utters her thanks before she too leaves her dear friend to his sworn duty, those frayed nerves no calmer as the Bifrost sparks into life behind them and the path to Vanaheim returns. The rainbow bridge is luminous in the growing light of dawn, the secret hidden in the mountains beyond it, a mystery no clearer than before.
High above the returning friends, Loki sits and watches the approaching group with interest from his hiding place amongst the trees. His heart lurches heavily in his chest as his sharp eyes spy Sylvie at the head of the boisterous clique. Their face merry as they enter the lower gate of the palace. Loki notes with avid fascination that Sylvie’s hair is longer than before, blonde too as her curls wind their way beneath her horned diadem of glowing gold down and down the slope of her shoulders.
Norns, she is beautiful even at this distance.
He cannot help but glow at how happy she looks, her smile wide and brilliant in the sun that rises at his back. It should be enough, for Loki to see her thriving like this. It should be enough for him, to know she is free from the weight of her pain, the shadows of her loss and the loneliness of her past, her vengeance. It should be enough for him to let go, this fleeting, sweet look at her face at dawn all he’s ever wanted for so many moons.
But
It only makes Loki ache for more, his lost soul desperate just to hear her voice one last time and exist, just for a moment, in the wonder of her orbit.
Loki can openly admit, the very idea of following her into the Palace seems beyond a calamity waiting to happen, but Hel, he always was a glutton for punishment.
He'd already breached the fragile reality of this world caused little ripples in the fabric of reality, surely a closer look wouldn't rupture anything of import?
Loki is unsure when it becomes a conscious decision to descend the mountain and chance what he knows is foolish. But his heart will not be denied, not today.
His footsteps hardly hit the hard earth and rock of the mountainside as he all but flies down toward her.
The city is much as he remembers it, those streets he’d known since childhood a cornucopia of memory and warm feeling. It makes him yearn for a moment for a simpler time, a time he knew nothing of the hollow lies his father had burdened him with, or the darkness that would beset his heart and soul in baring of that bittersweet truth of bloodline. For a brief breath on that fine, Asgardian morning, he can let the nostalgia wash over him like a gentle wave, the smell of home so familiar it immediately puts him at ease.
The royal palace of Valaskjalf soon rises high above him as Loki urges his feet on to the centre of the city, the imposing golden stone of his once home almost pure white in the brilliance of the morning sun. It takes his breath away for a moment, a pang of utter anguish flashing through his gut at the stark recollection of its true destiny in that once sacred timeline. The Asgard of his youth is now nothing more than star dust and rock, a million, tiny floating parts of a once great dynasty.
It seems an eon since he's been in Asgard, and maybe it has been, for time is no constant anymore. There is only the present, the here, the now.
Loki sighs as he swallows down the lump that has formed in his throat, nothing it will do him no good to wallow.
As his awareness begins to return, he starts to register the startled faces of the city traders as they set their stalls out upon the pretty cobbled streets. Their puzzled and wary gazes securely fixed upon him and Loki can only look down at his Midgardian clothing and flush.
"So inconspicuous old boy, well done" he mutters to himself unhappily and laments his own stupidity.
He laughs lightly, before smiling sheepishly at the small crowd of onlookers.
“Please do excuse me”.
Slipping down a side street free from keen observers, Loki quickly lets the green veil of his seiðr wash over him. His simple clothes morphing to the battle leathers of old, the black and green like a second skin as he smiles at the crinkle and shift of the familiar. However, this contentment is quickly lost as good sense prevails.
He is dressed like an Asgardian prince, a prince that should not exist in this sumptuous realm. Surely this apparel will cause more consternation than the clothes of an Earth dweller!
For if he is to get into the Palace unnoticed, his usual style will have to be forgone for practicality. With another flourish of green, his preferred garb shifts to a simple emerald tunic and a pair of plain chocolate brown trousers and boots. With a heavy sigh, he lets his magic wash over him a third time, his long, wavy black hair shifting to tight, sandy blonde curls while his eyes shift from vibrant blue- green to the darkest of brown.
Getting into the Palace may take a touch more sophistication than this disguise, but for now, the appearance of a common man will have to suffice.
To Loki’s great relief, no one seems to pay him any mind once he returns to the main thoroughfare, his attempts at blending in bearing fruit as he ambles unnoticed and unimpeded to the outskirts of the royal palace with relative ease.
As he approaches the first gate, it’s all too easy for Loki to convince two dimwitted Einherjar guards he is a new kitchen porter arriving for his first shift. No point wasting energy on enchantment when some people are ever so gullible. The simpleminded but helpful guards, also points him in the direction of the main kitchens, as if he didn’t already know. He had spent many a mischievous afternoon running amuck with Thor in those kitchens, terrorizing the cooks with allusions whilst Thor stole food and mead.
It had been wonderful times, those simple misdemeanors and adventures of boyhood.
The bowels of the palace are bustling even at this early hour as Loki waltzes in nonchalantly, with cooks and porters alike rushing around as they frantically make the finishing touches to breakfast.
“Can you believe it? What a liberty!” the head chef moans loudly from her station the far side of the kitchen, her tone almost despairing as she loudly chops carrots and leeks with a violent vigor.
“The Queen has ordered a full-scale feast with only a moments notice.......and there’s five full-sized boars to preparation, along with everything else!”
“Odin would never have been so bold” another cook grumbles “It’s the Frost Giantess in her, no decorum at all!”
Loki cannot help but scoff, his brow dark and lips pursing in clear displeasure to the insult. Unfortunately, the two chefs catch his eavesdropping and heated look, their beady little eyes zoning in on his haughty, unhappy face.
“Got something to say boy?” one of them growls, brandishing a knife toward him.
Loki immediately recognizes the woman as Kolbrun Leifsdottir, the same bad-tempered cook who had threatened, more than once, to skin him alive as a boy. Odious woman.
He schools his features and relaxes his furious brow.
“Nothing at all ladies, I think everything’s already been said.” he replies with a false smile, grabbing a random box of vegetables and carting them away to the main larder to avoid whatever snide remark they would utter next. But he has none such luck.
“You boy.....” Kolbrun Leifsdottir hollers “come here.”
Loki rolls his eyes and returns to the squat, red faced woman with a smile that does not reach the rest of his face.
“Yes madam, how may I be of assistance?”
“The rubbish chute is blocked with rotten offal again, go clear it out.” she orders, shoving a meagre sweeping brush into his chest.
“Then go help the chambermaids unblock the privy's by the great hall, we have a lot of guests to facilitate today.”
Loki’s nose scrunches in disgust as his smile grows watery. Kolbrun’s snide look only grows at his revulsion, taking pleasure in his unhappiness.
“Right away madam.” Loki mutters as politely as he can, barely holding back the urge to transfigure the stinking, ugly woman into a toad.
“Consider it done.”
With that he turned on his heel and slipped down the first empty corridor he could find, eager to escape that repulsive woman’s wrath as soon as he could.
Shivering once more in disgust, Loki quickly lets his seiðr wash over him and the grand armour of the Einherjar sweeps over his body to cover his chest and head. He forgoes changing his facial features or hair again, for there is little danger of anyone noticing him much in this visage. He shifts in the heavy armour, enjoying the sensation of sword at his side almost as much as the prospect of severely irritating that toad of a cook.
“Much better.....and no chance of toilet duty this time.” he mumbles to himself with a snort.
Looking up at the winding, narrow staircase toward the main palace, Loki sighs in resignation, knowing there will be many flights climb.
“To the great hall it seems.”
After some brief teething problems, the impromptu feast at dawn is in full swing, much to Sylvie’s delight. The great hall is awash with infectious energy, and copious amounts of alcohol, that seems to fill every guest with a warm glow of satisfaction. To the left of Sylvie’s small, simple throne, Thora is in full spirits. Her sister roars with laughter and mirth at something mundane Hogun has said, her pretty face animated and bright with a mead induced flush that makes each gesture gregarious, if not a little too wild for close quarters. Sylvie cannot help but laugh with genuine amusement when her sister repeatedly challenges, and duly annihilates, yet another hapless lord at arm wrestling. It’s too entertaining to ignore.
As parties go, this is shaping up to be a particularly good one, perhaps even memorable!
However, Sylvie is entirely disappointed when Sif returns from Vanaheim a little too sober for her liking. Her state so temperate and sharp in fact, it cannot entirely be natural. Sif’s hazel eyes are clear and watchful as they scan the feast hall with a tight set to her jaw. Her look of concentration softens as her gazes meets Sylvie’s, an amiable smile replacing her look of caution. Fandral seems similarly distracted for a beat. His eyes searching every corner for even a small suggestion of danger or threat.
Sylvie is in no doubt her mother is behind this abrupt change of condition, for there is no plausible explanation for their absence of inebriation after such a short period of time. Frigga is just as wily as she is, given the chance, but alas, Sylvie cannot find it in herself to be mad. Her mother had already expressed her worry at the situation and in truth, she is only doing what she feels is right.
"I see you have returned to my party empty-handed; I can't say I'm best pleased" Sylvie teases gently, giving her returning friend a look of mock disappointment.
"Pfft.....as if we would dare disappoint you like that your majesty. The boars are roasting in the kitchen as we speak!" Fandral retorts good naturedly, his half smile in reply entirely charming.
"We even had the opportunity to catch you a nice plump pheasant.....as a token of our deepest apologies for the inconvenience".
Sylvie’s smile stretches, an eager gleam entering her eyes at the utterance of the word pheasant, for it truly is her favourite fowl.
"Fine....apology accepted " she sniffs with feigned indifference, biting her lip to hide her smirk.
“Good......now if you’ll excuse me.....I have business to attend to....” Fandral exclaims happily before slipping himself into a seat the other side of Thora, his brow immediately rising in provocation as he grabs the former heir’s hand to test his strength.
Sylvie shakes her head and softly chuckles at his antics, shooting Sif a bemused look as she flops into the chair next to her.
“He’s an utter blockhead isn’t he”
“Yeah..... but he’s our blockhead” Sif replies with a laugh, her amusement rising as Fandral is soundly beaten in less than second.
“That he is.”
Sylvie survey’s the party with a contented sigh, her gaze warm and relaxed.
“This was an entirely inspired idea Sif, it's just what I needed.”
“I’m glad”.
Sylvie sighs again and closes her eyes as she absorbs the energy of the room vibrating around her, feeling the very air in that great hall fill with a sort of kinetic power. It thrums and grows with a strangely potent force, sending a frisson of something undefined, yet irresistible down her back. A heat licks at the edges of her mind, a glowing ember that illuminates all the happy souls engaged in the party. Their auras are like crimson and burnt orange in her mind's eye, a low burning fire of kinship that serves and protects her.
Her seiðr sweeps around the hall as a gentle wave, ebbing and flowing as it washes over every corner. Seeking only to siphon a tiny portion of that collective energy to sustain the vivaciousness of her mood. Yet the more her seiðr twists and pervades the feasting hall, the more she begins to feel it.
That something is very, very wrong.
There is a coldness forming at the fringes of those tendrils of magic, like a cutting rush of Arctic air against her nape. A competing seiðr made not of fire, but of ice.
Yet the chill of that invading, strange magic is not unpleasant, instead is it like a balm against the sweltering heat of the Asgardian furor to which she has become accustomed. Still, her attention is caught, mind and magic sweeping the hall until a small mass of colour disrupts the homogenous rosy tones of her friends and family. There is a flickering flame of blue and green that bobs in and out of view as she tries to pinpoint its source. A powerful well of seiðr flowing from its form like a liquid gas.
It matches her own, strength for strength. And this is what finally scares her.
Such power, is dangerous.
Sylvie’s breath is short and sharp as she opens her eyes again, her sojourn into her mind only seeming like seconds to Sif as she fixes her a fierce but worried look.
“They’re here. The intruder…..they’re in this room”.
Sif swallows thickly, her keen eyes sweeping the mass of jovial people.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure…..I can feel it.”
Sif looks again toward the crowd, her eyes narrowing as she searches every face. Nothing seems amiss, but who is she to question her queen when it comes to matters of magic and seiðr.
“I’ll take a walk around the perimeter.”
Sylvie can do nothing but nod in agreement as her eyes sweep the crowd, a stone beginning to settle in the base of her stomach.
Thora raises a golden-brown eyebrow in curiosity as she watches Sif rise to her feet with a steely look on her face, her interested gaze switching to Sylvie in question as her sister seems to hesitate before shrugging in reply. She steadfastly refuses to meet Thora’s gaze again, and give the game away, lest it all be proven idle suspicion and fantasy.
She covers her thinning lips with her cup as she slyly watches Sif slip into the crowd, her dread beginning to grow.
It has been a long time since Loki has witnessed a party as raucous as this. If circumstances were different, and his troubles were few, he would be in his element amid the drunken stupor and mischievous folly. As he falls into line beside the dour faced guard posted at the farthest door of the hall; he can only just restrain himself from sampling a stray glass of summer wine left upon one of the closest tables. From the claret hue of its contents, Loki can already tell it is his favourite vintage.
Yet, somehow, he resists.
The great hall of Valaskjalf is much as he remembers, long feast tables laden with so much food and ale, the wood seems buckle under the weight of its burden. The hall is full despite the early hour, nobility and warriors alike, reveling in the hedonistic mood of their monarch. And my does Queen Sylvie Laufeydottir seem the life and soul of any courtly party, for she seems to be in fine spirits that morn.
Loki can only just abstain from gawking at her from his place at the far end of the hall, something dark and dangerous stirring within him. For the sight of her ensconced so casually on that small ornate throne, her legs swung over one side as she leans lazily against the other, it is as much galling as it is enchanting. There is something so sensual about the delicate way she holds that fine gold goblet between her fingers, a deadly poise mixed amid her nonchalant posture. As though she ready at any moment to leap to feet and drive her cutlass through the heart of anyone who dares threaten her.
She is bewitching, for Norn, does Sylvie look good on a throne.
Queen Sylvie Laufeydottir, supreme leader and protector of the nine realms, what an unexpected delight it is to see with his own eyes.
For even without a crown, Sylvie would always be the queen of his heart.
When this idyllic reality had been created, leadership was not something he had envisioned for her gilded path. Yet the road had been paved to the throne all the same, if she chose to walk it. And it seemed, Sylvie had risen to its call, and unlike him and his mad grasp for the crown, she had not lost everything else in the process. She still had her family, her friends and that wonderful spirit of her.
In truth, the choice to step into Odin’s shoes was always going to be her own.
Free will was Loki’s last gift to her, well, as much free will as could be guaranteed within a pocket dimension of his own creation.
Though, he's not sure Sylvie would ever see it that way. She would say it was nothing more than a beautiful, tawdry cage no better than a TVA memory prison, fit only for keeping her in.
He hoped, one day, she would understand why if it came to it.
“Oi pissant! Stop staring at the Queen and get back into formation.” someone hisses to his right. Loki flushes under his heavy helmet as he stumbles back to his post, thoroughly embarrassed he had wandered so far from the doorway without knowing it. His mind too intoxicated by Sylvie to think straight.
“Sorry....” he whispers back with a cheesy grin and a sheepish shrug “First day....I guess the glamour of the room got to me!”
The other guard does not reply, but simply glares at him as he shakes his head, before fixing his eyes straight ahead as he was trained to do.
Loki winces and turns to do the same to avoid further exposing himself. But his gaze soon drifts back up toward the blonde beauty at the centre of the hall, his heart and mind too full of her radiance to care for anything more.
It doesn’t take long before Sif is entirely lost to the mass of bodies that fill the feast hall. Her tall, lean body indistinguishable to any other despite Sylvie's best efforts to track her friend's progress through the mess of people. Worry pulls at her gut the longer her absence continues, apprehension growing at the thought their wily intruder has gotten the better of her already. For Sylvie is in no doubt this creature is hiding in plain sight, watching her. Sif may be a truly exemplar warrior and tougher than anyone she has ever known, but she is no match for magic or cunning like this.
This is an unknown threat bathed with a seiðr, a pulse of magic that drips of enviable strength and honed by years of mastery.
It unsettles her to feel such power and not see the culprit in flesh and blood.
"My dear sister, why do you look so troubled?" Thora booms to the left, her meaty, broad hand a sudden weight upon Sylvie’s shoulder. The action that makes her jolt, eyes wide and stricken for a moment as the shock subsides. Sylvie shrugs it off with a scowl, muttering a low 'its nothing' into her waning cup with an unhappy sigh.
When Thora refuses to budge or even consider staring at her with such fierce curiosity, Sylvie’s fraying mood reaches its crux. Good humour all but gone.
“What? I’m fine.”
“Sure....” Thora drawls in amusement, not one bit fooled by Sylvie’s terrible attempts at brushing her off. She slips into the chair beside her sister and slides a new, sloshing goblet of mead into her hands.
“If you say so”
Sylvie scoffs loudly but cannot help but crack a smile as she gratefully takes the goblet and drains it in one. Her smile starts to fade once more as that apprehension from before creeps back into her psyche, sighing heavily she turns to Thora with a weary expression.
“I find myself in need of a distraction dear sister......perhaps you could regale me with one of your tall tales of Midgard.”
Thora huffs lightly with glee before a playful glint flashes in her emerald eyes.
“Oh, my Queen, I can do you one better.......because it’s been too long little sister”
Sylvie gapes at her in bewilderment, perplexed by Thora’s statement and impish smile until it all begins to click together as her sister starts to rise to her feet. Thora’s broad hand abruptly thumps on the table, the boom of each blowing drawing the attention of more guests every time she strikes.
“Don’t you bloody dare Thora!” Sylvie hisses with a warning glare, trying and failing to pull her stupid sister back into her seat.
“Don’t even think about it...I swear...”
But Thora won’t be swayed by anything it seems.
“M’Lords, m’Ladies and all those who rightfully choose to be neither, it has come to that glorious time of the day......” Thora bellows jovially over the softening din of the crowd.
“Thora I swear to all the Norns, I will murder you if you continue this...” Sylvie hisses again, snatching at her sister’s arm.
“For those who has never had the privilege of witnessing it, you are about to receive a true, and very rare honour”
“I will have you thrown in the dungeons for the rest of the day, do you hear me? Don’t you dare!”
Thora duly ignores her, unmoved by Sylvie’s threats.
“It is of course time, for our dear and noble queen, to treat us to a song”
The crowd erupts into a cacophony of whoops and cheers and Sylvie can do nothing but bury her head in her hands for a moment and groan. Norns does Thora have piss poor timing! Gritting her teeth and plastering her face with a forced and too bright smile, she rises to her feet to join Thora.
“You are dead to me, you hear?” she growls low enough for only her sister to hear, eyes murderous with indignant fury. For she knows she cannot get out of this one.
Thora merely chuckles and slaps her on the back with a wink as she finally sits down once more.
Sylvie sighs as she racks her brain for something, for anything to sing to her now silent and captive audience.
“Dritt” she mutters to herself in resignation, before nodding to the waiting court musicians and singing the first and only thing that comes to mind. Needs must and all that.
“Men trærne de danser
Og fossene stanser
Når hun synger, hun synger
Kom hjem”
Loki cannot help the guffaw of genuine laughter that erupts from his mouth as he watches Sylvie drunkenly and very awkwardly plough her way through the first verse of the song. Her pitch and volume fluctuating until she finds her feet and others begin to join in with the little ditty. His face hurts from how wide it makes him smile, because she is simply so adorable in her inelegant performance, it warms his heart entirely. To his left, the same guard as before shoots daggers in his direction.
Oi, shithead! Stop laughing.”
“Sorry" Loki chokes out, trying to compose himself. He stares at his boots as he tries to stifle another giggle, failing miserably of course.
“Norns, get a grip idiot” he barks as he surreptitiously digs his foot into Loki’s exposed ankle.
“Owww! You absolute wanker.” Loki snarls back, nudging him right back.
“Men trærne de danser
Og fossene stanser
When she sings she sings come home
When she sings she sings come home”
Sylvie is starting to enjoy herself now, her arms swinging in time to the melody as everyone follows her lead. There is something strangely comforting to be found in the collective swaying of so many people, their bodies entirely at her mercy as though she has enchantment them all with just her voice.
“Men trærne de danser
Og fossene stanser
Når hun synger, hun synger
Kom hjem
Men trærne de danser
Og fossene stanser
When she sings she sings come home
When she sings she sings come home
When she sings she sings come home
When she sings she sings come home”
The childish and churlish shoving match between Loki and the other Einherjar is only getting worse as Sylvie’s song winds its way toward the emotional bridge, her voice becoming sweeter as her congregation falls to a hush. Loki knows if he doesn’t bring this ruckus to an end, they will draw a dangerous amount of attention to themselves. Acting solely on instinct and pure chaotic annoyance, he suddenly grasps the other man in a head lock and forces him out of the feast hall. Masking his movements behind the nearest pillar before anyone else catches the act, he forces the guard to his knees. He tightens his iron grip around his throat as the guard smacks aimlessly toward Loki’s head, his flailing arms meeting nothing but air as Loki ducks and weaves out of the way.
“Come now, none of that......just go to sleep“ he urges as the guard’s movements slow and stop as his body grows limp.
“Good boy, now stay down” Loki sighs tiredly as he drops him gently to the ground and he slips back into the room to take up a new position closer to the throne.
“I stormsvarte fjell jeg vandrer alene
Over isbreen tar jeg meg frem
I eplehagen står møyen den vene
Og synger: når kommer du hjem?”
Her voice is truly lovely Loki discovers as he finally gets to listen without distraction or interruption, Sylvie’s timbre light and sweet as it resonant softly around the near silent hall. He is enraptured by her in an instant, mind flashing back to that ill-fated train to Shuroo when he had dedicated those same words to her in a fit of jubilant admiration. For he had begun to fall for her, even then.
Hopelessly in love before he’d known what hit him.
“Men trærne de danser
Og fossene stanser
Når hun synger, hun synger
Kom hjem
Men trærne de danser
Og fossene stanser”
From the corner of her eye, Sylvie notices Sif’s face come into view among the throngs of onlookers. Her dark head turned toward a lone guard stationed midway up the hall, as she stares at them with marked interest. Sylvie turns her own attention to the solitary Einherjar, studying them at moment as she continues to sing as though nothing is amiss. Unlike the other guards, this one doesn’t seem to follow protocol, his gaze fixed upon her rather than the section of the hall he is supposed to be monitoring.
Strange.
The Einherjar shifts a little uncomfortably as he notices her eyes on him, head turning straight ahead as he shifts back into position. His eye wander back to her for a split second, before affixing to a random point in the middle of a laden feast table, his posture straightening unnaturally.
Very strange.
Sif does not move from her place, her brow narrowing as she watches the guard with growing suspicion. She starts to walk closer, her hand slipping toward her blade as she and Sylvie exchange a knowing look. The tension within Sylvie’s chest tightens as she watches her friend draw near, her voice growing stricken as she sings the last line with little enthusiasm.
“When she sings she sings come home
When she sings she sings come home”
The troubled guard’s eyes flick back to her once more as the room erupts into applause that Sylvie takes no notice of for she is fixed on him. But this time as their paths cross, the irises below the helmet shift from brown to blue for the briefest of seconds as their gazes meet straight on. Sylvie tastes burnt metal in her mouth and a current of energy ripples up her spine as their eyes lock.
She sucks in a sharp and rapid breath as her stomach drops.
Seiðr
Loki knows he’s been rumbled, even before the obnoxious, interfering guard he had just knocked out, comes tumbling into the feast hall, sword drawn and face set in a look of lethal fury. Lady Sif is already less than an arm’s length away from him, her own weapon arcing toward his head as the Einherjar roars at his comrades to rise to action. Loki has less than a second to react, Laevateinn rising to meet Sif’s strike as he pulls the flaming sword from his pocket dimension. The approaching Einherjar and startled Lord’s and Ladies are sent scuttling back as Loki lets loose a powerful blast of emerald seiðr.
Sif swings again for his head, but Loki sends her flying with yet another shock of magic.
“Time to go” he mutters to himself, his form snapping out of view as he teleports to the far end of the melee and rushes out of the chaotic scene. There is a loud thunder of movement as the recovering Einherjar race to catch him.
Sylvie moves to follow with a snarl, her cutlass warm and ready in her hand, but Thora beats her to the punch. Her sister’s arm is like a brick wall against her chest as she stalls her eager hunt. As she grunts unhappily and moves to push her out of the way, Thora’s grip tightens.
“Let me go Thora!”
“No sister. Mother will not forgive me if I let you go, especially in this state” she answers firmly “We have to keep you safe.”
“Thora!” Sylvie growls, her hands starting to glow green as her temper flares.
“I am perfectly capable of handling myself.....he is mine to capture.”
“Be that as it may, half the Einherjar is already after him.....you don’t need to go traipsing around the palace half-cocked and pissed as a fart! You are the Queen, Sylvie, you are not disposable”
Sylvie’s face darkens, her pale cheeks growing ruddy as her frustration and anger builds. But she cannot argue with her sister’s good sense, despite Thora’s own state of inebriation.
“Fine... just bring him back alive” she spits back, dropping down into her throne with a petulant huff. Thora sighs in relief, before ambling away to give orders to the building hunting party, the once happy cohort of guests now turned trappers.
Sif is soon by her side, rubbing hard at her back as she winces with pain.
“Sorry my Queen, he was slippery bugger!”.
“It’s fine” Sylvie snaps without thinking before her face and tone softens almost immediately “it’s not your fault. I underestimated the threat too.”
Sif’s pretty face twists in embarrassment, her eyes full of shame for being bested so easily. She opens her mouth to apologize once more, but the words are quashed immediately by Sylvie’s next urgent order.
“Don’t you dare say sorry again, just go get him”.
Loki doesn’t remember Valaskjalf being so heavily guarded, for it seems there is an adversary waiting behind every corner he turns. Thankfully, they are no match for his wits and speed, and he is soon free of their attacks. Rounding another turn, he is relieved to see he has almost reached the south-western wing, a place he knows all too well, for it is here he had often snuck out of the palace and into the city as a wayward youth. His seiðr ripples as he draws closer to the concealed staircase that leads to the royal docks, his armour of before shifting back to his simpler peasant clothing.
Loki is about to pull back the tapestry that hides the door, when a familiar voice roars behind him.
“And where, do you think you’re going boy?”
Hogun’s face is a mask of lethal focus as his twirls his mace in a threatening circle.
Loki groans internally but fixes a look of innocence upon his face as he turns to meet Hogun’s advance.
“Nowhere sir, I was simply about to remove this tapestry for dusting.” he answers as he lifts up the edge of the material with a simple flourish.
This answer confuses Hogun’s inebriated brain for a moment, his brow knitting in bewilderment as his mace drops by his side.
“Dusting?” he repeats in bemusement, unsure whether to believe Loki or not.
“Oh yes, these old things need to be beaten regularly.” Loki continues matter-of -factly, gesturing to the tapestry with an easy confidence that further clouds Hogun’s judgement.
“Dusting?” he repeats in disbelief, scratching at the back of his head.
“Yes dusting” Loki repeats firmly.
Hogun’s eyes narrow as he seems to consider the likelihood he’s telling the truth, for who would make up something so mundane? He nods after a moment and turns on his heel, accepting the story wholeheartedly.
“Tosk” Loki sniggers as he swipes the tapestry aside and pushes the hidden door open.
“It’s almost too easy” he laughs more loudly this time, as he walks into the pitch-black corridor on the other side.
“Almost” Sif agrees from somewhere in the darkness, her footsteps light and all but silent as she steps in close. Loki whips around, his hands aglow with light, just in time to see the pommel of her sword approaching his face.
“Knulle” he groans before everything fades to black.
Sylvie is quickly to her feet when Sif marches back into the hall flanked by two Einherjar. Between the shoulders of the two guards hangs a gagged and bound man, his long, black hair a far cry from the blonde intruder she had spied earlier. But that same pulse of magic rolls of his unconscious form all the same.
“This him?” she asks tersely.
“Yep, caught him myself your majesty. He tried escaping from the south-west passage, but I intercepted him” Sif replies proudly.
Catching Hogun’s blushing face, she shoots him a wink.
“Despite his best efforts, we were one step ahead ”.
“Good.....for clearly he is a master of deception, as this is not the man I saw earlier.” Sylvie sighs unhappily.
“Such proficiency in transfiguration is exceedingly rare, this ones seiðr is not to be trifled with” Frigga says solemnly as she joins the small group.
“Are you even sure, this is his true form?”
Sif grabs the man by the back of the head and pulls his face upwards.
“His appearance changed as soon as I knocked him out, so I am certain there’s no more illusions.”
Sylvie’s fierce expression abruptly turns as her eyes fall on the handsome face of her would be attacker, a thundering headache erupting behind her eyes as the man’s lids slip open for a second and reveal the turquoise hue below. The pain is so severe and unexpected, she finds herself on her knees, a wounded scream pulling from her chest. It feels as though her very skull is being pried apart, bone by bone, cell by cell until the pain is almost blinding. Strange and bewildering images flash through her splitting head, her vision going blurry until, all at once, it all disappears.
By now, the room is deadly quiet around her, as though they are frozen in panic./p>
Her chest is heaving as her senses returns, heart beat rapid and breath shallow.
“My darling, are you okay?” Frigga voice whispers with deep concern, her warm, dry hands reaching under her chin as she examines Sylvie’s face with a stricken expression. Her mother is crouched down beside her, Friggas other arm flung around her shoulders as she holds her steady. Sylvie pants a little as she looks around and sees the many uneasy faces staring down at her.
“Yes, I am fine. It was, it was just....”
“A vision?” Frigga supplies, her voice low and filled trepidation.
Sylvie sighs heavily as she and her mother slowly climb to their feet.
“Something like that.”
“Perhaps ….you should go lie down for a while sister? We can handle things from here.”
Sylvie looks as though she is going to protest, her gaze falling on the strange unconscious man in their midst again, before another pulse of agony rips through her head. She hisses as another barrage of rapid moments she has never lived, tears through her mind.
“Sylvie...” her mother exclaims as she lurches forward, Frigga’s strong arms catching her before she falls to the ground.
“Sylvie, love, are you okay?”
“If love be a dagger…..would you bleed for me?" she mumbles back incoherently, her eyes glass for a moment before they sharpen again in shock. She looks around the close group of people with confused panic.
“What just happened?” Sylvie whispers with growing dread, her eyes going vacant again for a moment. "Glorious purpose" she murmurs softly with an almost giggle, her back straightening again as though she has been jolted awake.
Frigga’s worried expression deepens as she looks down at Sylvie and her shifting levels of consciousness.
“That’s it, I’m calling the healer.” she announces so resolutely, even Sylvie doesn’t dare argue.
“Lady Sif, come help me get her upstairs.”
“I’m fine” Sylvie grumbles sleepily, trying and failing to push Sif away as she catches her by the elbow. Her mother takes the other and hold her close, grip so strong Sylvie couldn't break it even if she tried.
“No darling, no you’re not.”
Turning back to the two steadfast Einherjar, Frigga gives Loki a once over.
“Take him to the dungeon and tell me the moment he wakes."
With that, the remainder of the party departs and all at once, the once jubilant atmosphere of the great hall feels very dour indeed.