Flawed Introductions
The sun beat down upon the polished stonework. Loki’s heels clicked upon them as he perused the marketplace – or rather, as he perused the people perusing the marketplace. So fascinating. They would flit like magpies to the nearest shiny object; squawks of sales and discounts calling out to them and beckoning.
Food; jewellery; clothing; even bejewelled daggers. To be honest, the stall with the bejewelled daggers had caught his eye more than once. He found himself being beckoned yet again as he walked, though distracted as had he become that he walked into someone.
Their person hit his shoulder hard, seemingly oblivious to his presence and consequently oblivious to the necessity for an apology. He turned for a moment to watch, aghast. He made note of the woman who hit him. The colour of her hair. The style of her dress. Her conduct. Her manner of walking. The shape of her shoulders… Shaking his head, Loki thought little of it for a second. Nobility, for sure. A higher status of those around her – except him, of course.
After a smug little smirk, Loki shrugged, turned away, and continued with his afternoon…
The sunny weather persisted for several hours as Loki completed his rounds. He reached the edge of the market walkway, picked an apple from a tree, and turned around. He leant back against the trunk of the tree, which was encircled by a small mosaic patio and shrubbery.
His teeth sunk into the crisp flesh of the apple, crunching pleasantly. As he did so, he noticed an even more pleasant event taking place. Chaos. The throes of commotion. Beautiful mischief at play. He took another bite of his apple and stepped closer towards it. The crowd parted, almost on cue, as he neared.
Familiar hair colour. Familiar dress. Familiar conduct. The woman from earlier that day was amidst it, in the arms of palace soldiers, oddly enough.
“Unhand me,” she demanded. “How dare you grab me this w– Let go of me!” The market vendor was stood a few feet away, her arms folded and her expression dower.
“I’m telling you, officers. I’m missing several necklaces from my stand that were there a minute ago.”
“Interesting accusations. Did you actually see me pilfer them?”
“I don’t need to. They’re in your bag.”
The soldiers shared a look and nodded at one another. Loki scoffed and chuckled. There was only a moment’s hesitation before the taller of the two men grabbed the strap of the bag on your shoulder.
“How dare you! I am innocent, and you will find nothing in there. I swear you will suffer the consequences. That is my personal property. Unlawful apprehension of a-”
Sure enough, the guards lifted shimmering gold and silver. Diamonds. Pearls. All of it reflecting the expression of horror on your face.
“Well, this is just ridiculous. I’ve been framed. A scapegoat. I-”
“Save it,” muttered the guard gruffly. “You’re under arrest for theft.”
“Are you joking?”
Loki raised an eyebrow. The way they began to drag her away, kicking and screaming, looked pretty serious to him.
“There’s no way I did this! Please, someone must’ve seen something. I’m innocent! Innocent, I say. You will hear from my father.”
Loki chuckled at that. He took another, final, bite to the apple before tossing it aside. There was a certain young lad amongst the crowd who looked especially unnerved by all the proceedings, with whom he wanted a conversation…
Loki couldn’t quite say what drew him to the prison cell. Curiosity. Boredom. Amusement. All of the above. Either way, he descended the staircase with his hands clasped behind his back. He could hear you calling from your cell.
“Hello? Can anybody hear me? Please, I just want to contact-”
“Your father?” Loki answered as he rounded the corner and appeared in view.
“Ugh, finally,” you huffed, standing up straight and placing your hands in front of your abdomen. “What are you? The night guard or something?” Loki smiled and dipped his head.
Well, let’s see, it’s still early evening and I’m also Loki, the son of Odin. So, to answer your question, no. I’m not the night guard.”
“O-Oh,” you stammered. “The son of Odin. I see.”
“But that’s not what is important,” he continued. “I want to know who you are.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, please. ‘My father will hear about this’? How many people have used that line?”
“I imagine a few, if you’re questioning me about it.”
Loki’s eyes narrowed. For the second time that day, he examined you. The colour and style of your hair. The style and material of your dress. Your conduct and countenance. The shape of your shoulders and even your collarbone…
“Plenty of people use it. Something about you, however, tells me that there’s actually some substance behind it. That you do in fact have a father with whom you could call in a favour.”
Biting your lip, you turned away and began to pace.
“Yes, I’ll admit… I wasn’t watching my tongue in that moment. It lacked sense. I shouldn’t have revealed my hand so easily.”
“So what is it? A duke? A councilman? A wealthy merchant?”
“A king, actually,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Vanaheim. My father is the king of Vanaheim.”
Loki felt something stick in his throat. It was only small, but he felt a small bead of moisture above his brow. Vanaheim was once at war with Asgard, fierce rivals of the Aesir that lived in the latter realm. Despite having put their differences aside, their relationship had been… fragile. And Asgard had just thrown one of Vanaheim’s crown princesses behind bars.
“W-Why not declare yourself sooner? Request an emissary or an envoy?”
“And make a grand deal of the whole thing? Be offered countless somethings for nothing just because of who I am and who my family is? Please. I came here to be a tourist. Not an ambassador for my people.”
“Very well,” Loki said a little callously. “Then you can suffer a tourist’s punishment for theft.”
“That implies I have some sort of culpability,” you quipped, raising a well-manicured eyebrow. “However, I continue to insist that I am innocent. Why will nobody listen when I say this? I cannot explain how those items ended up in my possession, but I certainly did not put them there.”
Loki began to tap his chin thoughtfully.
“I suppose I could look into it…”
You frowned.
“Oh, thank you, your royal highness.”
“I would not be so glib towards the man who might become responsible for your release.” You scoffed and turned your gaze upwards, folding your arms. Before either of you could submit another remark, the doors to the prisons burst open; Thor descended the staircase, two steps at a time. His cape billowed behind him.
“Of course we will look into this, your highness.” Loki rolled his eyes and immediately spun around, striding towards his brother with haste. “I don’t doubt that there is a reasonable explanati-” Loki grabbed his brother’s ear and hauled him back up the staircase.
Once the doors had slid shut, Thor voiced his understandable confusion. Loki scowled back at him.
“I already know who did this, you buffoon. Let me handle it!”
“Then bring the culprit in! She must be released immediately,” Thor said, gesturing wildly to the closing doors. Loki grabbed at his hair and tugged gently. Was this man ever infuriating…
“The guards were informed of his identity before I even stepped foot in the room. And would you stop yelling?”
“I will stop yelling if you tell me why you are tormenting her? Acting aloof and smart?”
“Because our people were responsible for getting her thrown in that cage,” Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I play my cards correctly, then perhaps I can convince her that she owes me a debt for her release.”
It finally sunk in. Thor’s eyelids slid slowly shut.
“…and you can use it to stop her family threatening Asgard.”
“Exactly. The last thing we need right now is another war with Vanaheim. In the meantime, why don’t you see to it that the guards who started this are suitably dealt with?”
Thor bowed his head and ran a hand through his golden mane.
“I am sorry for doubting you brother. I’ll see to that immediately.”
As he turned and left, another two guards appeared behind him. The shifty looking gentleman from the marketplace was between them, looking very solemn and sorry for himself.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Loki said, holding out a hand. “Let me go in first.”
That night, Loki lay awake. He couldn’t help but think about what he’d achieved that day. War with Vanaheim had been narrowly avoided – because he’d been in the right place at the right time. Upon hearing your confession – “My father is king of Vanaheim” – he’d had to think quickly, think on his feet. If only somebody were here, he thought to himself, he’d tell them just how magnificent he was and get such a round of applause.
Be careful what you wish for, said the voice in his head, as the sound of his window sliding open filled the empty quiet of his bedroom.
Loki’s resting form stiffened noticeably. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the shadowy figure slip inside and close the window behind them. He screwed his eyes shut, controlled his breathing. He reached his hand under the mattress and clutched the hilt of his dagger. Just a few more seconds of feigning sleep…
“Your highness?” whispered the shadowy figure. “Your highness? It’s me. I’m afraid I need your help again.”