Fixation or Psychosis
It was too early for you to deal with this, you decided looking over your ‘debut’ dress.
You’d been permitted two days solace to mourn away from the gossip of the palace. Jocelyn had only been a child. Sometimes you’d dream you were her, living out the adventures she might’ve had. Sometimes you dreamed her spirit came to you, wondering why you got to live. Usually you didn’t thank about her, but now faced with the delicate gown, in the prince’s colors, you couldn’t stop. This match should’ve been her’s as your advisor. This life should’ve been her’s.
You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Gods be good you were debuting for the first time to the entire kingdom as their future Queen. You’d been granted a safe, and secure life. One where you could practice your magick, or read at your leisure. One where no one would dare strike you or drag you from a room. Why wasn’t that enough?
Sighing, you turned away from the gown and elected to pull on a simple tunic and bearskin leggings. Asgardians feasted for the greater part of three days and you would not be presented until that night. Quietly you instructed Halla to keep the other servants away, to pretend you were nervous and wanted to be alone.
You were desperately in need of resources, and wove your way through the deserted halls, farther away from the sounds of revelry to the palace’s library and archives. The smell of parchment, and sun-warmed leather was an instant comfort, as were the rays of sunlight peaking through the windows.
The room was much like your mother’s, and the familiarity was a welcome comfort. It took a few minutes to understand how the books were arranged. You gathered a small collection of spell books, and histories to peruse. Hopefully in studying what others did wrong through the ages you could find an answer. And if not, maybe some spell strong enough to wipe your father from existence.
“My Lady... I had not expected to see you here.” Loki interrupted your reading, unsure if he should approach. He stood stiff, awkwardly unprepared to face you. To his credit, it was against Asgardian tradition to see each other before you were presented at the feast. You were supposed to be confined to your room, preparing for the feast and accompanying ball. And under no circumstances should you be walking about in leggings and a tunic. For the first time ever, you wished you had worn more clothes.
“I’m sorry my Lord,” you curtsied lightly, “I had need of a good book.” It wasn’t a complete falsehood, but you didn’t want to offend him any further by admitting your conflicting plans for revenge.
Loki walked to your side, reaching around you for a book that hadn’t been there before. He lightly placed it in your hands.
“I think this might prove more helpful in your research than those faded histories.”
The book was much smaller, bound in dark leather and clasped closed with a dark ribbon. Aware of his closeness, and intent gaze, you gingerly untied the ribbon and opened the cover. The interior was inscribed with his mother’s name, followed by his own. For a moment, you wondered how an Asgardian spell book could help you. Although you could learn his, and he yours, they were two different sorts of magick from very different sources.
Loki carefully stepped closer, and reached around you to turn the pages. He stopped on a binding spell, the kind your mother used to do every harvest so the land might prosper along with her. This was your brand of magick. He’d been studying your magick.
You smiled, and snuck a glance as he read the spell to you, describing how his mother had perfected it. His eyes kept drawing your attention. Their deep green reminded you of the forests back home: lovely and dark, the most peaceful place for a witch like yourself.
It’s a shame, you thought, I cannot have both justice for my family, and this life presented before me.. I think, I could like him...charming as he is. And quite attractive. You spent a moment to long thinking on his dark hair, wondering what it’d be like to wind your fingers in, before blinking yourself back to reality.
You heard a slight laugh next to you, and suddenly you were very aware of how close Loki was, heat still prickling your cheeks.
“And what’s so funny?” You said uncomfortable with being his focus.
Loki said nothing, only casting a mischievous grin in your direction. A full flush covered your face as you felt, almost certainly he had heard you. Perhaps you’d spoken out loud? Or perhaps he could tell from your face what you’d been thinking.
Quietly you thanked him for the book and promised to return it, quickly walking back to your room. As you snuck back inside you realized how tense you were, your entire body a strange state of embarrassment and frustration at the encounter. He had been perfectly civil, kind even. But there was something in the way his eyes seemed to laugh, that was absolutely none of those things.
A flurry of knocks came at the door and you could hear servants tittering anxiously. They usually spent an entire day preparing a lady for presentation, the time alone giving them room to gather gossip, the only currency important in the palace.
You tossed the book onto your bed, and tied a silk robe around you, overly conscious of the scandalous nature of the leggings. The only gossip they’d have from you would be your request for lavender oil, two drops behind each ear, one on each breast, and one on your stomach. The oil was a way of anointing you before the gods, signaling your acceptance of their plan. And the flower extract would imbue your powers with strength. Back home, these were the first steps in any courtship or betrothal. A symbolic way of pleasing the gods and thanking them for your partner.
To have entered into the night without it, would’ve been sacrilege. Although back home, couples performed the ritual together, pledging together, setting the tone of their relationship in equality and respect. You hoped your mother’s spirit wasn’t watching as you pledged alone.
You were permitted that small moment of reverence before the servants swarmed you again demanding you be dressed. The gown’s delicate swirls of iridescent lace shifted colors under the lights, and the dark green silk stood out against your skin. It was as if, the gown had been made for you, in how it hung on your hips but not your stomach, how it shaped your chest without a corset and still made your soft waist appear smaller without the confines. Even the softness of your arms were covered by dramatic bell-sleeves, detailed with little golden brambles that also tangled their way across your waist.
It was a shame, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. The woman looking back at you from the mirror seemed two sizes too small to be you. For the first time in days, you wondered when your bruises faded away. Their purple hues had been an incessant reminder of your father, and of your purpose. Without them you felt like a doll painted and ready to go on the shelf. Yet, behind the deceptive gown and the careful twists and curls of your hair, it was you. Somehow after everything, it was still you under there.
Although the servants would certainly talk about it, you defiantly sat at the vanity and arranged your own makeup. It was tradition to use ceremonial ashes from spells bound by fire as a talisman for uncertain situations, and carefully you patted the soft gray dust onto your eyelids. Not enough to be opaque, only a touch of shadow to your otherwise bright face. Carefully you lined your eyes with kohl, as your mother taught you to years ago.
With the thought you realized there was no one to celebrate your debut, no one left recognizing your betrothal. Even though you were actively trying to leave Asgard, this was a moment in your life meant to be celebrated with family. Other than Halla, no one was left. There would be no one to receive you tonight, no representative to acknowledge the albeit unwanted, occasion.
You stood suddenly and moved to kneel in prayer on the balcony. You held your palms skyward in your lap, and closed your eyes. The lingering servants didn’t recognize the language you spoke, and fled in distress and a need to share what they thought they’d seen the witch do. In truth you only recited words of protection, but as the rumors spread you became a frightening creature gnarled by black magick, or laying a malevolent curse across the entire place. The language was the old tongue of your homeland. One only preserved by those touched with magick. You’d done nothing but pray, or did you?
Rising you allowed Halla to help sweep the light dust off your skirts. As the moon drew closer, you bade her remove the complicated twists and braids in your hair. The loose feeling relieved a headache you hadn’t noticed at the base of your skull. If you could no longer decided how to dress yourself, you could at least retain control of your hair.
A light knock on the door signaled the time had come for your debut. Thor was waiting for you in the hall, dressed in his armor, befitting his place as a decorated hero.
“My Lady,” he said bowing.
You returned the gesture with a polite but short curtesy, “My Lord, in truth I did not expect you.”
Thor offered you his arm, indicating he would be your representative.
“My brother reminded me how strange it can be alone in a new place, and bade me find someone suitable to stand with you tonight. Unfortunately we have no one of rank to stand beside a queen of your dedication and caliber.”
When you smiled, you could tell he was proud of himself.
“I do apologize but you’ll have to make do with me as your representative.” He said relaxing with your laugh.
You weren’t alone. No, not alone at all apparently. Thor’s bright and energetic aura set your energy in a positive light as you drew nearer to the great hall. You noticed the guards’ disapproving stares. Feeling again, on trial for your very existence when under any other circumstance they’d be overjoyed to have an excuse to drink. You were thankful for Thor’s support, knowing whatever thoughts they held would remain as thoughts within his presence. Although he would not be their king, none would dare cross him. Not so boldly, at least.
They opened the doors, and stood aside for a herald to announce your arrival.
“Presenting: Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard, escorting Queen-“ All the color ran from the herald’s face realizing his blunder almost immediately, “Lady-“.
The correction didn’t matter, the damage already done. The entire room of onlookers, servants, and nobility buzzed in shock. You couldn’t even hear him say your name over the roar.
The two of you walked up the make shift aisle through the crowd. As the throne came into view you felt a pang in your heart. There, on Odin’s right your mother should’ve stood: crowned in all her glory proud beyond belief at her daughter’s match. The match, you thought again, that should’ve been Jocelyn’s. It would’ve been amazing for your mother, two daughters each queens of different kingdoms. At the thought you wondered had they lived, how the arrangement would’ve been brokered between honest hands.
Again you were struck with gratitude for Thor. You’d never learned the words to use in the presenting of an Asgardian betrothal. It was something you’d never need to know until it was your place as Queen Mother to do the presenting.
Loki stood before the throne, and offered you his arm as Thor stood next to his father as your representative. You lightly laced your arm in his, and took a moment to appreciate the similar gold-and-green of his uniform. A small smiled played on your face as you saw the ceremonial braid in his hair. Again, lingering just a moment too long wondering what it would be like to run the dark strands through your fingers.
Although you knew he couldn’t speak out of turn within the betrothal ceremony you felt his voice in the back of your skull, urging you to look him in the eyes. And for the first time, you wondered what it would be like to tell him “no”, too continue looking over his broad shoulders, the graceful slant of his jaw, and never acknowledge his request. You noticed a light flush on his cheeks as you returned his gaze. For a delightfully blessed moment the room almost seemed to melt away, the only thing in your mind the deep forests of his eyes and what secrets might hide there. A small smile rose to his face, so soft and unsure if it belonged there.
“I, Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard stand in memory of Queen Mother Rowena and in her name present her daughter, and heir to be married.”
“As the King of this realm I accept your offering and consent to her marriage into my household.” Odin spoke with a tone of finality that made you nervous, “My last act as your King, is to set such a day within the next two years.”
Two years, could the gods be so cruel? Within two months your entire home could lay in ruins. Within two years, any support you had could be wiped out. The rousing applause felt like hail storms against your reeling mind. As the ceremony concluded Thor returned to your side to congratulate his brother. As the two talked you were approached by a group of noblewomen, who greeted you warmly and asked you to sit with them a while. After hearing them drone on about themselves for quite a while you no longer remembered their names.
The eldest of the three had golden hair wound up in more braids than you could count. By her conservative dress you knew she was either married or determined to be unwed. The youngest by contrast had her dark hair swept up in tangles of curls atop her head, drawing the eye down her slender neck to focus on her gown. She was a tiny little thing, hardly any softness to her body as was common in Asgardian women, who either appeared as waifs, crones, or soldiers. In contrast to her slim body, her dress was sinfully tight and bodice hazardously unlaced. Although certainly this meant she was unwed, her wrists and fingers shone with jewels too expensive to have been bought on her own.
“So how are you adjusting to life in a palace?” one of the others asked, she was slightly rounder than you, a result of her two children. By the way she sat with the other two, and the growing group, told you she was familiar with these women. It disturbed you, how well they all seemed to know each other.
“Well, it’s different from the castle I grew up in. The architecture here is so graceful and striking, our castle is all brick and stone, more of a fortress than a place to hold court.” The mother who’s name you also forgotten appeared confused by your answer, the older woman simply shook her head in disdain.
The younger woman laughed, purposefully drawing attention to your small group. Of course, you thought, everyone loves a good show and she seems to know how to entertain.
She tossed her head from side to side, preening under the anticipated attention.
“You were raised in a castle?! How generous of your Queen Mother Rowena.”
The subtext wasn’t lost on you and you felt a strong temptation to strike her as your mother’s name fell from her lips.
“Pardon me, but I neglect to understand the generosity of raising one’s child.” You spoke plainly with an even tone, as not to cause a scene.
“Oh well I suppose not for your people. But here, we don’t usually take in our Husband’s bastards!”
The mother laughed along and interjected, “Oh no dear you misunderstand. She’s Queen Mother Rowena’s bastard!”
Their eyes had a starkness to them that reminded you of your father’s before you hexed him. Your magick would’ve been wasted on them, your fingers itching to tear them apart. None of them had any right to say her name. You swore silently if they said it again you’d drag them from this hall and very quickly become the monster being gossiped about.
You held your tongue, watching the older woman intently. She didn’t laugh, yet only watched waiting to see what you would do, ultimately disappointed in your inaction. “Oi stop playing fools you two!You heard what the maids were saying, wouldn’t want to incur her black magick would’ya!”
You felt your eyes grow wide, unable to think the words to defend your self. Unable to think. By the gods, black magick? As you saw the gleeful looks on the woman’s face it became a very tempting option.
Their laughs choked up as you felt a hand on your shoulder.
“Come pet,” Loki said grasping your arm to help you up, “They’re the second wives of lesser sons. Nothing to waste your time on.” You let him steer you away from the women, now flushed in anger.
“You didn’t need to do that,” you whispered through clenched teeth.
“As if I could just let you make a fool of yourself. Their husbands are valuable assets and had you killed them-“
“Killed them!?” You interrupted him, “I think you’re mistaken, my Lord, on who exactly I am.”
“You’re not a very good liar, pet.” He hissed in return, on instinct you moved to strike him, only stopped as caught your hand. “Tempting. But they don’t exactly need another reason to dislike you.”
You scoffed and suddenly felt so small. There were hundreds of people around you feasting and celebrating. Even those women, after being placated with compliments and mead, were enjoying themselves. Yet here you stood almost certain no one would notice if you slipped back to your room. For a moment you thought about Loki, similarly out of place, but knew there were others here desperate for any attention who could entertain him.
Loki grimaced, hearing your private musings. He hated the women of the court, and felt disturbed at the idea of entertaining them. There were few things these women were good for and public company wasn’t one of them.
“Perhaps we’d both benefit from a drink?” Loki offered thinking the wine might help clear your head. When you didn’t respond he carefully watched you looking across the room. Despite your presence, he sensed you were very far away.
“If I may speak plainly, I know this is not what you hoped would happen. This is not the rousing support you need, nor am I an agreeable companion-“ You cut him off gently, placing your hand on his arm.
“It is strange, you know. To be transplanted like an organ into a world that is not mine yet must be. I’m surrounded with an actual future, one that last week I thought ended in my death as it had for the rest of my family. And yet I cannot stop thinking of what I must do, and this life it will cost me. So, yes, my Lord, I would appreciate a drink. But at no fault of your own.”
The two of you drank in silence the weight of your conflicted confession lingering. You wished you were home, among the forest of trees, your mother waiting for you to return for dinner. The soft damp of the grass on your feet, the delightful cold and smoke in the air. In that forest, there would be time for princes, and betrothals.
Your heart ached at the thought, when was the last time you’d been permitted outside? The ground from which you drew your strength had become a stranger to you.
“I remember your mother,” you said quietly, finally looking at Loki. “I was too young to know who she was but she visited once. Brought mother a flower or something we couldn’t grow. She was so bright, when she entered the room it was like I felt the sun on my skin.”
For a moment, Loki struggled to find the right words, the ones that would tell you how he missed that warmth, and how he remembered your mother as well. How she sat in the garden showing his mother to encourage the very sun to turn on command. How he saw glimmers of that memory in your face, and how you too shone so brightly it was like being in the presence of the full moon. But the words didn’t come. Just the overwhelmed expression of grief and uncertainty on how to proceed.
“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to...” you let the sentence fade, embarrassed with the impression you must be making.
He shushed you quietly and offered to escort you back to your room. You felt a twinge of disappointment, knowing he tired of your company in such a short time.
Outside your door, he stopped you, speaking lowly in fervent tones, “I cannot offer you soldiers, or promises of them. Instead I offer you this, think of me not as your betrothed, but instead an ally. I cannot do so now, but I will absolve this contract if you wish, and I’ll do what possible to restore you to your proper place.”
His intense gaze ensured you he meant every syllable in the small declaration of treason. To forsake the contract, would mean undoing his father’s last act as king, something almost unheard of. Truthfully Loki was entranced with your brightness, how easily and quickly your mind worked. Your exhausted eyes alone, convinced him to usher you to rest. The immense resilience in your soul, inspiring the rest.
“I intend to call on you tomorrow morning, there’s much to discuss,” Loki kissed your hand and bade you goodnight. The walk to his quarters was preoccupied with thoughts of the moon, and of a book he hoped could be found among his private library.