Burn my Lungs
The Allfather sat proudly as he called court to session. With a short wave of his hand the room emptied save for his sons, and a few members of the royal guard. Thor and Loki silently approached their father, watching lines of worry trace the corners of his eyes, and the weakened strength of once mighty hands.
“My sons, I’ve grown tired these past months,” his voice no longer sounded like triumph but rather the soft solitude of an ancient and forgotten text. “It is time I find something to do with the two of you.”
Thor stepped forward, his cape twisting around his body as an interruption. “Father we’ve spoken on this. I cannot lead our people properly, while so much of my attention is on earth.” Thor thought of Jane for a fleeting moment, of her silky brown hair and the passion behind her eyes at any given moment. “I haven’t changed my mind, not even in light of recent events,” he said lowly referring to the end of their relationship.
Odin chuckled, “What to do? One son who will not rule, and one that would if the people trusted him.”
Loki permitted the corner of his mouth to flicker into a smile. Of course he should rule, no one was better suited for the art of negotiation than he and his silver tongue. He forced his smile back into a tight-lipped line. After they had returned victorious, public opinion opened up to the idea of changing towards the once wayward prince. Loki wanted nothing more than to leap at his second chance at destiny, only restricted by the lingering fears of people too sheltered to understand the duality of his nature.
“Since I haven’t faded from this throne yet; I’ve arranged provisions for you both, and our Kingdom.” Shakily Odin came to his feet and unfurled a treaty, he skimmed quickly.
“Queen Rowena wrote offering an open trade agreement and alliance. If you recall, she was your mother’s particular friend.”
The ghost of their mother covered the room in her memory with the reminder. Loki barely remembered the two women meeting over ancient tomes while, he and Thor played as children.
“As such, despite the strange nature of the letter, I agreed. Whatever doubts I hold, are inconsequential compared to the trust Frigga placed with Rowena.”
Thor chuckled heartily, “Then we must celebrate! Their Kingdom is prosperous indeed, and this alliance shall foster success for ages to come!”
Thor’s eyes were bright, his mind already turning over different meads and ales to be prepared, and friends to be gathered. Loki, felt an uncomfortable air enter the Palace. Distrust swept up his spine urging him to ask, “And what, dear father, pray-tell have we promised in return?”
Odin eased himself back on the throne, weaving finality and authority in his words, “The fostering, and appropriate marriage for her daughter, at my sole discretion.”
Thor and Loki shared a glance neither of them entirely comfortable with this arrangement. On Asgard marriage was more of a celebratory declaration than a bartering chip, and although it had never been voiced, each brother thought they and their hearts alone would make that decision.
Their displeasure must’ve been plain, as Odin rebuked them, asserting his place as their King, and Father. “This is for the good of our people, for whom sacrifices must be made.”
“Regardless of who I choose: You are our people’s future, which this arrangement secures. Just because she is your wife doesn’t mean you cannot take another, or that you must have anything to do with her!” He roared at the two princes, filled with all the righteous hellfire of an outdated and fading tradition.
He flung the scroll at their feet, snarling. “Her only use is in the propagation of our line! Read for yourself how little this creature means to her own people.”
Loki knelt and retrieved the parchment, fingers tracing the words. He knew their magick was different from his, but the words and their signature held none. Unusual for a contract signed by such a renowned sorceress.
Thor approached quietly his eyes darting over the page hurriedly, concern growing with each line. “Father, that was not written by who you think. Even I wouldn’t send such an informal and indifferent letter.” For a moment Odin seemed to hear his firstborn. Only to strike his staff off the ground in frustration. And all of a sudden, they didn’t recognize the man sitting before them.
Age and loss had warped the caring father: who treasured an orphan child in hopes of peace, who enforced responsibility upon his sons, who loved a woman so dearly her loss nearly broke him.
The tall oak doors behind them groaned open, a small herald darting into the room.
“Your highness?” He squeaked, “You had instructed we bring the girl in… w-would you rather we showed her to her chambers?” His eyes ran from face to face assessing the tension, trying to find a way where it didn’t explode in the face of a very tired guest.
Odin huffed and wildly motioned for his sons to stand aside him, as if the entire court would be reentering the room.
“No, bring the bitch in,” he growled tempted to throw something at the sniveling man.
You took that as your entrance cue. Unfortunately the Allfather wasn’t accustomed to being quiet. You couldn’t hate him for the assessment, your father had bartered you as a bitch no better than the ones that bore the hunting dogs running around outside the palace. Fortunately, you’d heard worse. Mumbling the spell for a small gust of wind, you willed the heavy doors to glide open.
You walked with your hips, slinking towards the throne like a hungry cat temporarily satiated.The soft silk of your skirts parted soundlessly for your steps, the loose lacing on the bodice allowing the full swell of your waist and hips to shape the burgundy gown. The dainty lace swath covering your bust was sheer enough to outline your figure in a manner still deemed respectable. Although for all your worth on that parchment, you could’ve strut in naked. Your proud shoulders, confident gait, and stoic expression contrasted all the gentility you learned as a crown-princess.
The princes watched your approach, enamored by the grace and power held inside such a soft looking woman, of purportedly low birth. There was a touch of something behind your eyes that caught their attention and gave more credence to their thoughts of foul play.
You stopped the appropriate distance from the throne, for a supplicant and steeled your heart against your fears. Daring instead to walk closer, eliciting a shocked gasp from the guards and servants present. You almost laughed at the audacity, any other queen or king would’ve committed no social sin in approaching.
Creating a pleasant softness to the harsh expression on your face, you offered a placating smile to the king.
“Allfather,” you acknowledged, curtsying low to the ground. For the memory of your mother, you wouldn’t let them think you were raised to disrespect kings.
As was custom you kept your head bowed, as he spoke softly to his sons, before formally introducing you.
“May I welcome you to Asgard Princess-“
Your spine prickled and your body stood to its full height unknowingly eliciting another hushed gasp as you met the hard gaze of the elderly king.
“Actually,” you interrupted gently allowing your circlet to glimmer proudly in the light, “it’s Queen.”
Silence crept over the room as if a sudden plague had descended and struck its inhabitants dumb. The confusion on his father’s face prompted Thor to step in, ever the peacemaker.
He crossed the space between you in long jovial strides, “My Queen, it is an honor. Our mother spoke highly of your’s.” His sincerity struck you off guard and for a moment you were there, back in the gardens between the two women pouring over ancient languages.
“Yes, I remember their friendship fondly,” you said smiling at Thor. His genuine compassion cooling the lingering rage itching in your blood.
“And why has your Queen Mother not accompanied you? Is she well?” Odin asked glaring at your departure from tradition.
“My mother is dead,” you muttered icily returning the glare, “Her consort, my father, has usurped the crown.” Odin’s fury became evident. He was not accustomed to being played for a fool, or getting dragged into the political messes of other kingdoms.
“We recently lost our mother as well,” Loki said turning the attention from his father’s building frustration. He softly approached you, and gently took your hand in his. “We offer our complete condolences,” he said leaving the whisper of a kiss along your knuckles.
You smiled at the gesture and muttered a small sign of appreciation, dripping with all the sorrows and exhaustion of the day.
Hearing your tiredness the princes glanced back at their father, Thor electing to speak on your behalf.
“If it pleases you Father, our Lady is exhausted from the journey and heavy with grief. Might we escort her to her chambers, so that she may rest and better consult with us tomorrow?”
You almost chuckled, Thor had to be the older child. He held enough favor to demand things in the form of a question, so his father might consider something he dreadfully opposed. Your focus was held in studying the princes faces, the sound of their voices fading along with their father’s as your mind tired. You didn’t notice until they gently started leading you from the room, that Loki’s hand still held yours.
The walk to your room was non existent as exhaustion swept you into its arms. The quiet “farewell’s” and reassurances a distant memory you weren’t sure had happened.
Your eyes closed quickly whisking you into a deep sleep, your energy all but spent on the day’s interactions and incantations. You dreamed of a smokey room, deliciously cold enveloped in the sounds of a storm. A thousand soothing hands ran over your weary body relaxing every inch of your skin, tracing the soft curves of your body leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
Had you been awake your mouth would’ve run dry in anticipation, your thighs rubbing together as your excitement peaked. You felt nails rake down your back, and the ghost of a hand over your throat. Even dreaming you didn’t see your lover, just felt their body against yours, hands and mouths racing across your skin molding you into a symphony of sinful sounds that pushed your mind into the sweetest oblivion.
You could’ve swore as the dream faded into deeper sleep, you felt someone’s arms snake around your waist, holding you. Through the night the faint smells of smoke and rain hung around your bed, as you knew it would when you awoke clinging into your skin until it felt like a part of the woman you were becoming.