TGLI | Two: To Fill Days with Blessed Eternity
Loki (MCU/Norse Lore) x Female Reader (OC) Description: The rescue, and the aftermath. Forgiveness comes quickly from the heart of the timid; but it does not change the course of the stubborn. Warnings: N/A | Word count: 3.8k
Read on Ao3 | Prologue | One | Two | ... | (/13)
You’ve lost count of the number of days that have passed since you arrived in Jotunheim.
Once you had seen the snow-capped mountaintops of the frozen realm, you realized the talons that held you were that of a transformed jotun; and likely one that decided it was time you shared your gift with them. When you landed in an unfamiliar home, Thjazi made himself known by returning to his true frost giant form, confirming your theory:
You were here to serve the jotnar now.
Where were the promised valkyrie protectors, meant to keep greedy others at bay? Where were the gods who had claimed to love you, and had sung your praises upon the deliverance of their eternity? Where was the god of mischief who had robbed you of your heart and home, leaving you at the hands of a cold giant?
You don’t know. You tried to count the days in which you had been left without answers, but time has continued to revel in its cruelty as it crawls by at a pace you cannot keep up with, blurring the world around you into a cold, muddled, snowy gray.
You tried pleading with Thjazi, in the beginning, to let you go. No matter what you would say, it seemed all for naught. He knew who you were; he knew the gods would age and die should you be shut out from them forever. He would not budge. To him, to the jotnar, and seemingly to all the nine realms, you and your gift are made nothing more than a commodity to be hoarded; And hoard you, he did.
Your once-pristine white robes have tattered and dulled and grayed from their continuous wear, despite usually being covered in furs to maintain warmth amidst the frigid climate. Your hair has grown rather long, usually maintained now by braids. Though you’re limited by the situation, you’ve still managed a small wintery garden near the house Thjazi kept you in. You’re thankful for the bit of color it provides in the gray wasteland.
As you sit on your thin mattress, staring out through the window of the second floor of Thjazi’s home, your frail body still aches from the night before- from Thjazi dragging you to yet another feast, wherein you were put on display like prized livestock. You stood all night at the front of the hall, your ankles and wrists sore from the chilled metal that attached you to the ground, keeping you in place. Boars were often caged beside you, slaughtered just before the feast began in the name of providing the freshest meat. You wondered if the animals understood their place in this cruel event, too. You almost hoped they do, despite the part of you that wishes they maintain blissful ignorance for as long as they can to reduce their suffering. If they knew they were here to be used at the jotnar’s whims, then maybe you wouldn’t be so alone. You usually tried to offer them comfort within their cold cages- through small food offerings, or soft words, or a calming hand brushing down their back. It was the least you could do for your fellow livestock.
In line with the new routine, the animal was slaughtered by cheering drunkards in the center of the hall. Numb, you silently blessed their meal, placing a trembling hand on the raw, bloody meat. Then, you spent the rest of the evening waiting to return to a home that was not yours, where you collapsed into a dreamless slumber.
Each morning that you woke was its own sort of prison. Your dreams were blinks of black, bearing you no sense of escape as even the goddess Nott’s gift of dreams would not reach you in this frigid place. Loneliness saturated your existence. The house you were held in was lonely, even if Thjazi was there. The grand banquets in great halls were lonely, even when filled with jubilant crowds. Your small garden was lonely, even with the few plants you maintained. You were constantly utterly alone. You’d cry over it more often if tears meant anything anymore.
Thjazi was generous enough to give you some leftover food from the bacchanalian feast before he went out to sea for the day. The bread and cooled meat sit on a cloth in your lap. You wonder how long he will be gone; if he will return tonight, or grant you a couple days of peace through his absence. Only time will tell.
For now, you sit, leaning against the frame of the window, staring out into the white abyss and wondering what will become of your Asgardian garden and your gods. You tie the cloth in your lap closed and set it beside you, hoping you’ll be in the mood to eat later. A fine golden chain delicately drapes around your neck, the green stone resting between your fingers as you mindlessly fidget with the prize that acted as the final nail in your coffin.
You replay the memory in your head again in a torturous ritual you’ve made for yourself, searching for answers you can never seem to find. The arm of Loki beneath your hand. The sound of running water over the small cave. The moonflower. The books. The promise of return. The gold shimmer. The empty forest. The unanswered cries. The cold wind. The sharp talons. There is nothing. No answers, no closer to home, and no god of mischief.
You force your thoughts to focus on your garden instead, and wonder if you might see it again. You mentally begin your walk through your home, knowing every plant in it by heart. The thought of walking in that soft grass grants you a touch of much-needed comfort.
You watch the clouds slowly drift by in their various shades of gray, thinking of those you’ve been forced to leave behind, when there’s a heavy knock at the door.
You freeze. Thjazi only left a couple of hours ago… and he explicitly instructed me not to answer the door. Grabbing your pouch of food, you quickly stand and move across the room on the pads of your feet, minimizing any noise your footsteps could make.
While you climb down the large steps to the main floor, the stranger knocks at the door again- and this time, it’s faster. Heavier. Growing upset.
With a quick glance around the room, you decide to dive under Thjazi’s massive bed, using the disheveled quilt that drapes halfway off the side as cover for your dwarfed body.
“I know you’re in there,” the voice booms from the other side of the door.
You lay your cheek against the near-frozen wood floor and stare out from under the edge of the blanket-shield with wide eyes, focusing on your breath, that it might steady in spite of your racing heart.
With a great crack, the door is forced open, slamming against the parallel wall.
Your hand flies to your mouth, stifling a yelp and muffling your ragged breath. Your heart pounds in your chest.
Heavy footsteps slowly come closer, pausing for a moment while the broken door is forced closed, and continuing again until the intruder reaches the center of the room.
Blue skin peeks out above giant boots. A jotunn. The boots begin to pace, turning as they scan the room.
“Idunn?” A whisper breaks the silence- one that seems familiar to you, somehow. “Please tell me that oaf had the confidence to leave you here,” he says low, his tone strained by panic. The boots turn towards the bed before pausing.
Your heart stops. You hold your breath.
In a flash of scintillating bright green magic, the giant’s boots are suddenly replaced by much smaller ones- that of someone about your size. What kind of trick-
“I’ve come to take you home, Idunn,” he says, his whisper rising to soft speech.
There’s a moment of hesitation within you until it finally clicks: you know that voice. You’re certain of it. Is that… Loki?
With a sharp exhale, you lift the quilt.
Your eyes trail up fine emerald and gold robes until they meet the heartbroken jade eyes of the God of Mischief.
You crawl out from under the bed. Straightening yourself, you drop your eyes to the floor and keep them low, struggling to maintain his stare. You know you look worn- but you're not sure you want to know just how worn.
A raging sea of thoughts passes through your mind. Is this a trick? Are you one of them? How can I be certain you will take me home? Why are you the one who came? Has my absence at last been noticed? As always, only one manages to make its way from racing mind to quiet mouth. “How long?”
He pauses, his troubled expression stripping him of his usual nonchalant mask. He was prepared for your anger- most everyone has grown angry with him. However, he was not prepared for your resigned grief. “Idunn-”
“How long,” you interrupt emphatically, finally looking up, into his eyes, “have I been gone?”
His stare darts between your eyes as his mind grasps for words.
You take a step closer to him. “Loki-”
“Three years.”
You are immediately locked in an emotional stun.
Three years.
Three years since you've seen the gods you had come to love. Three years since you were stripped of your own volition. Three years since you've tended to your garden. Three years since you've been home.
And based on the way he looks at you now- as if you are something fragile, something that could break if he moved too fast or spoke too harshly- these three long years have come at a great cost, taking a heavy toll on the Goddess of Eternal Youth.
Tear ducts that had long remained dormant spring to life with full vigor, creating twin cascades of tears that run down your cheeks, flushed from the cold.
The dense fog of a silent “why?” settles in the room.
“I can explain,” Loki blurts.
You remain silent, watching him.
“But we must leave. Now.”
Though despondent, you nod, stepping closer.
He nods, taking a deep breath, reminding himself: It’s okay to touch you; you won’t break beneath his fingertips. With a flourish, the god ghosts a hand over your shoulder and transforms you into something small- you're not entirely sure what, to be honest. In a second green swirl of magic, he turns into a large black bird, similar to the one that had stolen you away from your home all that time ago. Gently, he picks you up off the ground with his talons, carrying you close to his feathered body to keep you warm. He pokes his head out of the now-broken door- the one you long stared at as you dreamt of walking through it for good- and after determining the surroundings were vacant, takes off. The heavy beating of his great wings lifts you into the frigid air, over the giant wooden houses and tall snow capped mountains, and into the grey clouds you had grown so acquainted with from your frosted window.
You watch Jotunheim fade from view as a bittersweet grief settles in the pit of your stomach. You're glad to be going home, yes; but three years is a long time to be gone, and a long time to endure so much. There were still countless questions weighing on your numbed consciousness.
You hope Loki has one hel of an explanation.
Landing on Asgard is surprisingly reminiscent of your first arrival; at least, on the outside. There is still no crowd awaiting your return home, nor is there any sort of welcome decorum. Instead, there is an angry All Father standing beside Frigga and a row of Valkyries, blurred by your thick tears that haven’t stopped since you finally left Jotunheim.
When Loki lands, he transforms back into his usual form, carefully cradling you in his palm. When you are transformed back, you're laying across his outstretched arms and quickly set down on your feet.
“Welcome home, Idunn,” Frigga greets warmly with a mothers’ embrace. As you sob into her shoulder, she steals a glance at Odin and gently pries you off of her. “Come, we'll clean you up.” She places a soft hand on your arm and ushers you away.
As you walk away, tears still trickling down your cheeks, you hear the distressed tone of Loki's voice quickly smothered by the booming rage of your All Father.
Frigga is quick to lovingly tend to you when you arrive at her palace.
After a warm rosewater bath, you are given new white clothes to replace your tattered robes. A meal is prepared for you right away- the first warm meal you’ve had in a long while- and a goblet of water is kept full before you. You cry until you can’t anymore, drink deep and eat your fill, and cry again.
Frigga, ever your closest ally, sits beside you, drying your tears with soft cloths.
You don’t say much of anything. What is there to say? She knows the jotun, and what they’re like. She knows what happened- likely more than you do. You’re finally home, and you’re safe. Your gift is yours again. You are yours again. That’s all that matters, now.
When you finish eating, Frigga instructs you to rest. She promises to bring food and check in throughout the day, but she will wait to break the news to the rest of the gods until you feel ready. You’re well overdue for a trip through the realms, and the gods will be restless until they are rejuvenated again- so it’s for the best that they don’t hear of your return until you begin your travels.
Frigga walks you to your home under the silver glow of Mani.
Arriving at your garden, you see that it has been carefully maintained for you- not as well as you would maintain it, but well enough to keep everything healthy. It’s a meaningful gesture. A few extra Valkyries stand guard faithfully at the garden gates. A couple follow you inside your tower, where Frigga gives you another long embrace before bidding you goodnight.
You are left to rest that night. The Valkyries remain closer than usual to grant you the company you’ve so deeply craved these three long years. Exhausted, and in your own bed at last, you drift into a deep sleep.
It isn’t until you rise at last, late into the following afternoon, that Loki makes his appearance at the door of your tower.
“May I?” he asks, anxiously pressing his left thumb into his right palm. The expression he wears is soft, free of all pretense. There’s a light crease between his brows as he awaits an answer. Vulnerability is something the God of Mischief has comfortably slipped away from; yet, here he is, willing himself to expose his emotions to you.
You nod, stepping to the side and closing the door behind him as he enters.
He takes a moment to look around, his eyes briefly pausing on various details in the room.
Green plants hang from pots chained to the ceiling, cushioned chairs sit around an ornately carved wooden table, and sunlight fills the room, highlighting the golden calligraphy hand-painted on the wall-space that remains between giant windows from which white curtains are pulled back. The smell of chamomile and rosemary dances on the back of the cool breeze drifting in through the open window. There’s a touch of life delicately interlaced with every aspect of your home; as if you can’t help but bring gentle vibrancy to everything you encounter. It suits you.
So much so that Loki feels completely engulfed by you. Normally, that would almost feel comforting- but in this circumstance, he feels nearly smothered.
You remain standing by the door, watching him. Your arm crosses over your front as a hand grasps its opposite bicep, a self-soothing gesture to quell the fire of anxiety that has sparked in your chest.
He stands for a while, mouth slightly agape as he tries to decide what to say first. When he at last speaks, his voice is soft and uneven: “How are you?”
You shrug, softly shaking your head. “I am… alright. As much as I can be, I suppose.”
“Did they hurt you?” His eyes drop, and you realize he’s staring at the reddened raw skin on your exposed wrists.
“No,” you blurt, shaking your head, “well… Not directly.”
He nods, a touch of relief washing over him. His shoulders relax, but his thumb still idly presses into his palm, giving way to his lingering anxiety over the conversation that looms over the two of you.
You take a few steps closer, pulling out a chair and sitting on one side of your table. You fold your hands together in your lap, staring down at them.
Loki follows suit, taking his place in the adjacent chair and turning it to face you. He learns forward, collapsing his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees. He breathes out a long, heavy sigh. “It began years ago, after word of your arrival and travels had at least reached every corner of the nine realms. I discovered,” he lifts his hand, and the ivory skin shifts to an icy blue, “my true lineage.”
“You’re… jotunn?”
He nods. “Taken as a babe and brought here by Odin. As soon as I learned the truth, I went to Jotunheim to demand answers. My mother and father knew. They saw it happen, and… simply watched.”
Your brows knit together, your heart sinking for him.
“They justified their inaction with a hope: if I were to learn of my true heritage, perhaps I would align with the jotnar and help them gain the immortality Odin has long claimed he would find. They believe they could come to rule the nine realms so long as they lived long enough to build an adequate army.”
You hesitate, fearful to ask, but eventually manage: “And?”
“I denied them, of course! I wouldn’t relinquish you into their hands so easily.” He looks at you with an expression of pleading; one that begs that you believe him. That you don’t turn your back on him so quickly. That you forgive him for this horrid thing he’s done to you, even before he’s fully confessed.
You nod, encouraging him to continue.
“They nearly killed me on the spot, promising that Asgard’s blood would pool with mine; and then they made an offer. If I delivered your gift to them, they would refrain from attacking Asgard. It wasn’t until you granted me the first apple that I realized you and your gift are one and the same.”
“And it was too late to go back on that bargain,” you finish for him.
He nods. “I tried to grant you what little comfort I could, before you would be taken from us,” he adds half-heartedly- knowing there was nothing he could say that could make any of what he had done better. He concedes to the guilt. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
Your eyes drift downward as the realization settles as a grief in your chest. The choice laid before him was simple: you, or countless others and a war without an end in sight. Of course he gave you up- what other reasonable option was there?
Yet, your last memories were… sweet, by his design.
His eyes flicker to your chest, catching the shimmer of the paradox necklace that still faithfully rests against your skin; a bitter symbol of his betrayal, but now, too, a touching memento of his devotion. Despite the conflict in your heart, it ultimately encapsulated the god you cherish so deeply- a paradox in his own right. Your downfall and your savior; the god who both doomed his kind and sought recompense by saving them. You wouldn’t part from his gift in your captivity; you certainly wouldn’t part from it now.
He returns his gaze to yours, a hopeful peace washing over him.
You’re almost comforted by the thought of Loki’s intention, leaving that necklace behind. Now, staring into his eyes, you wonder if there’s more to be found within them. Beyond the regret, past the hope, buried beneath the hesitation. Perhaps there is more; perhaps you are merely projecting that which you refuse to come to terms with yourself. You resign yourself only to wonder.
“I would have gone willingly, if you had only asked,” you finally profess, breaking the silence. Because I would do anything for you, if you asked.
“I could not have asked such a thing of you, Idunn,” he responds softly. A few words flood his mind and weigh heavy on his tongue.
He will not utter them.
“I promise you,” he insists, taking one of your trembling hands in his, “I will make them pay for what they forced upon me. For what they’ve done to you.”
Quiet tears fall. You nod.
“I understand if-”
“I forgive you, Loki.”
His expression instantly softens from one of grief and regret to relief. His shoulders relax, but his grip on your hand tightens. The corners of his mouth pull into a brief, soft smile.
Tucking your free hand beneath his, you lift his hands- still gingerly wrapped around yours- and press your lips to his knuckles.
“Thank you,” you whisper with a soft smile.
The warmth that sets his heart aflame is enough to strip him of the bitterness garnered by the newly-discovered jotun form that sits beneath the Asgardian illusion.
You stand, guiding him by the hand to the gates of your garden. The two of you walk in silence. With a gentle squeeze of the hand, you at last let go, turning around and heading back to your tower.
He stands for a few seconds, watching you leave, and swallows his words before he, too, walks away. He cannot tell you now. He will not tell you now; not after what he has done.
Not when there is yet more he must do.
Not until revenge is wrought from the jotun who set their greedy sights on you.
After that, he will tell you at last. Once revenge and victory are proclaimed from the mountainous bodies felled by his lying hands, he will offer them as a sacrifice at the altar of your heart and confess the sins committed in his devotion to his ever-worshiped goddess.
And there will be no choice but to adorn him with a husband’s ring and a king’s crown upon the great golden throne.