Tremendous Theories over Tea-Time
It was an oddly ungainly situation to walk into, the Einherjar thought as he took to patrolling the pathways between the cells in the corners—measures the elder Einherjars had long since abandoned in their long time of duty. He had switched shifts barely a minute ago, sun weakly beginning to peak over the horizon tinted with the waters of Asgard and he had just been about to follow the strict order in which to tend to his daily dungeon-routine.
Number one had been to arrive on time, ready in his soldier clad. The gold and orange were vastly different from the silver and blue he preferred during his time off-duty—but rules were rules after all.
Number two, getting some input from the soldiers who had worked the shift before him. Hence, they were old and not as interested in the slightest shifts of patterns in the criminal’s behavior as he still was; he tended to pay very close attention to every single lost soul perched into their cells.
Now, number three was patrolling even the hidden alleys, nooks and corners of the dungeons and it was then that his eyes fell on a person sprawled on the floor.
Directly in front of the Prince’s cell at that.
The Asgardian clothes seemed odd at first glance, even though he couldn’t quite say why. Possibly the cut, which didn’t seem traditional enough to be of Asgard despite the materials used, which were undeniably high quality.
Was it a trick perhaps?
The younger Prince was well known for his knack for mischief and deceit, mastered in seidr for centuries, more than half a millennium even. But the glowing barrier of the cell should keep even the most desperate tries of magic locked inside—this couldn’t have been on him. With quick, hurried steps he rushed over, kneeling to check the unknown person’s vitals, before a quiet snore tore through the even quieter atmosphere of the dungeons.
Sleeping?
On the cold, moist and no doubt uncomfortable stone floor?
He carefully lifted his stare from the sleeping, crumpled up form on the ground to search for the inhabitant of the cell directly next to him, head running wild with possibilities—which fell short immediately as his eyes fell on the imprisoned prince.
Who was also asleep.
Alas, he was on the bed positioned in the far corner, sprawled on top of the dark blue, velvet blanket with a book closed beside him. The Einherjar took a hesitant step closer to wake the person on the ground, halting mid-step as rustling sounded from behind the barrier and he turned only to face the fierce and deadly glare of the imprisoned Prince of Asgard. His raven hair was a tangled mess on his head and despite his drowsy green eyes the poor brunette felt the threat looming behind them.
“Not a word of this. To anyone,” the Prince spoke nonetheless, gifting words to his threat. His voice was but an icy spike piercing the man clad in golden armor, who managed to reply with a feeble nod. Prince Loki might have been imprisoned, but that in no way diminished the enormous amount of respect the brunette carried; as an Einherjar, as a citizen of Asgard, and as a person.
The Prince stared for a while longer before apparently accepting the nod as an answer, graciously rising from his seat to tend to his hair—lest anyone else noticed its current state. With a jolt the guard’s attention directed itself at the person on the floor, who stirred and was slowly but surely waking.
——————
You blinked as soon as you woke, feeling disoriented and confused while trying to take in your surroundings before abruptly remembering to have fallen asleep on the stone floor. A light wince escaped your throat as you tried to move, back hurting from the very uncomfortable ground serving as a mattress you had apparently decided was better to sleep on than the soft one lying safely in your temporary accommodation upstairs. Just thinking of the bed which had been calling your name since you had laid your eyes on it made you wish to fall asleep again.
A slight movement next to you tore your attention away from your thoughts and towards an unfamiliar man offering you a hand. The armor quickly told you that he was a guard, and you could but imagine how anyone would react to you having been found sleeping on the dungeon floor.
You took his outstretched hand and he pulled you up, a smile on his lips you decided to return. The stranger’s happiness was radiating so much it was practically contagious, dark complexion and hazel eyes glinting with warmth and contrasting almost eerily with the general negativity seeping from the prison underneath the kingdom.
“Thank you,” you muttered, hand brushing through your hair to untangle it, to which he responded with a curt nod, something akin to a salute perhaps.
You threw a quick glance into the cell next to you, catching Loki sitting on his bed with the book from before, as if without a single care in the world. His focus remained on the pages even as you continued to stare and you almost laughed at how hard he went out of his way to pretend to not see you, merely brushing a dark strand of hair behind his ear and moving onto the next page.
When you returned your attention to the guard you found him to have followed your example and watching Loki, only reluctantly averting his eyes to look back at you.
“What’s your name?” you asked, looking for a name-tag as if in a store on Earth and mentally slapping yourself for it. There was a slight tug in the back of your head, something you decided to classify as laughter and you really wished for the connection to not carry across random thoughts to Loki.
“Oh! It’s Ragnarr,” he answered with a short half bow. You gave him your own name in response and smiled at his first tries of pronouncing it, giving him a small wave.
“If you may, I can call someone to return you to your accommodations,” he spoke, but you hastily shook your head, not really wanting to accidentally spread rumors about yourself just because you were being escorted out of the dungeons. It was bad enough that you had nothing with you to take care of your disheveled appearance before eventually having to stride back up to your room.
You could only hope that no one—or at the least, not many people would see you that tired and exhausted, creeping around the castle. For you were in no mood for questions, especially considering that you couldn’t quite delve into a full blown explanation as to what you were doing and why you were down there in the first place.
“Thank you, but I think I’ll find my way back,” you said, adding a quiet ‘probably’ he didn’t hear. But you suspected someone else did.
“Alright,” he nodded, giving another salute with a bright smile, dimples appearing to deepen his mirthful expression, “Return safely! And perhaps until next time!”
You bid your farewell and made your way back up the stone carved staircase leading up and out of the prison. Until next time might just come by quicker than Ragnarr had intended for it to.
After all you appeared to have quite some time to kill while waiting for Thor to return and organize everything with his father. Which is to say, should the king even agree to it in the first place.
In addition to that, no matter how much you might have wanted it to not be true, you felt bad for the Princeling locked away down here. It must be truly lonely to be shunned from your one and only family with not a single soul coming to visit you. Especially considering the fact that whatever had happened wasn’t totally on him either, rather by some unknown outside force. Whether he knew or not that his family was merely kept from visiting him by orders of the King was beyond you—yet you doubted it would change much of his attitude.
At least not with whatever had messed with his mind still having lingering effects on him.
Caught in your train of thoughts you barely noticed having found your way back upstairs, at the least having spared yourself the embarrassment of noticing other people’s confused and irritated stares, blissfully albeit accidentally ignoring them as their minds burst with questions regarding someone unknown to them.
You carefully pushed the doors open, letting them fall closed behind you.
The clearing of someone’s throat made you trip over your feet and look up in a haste, catching Aldís standing in the middle of the room with her arms crossed below her chest, royal blue dress adorned with silver threads contrasting with the brown, orange and red of the walls and furniture. With her posture and gaze she seemed adamant on reprimanding you at first, until she took in the entirety of your appearance; the clothes littered with creases and folds, hair but a mop of tangles on your head and light dark circles below your eyes.
She took a few steps towards you.
“What happened? Where have you been?”
The sheepish grin forming on your lips, no doubt looking as if caught red handed while doing something mildly illegal, eased her worries but strengthened her need to reprimand you like a needlessly fretting parent.
“Where have you been?” she repeated her question, looking at you with slight worry and concern still evident in her blue eyes.
“It’s uh—“ you began, hands fumbling with the coat,” A funny story?”
———
Despite your desperate tries of assuring her that everything was alright, she had used her position as a healer to coax you into telling her what had transpired. You had decided to trust her, trust her with everything that had happened and everything you knew about your new connection with Loki; from the sensations and emotions, all the way to his thoughts ringing in your head at times.
Remembering Thor’s words you knew that she had been with them from your very first day on Asgard, tending for your unconscious body as well as theorizing regarding your condition together with the head healer Eir, Thor and even the Queen—you felt that she should know everything you knew, too.
“This is...too much,” you spoke after a while, admitting your defeat and sinking further into the soft cushions of the seat you were resting in, “This weird pull that tries to keep us together—I mean—“
You caught her giving you a thoughtful look, halting in your rambling while shifting under her gaze.
“What?”
She pursed her lips, wringing her hands in her lap.
“I think I might have a theory.”
You gave her a nod, urging her to explain as your head burst with questions, unresolved ones as well as new ones forming with every minute that passed in silence.
“Alright,” she began, having collected her thoughts, “From what I have heard you had formed a telepathic connection with the Prince back on Midgard, correct?”
“That’s a way to put it,” you mumbled with a nod, finding the formulation almost too positive in its sound, “Yes, that’s true.”
“That telepathic bond came into existence due to the similar nature of whatever it was which had been planted inside of his mind to twist his memories, as well as the origin of your abilities—most likely related to the Mind Stone.”
She glanced at you, making sure you were following along, to which you gave another nod.
“This leads me to assume that, perhaps, during that initial connection both of you absorbed part of the other—a part of your soul if you believe in such,” she twirled a strand of brown hair around her finger in thought, barely even noting your utterly stunned facial expression looking as if someone had just shown you proof that Earth was indeed flat.
“My soul,” you started, gazing at her, eyes so wide you most likely looked as if you had gigantic googly ones placed on top of them, “He has part of my soul.”
“Of your very being, yes,” she replied, voice incredibly calm despite your panic, perhaps not having noticed it or not quite understanding your reaction, “And you have part of his.”
“And that connection? Can we—can we cut it?”
Your hands grew slightly sweaty as your mind ran wild like cars driving in a race, and you couldn’t help but wonder which one of them would finish first. The one in which you feared that he was to be stuck in your head forever? Or the one where you were mildly concerned regarding what exactly this connection would even mean for the both of you? Would the connection falter once you got back home, unable to work such long distances? Or would negative consequences occur should you even try—
“I do not believe that’s possible,” she spoke to answer your question, cutting through your concerns and slight terror. All the while your throat felt like it was closing up, thoughts growing louder still until a penetrating ring akin to an aggressive hissing was all you heard.
“What does it mean,” you tried voicing your thoughts despite the white noise, “What does it mean for me to be connected to him? That I have a part of his soul? That he has a part of mine?”
You kept repeating the phrase not only out loud, but also in your head, desperately trying to make sense of it, to make it seem more tangible as you attempted to evoke some sort of understanding or, at the very least, acceptance in your brain.
Aldís stayed still for a couple of seconds, hand reaching for the pot placed on the table and pouring a cup of tea, gently pushing it towards you. Your eyes numbly watched the two, luminescent petals swirling and shifting on top of the liquid’s surface; sweet, flowery scent invading your nostrils not enough to break you out of your shocked trance as her kind gesture went over your head.
“Whatever I tell you now is merely a theory of mine, mostly based on theoretical conversations with the head-healer Eir and the All-Mother, as well as books from times immemorial,” she spoke, pouring herself a cup of tea as well before tenderly grasping the mug, warming her hands.
“First, you need to know that the soul consists of more parts than one. During your initial connection each part of your being has most likely latched onto each part of his and vise versa, in body, mind and spirit. It possibly started out with the mind only, but as the connection persisted the body and spirit followed along.”
Your utterly perplexed facial expression made her reconsider her approach, taking your most likely limited knowledge into account as she rephrased her sentences.
“It means that you are bound to him in your entirety. Your soul will always yearn for the part of you which resides within him, and it is the same for him and his part in you,” she elaborated, look in her eyes growing more concerned with each spoken word obviously weighing heavily on you while you clutched onto the fabric above your heart.
Your leg had started bouncing slightly out of nervousness and you willed it to calm down, hand on your lap clenched tightly to a fist while the other one moved to lift the cup with trembling movements, bringing it to your slightly chapped lips to clear the dryness of your throat.
“If I might offer this assumption—“ she spoke once more, almost tugging on her hair, as if thinking about keeping the newfound information to herself, “The both of you are most likely connected for eternity.”
You spluttered, choking on your tea and spilling half of its contents as you clutched the mug too tightly. With hurried and instinctive movements you began wiping on the table with your sleeve, not catching Aldís conflicted expression.
“To what?”
“Eternity, yes,” she continued, plucking a napkin from the side and helping in cleaning your mess, stopping you from further soaking your clothes, “For the soul continues to exist even after death. Even after the both of you have died, your souls will simply find a new body to reside in; you will be reincarnated and continuously drawn to each other.”
By now your body was frozen so solid you could have as well been. The blood running through your veins felt ice cold even though your head burned like fire, something akin to adrenaline running through your veins and almost activating your fight or flight mode—despite no actual danger existing to run from.
None but the demons in your head. Or soul, rather.
“You—You want to tell me I have to stay connected to a—to a lunatic? Even after death? Forever?”
You stopped, watching her terrified expression and contemplating your words, suppressing the familiar twinge dwelling in the back of your head with squeezed eyes, trying to focus on keeping the newly acquired knowledge from seeping through the link.
“Yeah okay, no lunatic, I know, but—“ you sunk into the chair, sigh tearing through the middle of your sentence while you fought to refrain from freaking out any further, “He’s just so, so—“
“Difficult?”
“Yes!” you yelled in defeat, “So complicated, dramatic and his need to hide behind walls makes me mad! And I—I don’t know him, I don’t know who he is besides his apparent need to belittle me, humiliate me and drive me insane! It’s just so—“
Her laugh made you halt in your tracks, interrupting your very own dramatic outburst to stop and mull over everything which had just left your mouth.
“It is not in my place to say this,” she said, holding a hand in front of her mouth to stifle her giggle, “But I know this to be true. I understand, believe me. I really do.”
Her smile was soft and it calmed you ever so slightly as you took deep breaths, over and over again, feeling your lungs carefully fill and deflate.
“If it eases your worries, I do have a few things I can tell you about him. About who he is behind his facade.”
And so you listened intently to the stories she had to tell, listened to all the adventures she had witnessed, the myths she had read and the rumors she had heard. How Loki had gone on a multitude of missions with his brother and their friends despite the All-Father’s orders. How he yearned for the man’s, his father’s approval more than for anything else. How it was wildly known that he had a soft spot for his mother, the Queen and how he loved no one more than his brother Thor.
She had sighed.
“This was prior to the incident which caused him to be declared dead for the entirety of a year—a year in which his family had mourned him dearly. A year in which unspeakable things must have happened, causing him to end up in such a predicament.”
After inquiring further as to how she had obtained all of her knowledge you had learned that she had been Eir’s apprentice for nearly two decades, having been close to the royal family even before that through her mother, who had been a great healer herself before her demise.
“Sorry,” you had mumbled, to which she had shook her head, waving it off.
“This had been centuries ago,” she had replied, “I have had enough time to mourn.”
She continued on for a while longer, all the while almost absentmindedly clinging onto the empty cup in her hands.
“What I mean to say is that Prince Loki has always been rather difficult. Being the brother of someone as outgoing and filled with warmth and optimism such as Thor seems like a rather tough environment to grow and flourish in.”
You finished the rest tea swirling around in your cup with a last sip, mindful of the petals while your gaze rested on Aldís.
“He was a different person before,” she concluded, placing her mug down as well, “He has vastly changed, lost the childish innocence he had before. But still, I firmly believe that there is good in him. I do not deem him nearly as evil and twisted as the majority of Asgard seems to do.”
You deeply contemplated her words. The majority of Asgard condemned him? Was it for his deeds on Earth, or for what had transpired before his year of absence? For how he had tried to eradicate an entire realm for some unknown goal even Aldís didn’t have further information about?
“You will get to know him eventually,” she spoke, calmly, “Even if you do not wish to do so now. The Norns have wanted for it to happen, and I firmly believe they hold their reasons in what they do.”
“The Norns?” you asked, voice a whisper.
“Fate,” she replied, “But remember, this is only a mere theory of mine. I have yet to fully discuss it with the All-Mother and Eir.”
You felt how she poured every single drop of compassion within her into uttering these words, trying to ease your mind. Just as you had felt during the entire time in which she spoke, telling you about the imprisoned Prince rotting away below the kingdom.
Aldís certainly had known him longer than you did, having known him through family ties, through both of their mothers being close acquaintances for millennia. And she gave him a chance, believed in him.
Which is why you would as well.