The look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine and made you tremble, not from fear, but excitement. It made your panties wetter than they already were, and you had to rub your legs together to bring your throbbing pussy a little amount of relief.
“You knew that little stunt earlier would bring consequences, darling,” he said as he prowled around you. “Your disregard for rules is worrisome, perhaps I need to remind you of your place.” He came to a stop and towered over you. “Or perhaps that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? Punishment.”
Another rush of juices came out of your cunt. “Rules are made to be bent, aren’t they?” you said before you could stop yourself, as if you weren’t in enough trouble.
Tom pushed on your shoulder, forcing you to kneel down. “That’s your place. Hands behind your back,” he ordered while he undid his pants.
His cock was not yet on full hardness, but its head was read and swollen. You licked your lips at the sight and reached out to touch it, but Tom stopped you with a firm grip on your hair.
“I said, hands behind your back,” he repeated.
You nodded and put your hands behind your lower back. Involuntarily, you wiggled, once again trying to bring some relief to your pussy. Your panties were soaked and the usual roughness of the lace was lost.
Tom caught your squirm and cupped your chin. “If I catch you touching yourself…”
“Then I won’t let you catch me?” you said with a fake tone of innocence.
“Mouthy,” he chuckled. “I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours.”
Gripping your hair, he poked your lips with his cock. You opened your mouth for him, and he shoved himself down your throat in one move.
“That feels so good,” he mused. “Not just your mouth, but you shutting up.”
You glared at him, but made no attempt to move.
“Now, that’s better.”
He started slow, his half hard cock getting bigger and harder with each thrust, until he was able to slide all the way down your throat. He kept his slow pace, leaving barely the tip of his cock on your lips and sliding in till your nose touched his skin. You moaned around him, and writhed in his grasp trying to get some kind of friction.
Tom smiled down at you, knowing exactly what was going on in your head.
“So desperate, but you know this only ends with me filling your belly,” he purred, moving your head back and forth. “Work for it, slut.”
You looked at him and nodded, sucking and licking as he moved. He praised your efforts, praised your skilled mouth around him. And you sucked harder, desperate for him to cum, for him to end this torture so you could cum too. It worked!
Tom fucked your mouth faster, his cock twitched on your tongue. You looked up at him with an expression that clearly said “pleeeeaaassseee!!!”, and he smiled, satisfied. Rope after rope of hot cum spurted in your mouth and down your throat. He didn’t let go of your hair until he was sure you had swallowed that very last drop.
“Thank you, sir!” you whimpered in a raspy voice as soon as his cock left your mouth. “Please? Please, may I cum now?”
Tom pulled you up and tore your clothes off. “I am not nearly done with you.”
It was a calculated risk to crash his class wearing a skirt and no panties, but you were feeling bratty. His voice never faltered, he never lost track of his speech, but the fire in his eyes and the tent in his pants were a dead give away. He was going to punish you, but you didn’t care, at least not while flashing him your pussy from the front row as he paced around the room.
You even dared to touch yourself before the class was dismissed! The nerve!
As soon as he ended the presentation, the class started to walk out. You stayed put on your seat until the room was empty and the door locked.
“Is this too much?” you asked, opening your legs wide for him while feigning innocence.
“Don’t pretend to be so innocent. You know exactly what you’re doing, and the rules you’re breaking.”
“But you liked it!” you said with a pout. “Your hard-on can be seen from the moon!”
Tom looked down to his pants and smirked. “And I know exactly what I am doing about it right now.”
He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to his desk. Your cunt gushed! He was about to have his way with you and nothing made you wetter, ever.
“Where are your panties?” he said.
“In- in my bag.”
“Put them on.”
Nodding, you did as you were told. But you had only pulled them halfway up your thighs when he grabbed you and pushed you face forward on the desk. Without warning, he pushed his hard cock in your cunt and fucked the lights out of you. Your moans and whimpers mixed with the indecent squelching of your dripping cunt being ravaged, and with the desk squeaking under your weight.
Your juices were dripping down your legs, and your cunt squeezed his cock. He was fucking you hard, and surely the table would leave a mark on your legs. And you lovedit!
“Don’t you dare come, you slut.” He emphasised his words with a slap on your ass.
“Please!!!” you yelped.
But he did not budge. His pace increased and his cock swelled up. He pulled your hair to keep you in place as he came, filling your cunt with his seed. Your legs were jelly, and you were trembling from head to toe, waiting for him to allow you to cum. But he didn’t.
Instead, he pulled out and pulled your panties up. Your juices and his cum got the fabric wet and sticky. You turned your head and glared at him over your shoulder.
“Are you serious?” you spat.
“I am,” he said with a cocky smile.
Using your hair, he pulled you to a standing position and fixed your clothes for you. You were still shaking, on the edge of orgasm and angry as hell.
“Don’t even give me that face. You want to be a brat? Then this is what you get.” He smirked at you as he smoothed your hair down. “Don’t you dare clean up until I get home, I’ll deal with you then.” He leaned closer and growled menacingly in your ear. “Rest assured, you won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”
The sounds coming from the bathroom were easily recognizable, even beyond the noise of the shower hitting the tub. What was strange was that they were coming from Tom, who wasn’t the most vocal person. Now, his moaning was loud, and gravelly, and sexy and… fuck!!
Very quietly, you entered the bathroom, immediately closing the door. Peeking in the curtain, you watched Tom stroke his soapy cock, back and forth. His forehead was touching the wall, one of his legs was perched on the tub lip, and water was falling on his back.
He was close, the muscles in his back rippling with each move of his hand and his hips. He moaned again, on a higher pitch this time. His hips spasmed and he came, his seed splattered the walls. With a happy satisfied sigh, he finished washing himself and turned the water off.
You stood by the sink, waiting for him.
“Holy shit!” He jolted in surprise when he saw you standing there. His face turned a bright shade of red. “What- what are you-”
“Were you masturbating?” you asked.
“What?!?!” he sputtered.
You cocked your head to the side. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you moan this loud, and honestly I’m kinda bummed, because it was hot as fuck and I wish you did it when you’re fucking me.” As you spoke, you pulled your panties off.
Tom looked at you, still embarrassed, but your panties pooled on the floor made his cock twitch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d like it. I mean… it’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Why? Your voice is like dark chocolate. And it goes straight to my pussy when you talk.” You knew exactly what you were doing to him, dirty talk was his weakness, as was being told what to do. You faced the mirror and put one leg on the counter. “Look at how wet you’ve made me, Thomas.” You looked at him in the misty mirror, and removed your shirt over your head.
Tom growled softly. His cock was half hard already. “Wow - I didn’t realize you were that… flexible.”
“I can do much more than this, Tom. But right now I want you to fuck me and I want to hear you moan. Loud!”
You turned your head to look at him and he gulped.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said in a little voice and stood behind you, holding your hips.
Looking at your reflection in the mirror, he rubbed his cock on your pussy. The friction made him moan, but he held back.
You grabbed his cheeks. “What did I say, Thomas?”
He gulped and nodded. His cock rubbed your pussy again, and he did not hold back the low moan that came with it. The harder he got, the louder he moaned. When he finally entered her cunt, he was relaxed enough to whimper.
You almost came right there and then, but held it back. “Fuck me, Tom.”
He nodded at you and held you firmly, fucking you with increasing speed. At first he wanted to hold back the noise, but you told him not to. So he started moaning, whining, whimpering, in his usual low voice, then getting higher the closer he was to his orgasm.
He sounded beautiful.
“Fuck, fuck fuuuck!! Tom!!” you moaned.
You were close, and so was he. One last shaky thrust and you came, your cunt milking his orgasm out of him. And he came screaming. Your leg slipped from the counter and he held you up, both still trembling in the afterglow.
You looked at him in the mirror. “I need a shower now, when I get out, I want you naked on the bed.”
He may seem all sweet and innocent, but behind closed doors that boy is dark and dirty.
That warning fell short. Behind closed doors, Fr. Hiddleston was dark, dirty, devious, cunning, evil. Yes, evil. Something the patrons coming to mass every sunday did not see behind his facade of rectitude, wisdom, and goodness.
Perhaps he had to balance that shroud of righteousness that came with putting on his cassock every day. Because it took a very special kind of kinky to restrain your limbs to the bed and use all kinds of contraptions to keep you on the edge of orgasm without letting you fall, only to fuck you for what it seemed to be hours afterwards.
You weren’t the first, you wouldn’t be the last. But you were there now, and by God, you were going to enjoy it.
“Father, please!” you whined, tears already rolling down your face in pure despair.
“Ah, look at you, stretched out and trembling,” he said in that low voice of his.
“Please, no more, Father! I need-”
“You need what?” he teased, hovering over you, wearing a smile that came from hell itself.
“I need you inside of me, I need your cock, I need to cum on your cock! Please, Father!” You squirmed on the bed, trying to close your legs, give yourself a bit of relief. But the ropes kept you in place.
“Ask and you shall receive,” he mused, teasing your pussy with his cock, sliding it over your folds.
You screamed, bucking your hips up to increase the friction, or get him inside of you, or anything at this point.
“So desperate,” he purred against your neck. “I shall be merciful and end your suffering then.”
He finally - finally! - pushed his cock into your waiting cunt, and you nearly came right then and there. It only took him a couple of thrusts to send you over the edge. And that was only the start. He kept going, thrusting in and out, dragging his cock against your fluttering walls, not giving you a second to recover. He kept going, until the bed was creaking beneath you.
“I’d like to breed you, little dove. And by the way your cunt just spasmed around my cock, you’d like that!” He increased his pace, fucking you into the mattress. “So desperate for release, which I have given you. Now, so desperate for my cum. I shall give you that too.”
You nodded vigorously, unable to speak anymore.
Another orgasm crept upon you, leaving you tethering on the edge. Fr. Hiddleston coming inside your cunt was what sent you over. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and your whole body shook as if lightning had struck. You heard him speak, but his words made no sense to your fuzzy brain. All you could feel was the intense pleasure of being filled, and your cunt seemed to happily milk his cock for everything he got.
You stayed sprawled out and limp on the bed for long minutes, even after he released your ankles and wrists. Even after he cleaned you and himself, after he put his clothes back on and buttoned his cassock.
You laid there limp on the bed even when your door clicked shut, the promise of coming back tomorrow buzzing in your ears.
“The food looks delicious, but there’s something much more delicious I’d rather be having right now.”
Those words were your doom, they caused a rush of wetness to seep out of your bare pussy, and almost dripped down your legs. But you pushed your thighs firmly together.
Tom knew exactly the effect his voice had and smiled down at you. “Bathroom, 2 minutes.”
You nodded with a whimper, and speed walked out of the reception room. Once inside the bathroom, you sat on the counter and pulled your dress up. The thought of anyone else coming in and finding you wide open and dripping wet didn’t cross your muddled brain.
Tom might not have said it out loud, but his intent was crystal clear for you anyway.
A shiver ran down your spine when the door finally opened, and Tom walked in, locking the door behind him. His hungry eyes immediately scanned your pussy, and you opened your legs for him wider still.
“You look good all soaking wet.”
“Only for you, Sir!” you said.
Tom stood between your legs and kissed you. “Good girl.”
He crouched on the floor and grabbed your thighs. Normally, he would take his time, tease you, mark your skin and have your writhing before he even touched your pussy. But not tonight. Tonight he was mildly inebriated, and had been made to talk to too many inconsequential people. Knowing he couldn’t leave for at least another couple of hours, he needed to sate his hunger.
This was not the time for teasing. This was the time to bury his face in your pussy and devour you. And that’s exactly what he did.
His mouth covered your whole pussy while his tongue licked around your folds, from your entrance to your clit. His strong hands kept you in place as you squirmed. He puckered his lips and sucked your clit, drawing your first orgasm out of you.
“Do you want people checking what’s going on in here?” he purred, licking your pussy from end to end. You shook your head. “Don’t get too loud then.”
You whimpered and resorted to biting the back of your hand as he resumed his actions. His tongue was joined by his fingers, and he sent you into overstimulation. His mouth attached to your clit, his fingers fucked your cunt, playing with your g-spot. His pinky was teasing your asshole.
Keeping it down was near impossible, but if anyone came through that door, he’d stop. That was the last thing you wanted right now. Not when your orgasms were actually melting into each other, not able to ride back down from one when he was sending you into another.
By the time he was done, you were exhausted. You leaned against the mirror, your legs and arms dropping limp.
Tom looked at you, licking his lips and fingers.
“Delicious and gorgeous!!” he said. He stood up, leaning on the counter with his hands on each side of your hips. “We have to get back to the party, darling.”
“But… wait… you didn’t…” you panted, still out of breath.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” he purred, and kissed your head. “I plan to fuck every single hole of yours as soon as we get home.”
“I wouldn’t disturb him during his breeding season if I were you,” Thor said, running behind you, trying to stop you. But you ignored him. “He asked to be left alone!”
“I DON’T CARE!” you bellowed, and forced yourself inside Loki’s room.
It was dark and cold, and the room smelled heavily of musk. Taking a shaky breath you walked towards the balcony, but before you could even touch the curtains, Loki barked.
“NO!”
“Loki-”
“I warned you,” he said in an uncharacteristically gravelly and cold voice. “You really shouldn’t come close to me while I’m in this state.”
Loki leaned forward, a tiny sliver of light fell on his face showing its blue color and rugged markings. Icy fear slid down your throat and you gulped hard, determined not to back out. You knew Loki was part Jotnar, and that specific part of his physiology manifested tenfold when going in his heat cycle. But he had never let you see him, locking himself in what usually was your bedroom.
“Not anymore, Loki,” you started. “I am your partner, your wife, and your claimed Omega!” You fought to keep your voice from shaking. “I am done taking heat suppressants and leaving you alone during your most vulnerable time! Would you do that to me?”
“Of course not-”
“Yet you have!” you interrupted. “I am at my most vulnerable right now, in the middle of my own heat! And you’re here…” your voice cracked. “Will you leave me alone again?”
Loki’s voice softened. “It’s for your own protection.”
You advanced to the bed, the robe you were wearing pooled at your feet as you revealed your naked body. “You would never hurt me, Loki.”
He took a deep breath and growled. He was able to smell your heat, your arousal. Your need. He could barely contain himself, and you tipped him over the edge as soon as you crawled on the bed and your scent took over his senses.
This wasn’t the playful love making, or the lustful fucking you were used to. This Loki was feral, unhinged, hungry, violent even. But, without the effect of the heat suppressants, your body was prepared for him, for his rough rutting, for his possessive hands. His lips devoured yours as he fucked you, and you wrapped your legs around him, giving him all the space he needed.
You cupped his face, forcing him to face you, looking into his red eyes and blue skin. Loki slowed down, maybe waiting for you to push him away and run. But that didn’t happen, you hugged him close to your chest.
“Breed me, my prince! I’m so ready for you!”
The pleading in your voice spurred him on. He groaned and moaned, his sharp teeth left marks on your shoulders and neck. He had claimed you already, but this felt like he was doing it all over again. Your cunt fluttered around his unusually cold girth, which grew colder and thicker. Lost in pleasure, Loki came within you, filling you with his seed, its coldness made you shiver. His swollen knot pulsed against your g-spot and sent you over the edge. You clung to his back, and shouted for him, with your legs flailing in the air.
Long seconds passed, Loki was still wedged inside of you, his knot keeping all his seed in your womb. It restricted movement, but you were never happier than when Loki was buried between your legs.
“You’re not scared.” He sounded surprised.
“I never was, my love,” you said, caressing his face with adoration. “I love you for everything you are. I am yours and you are mine.”
Loki smiled, flashing his pointy teeth. “I am yours and you are mine, my princess.”
He leaned down to kiss you, slowly at first, but didn’t take long until his kiss was passionate, deep and possessive. His knot was starting to subside, allowing him to move his hips, slowly fucking you once again.
You whimpered, in happiness, desire, love, need for him to start all over again. He took a deep breath, almost drinking in your smell. His toothy smile was not kind now, but feral.
The boy was stupid. Without a doubt. You could see it in his eyes every morning when you gave out instructions. But if there was someone with a severe case of morosexual, that was you. Everything he lacked in brain cells, he had it in deliciousness. He plagued your waking hours, and infiltrated your dreams. Everytime he spoke a word you just wanted to sit on his mouth, give him something better to do with his tongue. Whenever you watched him do a few laps around camp, you wondered if his fairly big cock, bouncing inside his shorts, was leaving his brain deprived of oxygen. And boy, did you want to sit on that too!
You had to do something about it, before he left.
His last day, you called him in your office, he was shaking like a leaf, dreading what you were going to say. He had screwed up so many times by now… It made you want to pull down his pants and spank him.
“Hazeldine…” you started. “You are leaving tomorrow and there’s something I need you to take care of before that. And I’m afraid I can no longer remain professional. ”
His eyes were blank, as if he didn’t understand one word of what you just said. He probably didn’t. Why is that so fucking hot?? The hell is wrong with you??
You stood up and locked the door, leaning on the desk right in front of him. “Are you a virgin, Hazeldine?” His eyes went wide and he stammered. “That is a yes. Are you into girls?”
He stuttered again, but managed to get out a clear, “yes.”
You smiled. “Have you ever even touched a woman?” He stammered again, turning as red as a ripe tomato. “I take that as a no.”
You watched him for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an approach. It had to be a direct one, the guy clearly wasn’t going to get subtleties.
“Hazeldine, I think it’s time you get rid of that V-card.”
“What?!!?” he sputtered, and turned even more red, if that was possible.
“I can’t help it, I want you. You’re dumb and infuriating, but you make me so horny!” you said, and took his hand, leading it under your skirt and on to your bare pussy. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” you asked, getting his fingers between your wet folds. “That’s my arousal, Hazeldine. That’s how horny you make me.”
He looked at you with his eyes wide as plates. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, his usually empty head was now full of the images he had seen in porn movies, of wet pussies and eager women. You kept moving his hand, teasing yourself with his long fingers. The bulge in his pants was not to be ignored. You cupped it over his clothes and stroked his shaft.
“Fuck!!” he whimpered.
“I want to fuck you, Hazeldine. Are you okay with that?”
He nodded vigorously.
“Good boy, sit down.”
You pulled his shorts to his knees and pushed him on the chair. His cock stood tall and proud, and looked about to burst. You knew he wasn’t going to last, so you took him in your mouth, just to get his first orgasm out of the way. Which happened really fast. Then, you kept sucking until he was hard enough again. Oh, youth! Didn’t take long either.
Legs on either side of the chair, you impaled yourself with his cock. Bouncing up and down, you teased your clit, trying to reach your orgasm as fast as you knew he was going to cum.
“I can’t-! I can’t!!” His head was thrown back and he was panting, moaning like a whore in heat. He had watched his fair amount of porn, but he seemed to forget the women were the ones screaming in those videos.
You were close too. As soon as his cum coated your walls, you came, mumbling and moaning curses that were muffled by his high pitched scream.
Not exactly satisfied, but at least with that out of the way, you stood up. “Okay, that was fun!” you said, getting wet wipes to clean yourself.
Hazeldine just groaned, still laying back on the chair, half soft cock still out. He looked even more brainless than usual. Maybe that night, his last night, it wouldn’t be bad to have a round 2.
I’m afraid I can no longer remain professional around you.
That phrase resonated in your ears. Oh yeah, he wasn’t being professional at all right now, not with you bent over his desk and his cock pounding your cunt.
At first, you thought he was messing with you, a joke at your expense. Very unprofessional, and you fought back, dismissing his words.
Everyone knows I have a crush on you! And all of the sudden you have “feelings” for me? Fuck you, Hiddleston!
If you interrupt me one more time - so help me god!!
God can’t help you!!
That did it. In a second he was all over you, tearing at your clothes, pulling your pants and panties down. Touching your breasts with his tongue and your pussy with his fingers. In the shock you barely managed to open his pants and as soon as his hard heavy cock fell on your hand, Tom turned you over and shoved it in your cunt.
Professionalism was out the window, lost between the mess of papers that flew off the desk to the floor. His pace was bruising from the start, and you could do little more than brace yourself against the desk and take it.
“Don’t cum yet… I want us to- fuck!”
Isn’t it what we’re doing? You thought, but could not speak if you wanted to focus on staving off your release. He was close, if the moaning and grunting on her neck was any indication.
Please! Please! Please! You repeated in your head, though that wasn’t what was coming out of your mouth.
“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck!!” he cursed loudly.
One… two… three more thrusts and he was coming, filling your womb with his seed. And you collapsed on the desk, shaking as if it was made of ice. Tom leaned down and covered your body with his.
“Still think I’m joking?” he breathed out on your neck.
You smiled and took a deep breath. “Jury is still out.”
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As Tom’s personal assistant, you spent much of your time around the guy. No one would notice though, as it was part of your job to be invisible. You didn’t mind. Tom was the one meant to be in the spotlight, you just had to make sure he looked good. Which wasn’t hard at all.
The job had his perks. Traveling around the world, reading amazing stories, watching Tom perform.
The down side? The tremendous crush you had on who was basically your boss.
Tom was sweet and attentive and ever the gentleman. Once or twice you could have sworn he was borderline flirting with you. But, one, he was nice to everyone. And, two, you were you. Nothing special or out of the ordinary.
You hoped one day you’d get over it, but he was too charming, too enchanting. And nothing made you come crashing down as much as helping Tom with his lines.
Tom truly loved performing. Even when it was you and him in a small office, he got into the skin every single character. This time it was no different, with the added bonus of this being one of the rare occasions Tom was offered a romcom.
“They sent me the scene for the audition tape and I need a reading,” he said excitedly while you finished your coffee. “The setting is in a coffee shop-”
“How original,” you snorted.
Tom rolled his eyes at you and sat by your side. The scene was short, and clearly was meant to be the climax of the script. It didn’t take you long to figure out the scene ended up with a kiss, and lots of cheering of the fictional people in the coffee shop.
Of course, Tom was playing the part, delivering his heartfelt speech as if he was the god of love himself.
And with the effect he was having on you, maybe he was.
Both your cheeks and the pit of your stomach started to burn as the kiss neared. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep your voice steady. You kept your eyes fixed on the paper under your nose, reading and re reading the lines you were supposed to say.
“Look at me?” he said with a small sigh.
You frowned. “That’s not the next line-”
Tom was too close when you turned your head to look at him. And then your eyes were forced closed as he made the space between your lips disappear.
The kiss was everything you had previously imagined. It took all the oxygen out of your brain, positively making you feel faint. Why must air be a necessity? You wanted to keep kissing him forever!
“You take your characters very seriously,” you said when he pulled back.
“That wasn’t in character,” he said in a very low voice. His blue eyes were piercing your very soul.
“Then- what-” Your mouth felt very dry all of the sudden.
“Should I make it more obvious?” He smirked.
“Ye- okay-”
Tom kissed you again, and you effectively turned to a very warm puddle of goo.
“Oooh, fuck me…” you breathed out, registering what you had said only two seconds after the words left your mouth. “I’m-”
Tom’s smile grew wide and mischievous. “If you ask nicely…”
Summary: Loki and Sigyn have known eachother since childhood. Tired of waiting, she gets engaged to another man, but Loki won’t accept it, and tricks Sigyn into marrying him instead. Married life is not bad, and for a long time they consider themselves happy. When the choices they make threaten with tearing them apart, an unbreakable bond and an everlasting promise could be the only things keeping them together.
Summary: Faith and Loki are fuck buddies. Someone who was there when no one else was. When Faith was sleeping with a married man who all of the sudden decided to grow a conscience right after his wife got pregnant with twins. When Loki was being cheated on by his fiancee only a couple of weeks before their wedding. It is a comfort thing and they were perfectly fine with it, why make it complicated with a baby? It’s ridiculous!
Rating: Mature Pairing: Loki/OFC - past Bucky/OFC Hospital!AU
Summary: Loki is capable of sweet talking his way into the bed chambers of anything with legs so successfully that you often wondered if his words were laced with magic. But after being yet another victim of his charm, you knew it was no magic, and only you were to blame for falling like an inexperienced pubescent girl into his trousers. You thought you could keep your heart out of it, but it doesn’t work like that. Is it too late to get out unscathed?
Catching up with your best friend after not seeing him for months is a must, and Tom always has time for you. Alcohol leads to oversharing, and oversharing leads to so much more.
There was a limit to how many women drooling all over your boyfriend you could stand. Especially when your boyfriend did absolutely nothing to stop them. But payback is more bitter than sweet.
It’s been months since the last time you saw him, when he ended up your relationship and left. Now he’s back, saying he made a mistake, and nothing is the same without you, but you aren’t sure you could ever truly forgive him for walking away so easily.
You’ve been dating Tom for a while. But what Tom doesn’t know is that you’re a vampire. As in an immortal, blood sucking, creature-of-the-night vampire. Vampires have been around for as long as society exists, and have been accepted as part of society in recent years. It has been rough, so you decided to keep your supernatural status to yourself. At least for now…
Thomas has left for war. There’s nothing for you to do, except wait. When he has failed to send letters for over a month, maybe your wait has been in vain.
Requested: Hello!! I have a smutty request if that’s okay. It would be with Bucky and the reader is a new recruit, quiet but a bad ass. Bucky is constantly flirting with her and after a few drinks he’s says something like “I would love to see you begging for me” and she responds “I’m more into pegging then begging”.
The world is much older than society thinks it is, and the old gods still inhabit it, hidden in a dimension invisible to humans. Now, they must come back before the world ends, to make things right. James “Bucky” Barnes is an archaeologist and archaeoastronomer, the last descendant in a very long line of blessed humans that carry the gods genetic material. His destiny is to find and breed with the chosen virgin that will give birth to the most powerful gods of them all. ……Whether you want to or not.
Bucky begged and pleaded for you to stay home. You said no. You couldn’t, and wouldn’t. It was your job after all, and if it was in your power to do anything to help, you were going to try.
The psychiatrist’s office is probably the worst place ever to meet someone. But it was where it happened. How did you go from there to have him buried between your legs it was another matter entirely.
It isn’t like Bucky to take you out to fancy dinners, or have champagne by candlelight. Or wear the suit he is wearing. He’s not one for romantic gestures at all! And the one time he does, it doesn’t exactly work as planned.
You are certain you love the man who will soon be your husband, right? What if maybe you’re not that sure? What if at least part of your heart belongs to someone else?
Stucky. Steve and Bucky find themselves in an undercover mission on a gay club. Playing pretend is all fun and games. And Bucky was one hell of an actor! Once the charade is over, Steve is left to deal with an uncomfortable realization.
It’s March 10th, it’s Bucky’s birthday, and you have a huge surprise prepared for him. But things don’t exactly go as planned. (And he’s a bit of an idiot).
The room was quiet, only the somnolent crackling of the fire and the soft scratching of pen across paper to be heard. I was sitting at the table in my bedchamber, open books and papers strewn before me, researching a topic for Master Hauknefr. The essay I was working on was supposed to have been completed a week ago, but was still unfinished and due tomorrow morning.
Stjarna was lying on my bed—had been for the past hour and a half—already in her nightgown, and every ten minutes or so she would sigh loudly and dramatically. I did not ask her what was wrong since I knew, but unfortunately there were more pressing matters at hand.
Finally, I heard her get up and come to stand behind me. She bent down, wrapped her arms around me, and pressed her head against mine.
“Loki?”
“Hmm?”
“When are you coming to bed?”
“Soon,” I assured, silently cursing myself when I accidentally smeared a word with my hand.
She huffed. “You said that an hour ago.”
“I have to finish this.”
“You should have finished it last week.”
“I know,” I replied, somewhat curtly, “but I didn’t, so I’m doing it now.”
“If you haven’t finished it by now, you’re not going to.”
“Thank you for the encouragement, darling.”
Stjarna exhaled sharply and let go of me. She poured herself a cup of wine from the flagon on my table—her fourth cup this night—took a few sips, and sat in the other chair. She glanced disinterestedly around, tapped her fingers impatiently on the tabletop, and sighed again.
“Do you need something?” I inquired, somewhat apathetically, and not bothering to raise my head.
“Yes.”
“Is it going to distract from what I’m doing right now?”
Stjarna sighed heavily in answer, obviously frustrated, and I could not help a little smile. It was not often that Stjarna was the one begging me for sex, but I must admit I liked when she did, since normally it was the other way around. Regrettably, though, if I did not finish my work tonight, Master Hauknefr would likely report it to Mother, who would drag me in front of Father for neglecting my lessons, and that was something I wished greatly to avoid.
“We haven’t done it since the day before yesterday,” Stjarna complained, and my eyes flickered to hers. She was reclining in the chair, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers, cup dangling from her other hand.
“So?”
She gave me a look and I laughed.
“What, it wasn’t enough to hold you over for a few days?”
“I was half asleep, I hardly noticed.”
I snorted. “Oh, so it is habit to scream my name while you’re half asleep?”
Stjarna’s cheeks bloomed pink and she huffed again and stood up, placing the now empty cup loudly on the table. I thought she was going to go back to bed, but to my surprise, she came around the corner of the table to stand next to me, pushed some of my books out of the way, and lifted up to sit on the edge.
She smiled at me, slowly swinging her legs.
“I was using those,” I remarked dryly, cocking an eyebrow.
“And?”
She crossed her legs, gazing expectantly at me.
“Honestly, Stjarna, I am surprised you want to do this now. My education is very important, you know.”
Stjarna, appearing unfazed, promptly and confidently responded, “Like I said, Loki, if you haven’t finished it by now, you’re not going to.”
I set my pen down, leaned back in my chair, and folded my hands over my stomach, studying her.
“So you want to fuck me?” I asked, attempting to conceal a smile.
She glanced away, cheeks flushing an even deeper pink, and I wanted to laugh. For as long as we had been together, and all of the raunchy, debauched things I had done to her, and she to me, she still grew embarrassed when I spoke so.
“I… wouldn’t necessarily word it like that…”
I smirked, reached over with one arm, wrapped it around Stjarna’s waist, and dragged her towards me. I pushed my papers and books out of the way and sat up a little straighter, nudging her legs apart so they dangled on either side of me. Stjarna grinned impishly when I took her by the hips and pulled her closer, so she was perched just on the edge of the table and my front pressed against the inviting heat between her thighs.
“Then how would you word it?” I murmured, tenderly kneading her soft skin through the wispy material of her gown.
Before Stjarna could reply, however, I lowered my eyes and leaned forward to affectionately kiss the space between her breasts. I slowly slid my open hands down her thighs, grabbed two fistfuls of her nightgown, and lifted it up to expose her bare skin. Slipping my fingers beneath the hem, I ran my hands back up her legs.
Stjarna’s breath caught in her throat when I turned my head and kissed her breast, taking her quickly burgeoning nipple between my lips. I smiled, wetting the diaphanous fabric with my tongue, languidly sucking on her. She reached up and curled her fingers on the back of my head, moaned my name and tilted her head back when I bit her.
I glanced up briefly before raising my head to pepper openmouthed kisses over Stjarna’s chest and across her collarbones before descending to her other breast. I tugged on her with my teeth, coaxing a halting gasp from her lips, and shifted restlessly in my chair. I could feel myself already growing increasingly aroused, not helped by the breathy little sounds Stjarna was making, and she way she was ever so subtly grinding herself against me.
I slowly opened my eyes when Stjarna tugged on my hair, pulling my head back so I was looking up at her, and she lowered her face to mine and kissed me, pushing her tongue past my teeth to explore my mouth. I responded eagerly, could already smell her desire lingering in the warm air.
Stjarna breathlessly broke the kiss, nipped playfully at my bottom lip, and whispered mockingly, “It’s too bad about your essay…”
I pressed my lips together, and feeling just as equally mischievous, stood up suddenly. Stjarna gasped in surprise when I yanked her off the table, spun her around, and pushed her down so she was bent forward over the edge. I trailed my open hand down her back, over the ridges of her spine, and pressed my lower half against her. I felt the crease of her arse through the thin fabric of her nightgown and the desire simmering inside me flared a little hotter.
Stjarna whispered my name when I leaned down, wrapped my hand gently around her neck, and lifted her up so she was pinned between me and the table. Her breaths were coming a little quicker now and I smiled shrewdly as I kissed beneath her jaw and then up and down the side of her neck, knowing she could feel me hard against her backside.
“I’m not sure you’re that torn up about it,” I breathed, snaking one arm around her. “You’re getting what you wanted.”
She laughed softly and I reached up to pull her nightgown down over her shoulder.
“You wanted me to touch you?” I asked, placing a wet, openmouthed kiss to her warm skin.
Stjarna slightly arched her back, only let out a quiet breath in response.
“Well?”
“Yes,” she answered in a whisper, turning her head so her lips brushed against my temple.
“What else?” I wondered, lifting up to nip at her earlobe.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to tell me,” I said, lightly stroking the column of her throat with my thumb.
“I want you inside me,” she finally replied, grabbing my hand and moving it to her breast. I cupped it, squeezing a little too hard, and cajoled a breathy, pleasured whimper from her lips.
“What part?” I grinned, lightly pinching her nipple through the gauzy fabric, damp from my kissing earlier.
She laughed and with her other hand reached between us. My breath hitched when she touched me, began slowly, methodically, rubbing me with the heel of her hand, bringing me rapidly the rest of the way to arousal. Stjarna was well aware of how hard she was making me, and when she spoke I could hear the smirk in her voice.
“What part do you think?”
I closed my eyes and bit the top of her shoulder, exhaling slowly as she palmed me. Pleasure radiated up and out, building between my legs. No, but this was too easy—I wanted to have a little fun.
Abruptly I grabbed Stjarna’s wrist, withdrew it from between us, and pinned it to the table. I leaned forward until she was once again bent over the edge, pressed completely flat against the surface, cheek resting on an open book.
“You want me to fuck you?” I growled, lips brushing against her skin.
She only whined my name in response, pushing back against me, and I let out a breath against her flushed skin, wet with my saliva. I moved my hand down her body until I slipped my fingers between her legs, and a rivulet of desire coursed through me when I felt how wet she was.
Stjarna moaned and pressed her face into the book, curling her fingers on the table as I languidly rubbed that little pearl at the top of her sex through the soaking, gauzy fabric of her nightgown.
“Tell me,” I demanded breathily, gradually increasing the pressure of my touch. “Tell me what you want me to do…”
If she had so wittingly interrupted my studies for this, she might as well indulge me.
Stjarna huffed and squirmed beneath me; clearly she wanted it now.
“I won’t let you come at all if you keep acting like this,” I threatened. “You’ll have to finish all by yourself.”
Stjarna chuckled to herself, but then gasped when I pressed my fingers harder against her.
“What is so funny?”
“You—you wouldn’t be able to watch me without joining,” she retorted breathlessly, and the fire smoldering in the pit of my stomach flickered at the notion.
“Is that a challenge?” I muttered.
“Maybe…”
“You don’t think I can resist you?”
“I know you can’t,” she laughed.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” she remarked haughtily. “You can barely go two days without it.”
I felt odd at that, and was quiet for a moment before suddenly releasing her and taking a step back. Stjarna’s laughter died in her throat and she pushed herself up off the table and turned around.
“What are you doing?”
“I can go two days without it,” I insisted.
“No, you can’t,” she rejoined with a sly smile.
I scoffed. “And what are you doing right now?”
“Oh, please, Loki, we both know it is almost always you,” she stated assuredly, rolling her eyes and coming to stand before me. “When I return from staying at Konavefr’s, you practically drag me into bed!”
“I only do that because I want to.”
She giggled and reached up to place her hands on my chest. “I am sure.”
“I don’t have to,” I maintained. “I can control myself.”
She laughed again, obviously not believing me, and ran her hands down over my front until she came to the laces of my pants. Just as she went to fall to her knees, I caught her hands, stopping her, and she glanced up at me in surprise.
“Hold on, Stjarna,” I said. “Look at this, you want me just as much as I want you.”
Stjarna paused, considering my words, and straightened. She folded her arms over her chest.
“Well, how about this? How about neither of us act like we want the other?”
“What?”
“Just what I said, Loki.”
“Are you testing me?”
“Perhaps.”
“Oh, a competition?” I asked in amusement, quirking an eyebrow.
Stjarna considered it for a moment and then smiled. “Yes.”
“Alright then,” I agreed. “We will see who can hold out the longest.”
“Without sex?”
“Yes,” I concurred arrogantly, foolishly not even bothering to think ahead as to how miserable I would be. “Whoever gives in to the other first loses.”
“And what does the winner get?”
“Er, what would you want?”
Stjarna appeared pensive for a minute and then announced, “Your mother’s wanted to have a dinner with just us and Thor and Vinda but you keep refusing to go.”
“Yes, because it is idiotic.”
“Well,I would like to go. If I win, we go.”
“Ugh, fine. What if I win?”
“You won’t,” she expressed confidently.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but what if I do?”
“Well, what would you want?”
I grinned, already having it in mind.
“If I win, you will accompany me as my partner to the next banquet.”
“What?” she cried. “Loki, I would really rather not—”
“I see not why that is a problem, seeing as you’re so confident you’ll win?”
Stjarna pressed her lips together, staring hard at me. The last banquet she had attended as my partner—sitting up at the high table with me during the feast instead of at the handmaiden’s table—had not gone so well in her eyes, and she had refused since then to accompany me to one despite my insistence.
Finally, Stjarna acquiesced and I grinned triumphantly. The next banquet was a little over a month away and would be to celebrate the annual hunt. I figured our little wager would be finished by then, and I had no doubt Stjarna would be accompanying me.
“Well, I suppose it is time for bed,” Stjarna announced suddenly, making a show of stretching her arms and yawning.
“Actually, I think we should finish what we started tonight and begin fresh tomorrow.”
Stjarna did not even respond—just laughed loudly as if I had said the most absurd thing in the world—and headed to my bed. She slipped beneath the covers, purposely oblivious to my glare. I was still hard, desire still simmering in my lower half. There was no way I was going to finish my essay now, I wouldn’t be able to think straight.
Grumbling to myself, I undressed as I walked to the bed, and Stjarna eyed me as I crawled under the covers.
“Are you going to be okay?” she wondered, attempting to mask a smile.
I glanced down at my lap, where the evidence of my desire was quite prominent.
“Yes, I am perfectly capable of getting off without you—”
“You can’t do that.”
“What? Why not? You’re not involved. Though you’re more than welcome to watch, of course.”
“That’s cheating.”
“I’m not allowed to get off by myself?”
She smirked. “No.”
“That was not part of the agreement,” I retorted. “It was whoever broke first and begged the other for sex.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “Just try not to wake me up.”
“Well, I’m not that desperate for it,” I uttered, rethinking it. “It will… go away.”
She only smiled, leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.
“Goodnight, Loki.”
I grunted a baleful good night and she giggled to herself before sliding down further into the bed and turning over.
I lay there on my back for a long while, hands folded on my stomach. Eventually—too long, in my opinion, my desire faded, and I gradually fell asleep, speculating whether I was prepared to forego sex for as long as Stjarna could. But then, based on tonight, I figured it wouldn’t be that difficult.
I was determined to win.
__
The next morning when I awoke, Stjarna was still asleep and curled up against me, wrapped around my arm, nose pressed against my skin. It was still early, so I lay there for a long while, listening to her gentle breaths, before carefully disentangling myself without waking her.
I ran a bath, and while waiting for the tub to fill, quickly—and somewhat bitterly—got myself off. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was better than nothing, especially after last night, and I felt a little better when I emerged half an hour later.
Stjarna had woken by then and informed me breakfast was on its way. She glanced over at the table as I began getting dressed, where the ruins of my attempt to complete my essay lay.
“Oh, you didn’t finish it.”
I snorted. She said it as if it was some unfortunate coincidence.
“Well, it is entirely your fault,” I snapped. “You try to seduce me, get me to stop working, and then we don’t even fuck.”
Stjarna burst into laughter. “You survived, though, didn’t you?”
“Barely,” I muttered, thinking on how long it had taken the night before for my desire to fade.
Still giggling to herself, Stjarna disappeared into my bath chamber. When she later emerged, we ate breakfast together, which had been brought while she was readying.
“Loki, may we dine together tonight?” Stjarna asked halfway through, holding a piece of pink fruit between her fingers.
“Very well. Honey cakes?”
She grinned. “As always.”
__
That night, I had dinner brought to my chambers as Stjarna had requested.
I was sitting at the table, and the servants were just finishing laying out the food when Stjarna arrived. She slipped through the open doorway, smiling innocently enough, and my eyes immediately fell down to her breasts, which were half-exposed by the low-cut collar of her dark blue dress—one I had never seen on her, but vaguely remembered.
My lips parted in shock as she sat down and thanked a male servant who filled her cup with wine, and whose gaze I noticed also drifted to her chest. I cleared my throat, annoyed by his wandering eyes, and he quickly bowed and scurried out with the others.
Stjarna smiled at me once the door was shut.
“Good afternoon, Loki.”
“What is that?” I said flatly.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I snapped. “Your breasts are practically hanging out.”
“Oh,this?” she laughed. “Do you not remember? You gifted me this dress—”
“Years ago,” I interjected brusquely.
Stjarna never wore such revealing clothes, save for the little shifts she sometimes donned at night when we had sex. I had gifted her this particular dress over two years ago, hoping she would like it, taking a chance on the low collar edged with gold embroidery, and, as I had suspected, she told me she had liked it, but never actually worn it.
Tonight, however, I knew her intent. Part of me was surprised—and a little impressed—at my usually innocent Vana’s guile.
“I’ve seen your breasts plenty of times,” I remarked nonchalantly, taking a draught of wine. “Think not you’re going to accomplish anything tonight.”
“Loki!” Stjarna exclaimed, feigning offense. “I am shocked you think I would lower myself to—”
“You’re a terrible liar, Stjarna.”
She grinned, reaching for a honey cake. “I know.”
I began piling food on my plate, and though I tried to hide it, I could not help myself from glancing surreptitiously at Stjarna’s breasts. Though I was not allowed to touch them, what with this ridiculous wager of ours, I was allowed to look, for it was not often I received such a tantalizing view of them while eating. Only an inch lower and I’d be able to see—
“Loki.”
“Yes, darling?”
She was drizzling glaze over the venison on her plate, smiling without regarding me.
Grumbling to myself, I averted my eyes, but my attention was quickly drawn back when Stjarna spilled a bit of glaze on her fingers and began licking it off, much too slowly to actually be useful.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve got glaze on my fingers,” she rejoined.
I rolled my eyes, suppressing a laugh. “You’re not a very good flirt, Stjarna.”
She sighed, picking up a cloth to wipe her hands, and I burst into laughter.
“You’ve always been a terrible flirt, actually.”
“Yes, well, if I remember correctly, in the beginning you almost ruined everything with your terrible flirting.”
“But I got you, didn’t I?”
“Somehow,” she muttered, poking at her food.
I smirked. “And you love me now.”
She did not answer, but I saw the corner of her lips twitch upwards in a smile.
“You know,” I said slyly, “I could show you how much I love you tonight. Or right now…”
Her eyes flickered up to mine. “I know you could.”
I stared expectantly at her, silently urging her to stand up, to proclaim she could not stand it any longer, but she only tilted her head, smile growing.
“Do you think I’m going to give in that easily?”
I frowned.
“Then tuck your breasts back in, it’s not going to work.”
“Oh,” she sighed, as if dismayed. “You seem to like them well enough the rest of the time…”
I stuffed a mouthful of venison past my lips as she gazed penitently at me.
“Do you not like them anymore, Loki?” she wondered sadly, curling her bottom lip.
I swallowed my food. “It’s not going to work, Stjarna.”
“I see,” she said, tone changing immediately. “Perhaps I ought to change, then, since you’ll remain unswayed.”
“A wise decision,” I smirked.
Stjarna stood up and went into my bedchamber, where I knew she had a chest with some dresses folded in it. I continued eating, feeling very sure of myself, but nearly choked when Stjarna reentered a few minutes later wearing nothing but one of those racy little shifts.
Her pale legs were exposed all the way up to right below her hip, just covering that spot between her legs, and her breasts were even more exposed than before, and I could faintly see her nipples through the filmy material, all of it held up by two thin little straps, which I knew from past experience could easily be ripped apart.
Stjarna’s expression remained completely neutral as she sat down across from me.
“You can close your mouth,” she stated, picking up her cup of wine.
I slowly closed my mouth, pressing my lips together.
“Why aren’t you this spontaneous all the time?”
“Because a dinner with your mother and brother are never at stake,” she countered imperturbably, taking a sip of wine.
“Do whatever you want, darling. It won’t work.”
She smiled.
“We’ll see.”
__
Stjarna and I had made it to the third week without giving in to one another and it was becoming extremely difficult. I wanted her, and she wanted me, but neither would forfeit to the other, and my wrist was beginning to ache.
One night after dinner, Stjarna was sitting in front of my fireplace reading. I had decided to bathe tonight and exited my bath chamber with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around my waist. I had not dried myself completely yet and headed to my wardrobe.
“What are you reading?” I inquired as I walked by Stjarna, pushing my damp hair away from my face.
“The queen let me borrow it,” Stjarna answered, flipping a page. “It concerns the history of Vanir art. She thought I might like it since my father was a painter.”
“Yes, it sounds interesting,” I said.
“It is, there’s an entire chapter on—”
When Stjarna suddenly cut off mid-sentence, I glanced at her. She was staring at me, words caught in her throat.
“Is something wrong?”
She pressed her lips together. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean ‘what am I doing?’ I just got out of the bath.”
But Stjarna only smirked and lowered her eyes to resume reading.
I began rifling through my wardrobe, but turned again when I discerned a prickling on the back of my neck. Stjarna was peeking at me above her book, and when I caught her eye she quickly covered her face and giggled.
“What are you doing?” I laughed.
“Reading,” came the muffled reply.
I cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”
“You didn’t do a very good job of drying off,” she stated a little more loudly now. “You’re dripping everywhere.”
“Am I?” I said wryly, and I took the towel from around my waist and lifted my arms to roughly dry my hair. “Is that better?”
Stjarna was peering over the top of her book again, and though I could only see her eyes—wandering now with wild abandon over my naked body—I knew she was grinning.
“Yes.”
I chuckled, turned back to my wardrobe, and finished picking out my outfit for the next day.
Stjarna and I went to bed a little earlier than usual that night, so it took me longer to fall asleep. Eventually I grew tired of staring at the wall, and was just on the verge of drifting off, when I heard Stjarna—whom I had assumed to already be asleep—make a soft sighing sound behind me.
My eyes flew open, for I had heard that sound before, and immediately sat up and looked over. Stjarna, who was very much awake, froze and gazed up at me with an embarrassed little smile, and I saw that beneath the covers her hands were between her legs.
Heat snaked its way down my spine, coming to settle between my legs, knowing that she was touching herself.
Stjarna bit her lip, attempting not to smile so widely.
“What are you doing?” I inquired, not bothering at all to mask my own wolfish grin.
She scoffed. “You can’t just parade around half-naked in front of me, dripping wet, and expect me to ignoreit.”
I only laughed.
“So unless you’d like to join me—of your own volition, of course—I’d like to finish.”
“Oh, of course,” I smirked, lying on my side with my head propped up. “Carry on, darling.”
Stjarna’s lips twitched upwards in a smile.
“Do you want to know what I’m thinking about?”
I knew what she was doing, but figured I was strong enough to resist.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Tell me.”
She grinned and proceeded to recount to me how she was envisioning me on top of her, mouth on her skin, my body between her legs and deep inside her. Stjarna knew it drove me crazy to hear her talk like that, to have her exuding such blatant want.
By now I was hard, and by some miracle restrained myself from slipping my own hand beneath the covers. I only watched her, and though it was not the first time I had observed Stjarna touch herself—though it was the first time I had consciously made the decision not to help her or myself—I took immense pleasure in the way her smile eventually melted away and her lips parted, how her breaths began coming more heavily, how she rolled onto her side to face me and one of her hands came up to touch my chest.
If she would not give in to me, at least she made it evident it was I she was thinking of. Stjarna curled her fingers against my chest, closed her eyes, and I lightly wrapped my fingers around her wrist as she came. She let slip a breathy little moan as I gently ran my hand up and down her arm, and then a few moments later relaxed and smiled almost drowsily up at me.
Stjarna scooted closer to me, wiping her fingers on her nightgown before wrapping her arms around my middle. She buried her face in my chest and happily sighed, and I lay there still burning up with desire.
Gods, she was driving me mad; I wanted to pin her down and fuck her into the mattress, until she was crying my name, to relieve this almost painful aching between my legs. She must have wanted desperately to win, she hardly ever acted like this—and I loved it—but unfortunately I could not touch.
“Goodnight, Loki,” Stjarna murmured sleepily, nestling even closer.
Attempting to banish this heat broiling inside me, I wrapped my arms around her and held her as she drifted off to sleep, consoling myself with the fact that soon—not soon enough, but soon—she would have to give in to me.
__
In the morning while Stjarna still slept, I went in to my bath chamber and, like that first morning, quickly got myself off, recalling Stjarna’s little moans from the night before. Afterwards I leaned against the wall, attempting to slow my breathing, and pressed my forehead to the cool stone.
It wasn’t good enough. I wanted her—badly—but this little competition between us was not only a matter of avoiding a pleasant dinner with my mother and brother and his mistress, but a matter of pride. Of course I loved Stjarna, but I wanted to prove her wrong, as well. I suppose it was the arrogance in me.
Sighing, I cleaned myself up and went to have breakfast fetched. Once it was laid out and the servants gone, I went back into my bedchamber and found Stjarna still sleeping. I walked up to the side of the bed, bent over, and kissed her shoulder.
“Stjarna.”
She flinched in her sleep, made a soft sound as she stirred, and slowly opened her eyes, turning her head to gaze up at me.
“Did you sleep well?” I inquired with a smirk.
She smiled knowingly and stretched.
“I did,” she admitted, rolling onto her back.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied, somewhat sardonically, and she giggled. “I’ve had breakfast brought. Get dressed and we’ll eat.”
Stjarna nodded, but just as I straightened up to go back into the other room, she caught my hand. I looked down as she sat up, holding the covers up to her breasts.
“Loki?”
“Hmm?”
“Can we go to the city today?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a small shrug. “I was thinking about it last night. We haven’t been in a long while and I wanted to do something today.”
I considered it only briefly before acquiescing, and Stjarna grinned in delight, slipped out of bed, and went to get ready.
After we had eaten breakfast, I told a servant to let Mother know I would be taking the day off and to inform my tutors. They would be displeased, but I didn’t really care. I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on my studies today, anyway, what with images of Stjarna touching herself still lingering in my mind. A day in the city would help distract me and take my mind off of sex.
Stjarna and I went down to the stables, took a couple of horses, and rode down to the city. Her favorite thing to do in the city, surprisingly, was to visit the market. It was an all-day venture, with hundreds of merchants—a good number of them from other realms—selling food, textiles, livestock, and other commodities.
For some reason Stjarna liked spending the whole day walking, stopping at different booths, and perusing the goods. I did not much mind, though, since I often found things that interested me, as well.
Eventually, a stall selling weapons caught my eye and Stjarna followed me over as I began browsing.
Stjarna always amused me when she would pick one up and say, “Is this good?”
And I would study it and comment on the metal being slightly warped, or too long or too short, and she would smile as if she was proud of me, and the merchant would glare at me from behind his stall because other customers had overheard me censuring his products. I never seemed to find any weapons to satisfy me, though, for none were as well made as those forged by our blacksmith in the palace.
Afterwards, Stjarna grew quite excited when we came across a stall run by a Van merchant, and who was also selling books. Stjarna conversed merrily with the man and they spoke of Vanaheim as I absently glanced over the selection of books. Eventually Stjarna began inspecting the stacks as well and found a few she liked.
“Loki,” she said, showing me a particularly distressed tome. “This one is about Alfheim.”
“I’m fairly sure I have that one on my shelf somewhere…”
“Oh, well, what about this one? It concerns the fire giants of Muspelheim.”
I took the book and leafed through it while Stjarna continued browsing, and eventually she settled on four books which she insisted on paying for herself. She was looking forward to beginning the one about Muspelheim, for I possessed few comprehensive books about that realm.
She bid a cheery goodbye to the Van merchant and we continued through the market. It was only when the sky began to grow dusky that we left and Stjarna wondered if we could visit her family. We paid them a brief but pleasant visit, and by the time we departed night was falling.
As we rode back to the city, twinkling in the rapidly fading light, Stjarna asked if we could stay there tonight.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. An inn, perhaps?”
“I suppose we could do that.”
“Somewhere along the river?” she requested hopefully, and I laughed.
“Very well.”
In the city, on a busy little street adjoining the river, we found an inn. I requested a room on the top floor overlooking the water, since I knew Stjarna would wish to view it. She was elated to be staying at an inn, though I could not understand why. I suppose she enjoyed the departure from our usual routine, and I would gladly indulge her.
We ate supper there, and though it was not as rich as what we would have eaten at the palace, it was hearty enough. After dinner, we went upstairs to our room, which boasted a small balcony. Here we sat, suspended in darkness above the street, watching the lazy river sparkle in the moonlight below.
Our chairs were close and Stjarna took her shoes off, leaned back, and propped her feet up on my lap. She began reading her new book on Muspelheim by torchlight and would occasionally comment to me on it as I gently rubbed her feet, surely sore from all the walking we had done today.
“Loki, do you know who the king of Muspelheim is?”
“Surtur,” I answered, affectionately kneading the ball of her foot.
“Yes, and his wife is Sinmara.”
“I have never heard of Sinmara.”
“Yes, they rule there together.”
“Muspelheim sounds terrible,” I remarked, shaking my head. “I think I would rather rule in Niflheim than Muspelheim.”
“The realm of ice?” Stjarna asked in surprise. “There is nothing there.”
I shrugged. “I would rather be cold than hot.”
Stjarna laughed, and we passed a pleasant evening sitting there, talking and observing the street below. When Stjarna at last began to grow drowsy, we went back inside.
I sat down on the edge of the bed to take my boots off and glanced up to see Stjarna standing by the little table in the corner. Her form was half-illuminated by the candle on the table, and I watched as she carefully placed her book down with the others she had bought today and began to leisurely unbraid her long hair.
I smiled when Stjarna began quietly humming to herself, running her fingers slowly through her hair. After a while, I stood up and went towards her, causing her to turn when she caught sight of my shadow flickering on the wall. Just as Stjarna opened her mouth to speak, I cupped her face, leaned down, and swallowed whatever her next words might have been with a kiss. It was not a passionate kiss, but deep and languid, and I pushed her back until she hit the wall.
“Loki,” Stjarna mumbled when I finally broke the kiss, and she blinked and looked up at me.
“I know, I know,” I breathed, resting my forehead against hers. “I just wanted to kiss you.”
“Why?” she queried smilingly, gazing up at me.
“Because I can.”
She laughed softly and tilted her head back against the wall.
“Thank you for taking me out today, Loki.”
“It was my pleasure,” I murmured, lowering my head to lightly kiss her lips.
Stjarna lifted her head to meet my lips and lightly fisted the front edges of my surcoat in her hands. I deepened the kiss, languorously exploring her mouth, tasting the spiced wine from downstairs lingering still upon her tongue, and pushed my fingers into her hair, further loosening her now messy braid. Stjarna let slip a faint moan into my mouth and pulled me closer, subtly pushing her hips forward against me.
When I finally broke the kiss and pulled back to regard her, she sucked on her bottom lip and I saw with pleasure her eyes glassy with desire. I stroked her cheek with my thumb, feeling it flushed.
“I want you,” she whispered, causing me to grin as she slipped her arms under my surcoat and wrapped them around me.
“Do you want to?” I inquired, not goading or condescending.
“Yes, but…”
“But what?” I breathed, tilting her head up and lightly kissing her lips and then her chin. Though we were only kissing, I could already discern the beginnings of lust stirring in me. Any kind of touching now—sometimes only if she looked at me in a certain way—aroused me, it had been so long since we’d done anything.
“I don’t know…”
“It will be our little secret,” I continued, lowering my head to pepper indolent kisses up and down the side of her neck. “In the morning we can pretend it never happened.”
Stjarna laughed softly, but then truly appeared to be thinking it over. Hope rose inside me, but moments later the feeling was dashed when she shook her head.
“I will be disappointed if we give in so soon.”
“So soon?!”
Stjarna giggled and lifted up on her tiptoes to kiss me.
“Come, Loki. Let’s go to bed.”
She took my hand in hers and led me to the bed. We slipped beneath the covers and Stjarna nestled against me, forgetting to even finish unbraiding her hair. Though I was somewhat frustrated, eventually sleep claimed me and we drifted off to the muffled sounds of the street below.
__
The next morning Stjarna and I rode back up to the palace and resumed our normal duties. More days passed and our little competition of abstinence dragged torturously on.
I had never willingly—or somewhat willingly—gone so long without sex, and eventually it was literally all I could think of. In the mornings I imagined bending Stjarna over the breakfast table; during my lessons I fantasized about fucking her up against Master Hauknefr’s dusty old bookshelves; during training, during the afternoon feasts when I caught fleeting glimpses of her at the handmaiden’s table, at night when she came to my chambers and I could touch her but at the same time I couldn’t—everywhere, all the time, it was all I could think about and it was driving me absolutely insane.
Finally, I decided it was time to end this. I would attempt to conclude this maddening agreement of ours and push her right to the edge.
That night after dinner, Stjarna and I were lying on my bed. She was sitting up against the pillows and reading her new book on Muspelheim. By now she was almost finished with the book, and I was just watching her, rolled onto my side, head propped up on my arm.
“Do you like your new book?” I inquired.
“Yes,” she replied absently.
“Oh, good.”
Silence.
She turned a page, softly sighed.
I slowly reached over and languidly trailed my fingers down her arm. Stjarna did not react—only smiled when I leaned over and pressed my nose to her arm, and then my lips.
“What are you doing, Loki?” she questioned without looking at me, as if she did not already know.
“Nothing.”
“Oh? Because it feels like you are about to lose the wager.”
“Not at all,” I responded, glancing up at her. “I do want you, but I can refrain myself.”
“Can you?” she whispered, arching an eyebrow. “Then what is happening now?”
I shrugged, still kissing her. “I am bored.”
She laughed, unconvinced, and slowly closed her book.
“Loki, you know you can only say the words and I am yours.”
So different from that night at the inn, when she had seriously considered it, almost melted in my arms. Now she was back to teasing me.
“No,” I breathed, lifting up to press a tender kiss to her shoulder, where her nightgown was beginning to slip. “I can hold off.”
“Then why are you kissing me?”
“Because I want to,” I answered, and I took the book from her and reached over to set it on the bedside table. Stjarna fought a grin as I pulled her into my arms, straddled her waist, and trailed my open hand down her side to the curve of her hip.
“Ah, ah, Loki—”
“I don’t lose unless we have sex.”
Stjarna appeared skeptical as I lowered my head and kissed her.
“Well, you’re pushing it.”
I smirked, kissing her again. “Am I not allowed to imagine?”
“You’ve been imagining in the bath chamber every other morning, though,” she giggled, and I pressed my lips together in annoyance.
“Well, I wouldn’t have to if we hadn’t sworn off sex.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she grinned.
“Anyway, I was thinking of you today,” I murmured.
“Were you?” she asked shrewdly. “Pray tell.”
“I imagined taking you on the table.”
“Mmm…”
“And against the wall…”
“Yes…”
“And on the floor…”
Stjarna grinned. “That sounds exhausting.”
“And yet somehow you found it in yourself to keep going,” I smirked.
“I will, if you really want me to,” she breathed, and merely the change in her tone—lower now, brimming with lust—was enough to get the blood flowing. She put her hand on my cheek, stroked my skin with her thumb. “On the table, against the wall, on the floor… anything you want, Loki…”
Heat coursed through me, fire and desire and lust and everything else I had been attempting to tamp down these past weeks, and gods, I needed her—I needed to rip that flimsy little nightgown off and make good on all I had just alluded to, but I had come too far now to give in, I couldn’t do it, not yet, not yet…
“Don’t you want it, too?” I pressed, trying not to sound too desperate, caressing her skin with my parted lips. “Don’t you want me to kiss you? Don’t you want me to touch you?”
“Yes,” she admitted, and I grinned triumphantly. “But I can wait.”
Immediately my smile fell, and I gritted my teeth, realizing with a pang I had failed. I groaned in frustration before rolling off of Stjarna and onto my back, and she—I think genuinely surprised—lifted up on her arms. I raked my fingers exasperatedly through my hair as she gazed down at me, head tilted to the side, an arrogant little smile plastered across her face.
“I suspect you won’t be long now.”
“What do you mean?” I grumbled.
“Oh, please,” she laughed. “You’re so close to giving it up I can tasteit.”
I stared at her for a long moment, taking in her haughty expression, and something rose up within me and faster than she could even see, Stjarna was on her back again and I lying halfway on top of her, straddling her leg and pinning her wrists to the bed. My face was only inches from hers and her smile instantly faded.
“You were saying?” I growled.
“Is this you conceding defeat?” she wondered quietly, finding her voice again, though nowhere near as supercilious as before.
“Not quite,” I whispered, searching her eyes. “I only want to tell you what I’m going to do to you when this is all over.”
The corner of her lips twitched, and still she stared wide-eyed up at me.
“You’re going to be begging me to fuck you by the end,” I murmured darkly, and she chuckled softly, nervously. “And when you finally yield to me, I’m not just going to fuck you, Stjarna, I’m going to drag it out as punishment for teasing me and forcing me to endure this.”
I could feel her breaths coming a little quicker, though she tried to hide it.
“I’m going to pin your arms down like this,” I said, lowering my head to lightly kiss her parted lips. “Maybe bind you with my magic so you can’t move… kiss down your body, between your legs, use my tongue until you’re dripping for me, and slide my fingers inside.”
I grinned wickedly as Stjarna let out a gentle breath, eyes wavering not once from mine, no laughter now as her cheeks flushed that deep, beautiful rosy pink.
“And just when you’re about to come, when your body is shaking and you’re whimpering my name, beggingme to finish you,” I whispered luridly, knowing she could feel me hard against her stomach, “I’ll make sure you don’t come.”
Now I lowered my head, lightly scraped my teeth across her skin, felt with pleasure her elevated pulse on my lips.
“I’m going to let you come down, and then I’m going to do it again, and again, and again…”
Stjarna subtly squeezed her legs on mine and I lifted up, released her hand but caught both her wrists with my other, and reached down to lightly brush my fingers over her breast. She expulsed a heavy breath, nipple hardening under my fleeting touch, and shifted restlessly beneath me.
“And then I’m going to slide inside you, fuck you slow and deep, until you’re screaming because you can’t take any more…”
I lowered my head and began languidly kissing the side of her neck, meanwhile tracing lazy circles over her skin, gradually making my way down over her belly until I discerned those golden curls separated only by the thin fabric of her gown.
“Until you’re begging me to fuck you harder and harder…”
Stjarna’s breathing became audibly more ragged as I kissed and languidly sucked at her skin, wanting to make a mark, feeling a surge of victory—and lust—when she slightly arched her back beneath me, tilted her head to the side and let slip a telling little moan.
Heat flared inside, my own breaths coming heavier, and I knew she was going to give in to me. Not that making love to her would be so terrible, necessarily, and I readied eagerly for her acquiescence.
When I finally allowed my fingers to slip between her legs—admittedly, I was pushing the boundaries of our agreement—Stjarna gasped and stiffened beneath me. I grinned against her skin when I felt how unbelievably wet she was; the diaphanous fabric bunched between her legs was already soaking, and I could smell the heady fragrance of her desire hanging deliciously in the warm air.
Before I could push my luck further, though, Stjarna suddenly came back to life. She squirmed beneath me and I released her wrists, surprised as she used her seidr—because otherwise she was not strong enough—and pushed at me roughly until I was on my back.
She straddled my waist and I grabbed her hips, this exhilarating mix of pride and lust surging through me that I had won, but just as I lifted up to kiss her, to give in to this desire that had been simmering unbearably inside me for the past month, Stjarna put her hand on my chest.
“Stjarna—”
“Two can play at this game,” she whispered sultrily, and I pressed my lips together in irritation. She leaned down, smiling lips inches from mine. “What if it was you who begged me?”
“Impossible,” I dismissed, upset at this sudden and displeasing turn of events. “I do not beg.”
Stjarna laughed softly and sat up straight, hands splayed on my stomach. My eyes drifted down to her breasts, where I could just see her nipples hard through her nightgown, and I cursed to myself.
“So I suppose you’ve forgotten a month ago when you were practically sobbing for me to finish you?”
“Sobbing?” I snorted, eyes flickering back up to hers. “I don’t quite remember it like that.”
“What? You don’t remember the way you were begging me not to stop? ‘Don’t stop, Stjarna, don’t stop…’”
I scoffed at her impression of me and she laughed again.
“Oh, please. You love it when I do that…”
“Do what?” I asked smartly, as she slowly lowered herself onto me, thick blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders.
“When I use my tongue on you,” she breathed, moving down to kiss my chest, and I smirked.
“I’ll admit I do not mind it.”
She laughed quietly, knowingly, lips brushing enticingly against my skin.
“I like watching you just as much as you like watching me,” she confessed, and glanced up at me from under her brows. “I like the way you close your eyes and tilt your head back when I touch you…”
Her just talking about it was further arousing me, and much to my chagrin she could feel it. Stjarna grinned against my chest, and my heart began to beat a little faster when she began making her way slowly down my body—something I had not anticipated.
“I like touching you,” she admitted in a whisper, pausing at my navel. “I like the sounds you make, especially when I take you in my mouth.”
I exhaled slowly when she began languorously kissing down lower, parted lips grazing the thin trail of hair winding down to disappear into the top of my pants. Down lower, muscles tightening in my abdomen in anticipation, and then her lips brushed against my hardness. Though there was a layer of leather to separate her lips from my aching cock, a jolt skittered fiercely through me and I knew immediately we had to stop or I might not be able to help myself.
Abruptly I sat up, grabbed Stjarna’s chin, and lifted her head. She gazed up at me, waiting patiently for me to say the words.
“That’s enough,” I said, unable to mask the faint hoarseness in my voice.
Stjarna’s expression fell slightly—those had not been the words she had wished to hear. She sat up and raised her eyebrows, almost innocently.
“What is it, Loki?”
“We have to sleep.”
Yes, I had failed. Miserably.
“Oh, but we don’t,” she murmured alluringly, leaning forward to bury her face between my neck and shoulder. She began kissing me and I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to the top of her shoulder. I relished the feel of her pressed against me like this, the brief wetness of her tongue upon my skin, wanted so desperately to give in.
Would it truly have been so bad? Would it have been such a terrible loss? I imagined sliding inside her, sheathed in her heat, feeling her body so warm and pliant beneath me, hear her panting my name, crying out.
Gods, I wanted her.
“Are you giving up?” I wondered, lightly biting the top of her shoulder, hoping to the gods.
“Not at all,” she replied breathily, nipping playfully at my earlobe. “I just know how much you want me.”
And then her fingers brushed over my cock—with some pressure now—through my pants and I flinched at her touch.
“In fact, I know you want me…”
And she giggled as I put my hands on her and pushed her back.
“We need to go to bed,” I said flatly.
“Are you going to take care of that?” she smirked, eyes flickering down to the spot between my legs.
“It will go away,” I muttered resentfully.
Stjarna laughed, pushed my arms out of the way, and wrapped her arms around me. She pulled me down onto the bed with her and nuzzled affectionately against me.
“What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously, suspecting she was still attempting to get me to crack.
“I know we’re trying not to have sex,” she mumbled, “but I still want to touch you. I hope you do not mind?”
“No…”
Stjarna smiled and nestled closer against me, sighing, and I acquiesced. I was frustrated, but kept repeating this fraught litany over and over in my head, soon, soon, soon…
__
It had been over a month now, and I was going mad.
My only consolation was that I knew Stjarna was suffering just as much as me. I often caught her staring at me and could sense her want, but unfortunately she did not give in and neither did I.
And so I was quite relieved when it came time for the largest annual hunt held in Asgard. All of the higher gods participated, including Father, and there was to be a huge banquet held that night. Typically I disliked hunting, for there were far more interesting things to do than track beasts through the underbrush drenched in sweat and dirt, but this year I was looking forward to it. My interest had been piqued, of course, only within the past couple of weeks and I suspected it was because I was itching to release some energy.
That morning I left Stjarna in the bed with only a parting kiss, and Thor and I and the rest of them, including Baldr and Týr and Frey and Njord, geared up and rode off to the forest. It was an all-day event, and I found myself quite invested in the venture, and by some miracle by the end of the day, it was I who had felled the most, and largest, beasts.
Many of the others were surprised and begrudged I had bested them all, and Thor was particularly amused. I had told him a couple of weeks before of my and Stjarna’s little wager and he had found it incredibly amusing and was impressed I had gone so long without sex. Afterwards he blamed that for my winning and said if he had willingly gone over a month without sex he likely would have won, too.
That afternoon our party returned to the palace, wagons loaded with our kills trailing behind. Servants rushed to take our weary horses and to hurry the meat to the kitchens for preparation.
The banquet planned for that night would be beyond illustrious, for it was one of the most magnificent celebrations held in Asgard. The great hall was splendidly decorated and would host an especially large feast that would last long into the night, followed by dancing and much drunken revelry. Father would announce me as the one who had felled the most beasts, and that we would be feasting upon many of my own kills. To say I was eagerly anticipating the banquet—and putting to shame the prowess of Baldr and Týr and all those other idiots—was a colossal understatement.
Before I could attend the banquet, however, I would have to bathe, for I reeked of stale sweat and dirt and three different kinds of blood.
I made my way to my chambers, aching all over now that the adrenaline had faded and left me to experience each hard bump and fall today with every step. Upon reaching my rooms, I shut the door gratefully behind me and expulsed a heavy sigh.
I had only begun unlacing my leather vest, crusted in blood and dirt, when the door opened behind me. I turned, surprised to see Stjarna there with a big smile plastered across her face.
“Stjarna, what are you—”
But then her eyes fell down, took in the blood and bruises painted across my skin, and her jaw dropped.
“Loki!” she cried, rushing forward, concern etched upon her face. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I said, catching her hands when she went to inspect my neck, which had blood splattered across it. “I am fine.”
“Why do you look so terrible?”
“Er, thank you for that,” I chuckled. “I always look like this after a hunt.”
“No, you don’t,” she insisted, eyes worriedly scanning the rest of me. “Not like this.”
After a moment, I suspected she was right, since usually I did not elect to take such an active role in the hunting. This year, however, I had been itching to let some of my pent up energy out.
“Did you not hear?” I asked, holding her wrists so she would stop prodding at me.
Her pale grey eyes flickered up to mine. “Hear what?”
“I am the champion of the hunt, Stjarna. I put the rest of them to shame!”
She smiled, finally realizing I was not hurt in any way.
“You seem terribly pleased with yourself.”
“I am, and you should be, too.”
She furrowed her brows. “Why?”
“Because it is all your fault.”
“What?”
“How else was I supposed to spend my energy?”
Stjarna laughed loudly at that, realizing my meaning.
“Well, perhaps you ought to bathe now, the banquet will begin soon.”
“Yes, I see you’re already ready.”
Stjarna was dressed in a sleeveless, trailing pale pink gown, which elegantly draped her body and emphasized her curves. In her hair she wore a delicate headband of beaten gold flowers and on her upper arm a winding arm band in the shape of a snake I had gifted her many, many years ago, and that I had not seen in a while.
I reached out to trail my fingers down her arm, only marveling her.
“You are so beautiful,” I finally said.
“You say that every time, Loki,” she observed laughingly.
“Only because it is true,” I affirmed, pulling her towards me, careful not to let my front touch and soil her gown.
Her cheeks flushed, which made me smirk, and she glanced away, trying to hide her own smile.
I tilted my head. “Why are you here?”
Now she hesitated.
“I… I came to ask if you wished me to accompany you tonight.”
I raised my eyebrows. So that was why she had dressed up more so than usual.
I slowly smiled. “I have not won our wager, though.”
“No, but… neither have I. I was thinking about it and… you have long wished me to accompany you. It has been long enough.”
My smile grew.
“Thank you, Stjarna,” I murmured, kissing her, and then sighing dramatically. “I suppose this means I must have dinner with Mother and Thor.”
She lifted up on her toes to peck my lips. “It would be the chivalrous thing to do.”
I sighed again in acquiescence.
“You should probably bathe first, though,” Stjarna giggled, and I pulled back, realizing I had almost smeared myself on her dress.
“Ah, yes, that’s probably a good idea,” I agreed, releasing her. I turned to head to my bed chamber and Stjarna followed. I untied my leather vest, caked in dirt and blood, and dropped it onto the floor.
“Loki!” Stjarna snapped.
“What? They’ll get it in the morning.”
She made a sound of disgust and rolled her eyes as I went into my bath chamber.
My tunic was practically stuck to my skin, so I reached up, grabbed the back of my collar, and pulled it off. I draped it over a stool by the wall and bent down to unlace the top of my boots.
And then, suddenly, I stopped. I slowly looked up at Stjarna, who was leaning in the doorway, arms folded over her chest, watching me.
“Wait a moment.”
A smirk slowly spread across her face.
“The wager is done.”
The corner of her lips twitched. “I suppose it is.”
“So what does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
I straightened, could already feel the heat curling in my lower half.
It meant I was about four seconds away from ripping that pretty dress off of her.
Stjarna seemed to sense my train of thought, and when I took a step towards her she flinched, smile melting away, and took one back.
“Now Loki, we still have to go to the banquet, it will start soon—”
“Damn the banquet,” I dismissed.
“There will be plenty of time afterwards—”
“I don’t care.”
I stopped and so did she, both of us tensed. I was smiling toothlessly, eyes fixed rapaciously on hers—and then I pounced. Stjarna, anticipating it, turned and managed to slip just out of my reach. She was running across my bedchamber, pale pink dress billowing out behind her, laughing loudly. Stjarna did not get far, however—I grabbed the back of her belt, causing her to gasp and falter, and reached forward to wrap my arm tightly around her waist. Stjarna squealed in breathless delight as I hauled her backwards and turned her effortlessly in my arms.
Within seconds she was pinned helplessly against the wall, breathing hard. Desire kindled inside me, winding down to curl hotly in the pit of my stomach.
Stjarna went to protest, but before she could even get a word out, I lowered my head to engulf her mouth in a bruising kiss. I placed one hand possessively on her hip, wound it around to grab her arse and pulled her close. I braced my other arm on the wall behind her, taking pleasure in the way her body softened against mine.
When I broke the kiss to take a breath, Stjarna attempted once more to refute me, though her voice was quiet now and only in half-hearted protest.
“Loki, you’ve ruined my dress—”
“I’ll have you a dozen more made,” I growled, kissing her again, and this time she wisely realized I wasn’t going to the banquet and neither was she and she responded just as vehemently. Stjarna pushed her tongue past my teeth, lifting up on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss. It was sloppy and hungry, evincing our shared desperation.
I moved my hand from the wall, grabbed the strap of her gown, and pulled it roughly down over her shoulder. Stjarna sucked in a breath when I broke the kiss and pressed my lips to the top of her shoulder, tugged her dress down even farther until her breast was exposed.
Stjarna moaned softly and tilted her head back as I cupped her breast and squeezed it, supple skin filling my hand, nipple burgeoning eagerly to my touch. I ran my thumb over her pebbling flesh, lightly pinching her nipple and coaxing a breathy gasp from her lips.
I bent my knees, lowering my head to trail wet, openmouthed kisses over her flushed chest, until I took her nipple into my mouth. Stjarna breathed my name, arching her back and reaching up to tangle her fingers in my hair. I flicked my tongue across her sensitive flesh, hearing her breaths come more heavily, nibbled and sucked at her skin until it became pink and tender.
With my other hand I tugged her other strap down, until both of Stjarna’s breasts were exposed, and switched sides shortly before falling to my knees in front of her, unable to wait any longer. Stjarna gazed down at me, eyes heavy with desire, lips parted in silent entreaty.
I lustfully regarded her, smirking impishly as I leaned forward and kissed her belly, then lower. Stjarna sighed my name as I kissed her through her gown. Nuzzling between her legs, I slipped my hand beneath the hem of her dress and ran my splayed fingers up the backs of her calves, her thighs, until her dress was gathered in my hands at her waist and she was bared to me.
Anticipation was churning deliciously in the pit of my stomach as I leaned forward and kissed Stjarna, almost reverentially, pulling her lower half closer to me. The scent of her filling my nose, heady and intoxicating, as I skimmed my nose down through the delicate curls. I hooked one leg under hers, dying to taste her, dying to hear my name falling from her lips, and hiked it up so it was over my shoulder, and Stjarna was supported on one leg and leaning against the wall.
Stjarna tilted her head back, breath catching in her throat when I ran my tongue languidly through her folds, unable to wait or tease, savoring the desire already pooled there. I pleasured her slowly, fingers digging into the tender flesh of her white thighs; her little breaths and soft gasps were music to my ears, encouraging me, and I took that little bud between my lips, coaxing a halting moan from her throat.
She was squirming slightly against the wall, keening in breathless delight, and moaned again when I reached over the top of her leg and placed my hand at the top of her sex. I lowered my face, sliding my tongue slowly across her opening, and simultaneously began caressing that little pearl with my thumb.
Stjarna gripped my hair a little tighter, breaths coming faster. I was already hard, aching to be inside her, but hearing her voice her pleasure, feeling her straining against me, was too good to stop. I increased the pressure of my fingers, scraped my teeth across her sensitive skin, and grinned wolfishly when she almost sobbed my name
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
Chapter warnings/triggers: Language, Sexual Content
She was just as I remembered, and more; darkness beneath her black eyes set in a bone white mask, tinged now with that eerie grey-blue worn by all the dead, and framed in a wild mane of fiery red hair. She smiled, revealing pointed teeth, and a jolt went through me.
“Loki,” Angrboda said, and her voice—dark and alluring, deadly and promising—stirred something deep within me. Potent memories long buried even when I had been alive, clawing their way back to the surface, tearing through this wall of fog still permeating my mind.
My lips parted, but I did not utter her name, could not tear my eyes from hers. I could not believe she was here, standing so real before me.
Her smile widened.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she remarked cynically, coming closer.
My gaze drifted down as she raised her hand and reached out to gently touch my chest. I stiffened, felt it through my entire body as the memories came flooding painfully back, the heat that bloomed like fire inside me. I stumbled backwards, astonished by the sudden surge of feeling, and Angrboda’s hand lingered in the air for only a moment before falling back down to her side.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hel slowly circling around, encompassing us in that rotting stench that seemed to envelop her like a cloud.
“How did he die?” Angrboda inquired, addressing Hel—our daughter, I recalled with a pang—without looking.
“A Van shoved a blade through his chest.”
Angrboda quirked a slim red eyebrow, as if she was amused I had gone in such a way.
“I imagine there was a lot of blood…”
I glimpsed her smiling mouth—those sharp teeth behind pallid lips—and distinctly remembered kissing them, biting them, drawing blood from them as red as her hair. I could almost feel them upon my body again, the ghosting of her fingers across my skin, nails digging, teeth scraping their way lower and lower.
When my gaze flickered back up to Angrboda’s, the look in her eyes almost made me believe she knew exactly what I was thinking.
Hel stood still now, scrutinizing us, but I had had enough.
I turned my head towards my daughter, lips pressed tightly together.
“I will be in my chambers if you need me.”
And I glanced disdainfully once more at Angrboda, only fleetingly, before turning on my heel to leave.
Back in my chambers, I sat on the edge of my bed, hands hanging between my legs, eyes trained despairingly on the floor.
Inside me was absolute chaos—seeing Angrboda had brought it all back, despite the issues I had been having regarding seemingly everything else before I had simply appeared out there in that barren wasteland. I had no problem abruptly recalling every individual, painful, pleasurable detail of the night we had shared in Utgard when I was just a boy, something even in life I had attempted to quash, and now made all the more vivid by her sudden appearance. Feelings resurfacing I thought I had long ago tamped down, anger and bitter resentment, and something else I did not care to acknowledge.
Questions raced through my strained mind, about her, about afterwards when I had gone from Utgard, and the children that had only recently been revealed to me. Though part of me was repelled, there was a smaller, more treacherous part that wished desperately to speak with her, to be close to her despite my aversion. I could not deny what it was I had felt when she had touched me—not entirely disgust, tainted instead with something else, something dark and visceral.
I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, knowing not whether to be more bewildered or disgusted. I did not understand how I could be affected this strongly upon just seeing her—merely hearing her voice—though I certainly was no stranger to the conflicting emotions churning biliously inside me.
Finally, though, my thoughts were interrupted by a dull, prolonged knocking. I got up, grimacing for my splitting headache, and went into my main room and threw open the door.
It was that woman I had seen before, one of Hel’s servants—Ganglot.
“My lord, dinner is prepared. The queen requests your company.”
“Yes, I will be there,” I snapped, slamming the door in her face, though judging by her deadened expression I doubt she minded one way or the other.
__
Dinner was a bleak affair, but at least it helped to distract from the tumult raging inside me.
The great hall of Eljudnir was huge, with a towering ceiling and mottled stone walls hung with tattered black banners. The room was lined with long tables, filled with those of Hel’s court, and at the front upon a dais sat the high table, where Hel sat with her mother and a handful of well-dressed dead. I could feel their eyes on me—especially the penetrating gaze of one with fiery red hair—while a slow-moving servant directed me to the empty seat on Hel’s right.
I silently sat down, ignoring the stares from those sitting across the table. Hel did not say anything as more servants came out and began serving the food. I examined our meal as it was laid out, surprised it seemed no different from something I may have eaten in my past life.
Steaming meats—though I could not determine what animal they might have come from, and was not sure I wished to know—with soups and breads.
As the servants finished setting everything out, Hel introduced me to those at the table.
“My lords,” she announced. “I am pleased to introduce my father, Loki of Jötunheim.”
The nine men at the table inclined their heads.
“Jötunheim, eh?” one with a long, tangled beard grunted, and he squinted curiously at Angrboda, who was thankfully seated on Hel’s other side. “You don’t look like the queen’s mother, nor one of those red-eyed brutes they share the realm with.”
“A spell was cast over me when I was but a child,” I answered after a pause, somewhat coolly. “Therefore I do not take the appearance of my race.”
He nodded and Hel smirked.
“Father, this is Atganga.”
I gave a slight incline of my head. I already did not like him.
“These are the nine ambassadors of my realm, and my advisors. They are the voice of my people.”
Hel introduced them one by one and informed me I would soon be getting to know them better. After a time, she began speaking with a particularly ancient-looking one called Svarforn, leaving me to my own thoughts.
I stared down at the food as they conversed, still had not eaten anything—only drank some wine, which tasted surprisingly good, if not slightly musty—when one loudly commented on the fact.
“Is the queen’s father not famished?”
I glanced up. They were all studying me.
“Er…”
“He wonders how we eat,” one called Stokkr observed laughingly, stuffing a large chunk of meat past his thin lips and paying no heed to the juice running in rivulets down into his beard.
“It did cross my mind,” I replied.
“I told you that death is simply the other side of life,” Hel said in that gritty voice of hers. “The dead eat and drink and carouse just as they did in life.”
“It is like your breath,” one of the representatives added. “Your heart does not beat, yet you breathe. An annoying habit left over from life that none of us seem to want to give up. It is a comforting illusion, even after all this time.”
“How long is that?” I wondered.
None of them responded, strangely, and I regarded Hel.
“Time does not pass here as it did when you were alive,” she remarked nonchalantly, taking a draught of wine. “It is of no importance and you need not concern yourself with it.”
Sensing it was not a subject widely spoken of here, I dropped the matter, though it did not lessen my curiosity. Dinner continued and I listened to the talk going on around me, absorbing what was said, picking up on what was normal here. In truth, everything seemed similar to how it had been in Asgard, in terms of realm business and issues—only that everybody was dead.
When the feast ended, Hel leaned over and asked quietly if I would see her in her chambers later, for there were matters she wished to discuss with me. She departed after being bowed to by everybody in the room and then the hall began to gradually empty. I made sure to avoid Angrboda and as I was going to leave, a couple of the advisors caught me and wished to speak with me, mostly about what I thought so far of their realm and assuring me how I would soon become used to everything.
Afterwards, I inquired of a servant how to get to Hel’s chambers from the great hall and made it there without much trouble.
The doors to Hel’s quarters were huge and secured by two hulking, expressionless guards, both holding massive, rust-tipped spears. Before I could explain my arrival, one silently opened the door but did not announce me as I entered.
Hel’s receiving chamber was at least three times the size of mine, bathed in a warm light from an impressively large fireplace, and it was obvious at first glance that she liked the color red. Her chambers, surprisingly, exuded comfort, with cushioned chairs and thick fur rugs. Her mantelpiece was adorned with grisly ornaments, however—including a begrimed skull with a spike driven through its forehead—and the tapestries that hung from her walls were even more gruesome in nature. My daughter clearly had an affinity for the macabre.
Hel was seated at a desk against the far wall, studying some papers. A thick candle burned by her gloved hand, illuminating the hollows of her cheeks and emphasizing the gauntness of her sallow face. I could already smell her and wondered if I should ever become used to it.
She turned to look when the door was shut behind me, but before she could speak, a sudden movement caught my eye and I exclaimed when a great force slammed brutally into me, knocking the breath from my lungs, and throwing me violently onto my back and pinning me to the floor.
I blinked, not quite believing my eyes: a great dog loomed ominously over me, massive head lowered so its snout was merely inches from my face. Its quivering lips, crusted with what appeared to be dried, blackened blood, were pulled back in a savage snarl, revealing rows of evil, yellow teeth. Its eyes were dull black orbs and the reflecting firelight seemed to ignite within them a hellish red glow.
It growled at me, a sick, gurgling rumbling from deep within its throat, and its hot breath reeked of putrefaction and I almost choked.
“Garm!” Hel snapped, jumping to her feet.
The dog ducked its head and peeked almost guiltily at her. She glared at it, hands on her hips, and I closed my eyes and stiffened when it turned back to me, opened its foul-smelling maw, and with its long, flat tongue, licked up the entirety of my face, and then trotted away.
I sat up and gagged, felt the rancid saliva burning my skin, and quickly wiped my face with my sleeve. When I opened my eyes, breaths coming rapidly in my shock, Hel giggled.
“Be glad he likes you.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“That is Garm,” Hel answered as the dog, which stood nearly up to my chest, and whose thick body rippled imposingly with muscle, padded over to her and settled lithely next to her feet, setting his heavy head on the hem of her skirts. “A gift from Grandfather, to make my banishment here easier.”
I thought it odd she referred to Odin as her grandfather, even though she nor I were related to him by blood.
Hel bent down to pat the dog’s bulky head.
“Garm’s caught some of them trying to leave.”
“What?”
“The dead,” Hel clarified, grinning when Garm yawned. “Sometimes they try to go back across the river Gjöll. If they get past Módgud, which rarely happens, Garm brings them back, though never in one piece.”
“People try to leave?”
“Yes,” she sighed, sitting back up. “They yearn to be alive again.”
Her comment about Garm bringing them back in multiple pieces puzzled me. Surely they could not continue on in such an unfortunate state.
“Can you die here?”
Hel was silent for a moment, carefully thinking over her reply.
“Yes,” she finally admitted, motioning for me to sit in a chair next to her desk. “While what exists here is a manifestation of your soul, it is still very physical. You can still be injured, and you can still die, but unlike when you were alive, there is nothing after your second death.”
“So why do they cross the river again?” I asked, sitting down and glancing warily at Garm. “It is not as if they can be brought back to life.”
Hel’s expression faltered and I sensed a change in her.
“Can they?” I insisted, leaning forward, but she pressed her lips together.
“I did not call you here to discuss life and death,” she stated firmly. “I wished to inquire something of you.”
I glared at her, frustrated, but there was no use in pressing the matter. If she was as stubborn as her mother and I put together, there was no hope.
“What is it?” I asked, though not politely.
Now, astonishingly, Hel appeared slightly nervous.
“I was hoping, now that you’re here, you might play a considerable role in my court. If it pleases you, of course.”
I shifted in my seat. “Why?”
“It would please me greatly,” she responded. “And… I do feel that I would be able to trust you above the others.”
That genuinely surprised me, since I’m sure she was more than aware of my proclivity for dishonesty in my previous life. I was still attempting to become accustomed to what was going on around me, however, and neglected to give her a definitive answer.
“Why would you trust me above the others?” I inquired suspiciously.
“Because you are my father and there is no one here you are loyal to.”
Hearing her say it—that I was her father—unnerved me for some reason. Even now, I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I had children, and that one of them ruled the realm of the dead.
“I must confess, Father, I was pleased when you finally died.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, were you?”
She giggled, though it sounded more like a deep, hacking cough.
“Yes. I really have only heard small details from Grandfather and Mother, but long wished to meet you myself.”
A coldness spread through me.
“What did she tell you?”
“Only what you looked like. How arrogant you are, though I have not yet seen it.”
I pressed my lips together. “I hope that’s all she told you.”
Hel laughed—a rough, guttural sound, causing the hairs to stand up on the back of my neck—and rose from her chair, stirring the putrescent air around her.
“You may think on my offer,” she said. “I do hope you will accept.”
“I will consider it.”
She grinned. “Thank you, Father. You may go.”
I nodded and also rose, feeling odd.
I walked unhurriedly back to my own chambers, ruminating on Hel’s offer and wondering sullenly what Angrboda had told our daughter about me. I only vaguely remembered the way to my chambers and meandered along, distracted by my own thoughts.
Halfway there, I passed a large open doorway connecting to the corridor. I backtracked, curious, and found that it led out to what appeared to be a garden, which astounded me. I wondered how anything could grow here without a sun, but quickly deemed it not an ordinary garden.
The sky was not entirely dark, but still casting an eerie, wan light, and I could easily see. Hel would later explain to me that her realm was not open to any sky, save for a small patch where Niflheim, the frozen realm above this one, ended, and it was by her own magical will that one could discern the day from the night.
I wandered leisurely around. The plants did not appear healthy and the air smelled of sickly sweet rot; many were shriveled or blackened or covered in some sort of mold or oily film. Broken stone statues dotted the garden, strangled by roaming tendrils. There were many trees laden with dark fruit, and waning flowers adorning the leaf-laden walls.
Feeling a sense of unease, partially because it was so disconcertingly quiet, I turned to leave, but stopped suddenly.
Across the garden, half hidden by a drooping bundle of leaves, stood Angrboda.
She was facing mostly away from me and cradling a wilted rose in her hand, hanging precariously on the wall. She appeared to be studying it, running her thumb lightly across its withered petals.
I stood still, only watching her, and eventually moved a little closer, for some inexplicable reason wanting to see more of her.
Angrboda was dressed differently from earlier, more simply now, in a plain brown dress cinched at the waist with a leather belt. Her coarse red hair was pulled back with a leather thong, but still cascaded wildly down past her waist, and without wanting to, I could unexpectedly remember fisting it in my hands, a fiery red halo glowing in the dark above me.
My eyes traveled slowly down her body, lingering on the curves of her hips prominent through the thick fabric. Without even closing my eyes I could recall exactly what her body looked like under her dress, and a flush crept through me and I knew it was desire coiling in my gut, but I could not fathom why I was even standing here, thinking of this at all.
“I can feel you watching me.”
I blinked, drawn abruptly out of my libidinous thoughts. Angrboda was still facing away from me, but gradually turned her head, a smile playing on the edge of her pale lips.
“What are you doing?” she inquired, and I thought her voice almost sweet after the grating rasp of Hel’s.
“I…”
Angrboda’s smile grew as she picked the rose and gently stuffed it into a leather pouch hanging on her belt. She turned and came towards me, but paused at another growth.
“This is my garden,” she remarked. “Do you like it?”
“Everything seems to be dead.”
Why was I speaking to her? Why wasn’t I leaving?
“Some are, some are not. They all serve me a purpose nonetheless.”
Angrboda picked another bloom and put it into the bag at her waist. She came gradually closer, stopping every so often to pick a flower or a leaf, to rub it between her fingers or run it beneath her nose. All the while I was still standing there like an idiot, strangely mesmerized by every little movement—the way her fingers so gracefully cradled a wilting blossom, or when her lips parted as she felt its texture.
“Many of them are quite poisonous,” Angrboda commented suddenly, continuing to pick some of the plants, caressing their leaves or stems almost tenderly as I stared in silent entrancement.
“Odin told me how you died,” I finally said, eyes flickering to the pale of her neck when a breeze ruffled her hair.
“Did he?” she murmured vaguely, not regarding me.
I took a step forward, and though I told myself it was so I could hear her responses better, deep down I knew it was because I wanted to be closer to her, despite the resentment I had felt towards her only minutes ago coming from Hel’s.
“Yes,” I responded. “He sent soldiers to Utgard.”
Angrboda’s expression remained unmoved.
“They came at night,” she muttered. “They tried to take my children, but I fought them.”
“And they killed you.”
She glanced at me, almost appeared pleased at how close I had come.
“Well, I was not going to stand by and let the soldiers take them, was I? Worry not, Loki, I was able to take a few of them with me.”
Her dark eyes lingered on me, and I took another step forward and then stopped when she looked away.
“Our daughter found me soon after, when your insufferable guardian sent her here to rule over the mindless hordes.”
Another step closer, so I was standing right next to her. She was gently picking at a twisting vine, gathering something in her palm, and then she turned to me and held her hand out. There were half a dozen small berries in her palm, with glistening, bumpy skins.
“Eat one,” she said.
When I hesitated, she smirked.
“They’re not going to kill you, I promise.”
And she took one between her fingers and put it into her mouth. I watched her chew it before hesitantly taking one, in that moment no longer bothering to wonder why I was doing this, and tentatively took it into my mouth. I positioned the little round fruit between my teeth and bit down, bursting it. The sourness of its juice flooded my mouth, but it actually tasted good.
She was staring at me, and I was staring at her, falling deeper into that black of her eyes; my gaze fell down to her parted lips, the insides stained dark purple from the berry, and then I was leaning forward, hardly realizing it until my lips met with hers.
Angrboda was slightly taller than me, and I reached up and put one hand on the side of her neck, the other on her hip, and her back hit the wall as I deepened the kiss—no hesitation now. The sharp edges of her teeth scraped painfully and deliciously across my tongue as I ran it fervently through her mouth, desperate to taste her.
I pushed my body insistently against hers, not close enough, not yet—her breasts pressed flat against my chest, body conforming to mine as I practically crushed her against the wall in my eagerness to be as close to her as possible, but she was not fragile, oh, I knew that so well…
Dragging one hand down over the curve of her hip, I pushed my leg between hers and fisted her skirts in my hand. I was already hard, aching to feel what I could only remember, burning to satisfy this perfidious hunger in me.
“Loki,” she panted, breaking the kiss, and I gasped, feeling as if all the breath had been sucked from my lungs. I exhaled sharply, pulled her body closer and lowered my head to press a lusty, openmouthed kiss to her chest. She sighed my name and slipped her hands beneath my tunic, causing a shiver to run through me when she scraped her nails over my bare skin.
I wanted her, I knew I wanted her, but didn’t understand because at the same time I hated her, and even as I rose to capture her lips in another heady kiss, I could so vividly recall the last time we had been together, could remember the pain and the pleasure, the blood and the darkness and the humiliation.
Sickness now, churning nauseatingly with this black lust.
I broke the kiss, breathing hard, and glanced away, filled suddenly with uncertainty. Angrboda, sensing my abrupt reluctance, breathily whispered my name. She dug her nails into my back, attempted to kiss me again, but before her lips could touch mine, my hand was wrapped around her throat and she was pinned against the wall. She stiffened, wisely uttering not a word, as her hands slowly slid down from beneath my shirt.
Not just this aching want anymore, but streaked with hatred, and she knew it.
I glowered venomously at her, the silence hanging heavy in the air between us; desire still coursing through me, coiling in my gut, urging me forward into the blackness of her eyes. I gritted my teeth and increased my grip on her neck, wanting to hurt her, wanting to hear her cry out, even as I swallowed that cry with a kiss, wanting to see her body contort in pain while I filled her with my desire, over and over and over…
And still she was staring at me, tempting me, encouraging me.
I growled in frustration, roughly released her, and turned away. I stormed angrily from the garden, perceived her black gaze on me all the way out. I returned immediately to my chambers and once there, drew the curtains so it was nearly pitch black, stripped down, and crawled into bed.
I lay there on my back, hands gripping the blankets, but I could not drive her from my mind. Angrboda filled every depraved corner and I cursed her because despite the deep loathing I felt for her, beneath the covers I was still hard.
It was as they had said earlier: only an annoying habit the dead wished to carry over from life.
I could not help it, though, could not hold back—I closed my eyes, envisioned my giantess as I slid my hand beneath the covers and wrapped my fingers around my rigid cock. Imagined her on top of me, supine beneath me as I began a leisurely rhythm, crying out as I drove into her, and I could almost feel her around me again, teeth and nails and heat and rushing blood…
Faster now, breaths coming in quick, short pants as I approached my end. I did not last long and groaned, mouth falling open as I came; Angrboda consuming my mind, spilling out the cracks, flooding my consciousness as I gratefully descended into this roiling darkness.
When the blackness receded, and left me there gasping for air, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, I slowly withdrew my hand from between my legs and settled it on my stomach, the sticky remnants of my unslaked desire serving merely as a bitter reminder of my weakness.
I hated myself because I could not resist the creeping thought of her and didn’t know why. Angrboda was not beautiful, her personality just as dreadful. So why did I lust so for her?
After a few despairing minutes, I turned onto my side and stared into the darkness, realizing resentfully that it was simply a matter of time before I submitted completely to this insane longing, and to my red-haired witch.
And there, floating unseen, somewhere in the back of my mind, swathed in shadow and sorrow, was a woman with long blonde hair and sad, grey eyes.
__
It felt as if only a couple of weeks had passed, but Hel told me time did not pass here as it did for the living. Sometimes I asked her how long I had been here, since I began to so quickly forget more and more details of my past life, but she never would say and so I learned to stop asking.
Ultimately, I decided to play some part in Hel’s court because it kept me occupied and less likely to run into Angrboda. Hel was thrilled with my decision and had me sit with her when she met with her advisors, or when she held court and the dead brought to her their problems, and even allowed me to pass judgment or solve some dilemma.
I observed Hel’s interactions with her people and came to the conclusion that she was a firm, but compassionate, queen. Some days she left Eljudnir and would walk among the dead in the valley and the people would flock to see her. Though in some aspects Hel repulsed me, in other ways she impressed me, and I daresay I felt some spark of pride in knowing that she was mine.
However, even Hel grew weary, and one day wished to take a break from her queenly duties and walk with me around the palace grounds. She never said it, but I could tell she enjoyed spending time with me. I suppose I could not fault her, since she had been the past thousand years without a father, though I knew not the first thing about being one, and still occasionally grew nauseous at the thought.
We strolled through Angrboda’s garden, though Hel did not mention it belonged to her mother, and eventually came to the only open courtyard in Eljudnir. It was not as filled with plants and dead things like Angrboda’s garden, but grotesque statues, a few lone gnarled trees, and some small trickling fountains. The ground was paved with stone, though many were broken to reveal the dry, dusty ground beneath, and weeds sprouted up between the cracks.
I sat on a stone bench while Hel stood by the edge of one of the fountains. The water was murky and dribbled thickly out of the statue’s mouth, which took the form of a woman seized in agony, clawing at her own face.
A strong breeze blew, lifting Hel’s loose hair off her thin shoulders and ruffling her long black skirts. I sat away from the direction of the wind so I did not have to smell her.
I was watching her, finally asked something that had been nagging at me.
“Hel, are you dead?”
“No,” she answered, brushing her hair out of her face. “Unlike the rest of you, I must actually eat.”
“Are there no others in Helheim that are alive?”
“None.”
And then another question that had been plaguing me.
“Where are those I knew?”
“What are you talking about?”
I paused, unsure if I really wanted to know.
“Is Frigga here?”
Hel remained silent for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell me, then replied without looking at me.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the valley.”
I let out a breath, knowing she was so close.
“Is she happy there?”
“Yes, she is with Grandfather,” Hel divulged, turning to come and sit next to me on the bench.
“Hmm.”
“They visit sometimes,” Hel added.
“Do they?”
“Yes.”
“Why do they not live here with you?”
“Because it matters not what you were in your past life. All are equal here.”
I pressed my lips together, wondering grudgingly why Angrboda was here and not moldering in the valley. I remembered her saying Hel had found her when she had come to rule as queen here, but thought Hel would have been better off leaving Angrboda out there with the rest of them to stagnate for eternity.
Much to my consternation, I had been unable to keep Angrboda at bay. Always she was there, lurking, waiting for any opportunity to distract me from whatever it was I was doing. It did not help that I saw her every morning when Hel insisted we all eat together, and then at night in the great hall.
I could not understand it, why the very thought of her gnawed at me, why I had to fight to fall asleep every night because all I wanted to do was think about her. And always when she saw me she would smile, as if she knew what she was doing to me without even saying a word. It made me hate her all the more, and yet simultaneously only increased my longing for her.
I was doing my best to avoid her, however, and some days later found myself in Eljudnir’s library, seeking solace from Hel and her advisors and whatever duties I may have been assigned that day. The library was not an impressive room by any means, but I had pleasantly discovered that many of the books had come from Asgard.
It was a small comfort to run my fingers over the pages, to imagine that I might have read this very book centuries ago. Hel told me through the years that Odin had occasionally come to see her on his steed Sleipnir, often bearing gifts—mostly books, for Hel loved to read—which disgusted me because I did not like thinking of him as the caring type.
I was leaning against a towering bookshelf, leafing casually through a book which had been scribed here in Helheim about Helheim, when I heard the door to the library open and shut. I turned, thinking it would be a servant come to find me for Hel, but it was not.
Angrboda stood there, head tilted slightly to the side.
“I thought I might find you here,” she said.
I scoffed and glanced back down at the book.
“Get out.”
“I don’t think I should,” she answered, slowly coming closer, running her fingertips over the edges of the tabletops as she approached. “You have been acting oddly.”
I grunted some unintelligible response, irritated because she was completely right. Angrboda laughed softly—not a pretty laugh, though certainly prettier than Hel’s.
“I hope you do not think me so unperceptive,” she remarked. “You know better than that.”
She came to stand before me and I eyed her circumspectly.
“And what exactly is it you are so perceptive about?” I snapped.
She grinned, revealing the points of her teeth.
“You think I do not remember?”
I gritted my teeth. Her very presence was incensing me, frustrating me.
“Remember what?” I ground out.
“That night,” she replied in a sensuous whisper, coming even closer, and I stiffened when she took the book from my hand and set it on the shelf.
My eyes were fixed on hers, and I could almost see it all again playing out in those black eyes—we were in Skrýmir’s great hall, shouting and revelry all around, and she was standing before me, bathed in warm light, urging me—and I felt it again, like a boy who didn’t know anything and didn’t know what was about to happen or why.
“I have missed you, Loki,” she admitted, placing both hands lightly on my chest, never tearing her eyes from mine.
“We spent one night together,” I countered, though my voice was not as strong as before.
“Did it mean so little to you?” she wondered, tilting her head.
I let out a breath, almost felt suffocated.
“I would hardly call it a worthy remembrance,” I said, hating her touching me, but for some reason electing to remain in that spot.
She snickered, I was not fooling her.
“You think I do not notice?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I feel your eyes follow me when I walk across the room. I know you think of me, you can do little else. I feel it, Loki.”
Her words were soft, alluring almost, and I remained still when she leaned forward and kissed me. Though her lips were cool against mine, the sensation sent a bolt of pleasure skittering through me, igniting the embers that had been smoldering in the pit of my stomach. Just as my lips parted to almost thoughtlessly deepen the kiss, she pulled away and smirked as I languidly opened my eyes.
“Did you ever think of me, Loki?” she breathed.
I let out a heavy breath, could not tear my eyes away. I did not care to confess how often I had thought of her, how many sleepless nights I had lay awake thinking of her, hungering for her, needing again everything she had done to me and I to her.
And I wanted to. The opportunity was standing here, so close; I wanted to play out every dark, dissolute lust I had ever imagined on her, to relive that night in Utgard, and yet there was something in the back of my mind screaming against it…
“You can be sure that I thought of you, princeling—”
That word set something off, deep in my mind, and without thinking I grabbed her roughly by the throat and turned around and slammed her up against the shelving—she was not delicate, after all—and she gasped, more in surprise than anything, and grabbed my wrist.
But then, she smiled.
“You’re not as pitiful as I remember,” she chuckled quietly, rolling her head to the side.
“You’re right,” I growled.
I was no longer the unknowing, inexperienced boy I had been when she had lured me into her bed. I had endured much since then and was angry at her, furious for her memory plaguing me my whole life, and now her memory taken form here even in death to torment me, to drive me insane with this wretched desire.
I was beyond desperate to hurt her, dying to be inside her again, to possess her and hear her screaming in pain as she had done to me so long ago. It would not be enough to score her body, to darken its paleness with bruises and bites. I wanted to break it beneath me, taking all she had to give until there was nothing left.
“You hate me,” she murmured, black eyes fixed on mine.
“Yes,” I bit out, tightening my grip around her neck. “I hate you.”
Her smile widened, revealing just the points of her teeth.
“Then show me, Loki,” she breathed, relaxing slightly against the shelves. “Show me how much you hate me…”
My lips parted in surprise at her offer. Opening herself up to let me take what I had only dreamt of, granting me permission to sate these licentious desires.
I tentatively moved my hand to the side of her neck and gently ran my thumb down the column of her pale throat. I could faintly discern the veins beneath her skin, followed the delicate black webs with my eyes as her words echoed inside my mind, winding their way down to curl hotly in the pit of my stomach.
Gods, I wanted to hurt her, in more ways than one—wanted to quench this fire she had ignited in me a thousand years ago—and here she was asking me to do it, begging me to do it.
I could not stop myself.
I moved my hand to the back of her neck, jerked her forward, and crashed my lips to hers. Her back hit the shelving as I thrust my tongue insistently past her lips, groaning in pleasure as I deepened the kiss. I eagerly explored her mouth with my tongue, wincing when her sharp teeth scraped against me.
Angrboda could feel me hardening against her already, because she splayed her hands on my hips and pulled me tight against her, encouraging me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew this was wrong, but in that instant could not remember why, nor could truly be bothered to care—my body was burning, it was almost painful, and I could only anticipate being inside her again, feeling her as I had so debauchedly envisioned these past centuries.
I pushed my leg between Angrboda’s and reached down to grab a fistful of her skirts. She went to tug at the laces of my pants, but I caught her hand, wrapped my fingers around her wrist, and forcibly pinned it to the shelf above her head.
Everything suddenly stopped, just our heavy breathing to be heard.
I closed the distance between us, lightly nipped at her bottom lip.
“Do not touch me,” I growled.
“Yes, Prince,” she laughed, tilting her head back as I yanked her dress up. I kicked her legs apart, exhaled sharply when I slipped my fingers between her thighs and felt her wet. Her eyes fluttered closed as I touched her, noting the way her mouth fell open, and despite the carnal depravity surging through me, I could not help but to take pleasure in her expression as I trailed my middle finger languorously through her folds.
Angrboda did as I said and did not touch me, but gripped the shelf above her head with one hand and the one behind her hips with the other as she wantonly pressed them forward into my touch. Her breath caught in her throat and she rolled her head back when I easily slid my finger inside her, and I leaned forward and pressed a lusty, openmouthed kiss to the front of her throat.
“Loki,” she gasped, breath hitching when I pressed the heel of my palm hard against the bud at the top of her sex. “Fuck me…”
Her libidinous plea inflamed me, and I dragged my lips to the side of her throat, grazing my teeth across her skin, before quickly withdrawing my hand from between her legs. I reached between us and began almost frantically tugging at the laces of my pants. As soon as they were loose and pushed down, I grabbed her hip and wrenched her towards me, desperate to make real these obscene desires that had plagued me for so long.
She was smiling, still smiling, but I was too far gone now to care—the yearning was too strong, blazing inside me. I reached down, hooked my hand under her knee, and lifted her leg up against my hip. I was practically shaking in anticipation, could feel her wet and smell the faint headiness of her desire lingering enticingly in the air, driving me mad.
Angrboda gasped when I pushed roughly forward, burying myself to the hilt inside her. She panted my name and arched her back, grip tightening on the shelf above her head. My mouth fell open at the sensation, pleasure coursing like fire through my veins, burning me up from the inside. I tilted forward, exhaled sharply as I pressed another openmouthed kiss to the side of her neck and ground my hips against hers.
I lifted my head and kissed her on the mouth, despite having told her only moments ago not to touch me, and she responded just as fervidly. It was a sloppy kiss—no thought, just desperation—and I bit her bottom lip so hard I tasted blood, musty and metallic. She returned the favor, biting and then almost playfully licking my bloodied lips as I pulled away.
Still clutching Angrboda’s leg to my hip, I braced my other hand on the shelf behind her and began thrusting into her. I was not gentle, did not whisper sweet nothings into her ear or caress her skin. I dug my nails into her flesh, surely creating marks, bared my teeth and bit down on her neck and shoulder, wanting to draw blood, wanting to hear her moan in pain.
Each starved movement educed a labored gasp from her parted lips, music to my ears; no hesitation now, just heat and pleasure coiling in my gut, pulsing and tightening with each hard thrust.
And she liked it and I knew she did and it drove me even deeper into this debauched haze. Harder so the only sounds were our mingling pants, the sharp snap of my hips against hers, slamming into the shelving over and over until she could barely breathe; only my driving into her body, encouraging me to give all I had.
My own body was screaming for relief, I could feel it rising up in me, threatening to explode—faster, harder—until the tightness coiled in the pit of my stomach finally split open.
I groaned loudly and leaned forward, sinking my teeth into the top of Angrboda’s shoulder and drawing yet more blood. I stiffened against her, body frozen in my ecstasy, the edges of my consciousness faded to black as mind-numbing pleasure surged through me, out of me and deep into her body.
Too soon, I sank back down to reality, the taste of her foul blood filling my mouth. But there was a dull warmth tingling in my limbs, lingering pleasantly in my body like a warm cloud, and I groaned as I uncurled my stiff fingers from around the edge of the shelf.
Angrboda had moved her hands to my back without me realizing, but in that instant I did not care. I liked her arms around me, found a treacherous comfort in her sporadic breaths warm against my skin. I listlessly kissed the top of her shoulder, in the same spot I had just viciously bitten, and then turned my head to affectionately kiss the side of her neck, up to under her ear.
She sighed—almost wistfully—and rested her head against mine, relaxing slightly against the shelves. Not anger anymore, nothing left now but ashes. I unfurled my fingers from within her tangled hair, weakly pushed on the shelf behind her head. Angrboda languidly opened her eyes, but I did not meet her gaze—did not think I could bear to see the triumph there—as I pulled out and away from her.
I gently released Angrboda’s leg and her skirts fell back down to her ankles. I turned away, hardly realizing what I had done—not wanting to even acknowledge it—despite the slickness of her desire still sticky on my fingers, the stinging of my lips where she had bitten me, the taste of blood.
I adjusted myself and laced my pants back up. The room was unbearably silent.
Then, she laughed softly.
I warily regarded her; she was still leaning limply against the shelves, head tilted back, exposing her throat now wrapped with bruises, an amused smile playing on her pale, grey-blue lips.
“Didn’t I tell you you’d always belong to me?” she murmured, fisting her skirts in her hands.
And I could remember, through the murkiness shrouding that fateful night, words whispered faintly in the darkness, etched forever into my mind.
I walked back up to her, stood so close we were only inches apart—resentment flaring hotly inside me, wanting to smack that ridiculous smirk off her face. I did not strike her, however; did not refute her, did not correct her. Instead, I reached up, cupped her face in my hands, and kissed her.
It was not a hard kiss, filled with animosity, but indolent and tender, as if I had not just bitterly fucked her against a bookcase.
A voiceless admission, a wordless surrender.
I moved to tangle my fingers in Angrboda’s hair, brought her closer so our bodies were pressed together. She breathed my name against my lips, sighed again in what I assumed to be contentment when I broke the kiss and rested my forehead against hers.
Angrboda had gotten what she wanted and I knew I would no longer be able to keep from her—she was mine as much as I was hers.
I had waited so long for this, but there was no rush, was there?
I had all of eternity now to drown in her body and all of eternity to hate myself for it.
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
The suns were setting and the sky was a beautiful dusky orange, fringed with splashes of pink and red. Blue crept gradually in from the east, heralding the night and casting darkness over the snow-capped mountains in the far distance.
I had always thought the mountains beautiful, and many times before stood and gazed wistfully at them, wishing I was there instead of here. The last time such a notion had crossed my mind had been centuries ago, before I had fallen so low and been exiled to Asgard. Those days seemed remote now, almost a dream; faded or purposely forgotten memories, replaced by newer and more dreadful remembrances.
Though I had been born and raised here, no longer did it feel like home. The air tasted different, felt different on my skin—thinner, cooler. But perhaps it was the changing of the seasons, or that rain was in the air, presaged by the dark, low-hanging clouds lingering ominously close.
I glanced down to the nearest village, situated along one of the large, winding roads that branched out from the palace grounds—my old hometown. I could not see through the trees that bordered its edge, though knew that somewhere within them sat a familiar little house, where once I had lived with my mother and father for but a fleeting eighteen years. I suspected the house was derelict now, and though so close, doubted I should ever see it again.
I slowly looked down at my hands, resting on the stone railing of my balcony, and closed my eyes.
Less than a month ago I had been in Asgard, planning to run away to Midgard with Loki. How quickly, and unforgivably, things changed. I recalled with such clarity Thor’s sorrow, his regret, in revealing to me Valdrlund’s ultimatum. How my old lover had threatened war unless recompense was paid for Freyja’s death, and that recompense was me. Thor had not wanted to let me go, but he had no choice, and I knew it.
I had not been here one day yet and Valdrlund had already given me chambers, three times larger than those I had possessed in Asgard, a new wardrobe, and anything else I might desire—or so his page had told me. Despite this, I had not officially met with Valdrlund yet. That would be tonight, when we would dine privately in his own rooms.
In truth, I was not sure my feelings. Not fear, not apprehension churning in the pit of my stomach—only a sort of lethargic apathy, perhaps, hanging heavy inside me. After the events of a few weeks ago, there was little to move me, torn suddenly from all I had come to know, and little left inside now to let out.
I stood there on my balcony for a while longer, thinking woefully of Loki and Asgard, and just when the dark clouds finally rolled in and the first raindrops began to fall, and the landscape was shrouded in a fine, misty grey, there came a knocking on my door. I turned to answer, drawn abruptly out of my melancholy thoughts.
A young boy stood there when I opened the door—Valdrlund’s page.
“Good evening, Lady Stjarnavetr,” he chirped, bowing deeply. “Dinner is prepared and the king awaits.”
Wordlessly I exited my chambers, gently closing the door behind me. I followed the page, though even after all this time I knew the way.
Despite my outward passivity, I must admit as we neared Valdrlund’s chambers I felt a small twinge of trepidation. Tonight would be my first time seeing him in centuries—to hear his voice again and no doubt to feel his touch.
The guards silently allowed me admittance, and the page announced me before shutting the door behind him.
I stood there, gaze traveling carefully around the room as the rain began to thunder down outside.
Valdrlund’s chambers were grand: richly colored tapestries and thick fur rugs decorated the walls and floor; beautiful and expertly carved furniture inhabited every corner, along with a wide assortment of swords, shields, and spears. A fire snapped in the large brazier centered in the room, casting a warm glow and highlighting the rich ornaments that adorned every polished surface.
And there he sat at the table, kicked back, a brimming cup of wine in his hand. The apprehension I had felt earlier was completely gone and replaced now by a roiling bitterness.
He was clad not in the fashion of the court—brightly colored robes with intricate, metallic embroidery—but rather how I had often remembered him to be dressed. A loose, dark blue tunic, unlaced at the top to reveal his tanned chest, beneath a worn, open leather vest, with leather pants and tall boots, crusted with sand so I knew he had been in the training yard earlier in the day.
He stood up, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Stjarnavetr.”
In five hundred years, he had not changed in appearance at all: pale blond hair down to his shoulders, close-cropped beard that I could still feel the rough graze of across my skin if I tried hard enough, and cold, cold blue eyes masked in a warmth as false as his voice.
Valdrlund walked up to me, cup of wine still in his hand.
“I cannot describe to you how delighted I am that you are here,” he murmured, curling his fingers under my chin and lifting my face. He was so much taller than me and my eyes locked onto his, unflinching, even when he lowered his head, almost haltingly, and pressed a seemingly chaste kiss to my cheek.
Valdrlund stroked his thumb gently over my skin, making it crawl, but I did not strike his hand or push him away, and after a moment he dropped his arm. I could tell he wished to say something more, but ultimately decided against it.
“Please,” he said, walking back towards his table, laid out with a sumptuous feast. “Sit.”
I stared at him, unmoving, but finally took a step forward when he pulled out a chair. I sat down, still unspeaking, as he rounded the table to sit across from me, never taking his eyes off me. He grinned—apparently could think of nothing else to do but smile at me—and though I did not return the sentiment, he did not seem to mind.
“It’s been a while since you’ve had proper food,” he observed, somewhat jokingly. “I had the kitchens prepare some Asgardian dishes, so as not to shock you too much, and some of your favorites that I remember.”
I glimpsed a plate of honey cakes not an arm’s length away, but my appetite was nonexistent.
“I hope you are pleased with your accommodations,” he remarked, setting his cup on the table.
I gave a small nod, eyes still downcast.
“I had your chambers specially prepared for you,” he continued, oblivious as always to my aversion. “I told them to make sure the drapes were your favorite color, and had them bring some books from the royal library. I noticed the shelves were a bit empty and I know how much you like to read…”
When still I did not respond, Valdrlund audibly sighed.
“Stjarnavetr…”
Slowly I looked up. He did not appear angry at my lack of conversation, however—penitent, almost.
“Will you speak with me?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I answered, my first words to him in five centuries.
He hesitated, as if he knew not what to say—a rare occurrence for him.
“I want you to talk to me,” he finally replied.
I stared at him, but could not hold his gaze for very long, and once again lowered my head.
“I do realize this is difficult for you,” he expressed gently. “Your return here—”
“My return here?” I interrupted sharply. I raised my head, could feel my cheeks flush as anger rose suddenly and uninhibitedly inside me. “You speak of it as if I had a choice.”
Though I spoke tersely, I was stunned when Valdrlund did not jump to his feet, or slam his fist on the table.
“Asgard is in turmoil,” he stated calmly, though not threateningly. “Their king was murdered by his own son, and the new Allfather flounders in his role. There was no reason for you to remain.”
“My family is there,” I mentioned, unintentionally a little weaker now.
At that, surprisingly, Valdrlund had nothing to say. He glanced down at his plate and I could tell he was thinking on what next to say. I figured he would insult them, or claim they were of no consequence, but to my astonishment, it was quite the opposite.
“I am sorry, Stjarnavetr,” he sighed, and I shifted uneasily in my seat. “I am sorry things happened the way they did.”
What did he mean? Was he sorry that he had forced me to come here against my will, or sorry about everything that had led up to it, including Loki’s death? But surely not… Valdrlund had detested Loki, and probably had clapped his hands together in joy when he found out my lover’s bloody demise. But I would not ask for clarification, I was not sure I wanted to hear.
“I must admit something to you,” Valdrlund said, voice quieter now. “In truth, it is the reason I wished to meet with you tonight, and I do not wish to dance around the subject, so I will just say it.”
A sense of unease came over me, unsure of what next would come out of his mouth.
“I wish to begin anew with you.”
My lips parted in surprise.
“There is much history between us, hardly any of it pleasant,” he explained soberly, running his thumb absently around the rim of his cup. “I do not expect your forgiveness for anything I have done to you in the past, nor any of the grief I have caused you now, and I know I will never be able to make any of it up to you, but I wish to try, and I want you to know that I am trying.”
I looked away, my first instinct disbelief. Oh, but of course he was lying, he was such a talented liar. I had heard this all before, it was all I had ever known from him. Anger and degradation, followed always by his professions of love and regret. It was impossible that he might have changed, it was all just an act to soften me.
“I realize you will be disinclined to believe me,” he added, drawing my dubious gaze once again. “But I wish to build again the trust that once existed between us.”
I scoffed, incredulous, and stood up.
“What trust was that, Valdrlund?” I cried, almost in despair. “There never existed between us any semblance of trust.”
“There did, once,” he insisted, and he stood up and came slowly around the table. “In the beginning, I remember—”
“The beginning? What, when you first brought me to the palace?”
“Yes,” he replied, taking a step towards me, but I took a step back.
“I was eighteen, Valdrlund!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know anything when I came here!”
“I know you didn’t…”
The anger and the resentment fulminating inside me bloomed even hotter, and I could not tell if it was long-buried rage unearthed now by Valdrlund’s mere presence, or the simmering remnants of my grief and fury left over from Asgard. But whatever it was, it was not tinged with timidity, nor fear—after what I had endured this past month, I doubted Valdrlund should ever be able to instill in me those feelings again.
“You took advantage of me,” I bit out. “You call that trust?”
“No,” he confessed, and his answer took me completely off guard. “You were young. I did take advantage of you.”
I could not believe my ears, that he was actually admitting it to me, no excuses—agreeing that he had hurt me and done me wrong. I stared dumbfounded at him, struck into silence by his own admission.
“When thinking back, I can only really remember a handful of times when you were happy,” he said, and I stood still as he unhurriedly closed the distance between us, furious gaze trained on his face. “In the beginning, when everything was still new…”
And he attempted to gently take my hand in his, but I yanked away.
“And when you were with child.”
Immediately, unwillingly, my anger deflated somewhat. I glanced away, hated him being so close to me, but at the same time—some treacherous little part of me—remembered.
Our relationship, if one could call it that, had not been a happy one.
In the beginning, perhaps for a brief time, I had enjoyed being Valdrlund’s mistress. I was young and liked the attention he lavished on me, but things quickly turned sour when the thrill of the newness wore off and Valdrlund became disinterested in keeping me so happy.
He had still required me in his bed, still made it known to all at court that I was his and his alone, and taught me that any minor displeasure I caused him, any suspicion I might arouse in him, would be punished swiftly and unforgivingly. And so our relationship had been thus for nearly a century, until I accidentally became with child.
Even now, standing here, I recalled how quickly Valdrlund had changed. He had not been so short-tempered, nor distrustful of me. He had doted on me, adulated me, and told me how fortunate, how loved, our child would be. For the short time that I carried his son, I had trusted him and believed everything would be alright.
But he had lied.
I shook my head and took another step back, disgusted he should even bring it up, that he should dare to think me so ignorant as to believe anything he said. I turned around—did not even want to look at him—and wiped furiously at a tear that rolled down my cheek.
I had purposely not thought of it in so long, that night when Valdrlund had given me wine laced with poison to rid me of his own child—to destroy my ability to ever have a family with anyone else—mere moments after making sweet love to me, and whispering into my ear that he loved me more than anything.
Did he truly think I would fall for his tricks again, especially after what had happened in Asgard when he had visited centuries ago?
“Stjarnavetr…”
Oh, how I detested Valdrlund. I hated him for having chosen me in the first place, for taking me from my home and father, for forcing me to endure his suffocating, treacherous affections, for so brutally stealing from me the only thing that would have ensured my happiness and ruining my chance of ever again possessing it, and now for dragging me back to it all just weeks after I had lost everything again.
“There is nothing you can ever do that will fix it, Valdrlund,” I muttered bitterly. “I have lived with it my entire life and I will remember what you did until the day I die, and there is nothing… there is nothing…”
And then he was standing beside me, and his closeness disgusted me. I did not want to be here. I wanted to be in Asgard with Loki, lying in bed together, wanted to feel his arms around me, hear him telling me everything would be alright. But it was not Loki’s voice I heard, not his touch I felt.
Valdrlund turned me towards him, saw the angry tears swimming in my eyes.
“I am sorry, Stjarnavetr,” he breathed, and he released me and took a step back. “You may return to your rooms. I am… sorry to have disturbed you this night.”
I stared up at him in teary astonishment, watching as he turned and disappeared into his bedchamber. I stood there for only an instant longer before also turning to leave, wishing to obey before he changed his mind and came back out in a much less sympathetic mood.
I returned to my chambers, and despite my attempted fortitude, within seconds broke down into weeping. Not for Valdrlund, not even for having been torn from my home for these past five centuries, but for Loki and whatever might have been that now was gone.
__
As in Asgard, so long ago, and Vanaheim even longer before that, I was appointed the queen’s newest handmaiden.
Valdrlund’s wife and queen was of the Ljósálfar, the fair race of Alfheim. She was called Veleta, and very beautiful, and mother to his young son and daughter. I knew right away, however, that she did not like me, and suspected it was because her husband had brought me specifically here from Asgard, and had before kept me as his mistress.
I cared not, however; I would not try to be friends with her or any in her retinue. I recognized nobody from centuries before, and yet still quickly fell back into the routine I had kept before my exile. When the queen and her ladies took daily excursions into the gardens, I walked well behind them; during the afternoon feasts, I sat at the end of the table, speaking to no one for nobody spoke to me; and when the queen dismissed her ladies early, or for the day, I returned to my rooms and did not elect to mingle with the others.
Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. No longer was this the court of Aldregimildr and his docile queen Akkerivif. No longer was Valdrlund the impetuous and golden prince, but king now for over five and a half centuries, and wed with two young children.
I also had changed since Valdrlund had last seen me, and been through much. I had seen my lover tortured, watched him bleed to death in my arms. There was little Valdrlund could do to hurt me now, but it quickly became evident that was not his wish, for despite my overwhelming aversion that first night, he began to court me.
At least three times a week, I would return to my chambers to find a small trinket lying upon my bed. Often it was jewelry—once he gifted me a pair of delicate gold earrings, and another time a necklace of intricately woven silver metal strands—but occasionally it was a new scent or oil for my skin or hair, and always it went straight into the trash.
I suppose Valdrlund was taking the small first steps in trying to soften me, but so far was failing miserably. As I had told him, I did not see what he could ever do to make anything up to me, or make me feel less animosity for him than I already did, and had felt for almost my entire life.
And yet he tried, and he was king so I could very well not completely ignore him.
Eventually came another summons, requesting my presence at a private supper once again.
Much like my first night here, Valdrlund’s page escorted me to his rooms. The feast laid out tonight was much smaller, and I wondered if Valdrlund had planned accordingly, should I walk out suddenly or once again not eat a single bite.
Valdrlund smiled when I entered, as if our previous conversation had never taken place, and once the door was shut he approached me. I stiffened, uncertain as to what he was about to do, and let out a little breath when he took my hand, lifted it, and gently kissed my knuckles. His beard was rough against my skin and a shiver ran through me, winding its way down my spine. When he released me, I quickly drew my hand back, but he pretended not to notice.
“You look lovely tonight,” he observed affectionately, gaze traveling up and down my body, but not in a lecherous manner—surprisingly. “I am pleased to see you looking like a Vana again.”
I lowered my eyes and silently went to the table to sit. Once Valdrlund was seated across from me, he smiled again.
“I pray you are faring well, Stjarnavetr. I know it’s been a while since you served under a queen, and am sure returning has been somewhat of a transition for you…”
“It is hardly any different from when I was under Queen Akkerivif.”
“Really?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. “How so?”
I looked down, hesitant, but then decided if he would make me eat with him, if he would force these inane conversations, then I would let him know what I really thought.
“They do not speak to me and I do not speak to any of them,” I replied bluntly, glancing back up at him.
He furrowed his brows. “You do not?”
“No, and I never did. I hardly spoke to anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was your mistress, and I knew what would happen if I accumulated too many friends, or spoke to anybody you did not want me to.”
He stared at me for a long moment, and I stared unflinchingly back, as if challenging him to dispute me on the matter.
“I think you should try to get to know some of the queen’s ladies,” he finally said. “They are not all as discourteous as you seem to think.”
“I’m sure you would know quite a few of them very well,” I retorted petulantly.
The corner of his lips twitched.
“I know what you’re doing, Stjarnavetr,” he remarked coolly, taking a sip of wine. “But you are speaking with me, at least.”
I pressed my lips together in irritation and glanced down at my hands.
“If you would like to take a break from goading me, there is a whole table full of food here. You have not been eating well, I can tell.”
Grudgingly, I put some food on my plate. I caught sight of Valdrlund’s small smile when I took a bite of bread and it angered me.
“Does the queen know I am here?”
“Yes,” he answered immediately, not looking at me as he cut the meat on his plate into chunks.
“She does not mind?”
“She minds,” he responded flatly, “but she has no choice.”
I lowered my eyes, could hardly believe my next words.
“Do you beat her, as well?”
Valdrlund was silent, and despite my determination only a few minutes before to let him know my mind, a terrible dread filled me. What stupidity had possessed me to say such an impulsive thing?
He exhaled sharply and set his cutlery down, and I almost expected him to shout at me to get out, or to stand up and come angrily around the table, but he did not, and my insides twisted in trepidation.
“I want you to meet my children,” he finally said, taking me entirely by surprise, and I glanced up at him in astonishment.
It was in that moment when I realized Valdrlund’s words that first night perhaps had held some little bit of truth, that perhaps he truly did wish to begin anew. The Valdrlund I had known would have leapt across the table and grabbed me by the hair or struck me for such impudence, but the man sitting in front of me seemed to brush off my comment like it was nothing.
I slowly looked down at my lap, unsure of what to say.
“Járnvándr and Etjameida are their names,” he added.
“Why do you want me to meet them?”
“Because I am proud of them and think you would like them.”
I could not for the life of me fathom this. I racked my brain, searching for any sinister trace I might have missed, anything I had not listened closely enough to, but came up with nothing. And yet, after all we had been through, I still was hesitant to trust anything he told me.
But I knew he would have his way eventually, and gave a small nod, acquiescing to his request.
When we had finished eating—more him than me, since I had really only eaten about a fourth of a plate—he came around the table and pulled the chair out for me. I stood up and he silently escorted me to the door, since I was sure he could tell I was more than ready to leave.
“Thank you for dining with me tonight,” Valdrlund said, and I noticed he did not move to kiss my hand or cheek. “I appreciate it.”
He took a step back, almost as if careful to my regard, and I wordlessly turned and left.
__
Valdrlund was good on his word and a few days later invited me to his chambers for the midday meal. Queen Veleta eyed me suspiciously as I followed the page out of her chambers, and I ignored the curious whispers that followed me out from the other women.
Upon entering Valdrlund’s chambers, I saw that the large double doors in the far wall were thrown open, revealing a sun-drenched terrace. I went to the open doorway and glanced outside. Valdrlund was sitting beneath a canopy at a table, skimming over some papers laid out before him.
He heard me and raised his head.
“Stjarnavetr! Come, sit.”
As I came around the table, a cool breeze blew, ruffling my hair, and Valdrlund smirked.
“I thought it might be nice to eat out here today, since it’s not freezing yet.”
I gave a small nod and seated myself on the other side of him, well within the shade. Birds were chirping, the wind rustling the nearby trees. In the distance, I could hear the faint clamor of the training yard, located on the other corner of the palace.
“I’ve requested the children join us for the midday meal,” Valdrlund said, setting his papers on the tabletop. “They should arrive shortly, along with the food.”
While we waited, Valdrlund proceeded to tell me about his son and daughter. Járnvándr, who went by Vándr, was the youngest, only eleven years old, and his daughter, Etjameida, was the oldest at fifteen years.
Vándr was just like him, Valdrlund explained, somewhat proudly; his favorite place to be was in the training yard, learning the sword, and he often helped to train Vándr himself.
Etjameida, however, was very different from her brother. She reminded him of me, Valdrlund admitted, for she loved to read. Sometimes she would disappear in the morning after breakfast, only to be later found curled up in a windowsill in the library, surrounded by a stack of dusty old books. She also excelled at seidr, even more so than her little brother, who struggled with it.
As soon as Valdrlund had finished pridefully relating to me his children’s accomplishments, we heard the door in his main room open.
“Ah, here they are,” Valdrlund grinned, and he and I stood as they came out onto the terrace, trailed by a few servants who had just arrived to lay out the meal. “Children, I want you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Lady Stjarnavetr.”
Járnvándr smiled widely and bowed deeply, while Etjameida inclined her head and politely curtsied.
I inconspicuously studied the children as they seated themselves at the table, and as the servants quickly arranged the food.
Vándr was decked in bright blue and gold, and looked just like his father—pale blue eyes, blond hair yellowed from being outside too much. He made quite a bit of noise sitting down, and I could tell he liked the attention—also just like his father.
Etjameida was a bit more subtle in her movements, and did not resemble her little brother at all, but more her mother. Tall for her age, delicate and slender. Her dark hair was long and straight and glossy, pulled back into a sensible braid; her face was angular but feminine, with large violet eyes situated beneath slim, dark eyebrows.
Once the servants were gone, and everybody settled, Valdrlund encouraged the children to speak of their education.
Valdrlund’s children were not him, and I did not feel resentment towards them, for they knew not what atrocities had passed between their father and I. Because of this I listened attentively as Etjameida described to me her rigorous lessons, ranging from seidr to history to mathematics, and then as Vándr proudly recounted to me his daily training. He grew quite excited in letting me know how talented of a warrior he was, and how one day he would be just as good as his father the king.
I felt odd as Vándr spoke, for at one point I could not help but to wonder if my and Valdrlund’s son would have looked like this, with pale hair and pretty blue eyes and flushed little cheeks. He would have been as big as Valdrlund now, and I grew heartsick.
I did my best to hide it, though, and conversed with the children. While speaking with Etjameida, I let slip that I had been a tutor of seidr once, and she expressed interest. Realizing I probably should not have mentioned it, I steered away from that topic, thinking it best to try not to provoke Valdrlund with his children here.
Finally, Valdrlund thanked his children and had them return to their lessons, leaving him and I terribly alone in silence. Once they were gone, I leaned back in my chair and for the first time, addressed Valdrlund first.
“Your children are very beautiful,” I murmured.
I felt a sort of melancholy I could not explain, and afterwards was quiet. Valdrlund spoke a little more of them, extolling their virtues, but was interrupted shortly after when a messenger appeared.
“Your Majesty, my apologies, but you are needed in the throne room.”
“Very well, I will be there shortly.”
Valdrlund seemed somewhat annoyed at being interrupted with me, but I stood up, relieved.
“Thank you for meeting them, Stjarnavetr,” he said, smiling almost gratefully at me. “Would you mind to dine with me again this night?”
I hesitated, but figured it would do no good to refuse. He would simply insist, or order me. I nodded and his smile grew.
“Good. I will see you tonight.”
__
I sat in my chambers later that night, perched upon the edge of my bed, waiting for Valdrlund’s page to come and fetch me.
I stared down at the stone floor, vacantly twisting a ring on my left middle finger. It had been a present from Loki, centuries ago. He had brought it back to me from Midgard, from one of his trips with Thor. It was a delicate gold band with a radiant green stone and pearls surrounding it. A couple of the pearls were flawed, and they formed a misshapen but pretty flower. Imperfect, but perfect to me for he who had gifted it.
Valdrlund had inquired about the ring during our second dinner together, but I replied it had been a gift from Queen Frigga many years ago. I was not sure if he believed me, but he had let it go, much to my relief.
Here in Vanaheim, this ring was the only thing I had of Loki’s. I found myself often gazing at it, thinking longingly of him. My thoughts were usually unhappy, and only fuel for that night when I would cry myself to sleep, muffling my sobs with my pillow. I missed Loki so much it hurt, and felt so alone here without him.
I was almost grateful when Valdrlund’s page came to fetch me, for I was on the verge of tears thinking once again of Loki.
When I arrived at Valdrlund’s rooms, dinner, as always, was laid out on the table already.
Valdrlund greeted me with warm enthusiasm, despite my obvious lack of it. I was not as silent as I had been that first night, but still, even a little over a month later, was guarded. His behavior confused me, for he had been nothing but kind and thoughtful—such a contrast to the Valdrlund I remembered.
“I am glad you finally met Vándr and Etjameida,” Valdrlund remarked, refreshing his cup of wine.
“They seem wonderful,” I replied softly, halfheartedly picking my spoon up.
“They are quite smart, as you saw,” Valdrlund said, grinning. “I’m afraid to say Etjameida’s a little ahead of her brother.”
I managed a small smile. “Is she?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “I’m more apt to leave her the throne than my son.”
“What would the queen say?”
Valdrlund’s smile fell slightly at that, and I realized he did not like speaking of her.
“It matters not what she thinks,” he dismissed.
Despite his aversion, I was curious.
“When did you wed?” I wondered, chancing it.
“About twenty years ago,” he answered stiffly. “It was a union of necessity.”
I looked down at the bowl in front of me, quiet. He did not need to say it, it was obvious even unspoken—he did not love her.
“She knows it, as do all,” Valdrlund stated impassively, as if he had heard my thoughts.
I did not say anything, unsure of how to respond.
“She does not like that I’ve brought you here.”
“I cannot see why,” I murmured, absently stirring my soup.
“Can you not?” he inquired, and I heard the smile in his voice. “She is jealous.”
I shook my head, discomfited. Valdrlund sensed it immediately and, much to my shock, mindfully dropped the subject.
The rest of the dinner was spent either in silence or subdued, banal conversation. I was mostly reserved, as I had been the other times, and Valdrlund did not pry too much or begin speaking of terribly personal matters. He discussed with me Vanaheim, and things that had happened in my absence, which I admit I was interested in.
He appeared in a cheerful enough mood, which bewildered me. It was difficult for me to believe he had changed, despite his confession and outwardly improved attitude. I was expecting at any moment for the real Valdrlund to break through, for all his apologies and remorses to give way to anger and rage. But it did not, and my old lover practically seemed normal.
Eventually, when it began to grow late, I asked Valdrlund if I could retire.
He gracefully acquiesced and came around the table as I stood up to bid me farewell.
“Thank you again for dining with me, Stjarnavetr.”
I nodded, but just as I went to turn, Valdrlund lifted his arm, curled his fingers under my chin, and raised my head up. I froze, momentarily stunned, as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to my cheek. He lingered for an instant, and I felt his breath warm on my skin before he slowly pulled back.
He gazed down at me, and there was something in his eyes—not lust, nor cunning—but still I did not like it, because it did not validate the animosity I was trying so hard to hold onto.
“I have missed you, Stjarnavetr,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across my chin.
His eyes fell down to my parted lips, but before he could try anything else, I pushed his arm away and took a cautionary step back. Not wanting to hear anything else he had to say, I turned to leave, but before I could even take two steps, he gently caught my arm.
“No!” I cried, more in alarm than anything, as panic shot through me and came to settle sickeningly in my stomach. I jerked my arm away and moved backwards until I hit his door.
“I am sorry,” Valdrlund expressed, appearing surprised at my reaction. “I only wanted to show you.”
“Show me what?” I asked harshly, cradling my arm as if his touch had burned me.
“How I have changed,” he answered, almost entreatingly.
I shook my head, had known at some point it would come to this. He was lying, he had to be lying…
“You will never change,” I said tremulously, but with conviction. “You told me that all the time and you never did.”
“That was five centuries ago,” he retorted, and I detected just the faintest hint of annoyance.
“It is only a matter of time before things go back to how they were—”
Abruptly I gasped and stiffened against the door when he closed the short distance between us and towered over me. He took me by my upper arms—not roughly—and I looked up at him, heart pounding in my chest.
“I have been saddled these past centuries with endless, tedious responsibility, and now a wife who somehow manages to get on every last one of my nerves… and I have thought of you all this time, Stjarnavetr.”
That, at least, I could believe; Valdrlund was the type to keep his mind fixed on something, especially if he could not have it. How he had lost me to Loki so long ago still burned him, I am sure, though he was doing a fantastic job so far of hiding it.
“I’ve had five hundred years to think on how I wronged you, everything I did…”
My lips parted in surprise to hear him once again admit it. He raised his arms, and I stiffened and almost whimpered his name when he placed his hands on the sides of my neck, gently cradling my head to tilt it up.
“I know I wronged you, Stjarnavetr. Sometimes I still cannot sleep for the thought of what I did to you.”
“You—you cannot possibly hope to ever make it up to me,” I whispered, slightly hunching my shoulders, recoiling from his touch as much as I could. “You hurt me, Valdrlund, it was all you ever did… you hurt me, you killed… you killed…”
And the thought of it—all that had transpired before my exile from Vanaheim, what Valdrlund had stolen from me—caused the tears to come, to well up in my throat, and I lowered my eyes, chin trembling. Despite my attempted fortitude, I simply could not pretend it did not affect me, even all this time later.
“I know,” he murmured, lightly stroking my skin with his thumb. “I could say it was Father who made me do it, or that it was not by my own doing, but I will not make excuses. I take full responsibility, and have lived with the guilt these past centuries.”
I shook my head, felt his body so close, too close.
“What are you doing?” I whimpered, putting my hands on his front, if only to keep him from inching closer.
He gazed down at me, did not explode as I thought he might.
“I just want you to know that I love you,” he breathed, and he affectionately caressed my cheek before releasing me and taking a step back.
The silence hung heavy between us, but I did not return his sentiment and glanced down at the floor, knowing not what to do.
“Thank you for coming tonight, Stjarnavetr,” he finally said. “I am sorry it ended so.”
I slowly raised my head, wondering anxiously where the Valdrlund I had used to know had gone? The Valdrlund I had been frightened of, who would have laughed at the idea of such deferential regard?
Unwilling to remain and find out, however, I turned, opened the door, and hastily left. Upon reaching my chambers, just like that first night, I broke down and cried. Not necessarily now for Loki, but for myself.
I wished I had never met Valdrlund, wished that I had never been taken from my father. What happiness might I have found if I had never been brought the palace, and left to grow up in the village? But then, I never would have gone to Asgard and met Loki, never would have spent five wonderful centuries with him, only for it all to culminate in bloody despair.
I hardly knew what to cry for anymore, it all just blended miserably together, and no matter how hard I wished, no matter how hard I wept, when I awoke in the morning I would still be in Vanaheim, and Loki would still be dead, and all would still be lost.
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
Hel had been right—time passed differently here in the realm of the dead, for mere days after the confirmation of my condition, I was able to discern a subtle transformation in my body. Just a slight roundness at first, but which became visibly larger by the day, and by the end of the first week I had to loosen the leather belt around my waist to accommodate my growing belly.
With this change came a change in Loki. When he looked at me now it was not with happiness, or even contentment, but blatant remorse, and sometimes even irritation. Suddenly he had little to say to me, especially when I tried to speak of the babe, and did not wish to hear of any physical changes I had noticed in myself.
Eventually, most of his days were taken up with research in the palace library. He told me that since we were expecting another to join us shortly, he had to make other plans. In truth, I doubted this, and suspected he simply did not wish to be near me, as he ended up spending most of his time there, more frequently missing midday meals and even evening meals, and not returning until I was already in bed asleep.
I knew Loki was displeased with me. I knew he thought this was his fault and that no good would come of the pregnancy. He thought the risk too great and was resentful that I had chosen to let it all play out.
Despite this, I wished so badly he could understand where I was coming from. I wanted to comfort him, despite his newfound coldness towards me, to tell him this was the beginning of a grand adventure for us. But he could not see it—or rather, refused to see it. But it was not as if he would listen, or was even around to listen.
To make matters worse, my sickness had not let up. Multiple times a day I would have to run to the bath chamber, unable to keep my breakfast down. Loki would ask sometimes how I was, and I never had anything new to tell him. It seemed overnight everything had changed, and we moved past each other like strangers.
__
One day, perhaps what seemed a month after the queen had confirmed my being with child, and my belly had swelled so much already that it had prompted a new, larger dress from Hel’s own seamstress, I was sitting alone in our rooms. Loki had left hours earlier and I was feeling restive.
Occasionally I would run my hands restlessly over my stomach, wondering when I might be able to feel movement. I was beyond eager for that moment, hopefully any day now considering how quickly everything seemed to be developing.
And then my eagerness turned to uneasiness, thinking that yes—everything was developing quite quickly. This was part of Loki’s concern, and why he would react so negatively any time I commented on any changes I had noticed in my belly. Though I was thrilled that I was with child, a small part of me did give heed to Loki’s worries, that even if time did not flow normally like in the land of the living, perhaps it was not that causing everything to develop so quickly, but the child itself as Loki had said multiple times, due to his being Jötun.
I pushed that thought away, however, and decided I was tired of sitting here alone with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Feeling well enough at the moment, I stood up and left to go on a long walk. It felt good to stretch my muscles, though my feet felt a bit achy, and somewhat helped to take my mind off of the more disquieting aspects of all of this.
Now my mind strayed to the day before, when I had visited my family in the valley, and afterwards Queen Frigga and the Allfather. The queen had asked why Loki had not come with me, especially considering my condition, and all I could say was that he was caught up in making plans for our departure.
I had promised her that we would come back to see them before we left, but a small part of me wondered if Loki even cared with how he had been acting these past weeks. I imagined his mother doting over our unborn child would set his teeth on edge. She knew nothing of his averseness to the situation and I would certainly not be the one to reveal his true feelings. I think it would break her heart, and perhaps mine if I had to admit it to another.
After a while of walking, I altered course and made my way towards the library. I suspected it would be the only time today I would get to speak with Loki, as typically he would leave before I woke and return only after I had fallen asleep.
I found Loki seated at a table near a tall window, poring over a book. He had multiple books strewn over the dark, worn wood, and papers full of scribbles. He glanced up when he heard me approach, though did not return my tentative smile.
I slowly sat down next to him.
“How are you feeling?” he finally asked, when I did not speak.
“Well enough,” I answered. “I have not been ill this morning.”
He nodded, but did not look at me.
I bit my lip, more vexed than anything.
“Loki, would you dine with me tonight? I have not seen you.”
He sighed and shook his head.
“I’ve got so much here to—”
“No, you don’t.”
Loki glanced at me, clearly irritated.
“Have a meal with your wife,” I commanded, as firmly as I could muster.
I held his gaze, until finally he grumbled an assent and turned his attention back to the book.
He said nothing further, and I sighed in frustration and stood up to leave. He did not say anything on my way out.
__
That night Loki returned to our chambers just as the last servant slowly shambled out from setting our table, and I was standing by the open balcony doors. He immediately seated himself at the table and began wordlessly piling his plate with food.
I went towards the table and gingerly sat down, staring somewhat incredulously at him for his lack of even acknowledging me, could feel the aggravation inside me stirring to a quiet anger.
“How was your day?” I asked calmly.
“The same as every other time you ask me,” he dismissed, mouth full of food, and still without looking at me.
A flush crept over my body.
“Your mother asked about you, when I saw her yesterday.”
No response.
“She wondered when you might come see them, it has been a while. She wanted to see us before we left—”
“Obviously we will see them before we leave,” came the curt reply, tone implying that I was bothering him—and still he did not look at me.
I pressed my lips together, the flush in my skin growing hotter, across my chest, creeping up my neck to my face.
“You are acting like a child,” I said, unable to hide the tinge of bitterness in my voice.
“Am I?” he grunted, pausing to lift his head. I saw the subtle anger in his gaze, but there was anger in me, too.
I swallowed hard.
One more time.
“How would you feel about going down to see them tomo—”
“Gods, Stjarna!” Loki shouted, and he brought is hand down hard on the table, causing the plates and cups to jump off the surface. I flinched, watched in shock as he lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a heavy, frustrated breath.
I stared at him for a long moment, but quickly collected myself and stood up, chair scraping loudly on the stone floor.
“Get out,” I demanded, attempting to quell the indignant wavering in my voice.
Loki scoffed, but did not move, and suddenly, the anger that had been simmering beneath rose within me, so strongly that I felt sick, and before I even knew what I was doing, I leaned forward and swept my hand across the edge of the table, sending plates and food and full cups of wine crashing onto him and the floor.
Loki cursed and leapt to his feet, but before he could start shouting at me, I stomped up to him and tried to push him, which of course did nothing because he was so much larger than me.
“Get out!” I screamed, my eyes already stinging with tears.
“Stjarna—”
“Justleave!Go back to the library! You can sleep there tonight if you hate being here with me so much!”
Loki groaned loudly and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Stjarna—”
“You don’t even look at me!” I cried furiously, voice rising with each word until it cracked and I was a blubbering mess and unable to even glimpse him. “You barely speak to me, you avoid me as much as possible! I’ve been alone these past weeks without my husband—”
“What about my wife?” Loki shouted, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. “You think I want to sit next to you and see you getting bigger every day with that half-breed, to hear you obsessing over it even though it very well might kill you?”
Loki roughly released my face and I stared at him in surprise, mouth fallen open, tears streaming down my face, that he still thought so little of himself to reduce our child to naught but that vile term. I wanted to pour my heart out to him, that this was supposed to be the beginning of a new life, of so many hopes and possibilities and happiness, but he did not want to hear it.
Part of me did understand his fear for me, but the other part of me resented him. He knew, but could not understand—would never be able to fully comprehend—the things that had led me to this decision, no matter the outcome, and why this was so important to me, and why I would risk everything for this child that was ours together.
“It’s all I can fucking think about, Stjarna,” Loki snapped, throwing his arms out. “All I think about is you dying, and I can’t do anything because you fucking wantit!”
“Loki…”
“What about me, Stjarna? What about your husband? All you want to talk about or think about is that fucking baby—”
“It is yours too—”
“Yes, and it’s going to be my fault when it kills you!”
I was stunned into silence. We were glaring at each other, both breathing hard, but before I could say anything—but gods, I no longer had words—Loki turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.
I stood there for a long moment, chin trembling, hot tears running down my face, before I suddenly felt so nauseous that I had to run to the bath chamber to vomit. Afterwards, I stumbled to the bed, sank onto the edge, and cried.
After some time, I slipped under the covers without even changing and fell into an uneasy sleep.
__
I awoke in the early morning, before the waxen light of day had begun to light our chambers. I did not bother turning over to the other side of the bed, knowing Loki would not have come back after everything.
After a while, I slipped out of bed, wincing when my feet hit the floor. They had begun to ache more these past few days, and feel tighter in my shoes, but this morning was the worst. I could soothe them with my seidr, but they always swelled again soon after.
I sat down heavily at the table and solemnly surveyed the ruins of our dinner spilled across the table and floor before ripping a small piece of bread off the center plate, which had been spared my impromptu outburst the night before. I watched the lightening sky as I ate, barely even tasting the bread.
After a while, I glanced down at my belly and splayed my hand on the side, tenderly stroking with my thumb. Wondering if this little baby inside me that I already loved so much, would be as loving and gentle with me when its time came.
Loki’s fears, however much I did not wish to think of, did incite in me an ominousness. I had grown quite large already, and wondered if it was due to the flow of time here as described by Queen Hel, or if it was due to the babe’s mixed parentage. If it was due to it being half-Jötun, would it keep growing even if my body could not handle it? How long until it was ready to come out, and would I be ready?
And then, as if in response to my apprehensive thoughts and soft, mindless stroking, there came the faintest—and in my mind, most reassuring—of replies. I froze, wondering for a moment if I had imagined it, but then, again, still so indistinct, but definitely there, the smallest feeling of movement.
I sat up a little straighter, a spark of hope leaping within me, and felt another little movement. I grinned, happy tears swimming in my eyes, and placed my other hand on the other side of my belly, hoping to feel anything again, but there was nothing.
A little laugh slipped out, partially in unease, because I had never felt such a thing before, but mostly in exhilaration. To feel this magical little being that I carried inside me, so safely inside me.
But then I looked up and around me and saw that I was alone, and within moments the tears were coming on more strongly and I was crying.
I was so frustrated with everything—but most especially with Loki, because he was not here and wanted no part of it. He was supposed to have been here with me, he was supposed to comfort me and share in this with me, but instead he was angry with me, holding himself at arm’s length from me.
__
To my surprise, Loki returned a few hours later.
I had moved by now back to the bed, just to get my swollen, aching feet off the floor. I was laying on my side facing away from the door, but did not move when I heard it slowly open and shut. Moments later, Loki carefully rounded the end of the bed and came to stand before me. I stared past him, but then he knelt before me.
He did not say anything for a long while, and neither did I. But laying here, I could feel my exasperation rising back to the surface by merely his presence and soon I was cross with him all over again. I did not speak, however—let him be the first.
Eventually he did break the silence.
“Stjarna…”
“What have you to say to me?” I asked coolly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I did not want to start crying in front of him again, though I felt I could certainly do it.
“I am sorry.”
I paused, but then sat up and hung my legs over the edge of the bed. He moved between them, still on his knees.
“I am sorry those things I said to you,” he repeated, gingerly reaching up to touch my hands in my lap. “I am worried for you, but there is nothing I can do. Your life is in danger and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it or… nothing you will let me do. I wish you would understand—”
“I do understand, Loki!” I said, perhaps a little too heatedly. “It is you who does not understand.”
His brows furrowed and he shook his head, but I squeezed his fingers.
“Do you know how often I would, and still do, think of the child I carried in Vanaheim? Even all this time later? It never left me, and never will, and I cannot…” now I paused, swallowing hard. “I have been given another chance, Loki. Wehave been given a chance, together.”
“Stjarna…”
“And I have heard you, Loki, I know the risks—”
“Do you?” he demanded.
“You have had sons with an Ásynja, have you not?” I asked him firmly.
“Yes…”
“And they were normal, were they not?”
He hesitated. “To my knowledge…”
“An Ásynja and I are not so different, Loki,” I assured, moving to touch his face. “I know what you fear, and I fear it, too, but the fear is not so great that I would sacrifice our first chance at… at being a family.”
Loki’s face fell.
“Think not that I am not afraid,” I continued. “I am afraid. I am afraid of everything you have said, and what might come after when we are gone from here in a new world, and I am trying my hardest not to be scared, but I cannot because you are not here for me.”
Loki was silent for a long while. Finally, he sighed.
“I will not lie, Stjarna. I am angry that you’ve chosen this. I cannot fathom that you’ve chosen this over us.”
I put my fingers under his chin and lifted his face.
“I have chosen this for us,” I corrected him, though I could see the conflict in his eyes. “And I do hope you will love it when it comes.”
“If it kills you, I could never love it.”
“Oh, but Loki, this babe is just as much a part of me as it is you. No matter what happens, would you ever hate a part of me, Loki?”
Loki’s eyes drifted down to his hands in my lap, but before he could answer, I pulled him close to me. He pressed his forehead against me and wrapped his arms around my middle.
“Please do not leave me alone in this,” I whispered, curling my fingers in his soft black hair. “I need you.”
Again, no response, but I knew him, and trusted him. He would do the right thing, despite his own misgivings. He always came around.
“And one last thing,” I said, gently knotting my fingers in his hair and pulling his head back so he was looking up at me. “You will never refer to your child as half-breed again, do you understand me?”
He did not say anything, but I did not give him a chance to retort.
“Whatever insecurities you have carried into death and back out again, I will not have our child grow up believing that there is something wrong with them because of the nonsense their father says and thinks about himself.”
I paused to lean down and kiss his nose, then pressed my forehead to his.
“You have your moments, certainly, but you are a good man beneath it all, Loki. You can make right all the wrongs done to you, and show your child the love that you never felt from your own father in life.”
Loki pulled back and stared at me for a long moment, though I could not read his expression. Before I could speak, however, he wordlessly reached up to cup my face and lifted up to kiss me hard, insistently. When he finally broke the kiss, somewhat breathlessly, he pulled me into an embrace, burying his face in my neck, and in that moment all worries, all fears, all doubts that had been plaguing me, seemed to simply drain away, and for the first time since all of this had begun I was confident that all would be well.
__
Loki spent the rest of the day in our chambers with me.
He quickly cleaned up the mess I had made the night before with his seidr, and fixed us both a plate from the leftovers. I joined him at the table and we ate a small midday meal, speaking softly to one another. There were no words of animosity or negativity between us, and I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Though I knew Loki surely was not completely resolved of his more negative thoughts, I knew he was at least trying for me, and was happy with just that for now.
Afterwards, when I went to stand, Loki saw me wince and asked me what was wrong.
“It is only my feet, they have been swollen.”
“Do they hurt?”
I nodded. At that moment, in fact, they were throbbing, despite the fact that I had been in bed for most of the day.
“Sit back down,” he said, and I did, watching as he came around the table. He knelt before me, crossed his legs, and pulled my feet into his lap. I watched in surprise as he began massaging my left foot, circling his thumb across the bottom into the muscle, and I could not help a sigh of relief.
He did not speak the entire time, nor did I, and he even used his seidr which helped to reduce the swelling. Soon he moved to my other foot and did the same there, still gently kneading. I relaxed into the chair, enjoying his ministrations, and sighed contentedly again. These past weeks I had been starved for his touch, and even this brought me great pleasure.
“Oh!”
“What?” Loki asked, glancing up with a worried look.
I quickly leaned down as much as I could to grab frantically at his hand.
“Stjarna, what?”
I took his hand and splayed it on the side of my stomach, a smile playing on my lips. I watched his face intently, attempting to ignore the way he subtly stiffened when I had him touch me there. I spread his fingers, hoping he could feel, any moment…
And it happened again, right where his hand was, and my grin widened.
“Do you feel?” I asked quietly, still pressing on his hand.
He gave a small nod, and his lips parted when there came another kick, however faint. I could see the indecision in him, though, and squeezed his fingers.
“That is yours,” I said softly. “Ours.”
He nodded again, however still did not say anything.
But I did not push it. I got to my feet, pulled him up, and led him to the bed. We lay down, him curled behind me holding me, and I holding his hand close to my heart.
__
Perhaps a week later, Loki decided it was time.
At this point my belly had seemed to swell at an even faster rate than before which, in truth, did concern me. There were fresh, bright red marks on my skin where it had stretched so quickly, and a new and uncomfortable heaviness sitting in the pit of my stomach.
I think this was what prompted Loki to make the actual decision to leave. We both knew if we stayed much longer, the babe would be born here in the land of the dead, and neither of us wanted that.
My back had begun to ache and my feet hurt constantly, though for the moment at least, my near-constant nausea had passed. Loki ended every night with a foot and back massage, to which he shushed me when I tried to thank him. One night I even began crying in the middle of him rubbing my lower back, overwhelmed at the change in him.
And so with the decision made, we went to visit our families one last time. Or at least, the last time for a long time.
It was an incredibly tearful goodbye.
I held onto my mother for a long time, sobbing into her hair, and my father’s embrace was no better. My little brother Réttrmund was not as emotional as my mother or I, but teared up when he kissed my forehead and told me he could not wait to see me again, then winked mischievously, which had caused me to laugh through my tears.
Next was the Allfather and Queen Frigga. They held their composure better than my own family, but they were royalty and in life had been trained from a young age to maintain some sense of equanimity, which no doubt spilled over even into death.
Nonetheless, the queen was beneath it all quite distraught, and kept kissing on Loki who gracefully bore it because it was the last time he would see her in gods knew how long. The Allfather was quite stoic, though when he hugged Loki farewell, I saw his eyes swimming with tears.
Queen Frigga left me with parting words, that she was so proud of both of us and looked forward to seeing us again, though unlike Réttrmund, finished with the hope that though it was sad, our reunion might be far, far into the future.
Though I was devastated to leave my family behind, I was optimistic for our second chance at life and knew I would see them all again.
And yet, as the day drew nearer, I could not deny my apprehension.
We met with Queen Hel the day before we were to leave in her receiving chambers, seated at the large table in the center of the room.
My main worry was being transferred to Midgard in my condition. I had been growing increasingly nervous as time went on, as due to my size it was obvious if we stayed here much longer I would soon give birth. At this rate, I suspected the babe would come within the next week or so.
I had this in the back of my mind as Queen Hel explained how we would leave.
“The three of us shall take my carriage down past the valley towards the river Gjöll, until we reach the bridge Gjallarbrú. We shall dismount there and cross, and soon reach the place where Niflheim and this realm meet.”
“Why must we trek so far?” Loki asked. “Are you not using dark energy to expel us from here?”
I knew not much of dark energy, but was not surprised that the queen could wield it. After all, she could both bring and end life with such ease. I would not question her helping us to get to Midgard.
The queen pursed her lips, appearing somewhat annoyed.
“Yes, but it will be easier, and safer, I believe, to perform the spell below where Niflheim is open to us. Less barriers for me, you see. And with your Vana’s condition, the less obstacles…”
“Yes, yes,” Loki acceded. Then he sighed. “Well, that is the tricky part, isn’t it?”
“How so?”
“Any use of the dark energy will draw Heimdall’s attention immediately. Do you think he will recognize us?”
Hel shrugged.
“I have not manifested dark energy in gods know how long. I am sure he would sense its use here, but you would be shrouded from his sight so as long as it enveloped you. You would need to use a cloaking spell as soon as you land on Midgard. Otherwise, he will see you.”
I felt a pang of dread, but leaned forward.
“They would not be able to cross, though? Bifröst was shattered when…” but I trailed off, not wishing to recall that horrible day, one of the worst days of my life.
“I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m sure they have repaired it at this point,” Loki replied.
I nodded, but the thought of being seen as soon as we were to leave here—and inevitably caught—seemed too awful a thought to comprehend. I knew they would drag us back to Asgard, wondering firstly how it was even possible that we were both alive, and promptly imprison or kill both of us, considering the events that had taken place before both of our deaths.
“And you know where to place us,” Loki said.
“I remember the place, but I cannot promise you will go exactly where you want. As I said before, it has been long since I have conjured dark energy.”
“Will it be safe?” I wondered, placing a hand on my belly.
Hel shrugged again, disinterestedly. “We will find out, won’t we?”
Loki glared at her before glancing at me.
“I imagine it will be much like crossing Bifröst, Stjarna. I’m sure it will be fine.”
I gave a small nod, wishing to believe him, but still felt uneasy.
_
The next morning we left the palace of Eljudnir, drawn in Queen Hel’s macabre carriage by a team of thin, withered horses. We rode out past the valley, with nothing but the clothes on our back.
As we shambled along, my stomach was turning. The night before, Loki had to comfort me because I had started vomiting again, mostly in worry I think at what was about to happen. Though this was the land of the dead, and we were living and not welcome, this place was more familiar to me now than anywhere else, and I was nervous at being thrust out of it.
Not to mention the anxiety I was feeling due to not knowing how crossing between realms might affect my baby. Being so far along currently, that I could not even see my feet if I looked down due to the roundness of my belly, I worried about anything that might affect the child.
Loki must have sensed my trepidation, because he reached under my cloak and squeezed my hand.
Eventually we made it to where the pale, austere hills were empty, and the palace disappeared behind us. I stared curiously out the window, for I had never been past the valley.
We were surrounded by barren, dusty hills, without a spot of color to be seen. The desolateness extended for as far as the eye could see—but then suddenly, something in the far distance, so small I could not even be sure to trust my eyes, a thin black stripe winding its way through this ashen earth.
I glanced at Loki, brows furrowed, but did not say anything. When I turned my attention back to the window, I gasped. The black stripe was clearly a river now, and I discerned smatterings of black dots—upright dots, people—wandering aimlessly about.
“This is where I came when I died,” Loki murmured, drawing an almost bored look from the queen, who was sitting across from us and gazing apathetically out her own window.
I did not even ask how we had approached the river so quickly. Perhaps like time, distance did not act as it did in other realms. Soon I could hear the river, even from here, roaring mightily as it flowed. The dread inside me mounted when I spotted a bridge spanning its inky waters, glinting bright gold in the light.
“I was in a long line of people when I awoke,” Loki explained. “I walked with them until we came to the river and crossed the bridge.”
“How do they know where to go?” I inquired softly, watching as the bridge drew closer, and we were passing through the people who had just crossed. They had that sickly pallor of death upon their skin, with the most vacant expression upon their faces. Men and women, children and babies held by some, dressed in all manner of clothing.
“They will find where they belong here,” Hel rasped from her corner. “They are called to it, though they may not realize it. They will find their place here.”
Suddenly, the carriage came to an abrupt halt and Hel smiled.
“Gjallarbrú,” she announced, as the doors flew open.
We dismounted the carriage and I nervously pulled my cloak tighter around me, sensing a change in the temperature. I could see the small clouds of fog in the air when Loki and I breathed, less so for the queen, but nothing for the people passing listlessly by. Did they even feel the cold like we did?
Loki took my hand as we approached the golden bridge. It straddled the river almost proudly, its arched roof luminous in the bleakness. We passed onto it without issue and quickly approached the center, where a large, pale woman—the guard—swathed in gleaming gold armor stood.
She glimpsed us as we advanced. The guard had a strong face—remorseless, I thought, but not maliciously so—with hair as black as the river that coursed below us, cascading in waves down her gold-clad back. At her hip hung a long, starkly silver sword.
Behind her hovered a long line of the dead, almost waiting patiently for their turn to pass. Did they even know what was happening, I wondered?
Hel led us confidently on, past the woman, black dress flapping out behind her merely by her determined stride, as there was no breeze to be felt here.
“Módgud,” Hel acknowledged grittily, inclining her head towards the guard.
Módgud bowed as we passed, and I watched her curiously as she rose up again and turned to kindly address a spindly man standing in front of her.
This side of the river was teeming with even more people, who were standing in a more organized line than the other side. They were waiting their turn to cross, and I looked away, almost in embarrassment, feeling hundreds of lifeless eyes on me. I knew they studied our skin, not pale with death anymore like theirs, but flushed with life.
And to think Loki had appeared here after his death, not knowing what was going on, or where to go. I had woken in the queen’s own bed, with her sitting in a chair, legs crossed, waiting for me to stir after ending my life in a prison cell in Vanaheim.
We kept walking, away from this long line of the indolent dead. Farther, until they began to recede into the distance. Up a dusty incline, down and then up again, until when I turned I saw not a soul, or even heard the river Gjöll. I kept one hand on my belly, the other clutching Loki’s hand, almost afraid to let go.
And we kept walking, in total silence. And walking, and I began to despair. It felt as if we had been walking for hours, but the fact that I was not even out of breath told me that was not true, it could not have been. My feet were swollen, though, and aching terribly. I did not complain, however; now was not the time.
Eventually, I began to discern a change. The sky seemed to become lighter, brighter than its usual dour grey, and the air around us grew even colder. Our breaths became more visible, and within minutes fine, sparkling little flakes began to fill the chilly air.
I held my free hand out, watching the flakes land on my skin and immediately melt.
“It is snowing,” I whispered to Loki, who nodded, but before he could respond, the queen spoke.
“We are approaching Niflheim.”
At that moment, I felt a breeze on my skin, stronger then, which lifted my hair off my shoulders and sent a shiver through me. My throat began to burn for the freezing air as the flakes became fat and heavy, settling on our clothes and lashes.
“We are here,” the queen finally announced, and we stopped. “Below where the two realms join.”
I was shuddering with cold and let go of Loki’s hand to draw my cloak even tighter around me. I tried looking up, but the sky was so bright—almost painfully white—and I could not discern where these two realms met, if there was even a definitive space or line. But the snow was unquestionably coming from somewhere above us.
“Stjarna,” Loki murmured, and I followed his gaze to the ground.
Etched into the hard earth below our feet was the wide, intricate imprint of the rainbow bridge, hardened under a thin crust of ice, but strangely still quite visible despite the surely constant snow.
“This is where Grandfather brought me when I was young,” Hel ruminated, somewhat dryly, and turning her dark eyes to me. “There have been others from the land of the living that have come here, for various reasons. Not many. They never stay long. Some of them I kept.”
Hel’s subsequent, emotionless grin sent a shiver independent of the cold through me and I inched closer to Loki.
“This is where we end,” she said. “I do hope you are delivered of a healthy child, Stjarnavetr. I shall be watching, for they are my sibling.”
I gave a small nod before she turned her attention to Loki.
“Farewell, Father. I shall see you again, sometime.”
“Hopefully not too soon,” Loki replied, though I did not sense any element of humor in his voice.
Hel smiled thinly.
“Life is so delicate,” she answered, glancing briefly at me and then back to Loki. “It may be sooner than you think. Only know that I shall not let you go so easily next time.”
Loki did not respond, and Hel gazed at him for a moment longer, with what I perceived to be melancholy on her usually stoic face, before she turned and walked away from us.
“Stand closer together,” she instructed, and I grabbed Loki’s hand. She lifted her hands, fingers splayed, and slowly closed her eyes. I watched her face, saw her thin, pale lips part, eyebrows furrow, and suddenly an even greater, almost painful, chill came over me.
I squeezed Loki’s fingers, and he turned towards me and enveloped me in his arms. He kissed the top of my head.
“We’ll be okay,” he breathed.
I nodded, pressing my face into his chest, heart beating wildly.
There was a loud crackling sort of sound, I could feel it reverberating even in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, breath caught in my throat as a freezing wind rose around us, and a feeling like frost creeping up over me. When I managed to peek, I saw us shrouded in tendrils of thick black smoke, and through them, Hel conjuring it.
I squeezed my eyes shut again, whimpered Loki’s name just as there came a deafening roar and my feet were off the ground. I clutched frantically at Loki, held him as tightly as I could as the wind howled around us, and as quickly as it had begun, it was gone, and when my feet slammed into the ground Loki was there to catch me.
I gasped for air, having been holding my breath, and slowly opened my eyes.
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
Loki found me still in bed less than an hour after he had gone, though I had migrated into a sitting position on the edge, simply staring out the open doors of our balcony at the plain grey sky.
What had previously been brewing in my mind seemed unfeasible but had become a more prevalent thought since his leaving earlier. Part of me was surprised that I should even waste time on such a ridiculous—such an impossible—thought, but at the same time, I could not rid myself of the notion.
Soon, though, Loki came back, mercifully drawing me out of these dubious thoughts. As soon as I heard the door open, I quickly stood and turned to face him, wringing my hands in front of me.
“Loki—”
“Could you be with child?” he demanded, though not angrily.
My mouth fell open in shock, and I only stared bewilderedly at him.
“Well?”
I gave a disconcerted shake of my head and faltered, unable to find the right words.
“Stjarna?”
“It… it had entered my mind…”
Loki groaned and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Hel thinks you are with child,” he muttered, collapsing heavily into a chair by the table. “She was fairly certain that’s what it is, says there’s no way you can be sick from the air or whatever the fuck else might cause one to become sick.”
I shook my head again, not comprehending.
“But I… I don’t understand? I cannot…”
I tentatively placed my hand on my lower belly, hardly daring to believe—to hope—that anything living could reside there.
Now Loki leaned forward, hands clasped together. His voice was more calm than before, but I detected a slight tremble beneath, barely concealed.
“Hel said that when the dead are manifested here, all of their mortal wounds are healed, and if brought back to life, as we have been, the wounds, the scars, everything and anything… remains healed.”
I stared silently at him, trying to understand his words. Did that mean what had kept me from being able to bear children in life, internal wounds inflicted upon me in Vanaheim to expel a child I once had carried, that even Eir of Asgard had been unable to heal fully, no longer… were?
I remembered, even now, what sorrow it had brought me in life, and shame, that I might never be able to take a husband because of my brokenness, or have a family of my own, to never know what it might be like to be a mother. And here, even now, so long after, the thought of that sobered me.
Despite the uncertainty fulminating inside me, and Loki’s obvious frustration next to me, I felt deep within me the smallest, most treacherous spark of hope.
“How can we be for certain?” I asked quietly.
Loki shook his head and sighed deeply.
“I don’t know, there aren’t any healers here.”
“Would she be able to tell?” I murmured, eyes fixed on him.
He slowly looked up at me. “What?”
“Would the queen be able to tell?” I repeated, my voice a little stronger now. “She… she can both take and give life, surely she would be able to… sense it…”
Loki pressed his lips together, eyeing me in what almost looked like suspicion.
“I don’t know…”
“Let us go,” I said, taking a step towards him. “It would not hurt to ask.”
Loki paused for a long moment, but finally stood up. I silently followed him to the door and then out into the corridor, and minutes later we were in Queen Hel’s receiving chamber.
Upon first entering, she seemed annoyed at being bothered, but when she saw me her mask of irritation melted into one of what I could only guess as mild amusement.
Hel’s black gaze flickered to me, and then down to my stomach, where I had my hands folded over one another.
“Ah. I presume Father has shared the good news?”
“I want to be sure,” I answered, when Loki did not reply. “I was not sure if you would be able to tell…”
Hel nodded and stood up from her desk. I could not help but to tense as she approached me, large black dress rustling along the stone floor. She reached unceremoniously towards my abdomen with her ungloved hand, but before she could touch me, Loki’s arm shot out so quickly I almost did not see it.
“Careful,” he growled, burning gaze fixed on Hel, fingers wrapped tightly around her thin, bony wrist.
Hel did not flinch, nor did she jerk away from Loki—only continued staring down at my belly.
“Loki,” I gasped, mortified, before roughly pushing his hand away.
I glanced back at the queen, fairly apologetically, but she was still staring at my stomach. I stiffened when she finally touched me, palm spread below my belly, uncomfortably close to the spot between my legs.
Gradually I felt a coolness through my dress, on my skin, and it sent a shiver up my spine. Loki was tensed anxiously next to me, but before he could say anything, Hel silently withdrew her pale hand.
“Yes,” she said simply. “You are with child.”
I let out the breath I had been holding.
“You’re sure?” I asked, still hardly daring to hope.
“Yes,” she attested, glancing impassively at Loki when he groaned in frustration, then back to me.
I felt a flare of indignation at Loki’s reaction and glared at him in annoyance.
“Loki?”
He shook his head, let out a heavy, exasperated breath.
“This is not good, Stjarna.”
I swallowed hard, staring at the back of his head.
“Why?”
He let out a harsh laugh and shook his head before spinning back around to face me.
“Are you serious?” he snapped, as if I was stupid.
My lips parted in surprise.
“When we leave here, Stjarna, we are fugitives! We need to blend in wherever we go, be able to pack up and disappear at a moment’s notice. The last fucking thing we need is a squalling baby!”
I looked away, upset.
“How long?” Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you tell that?”
Hel, who had simply been standing there glancing back and forth between us, calm as ever, was pensive for a moment.
“I cannot tell for sure, though I do believe it has come quite far already.”
“What does that mean?” Loki asked curtly.
“As I’ve said before, time passes differently here,” Hel replied, sounding disinterested. “I would not be surprised if you began to show within the next week or so. I do think sooner rather than later I shall have a new sibling, hopefully normal, of course.”
“What?” I said, somewhat panicked.
“I said I would not be surprised—”
“No, what did you mean by ‘hopefully normal?’”
Hel cocked her head and smiled coolly.
“You must not forget, Stjarnavetr, that our dear Loki is not Aesir. He is Jötun—a frost giant.”
I looked at her for a long moment, not quite understanding, and then glanced at Loki, who was staring with quiet anger at Hel.
Finally, I realized her meaning.
“But I… I am Vanir,” I faltered.
Hel let out a pitying little chuckle.
“I personally do not think your child shall look any different from you, Stjarnavetr,” Hel explained. “My brothers and I were the product of two different breeds of giants, but my step-brothers were half-Aesir. You know of them?”
I gave a small nod, recalling that near the end of our lives, Loki had admitted to me that in his youth he had gotten his chambermaid with child, but he had never seen the sons she had borne. The queen had sent her away and he had never met them.
“Yes, I… knew of them… of her…”
“Their names are Nari and Vali, and they still reside on Asgard. They look normal. They look like you.”
I nodded again, the thought of that helping to ease me.
Then Hel shrugged again.
“But, then again, you never know. Is that a risk you would take, Stjarnavetr? What would you do if it came out looking like me? Or gods forbid, one of my brothers? What a tragedy that would be.”
“Hel,” Loki growled in warning, but it was as if Hel did not hear him.
“Mother said she had much difficulty with us,” Hel continued, now with almost a cheerful countenance upon her gaunt face. “But she was a rock giant, her body was strong. You are a Vana, and I am not so sure your body could handle one of us.”
“Stop it!” Loki snapped, taking a threatening step towards Hel, who glanced defiantly at him and drew herself up.
“I only speak the truth, Father. You fear it yourself, do not deny it.”
Loki pressed his lips together, but did not refute her, and I let out a harried breath.
“Of course, there is another option,” Hel offered, glancing slyly back to me.
“And what is that?” Loki snapped.
“I could have a potion made,” she said simply.
“A potion?” I echoed dumbly.
“Yes. Though there are no healers here, I’m sure Ganglot could come up with something, she had spent enough time assisting Mother in her gardens—”
“What are you saying?” I demanded, more angrily than I had intended. Surely she did not mean…?
“A potion to rid you of the child, of course.”
I stared at her in horror, then turned frantically to Loki, who to my dismay, did not appear as appalled as me.
“Would it be safe?” Loki asked, and my mouth fell open.
“I have the utmost trust in Ganglot,” Hel responded. “She spent enough time in Mother’s gardens that I feel she would be able to—”
“No!” I cried, taking a step back from the both of them.
Loki looked pained.
“Stjarna…”
“No! Loki, how could you even—”
“Stjarna,” he said, and he came towards me and pulled me into his arms. “My darling, I do… I do think it would be wise, to just think on it—”
But I wrenched away from him, this sickening mixture of anger and disbelief rising inside me like bile.
“Stjarna—”
But I recoiled when he reached out for me again, glaring resentfully at him; I could not believe he had even entertained the idea, knowing, even vaguely since his memory of life in death had been worse than mine, what had been done to me in life.
I was given another second chance, granted by some miracle this second chance at motherhood, and there was nothing I would do to endanger it.
I turned on my heel, heard Loki move to follow me, but I screamed at him to stay away from me, and went through one of the heavy doors. I immediately turned and stood in front of the other still-closed door, attempting to gather myself as I felt the tears stinging my eyes.
The door I had just come through slowly swung closed, but it did not close completely, and remained cracked just enough for me to hear Hel begin cackling inside.
I wiped at my eyes, pausing when I heard Loki’s angry voice.
“Is this amusement to you?” he growled.
“Yes,” I heard Hel admit, unabashedly.
“Why did you not tell me?” Loki shouted, and I moved closer to the crack in between the doors, glancing briefly at Queen Hel’s guards, who stood motionless at the columns on either side.
“Tell you what?” Hel shot back.
“That she could become pregnant! I am sure you knew! How could you not know?”
“Would it had made a difference?” Hel challenged. “Even if you had known, Father, I doubt you would have been able to keep off her for very long—”
“You think I would not have taken precautions?” Loki spat, coldly. “If I had known she was able to become with child, I would not have let this happen. To risk her bearing a half-corpse abomination like you? I would rather us have stayed dead.”
My mouth fell open in disbelief as a dreadful coldness spread through me, and I heard no reply from the queen for a long time.
And then, finally, more quietly, “Do not speak so soon, Father. You may very well get your wish.”
Another beat of silence, and then the door I was standing in front of was wrenched open, and the queen stood there bathed from behind with firelight. She started, not having expected me to be standing there, and I only stared at her, and then at Loki, who stood still in the middle of her receiving chambers, and who was now staring back at me.
I caught the faintest upwards twitch at the corner of Hel’s lips, before she brushed wordlessly past me, leaving just Loki and I.
I stared at him for a long moment, tears now swimming in my eyes. I could not read his expression—could not tell if he was sorry or surprised or remorseless for his words just moments ago.
But I did not care to find out, and I turned away from him and began walking, praying he did not follow me. I knew not where I was going, only that I was getting farther away from him, and as I walked I could not contain it and I cried.
Eventually I found myself outside on the palace grounds, and sat heavily on a stone bench along the pathway, partially shaded by a couple of macabre-looking trees. I sat there for a while, feeling ill, not knowing if it was due to the sickness I had been experiencing lately or Loki’s words to the queen before.
I looked down at the gold band on my finger and slowly turned it around on my finger.
So what now?
Loki was clearly displeased, even angry, and I almost felt helpless. Despite my own seemingly treacherous joy, it did not seem my husband would share in my happiness. But… a small part of me was not surprised. I remembered in life, Loki had been quite averse to anything to do with domestic life. Always averse to the thought of children, and had always expressed disdain or even dislike at the thought of marriage.
And yet, he had seemed happy enough here to wed me. And so it broke my heart that he should react so to news that I carried his child, and that he might dare to entertain the idea of what Hel had suggested. I could not understand his reasoning, even if everything Hel had mentioned was a possibility.
Did her words hold merit, though, or had she just been trying to frighten me? Could the babe pose a threat to my own health, or be born unlike Loki and I? I had already known that Loki had children, not just by the giantess Angrboda, but an Ásynja in Asgard, and he had never mentioned any oddities about them sons as far as I remembered.
The Vanir and the Aesir were alike enough, though; surely that meant our child would be normal?
But did it truly matter? Loki did not even want it.
Suddenly, through this despair, I heard a sound and turned to look behind me.
Loki stood a few paces back, gazing almost forlornly at me. I stared at him for a long moment, hearing his words echo in my mind… “I would rather us have stayed dead…”
“I do not want to see you,” I stated as firmly as I could, turning back around.
If he had any respect for me, I thought bitterly, he would leave me be. But of course, he did not leave, and came around to sit next to me on the bench.
“Stjarna…”
“I said to go away,” I repeated, refusing to look at him.
“Stjarna, listen to me.”
I shook my head and bit out, “What have you to say to me?”
“I am sorry.”
I shook my head again, biting my lip in anger, and quickly stood up. A wave of nausea rolled through me, but I hardly felt it in my state.
“Sorry you said it or sorry I heard it?”
“I am sorry you misunderstood it.”
I scoffed, feeling a flush creep over me.
“Misunderstood? I heard very clearly, Loki! You would rather us have stayed dead than for me to be with your child.”
My voice cracked on the last word, and Loki looked pained.
He was silent for a long while.
Finally, standing up and coming towards me, “You don’t understand, Stjarna.”
I laughed harshly, felt the tears coming again. His words incited me.
“And what do I not understand, Loki?” I demanded angrily, voice breaking.
But before he could answer, I pushed angrily at him, though he of course did not budge. And then, even as I said it, I knew it was untrue—cruel and unnecessary, but I could not stop the words from pouring out. In my anger, I wanted to hurt him.
“You’ll fuck a servant that you barely know and have children with her, and you’ll fuck a giantess you have only just met and have children with her, but when you get your wife with child, you’ll do anything you can to get rid, to get rid—”
But I could not even finish before the sobs erupted out of me, and all the fight drained out of me and I slumped against him, clutching desperately onto him. Loki held me as I sobbed, stroking my hair.
And then, quietly, “I did not love them, Stjarna.”
I shook my head against him, doing my best to swallow my tears. Finally, after I had somewhat collected myself, I pulled away and wiped my tear-stained face with my sleeve.
“Stjarna,” Loki said, so gently, “I do not think you understand what danger this puts us in if you were to give birth to a child right before, or even immediately after we were to leave here. It will be difficult enough to cloak ourselves in seidr to hide in the beginning, and then to add a screaming babe to it all…”
“Surely… surely we will be able to hide a baby with our magic?” I said desperately, voice trembling, already on the verge of bursting into tears again. “You said Midgard is populous, surely we would—”
“It is not just that,” Loki interrupted.
When I only stared tearfully at him, he sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.
“You heard what Hel said, Stjarna, I am not Aesir,” he finally said, sounding frustrated. “I am not… normal, like you.”
“Loki…”
“I only look like this because Odin’s spell has been upon me for so long. I am Jötun beneath it all.”
“But—”
“Don’t you understand what that means?” he demanded, a little more angrily now. “A child between us may not be normal.”
“But it could be—”
“But what if it isn’t?” he snapped, and I flinched. “What if it isn’t normal, and it kills you?”
My mouth fell open.
“What if it kills you, Stjarna?”
My eyes drifted down, still burning with the hot pinprick of tears. I understood his meaning, and remembered the queen’s words to me earlier, about my body not being strong like her mother’s, her cold insinuation that she did not think I would be able to survive such a birth, if the babe happened to be abnormal—not like me.
“I meant my words, Stjarna,” Loki said, more softly now, somewhat regretfully, and he gently took my hands in his. “I would rather us have stayed dead than to put this burden on you, to risk your new life like this. It is my fault.”
I looked down at our hands, feeling sick, knowing that he did not want this child at all—whether it was more for the fact that he thought it would be dangerous to have a child with us when we were trying to avoid detection, or dangerous for me, the most prominent thought in my head was that he did not want it.
“Then what do you want?” I asked, so quietly it was a surprise he heard me. “What would you have me do?”
Loki was quiet for a long moment, and he moved to place his hand at my neck. He pulled me close and kissed my forehead, let his lips linger there. And then he lowered his head to press his forehead to mine.
“Hel said… she could have a potion made…”
“You would kill it?” I whimpered.
Loki said my name then, so imploringly, so beseechingly, and I could feel the pain in his voice. But I did not respond immediately, and he enveloped me in his arms as I began crying again.
“Please do not make me,” I wept quietly, clutching at his tunic. “Do not take this away from me, I don’t want another taken from me…”
Loki said nothing for a long time, only stroked my hair with one hand, kissed the top of my head, lips lingering there.
Finally, softly, in defeat, “No, Stjarna, no… we won’t… you won’t have another taken from you.”
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
Chapter warnings/triggers: Language, Sexual Content
I didn’t know how long Hel would allow us to stay before our time was up, but I wasn’t about to seek her out and ask. Obviously I wished to be gone from here as soon as possible, but it would do no good to rush back into the Nine Realms without a plan.
And so, I researched.
Though Hel’s palace Eljudnir towered above a valley teeming with dead, it boasted a more than adequate library with volumes from many of the Nine Realms, and many more from even outside them.
Every day for at least a few hours I would peruse the shelves for books pertaining to some of the Nine Realms, seeking out information to help me decide where we might go when we left here. Stjarna would occasionally accompany me, as I wanted her input where it might be easiest for us to blend in to, and where she would be most comfortable.
Midgard was my first option, as it was abounding with billions of beings, and I felt with the help of our magic we could pass undetected there. Alfheim was my second option, for though the Ljósálfar ruled there, it still had many non-Light Elf inhabitants and large cities, and I knew that the Ljósálfar liked to generally keep to themselves, anyway.
After departing the library every day, I would request food brought to our chambers, for we no longer dined in the great hall. Stjarna had inquired once, but I had, in a somewhat clipped tone, replied that we would not eat there again. I did not say why and she had not asked, I think due to the brusqueness of my response.
One night, after we had eaten, Stjarna lay sleeping soundly in bed. I lounged in one of the chairs by the table, legs crossed, fingers wrapped around an empty cup of wine on the table next to me.
The fire nearby was almost dead, casting a faint, torpid glow over the room.
I stared at Stjarna’s sleeping form for a long time, thinking. Despite what had nearly transpired two weeks before with Hel, and the fact that I would carry this with me the rest of my life and likely back into death, and now this time of struggle in between deciding when we should leave and where, I felt a leap of hope.
We were alive again and given another chance.
I glanced down at my left hand, which rested on my leg, and stared at the gold band glinting in the weak firelight on my third finger. The corners of my lips curled upwards into a small smile as my gaze flickered back to Stjarna, nestled comfortably amongst the black bedcovers.
I rose silently from the chair and approached the bed, stripping as I went and tossing my clothes onto the floor, until I was naked and slipped silently into bed beside Stjarna. I paused, seeing if she would stir, before wrapping one arm around her middle and pulling her closer to me.
Stjarna mumbled something unintelligibly and turned her head, eyes still closed.
“Hmm?”
I did not reply, only kissed the top of her bare shoulder where her nightgown had slipped down and felt myself hardening against her backside.
Stjarna felt it, too, and let out a small, sleepy giggle.
“Again?” she breathed, with a hint of a smile.
Though we had fucked twice today already, she did not seem unwilling, and I placed my hand on her side before dragging it over the curve of her hip and down her leg, until I came to the hem of her delicate nightgown.
It had pretty much been like this since my breath had been restored. Stjarna and I were averaging at least three to four times a day, I simply could not get enough of her.
Stjarna blinked a few times, attempting to rouse as I slid my fingers beneath the gown and skimmed back up her bare leg, until they came to rest once again on her hip, inches from the spot between her legs. She smiled a little wider, and I slipped my other arm beneath her head, so she was nestled against me, head resting on my arm, and I on my side facing her.
I kissed her open-mouthed, and at the same time ran my fingers through the soft curls at the top of her legs, down between them into her already wet heat. Stjarna let out the faintest of moans into my mouth when I touched her, and shifted her hips to allow me better access to her center.
I languidly trailed my fingers through her folds, in absolutely no hurry. Shortly my fingers were coated in her sticky desire, and I teased her entrance every so often, smiling when she would somewhat lift her hips, wordlessly imploring me. But I enjoyed teasing her, circling the bud at the top of her sex with my fingers, maintaining that languorous movement.
Soon Stjarna reached down and grasped my cock, causing me to stiffen slightly. She began stroking me, almost indolently, and I whispered her name into her mouth, pleasure coiling slowly, but satisfyingly, in the pit of my stomach.
I bent my arm beneath her head so I could touch her face with my hand, and stroked her cheek and neck as we kissed. Eventually her breaths began to come a little quicker, and her hips would occasionally buck against my hand.
Feeling the want practically rolling off of her, I took mercy on her and finally slipped two fingers inside her, coaxing a lilting moan from her parted lips. She tightened her grip on my cock—perhaps involuntarily—and I stiffened in pleasure, slowly drawing my fingers in and out of her slick heat.
I could tell when Stjarna was close, I was so attuned to every shallow breath, every little whimper and moan and twitch, that I knew exactly where she was. Sometimes she joked with me that I knew her body better than she did, and with as many times as we had made love these past centuries, I had no doubt.
And just before Stjarna tumbled over that edge, I abruptly withdrew my fingers.
Stjarna exhaled sharply and whined my name, eyes fluttering open to glare at me.
I laughed, I could not help it, and brought my fingers up to my lips. I stuck my middle finger in my mouth, tasting the evidence of her desire. Stjarna was watching me intently, chest rising and falling with each deep breath, nipples evident beneath the diaphanous fabric of her nightgown.
After I’d licked middle my finger clean, I withdrew it from my mouth and placed my first finger gently on Stjarna’s bottom lip. Her eyes, clouded with longing, remained fixed on mine as I leisurely traced her parted lips, smearing the slickness of her own desire there, and finally, slowly, pushing my finger past her teeth.
Stjarna closed her lips around my finger, and the movement sent a rivulet of pleasure skittering through me, straight to my already painfully hard cock. Stjarna, who still had her hand wrapped around me, felt me twitch, and she grinned around my finger as I slowly withdrew it.
Watching her lick her lips only served to further incite me, and I moved to settle between her legs, simultaneously pushing her nightgown all the way up until it was bunched around her hips. Stjarna adjusted herself beneath me, spreading her legs and reaching down to grab my hips.
She pulled me close, wanting me inside her, but I decided, at the last moment, for at least another few minutes, to hold back, despite my own aching. I laid on top of her and reached up to open the loose collar of her gown, tugging it down to expose her neglected breasts.
Stjarna, obviously flustered, murmured my name as I dropped my head to capture one of her burgeoning nipples in my mouth.
As I suspected, within moments, Stjarna’s breathing became deeper, and she relaxed her head back onto the pillow, enjoying my ministrations. I rolled my tongue unhurriedly around her sensitive, puckered flesh, and went to gently caress her other nipple with my thumb. Her hold on my hips relaxed before lifting her hands to tangle her fingers in my hair, arching her back slightly when I eventually switched breasts.
I was painfully hard by now, but enjoying Stjarna’s little pants and whimpers. I moved up to kiss Stjarna’s chest, and paused when I felt her heartbeat on my lips, each trembling breath, and I smiled against her rosy skin.
It felt so different, it was all so different.
Though we’d made love countless times in death, this was nothing like that had been. The heat building inside me was different from what I thought I’d felt before, coiling in my stomach, burning between my legs, this sort of delicious, painful craving, so much like before, but at the same time nothing like before.
Suddenly I couldn’t wait any longer, and I repositioned myself between Stjarna’s legs and kissed her open-mouthed, almost sloppily, moving my arms beneath hers and tangling my fingers in her wispy golden hair. I gently pulled her head back, exposing her pale throat, and kissed the front of her neck as I slid easily into her.
Stjarna groaned and wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper until I could go no further. I remained motionless for a long moment, savoring her tight heat around me. Hot, carnal, so much more intense than any feeling before, and by the sounds of it, Stjarna agreed as well.
I began a leisurely rhythm, just wanting to feel her enveloping me, her legs wrapped around me, encouraging me, wanting me. I dropped my head next to hers, kissed her neck, nibbled and sucked on her earlobe, relished the sound of her panting into my ear, only serving to drive me higher and higher.
A little faster now, the tightness sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach intensifying with each thrust, Stjarna’s fingers dragging across my back, digging into my skin. She was squirming beneath me, sporadically pushing her hips up to meet me when I came down against her.
She was so close, I could tell, and I paused to lift my upper half off of her. Stjarna’s eyes fluttered open, expression almost frantic at the momentary break. I smirked, still buried to the hilt inside her, as I grabbed both of her wrists and pinned her decidedly against the bed.
Stjarna closed her eyes again, mouth falling open in a visage of pleasure as I began my rhythm again. Harder now, and every smack of skin was followed by Stjarna’s breathy gasp, the occasional lilting moan when I pushed all the way in and rolled my hips against hers.
I was fast approaching my own release, spurred on by Stjarna’s delicious little moans, and began thrusting even harder, driving her farther up on the bed. Her moans turned into whimpers and soft, long whines, and just as she cried out, in what almost sounded like a sob, that tension inside me came undone.
I buried myself inside her, so hard that Stjarna’s head almost hit the headboard; I froze as the feeling crashed through me, washing away even my thoughts, and there was nothing but red-hot pleasure, searing along my nerves, practically drowning out Stjarna’s own cries of ecstasy directly in my ear but so far away.
And too soon the waves subsided, and I slowly, shakily let out the breath I had been holding, gingerly relaxing on top of Stjarna as she descended from her own high, quivering beneath me, panting heavily into my shoulder.
I turned my head to tenderly kiss her ear, then her temple, which was damp with sweat and plastered with golden wisps of hair. Her beautiful skin was glistening, flushed pink with life, and gods how beautiful she was supine beneath me, heartbeat strong against me, trembling still from the fading reverberations of her own pleasure.
It was everything to me.
We made love twice more than night. And yet, even when we lay next to each other, gasping for air, the pleasure pushed so far it was almost painful now, I wanted more. I wanted to completely devour her. It was almost a new experience, this renewed heat that gave way to such unimaginable ecstasy.
It was as if I had never before felt this. I was exploring her body, stroking her skin, kissing the hollow of her throat, her wrists and the insides of her tender thighs, mesmerized by these things that I had kissed and touched a thousand times before, seemingly in another time.
And now our bodies were warm again, hot against each other, burning for each other. I could not kiss her enough, could not feel her deeply enough, to drive away any and all thoughts. Could not give her enough of myself, nor could I not seem to possess enough of what she so willingly wished to give me.
__
Stjarnavetr
Those weeks after Loki was brought back to life passed in a haze.
I was not sure how much time Queen Hel had allowed us before we were to leave, but Loki always became irritable upon any mention of her, so I learned not to bring her up, nor ask about anything that might lead to discussion of her.
Loki began spending longer amounts of time in the palace library, reading up on the different realms, with a focus on Midgard. While he had been there many times when younger, it had been a while since he had visited for purely culturally educational purposes, and wished to know more about how the Midgardian race had advanced, and how it might help us to acclimate there if we were to choose that world.
While Loki researched for return to the world of the living, he encouraged me to visit my family down in the valley. He would accompany sometimes to see my family and then Queen Frigga and the Allfather, but more often than not I went by myself. Overall, though, he seemed quite impatient to leave, despite his also having family here. But he never really spoke of it.
Though I was beyond happy to be able to leave here and begin anew with Loki, the thought of not seeing my family for potentially thousands of years, when I had only just been reunited with them, devastated me. I knew now that I would eventually see them again, but with how everything was here in Helheim, I was not certain they would remember me upon my eventual return.
Because of this, I often found myself quietly crying during the night, when Loki lay asleep next to me, or on the way back from the valley in Hel’s carriage that she had allowed me to use for excursions.
But there was nothing to be done about it, and so I tried only to enjoy my remaining time with them.
Upon my return to the palace from my visits down into the valley, Loki and I would convene for supper and spend the rest of the night discussing our plan, which then, always, inevitably, led to sex.
These past weeks he had been insatiable—on the bed, against the wall, on the table, anywhere. But I reciprocated just as eagerly—we both agreed the sensations were different, heightened. Maybe it had been like this before we had died and we simply did not recall, but sex while dead had not felt like this. We thought it wonderful, of course, but nothing compared to this, and we could not keep our hands off one another.
And so, we continued like this.
Perhaps three or four weeks after Loki had been made alive, he again brought up where we might go. We had already discussed this many times, over breakfast, over dinner, in bed, even once when I had been kneeling on all fours on the bed and he behind and inside me, and he had paused to lean forward and ask who I would enjoy making friends with more, Midgardians or Light Elves?
Currently, I was lying on the bed, naked, head propped up on my hand, watching him pick at the remnants of our breakfast, also naked. I was exhausted—all my limbs ached, my abdomen, too. One difference also was that in death I had not felt the strain of my muscles when exercised. Now that I was alive, I ached everywhere. But it was almost a satisfying ache, an ache of fulfillment.
“I do think Midgard would be ideal,” Loki said, plucking a dark red fruit from the plate on the table and popping it into his mouth.
He had mentioned Midgard plenty of times, each time with a new reason why it might work if we went there. I was open to Midgard, but worried about how Loki would fare there.
“Are you sure you would be alright there?” I inquired.
“Why do you ask that?”
“Well… it did not… end so well… last time…”
“I care no longer for a throne,” he quipped. “It is a beyond populous realm, and we are two beings of magic. We could easily disappear within their people and make a life for ourselves.”
“Yes, you’re right,” I admitted, and then I smiled, my heart full at the thought of finally having another chance at life, just the two of us, unburdened by the tribulations of our past lives. “I like that idea. No matter what you choose, I will follow you wherever you go.”
“But is that what you want, Stjarna?” he wondered, leaning forward in the chair. “You are going as well.”
“Yes, I could be happy on Midgard, I’m sure.”
“It will be very different,” he warned. “Not like Asgard at all.”
“As long as I am with you,” I responded with a smile, “I am happy.”
__
Two days later, I was seated in Queen Hel’s carriage, on my way back to the palace after a visit with my family. It rattled steadily along, pulled by four emaciated horses.
I sat silently in the back, wrapped in a shawl, staring out the window. Loki and I were supposed to dine upon my return, but I was not sure I would eat much. I had not felt well this morning, and though it had passed while visiting my family, now I was feeling it again. I had felt a little odd this past week, randomly, but had not thought much of it, and today chalked it up to the rocking of the carriage.
The next morning, however, found me in the same state. We were sitting at the table, food laid out before us, and Loki was discussing where in Midgard we might go. He had suggested Europe, perhaps in France or England, where we had gone so long ago, near when we had first met.
But I was not paying attention, I was more focused on pushing the food around on my plate.
“Stjarna?”
“Mmm?”
“Are you well?”
I glanced up at him.
“Er, I’m just tired.”
He smirked and cocked an eyebrow.
“Have I worn you out, darling?”
I laughed. “Perhaps.”
“Oh, dear.”
But then I shook my head.
“No, it’s not that. I’m not sure, really, I just haven’t felt well the past day or so.”
He furrowed his brows, appearing a little more concerned now.
“How so?”
I shrugged. “I just feel… tired. Just… odd.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“I hope it’s not this damned place.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had wondered if since we were living now how we might be affected.”
“Affected by what?”
“The living are not meant to reside here, Stjarna. I hope you are not becoming ill due to the air or the food, or whatever else is floating around here. I myself felt peculiar the other day.”
“But surely not? The queen is living, too, and she—”
“Not like us,” he interrupted. “She is not like us.”
I pressed my lips together, but said nothing else.
“I will try to hurry up,” Loki said after a long beat of silence. “I do not want you to get sick here. I doubt there are any healers here, anyway, what use would the dead have of them?”
__
I had hoped my weariness might leave me, but the next day it was worse, and I daresay I felt poorly, and when I elected to remain in bed, Loki became visibly worried.
He sat on the edge of the bed next to me.
“How is it?”
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I just want to sleep.”
“Have you seen her recently?”
“Her?”
“Hel.”
Now I lifted my head, gazing curiously at him.
“No, why?”
He pursed his lips, more in frustrated contemplation than at me, and turned his head to stare at the open balcony doors.
“Why, Loki?” I repeated.
“I just… I don’t trust her,” came the halting reply.
My mouth fell open at the ridiculousness of his thinly veiled insinuation.
“You think Queen Hel has something to do with this?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Loki! Are you meaning to say that the queen has poisonedme?”
He scoffed and stood up.
“Never mind it, Stjarna. If you’re not feeling better by this afternoon, I will see about getting someone.”
“And who would that be?” I asked pointedly. “You said yourself there would be no healers here in Helheim.”
Loki shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back.
“I don’t know why you’re ill, I just want to make sure it isn’t something… serious. Needless to say, I will expedite our leaving. I’ll have to… I’ll have to meet with Hel, then, let her know we’re going soon. I need to find out how we’re to leave here, I’m sure she’ll have something to do with it.”
I nodded, noting the hesitance in his voice, but did not inquire further. I figured he would snap at me about her, she was quite a touchy subject lately. So I just lay back against the pillow, accepted his kiss, and watched him leave for the palace library.
Though I thought it odd I should feel like this, I was not too worried about it, and thankfully felt much better upon waking from my nap early that afternoon. I bathed, dressed, and went to find Loki in the library.
I discovered him seated next to a pile of surprisingly new-looking books, and he glanced up when he heard my footsteps.
He stood up to pull out a chair for me.
“How are you feeling, darling?” he asked immediately, motioning for me to sit.
“Much better,” I replied, seating myself and peering over at the book he was reading.
“Good,” he said, reseating himself.
Loki showed me what he had been looking at and told me what he had been thinking. He was wondering if it might be best for us to go to a place called the United States. It was a much larger country, with many great cities that we would be able to disappear into, and even sparser country if we did not want to be in a city.
I thought it sounded wonderful, but ultimately did not mind, and told Loki wherever he thought would be best, I would follow.
We stayed there for another hour or so before retiring for supper, and then to bed where we made love twice.
__
A couple of days passed with me feeling fine, and then on the third morning I awoke feeling ill even more so than before. It was like a biliousness churning in my stomach, and at one point I felt so nauseous that I tried using seidr to see if it would help, but strangely it did not.
Eventually Loki woke, bathed, dressed, and expressed concern when I chose again to remain in bed. I told him I’m sure it would pass, but he did not seem convinced.
“Do you want me to stay?” he inquired, brushing some stray hairs back from my face, which felt clammy.
“No, no,” I sighed. “I’m sure I’ll feel better if I rest.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Loki. If you go on, the sooner we can leave here.”
He gave a small, strained nod.
“I think we are close. I’m sure once we leave you will be fine. We’ll leave within the next day or so, I think, for Midgard.”
I nodded, thinking that I must say goodbye to my family before then, and he kissed me goodbye and left.
And not even two minutes after the door closed behind him, I could feel this queasiness rising suddenly in me like bile.
I jumped out of bed, stomach churning, and ran to the bath chamber, barely making it to the stone basin before vomiting. I hunched over the bowl, back heaving as another round came, and then another.
I gripped the sides of the basin, arms and legs trembling, afraid to even move for the roiling in my belly. I thought if I moved too quickly, I might vomit again. Eventually, though, the feeling calmed, and I carefully turned to run some water to clean my mouth out.
Afterwards, I slowly straightened and wiped the sleeve of my nightgown over my forehead, which was damp with sweat, and turned to the grimy, full-length mirror in the corner. I was still shaking slightly, partly from the strain of vomiting, partly from worry at this sudden turn, and stared cautiously at myself.
And gazing at myself in the mirror, seeing the sweat glistening on my face and chest, an inkling formed in my mind, just the smallest of suspicions, and I felt a pang of nervousness. The thought had entered my mind earlier in the week, but I had not given more than a few seconds’ thought to it for the sheer ridiculousness of it, the sheer impossibility of it.
I shook my head, yes it was too absurd to even consider, and returned weakly to bed, hoping this would pass, whatever it was.
And yet, as I lay down, the thought persisted again, nagging, in the back of my mind.
__
Loki
I did not go to the library, but instead to the great hall.
Despite what Stjarna said, I was not convinced, and wished to address it sooner rather than later, just in case. Besides, I had not yet spoken with Hel about the method of our leaving, and needed to do that, as well, if we were to leave within the next day or so.
I suspected Hel would be in the great hall holding court, but was vaguely annoyed when I arrived and found it empty, except for the sparse smattering of guards along the walls.
“Where is the queen?” I demanded of one of them, and he turned his head to stare lifelessly at me.
“The queen ended court early, and has retired for the day.”
I turned on my heel and made my way to her chambers.
“I would see the queen,” I said when I stood in front of her doors, speaking to one of the guards there.
He gave a short, slow nod, and turned to open one of the great doors.
“Loki of Jötunheim requesting admittance, Your Majesty.”
I heard nothing from inside, but after a long, drawn-out moment, the guard gave another slow nod and turned to me.
“You may enter.”
I went past him, and suddenly felt a pang of discomfort. Though I was here mainly to inquire about Stjarna, and if Hel might know what to do to help her, I could not help the dread rising inside me, since I had not seen her at all since that night.
Hel was seated at her large desk, swathed all in black as usual, scribbling away. Garm, her beloved hellhound, sat obediently at her feet. Garm was her massive dog with evil-looking, blood-stained teeth, but in my experience could actually be surprisingly affectionate.
“What do you want?” Hel rasped coolly, not looking at me.
I stared at the back of her head for a long moment, trying not to remember what had transpired last time I had been here.
“Stjarna is ill,” I said.
“So?”
“Are there any healers here?”
“There are none,” came the gruff, curt reply. “The dead do not get sick.”
“Well, Stjarna is. Would the air here cause it? The food, the wine?”
Though Hel still had not turned to face me, I could tell she was annoyed.
“No.”
I sighed in exasperation.
“Well, the fact is, she is ill.”
“How?” she asked shortly, still scratching away with her pen.
“She has been very tired, somewhat weak, and more recently nauseous..”
Hel’s pen abruptly stopped and she straightened in her chair. And then, to my surprise, she began laughing. An ugly, gritty, cruel laugh.
She turned in the chair to face me, dark eyes flashing in amusement.
“You come here to ask me of this?”
I pressed my lips together.
“I knew not if you might know the cause for such an illness—”
Hel laughed again.
“I know exactly the cause for such an illness. I daresay it sounds like your Vana is with child, Father.”
I stared at her, stunned for only a moment.
“That is impossible.”
“And why is that?” she rasped, finally standing up. “I assume you two have been fucking every chance you get?”
I gritted my teeth.
“Stjarna cannot bear children.”
“Are you so sure?” she inquired, a cold smile playing on her thin, pale lips.
“Yes,” I said tightly. “She has been unable since before we were even together.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” I asked, not bothering to mask my growing irritation.
“Where are your scars, Father?”
“My what?”
She exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes.
“Yourscars. Did you not used to be covered in them?”
I shook my head, bewildered by the direction of this conversation.
“Er, yes.”
“And where are they now?”
I paused.
“Gone.”
I remembered even Angrboda, when I had first come here, had commented on this fact. How all scars, and physical evidences of our past life upon our bodies disappeared when we died. I had not even thought of it after being brought back, so used had I gotten to my body being unmarred, not like it had been near the end of my life. No, it had been painted in scars—across my back and front, around my mouth—evidence of countless tortures that now I could barely remember.
“You are made new here when you die,” Hel explained, somewhat in irritation. “All scars, all injuries, are removed in this new physical manifestation of your soul. And they remain removed, even when you’ve… been revived.”
My lips parted in surprise.
“I know the tragedies of all my dead, including Stjarnavetr,” Hel continued, no longer sounding as unkindly. “I know what she endured, I felt it, when I took her life in Vanaheim to bring her here to you. The physical damage done to her in life, it was all undone, and remained undone when I gave her breath back. Just like you, all scars erased, both inside and out.”
I stared at Hel, understanding, but almost not wanting to—the undeniable truth of it.
The corners of her lips curled upwards into a smile, but there was nothing in her eyes, nor her voice—just a callous, frigid indifference.
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
Chapter warnings/triggers: Language
Author’s note: Ok so the super exciting thing I had mentioned in an ask doesn’t happen in this chapter, I ended up breaking it into two chapters, it would have been too long otherwise. So super exciting thing is in next chapter lol
I guessed it to be around mid-morning, and wondered if perhaps he had gone to fetch a servant to have breakfast brought. I tried to go back to sleep, almost afraid to even let my mind wander to the dreadfulness of this past week, but found it nearly impossible.
Instead, I turned to lay on my side and pushed up the sleeve of my nightgown. I ran my fingers delicately across my inner arm, seeing the faint blue lines beneath the fresh pink of my skin. It was so strange to feel my skin warm again like this, to feel the discomfort of holding my breath for too long, now to gasp for the physical need of it. But it felt so good to breathe, and brought me such pleasure to inhale a lungful of air, even if the air was stale and dry.
But pondering on my newly restored life only kept me occupied for so long, and eventually I turned and glanced curiously at the door.
I thought it strange Loki had not returned yet and wondered where he might be. I slipped out of bed, dressed, and took a peek outside our chambers. The corridor was empty and silent, so I tentatively went to explore the palace on my own, searching for Loki.
I first visited the great hall, thinking the queen might be here taking her breakfast, but found it, too, strangely empty. Pale light poured in through the great, tall windows, illuminating the grimy stone floor and empty tables, revealing the myriad of dust motes dancing lazily through the musty air—and at the end of the room, Queen Hel’s throne broken and shattered against the wall.
Foreboding filled me as I examined at the ruins of her throne, knowing immediately that Loki must have had something to do with it, how could he not have?
I turned to leave, fighting the mounting alarm inside me, daring not to even think of what might have transpired.
Eventually I made my way outside, where a dry breeze blew. I avoided the gardens—I did not believe Loki would be there—and continued on around the palace. I would have asked a guard or servant if they had seen Loki about, but oddly had not glimpsed one since leaving our chambers this morning.
It was only when I began to seriously panic that I finally found him.
He was sitting on the steps of the training ground that he had had made before I arrived in Helheim. The yard was empty, and Loki sat with his legs loosely drawn up, arms outstretched and elbows resting on his knees. He was staring out into the desolate, endless hills beyond the palace grounds—just staring.
I approached him unhurriedly, somewhat apprehensive.
There came another slight breeze, enough to stir the dust in the yard and tousle Loki’s lank black hair. My eyes then fell down to the collar of his tunic, which I noticed with an odd feeling was unlaced and hanging loosely open.
He remained motionless, and I wondered how long he had been sitting here. Wondered why he was even out here and not in bed with me, when he had been so attentive this past week.
It was not like him.
“Loki?” I asked quietly, almost afraid to break the silence.
Loki slowly turned his head to look at me, and the corners of his lips curled upwards in a small, almost sad smile.
“Stjarna.”
I bit my lower lip, unsure, and sank down next to him on the steps, gathering my dress around my ankles to keep it from ruffling too much in the wind. I anxiously studied his face, perceiving within seconds that something was different.
“Loki?”
I lifted my hand and touched his cheek, which was no longer that ghastly grey-blue. The skin around his eyes not sunken in like before, not dark like before. His skin was not cool to the touch, but warm, and my mouth fell open.
“Loki, are you… are you…?”
His small smile grew as he wrapped his fingers gently around my forearm, and I saw that his fingernails were no longer purplish-black, no dark veins woven beneath his skin.
I lifted my other hand to cup his face between my hands, and ran my thumbs over his pale skin—but not like before, not dead like before.
“Oh!” I cried, and I leaned forward and crashed my lips to his, then moved to rain frantic, ecstatic kisses over his face.
Loki chuckled and tangled his fingers in my hair, finally pulling me back. Tears swam in my eyes, blurring his face, and I laughed.
“How? When?”
Now that smile fell just a bit, and I furrowed my brows.
“Loki?”
“Hel… I talked with her, and she… she saw fit… to bring me back to life.”
“When?” I asked, shaking my head. It had to have been last night, he had gone to bed with me the night before.
“Last night, I went to see her again.”
His tone bothered me, though, and I gazed curiously at him.
“What happened? You told me she was adamant last time you spoke to her, what changed?”
“Does it matter?” he retorted, tone suddenly hardened.
I paused, taken aback.
“No, Loki, of course not, I just… I didn’t know…”
“All that matters now, Stjarna, is that we leave. We are free to go, we have her blessing.”
“Yes, yes, of course…”
Loki grabbed my face and kissed me again and I melted into his arms on the steps, joy rising to replace the uncertainty, and soon I could think of nothing but that soon we would be gone from here, together and alive and it would be a new start, and gods I could not have asked for anything more than this.
__
Loki
“I promise,” she breathed, bringing my hand down so it was at the junction between her jaw and neck. “I promise, I will give you your breath back, I promise, I promise…”
But I didn’t reply, gods, couldn’t have even formed words in that moment if I wanted to.
Hel gripped my hand a little tighter, and I thought I could feel her trembling, so slightly it was almost unnoticeable, as she slowly turned, still holding my hand. My feet were like lead, and she had to gently pulled at me before I practically stumbled forward.
Past the crackling fireplace, through an open doorway. My stomach, already queasy, dropped, as we entered her bedchamber. There was a fire lit here, as well, though it was smaller than the one in her receiving chamber, and did not light up the room as brightly.
I swallowed hard when we stopped in the middle of the room, near the foot of her great bed, swathed entirely in black.
Hel turned lithely to face me, one half of her pallid face lit up orange by the firelight, the other half mostly shrouded in darkness.
I looked up and above her head, fighting the urge to vomit at the horrifying realization of what was about to happen. I was not even sure how I would be able to… to do what she wanted, considering how strongly my body was recoiling from her touch, at merely the thought of it…
“Would you look at me?” Hel whispered, lifting her thin, gloved hand to turn my face towards her.
I stared into her dark, sorrowful eyes, but did not speak.
She seemed about to say something, hesitance evident upon her face, and with what appeared to be tears in her eyes, but must have thought better, and instead moved to place both hands on my chest. I noticed her breaths coming a little faster now—in nervousness or excitement, I didn’t know—but I could not hold her gaze any longer and once again glanced up over her head, staring anywhere but where she wanted me to.
Now one hand slid up around the side of my neck, and she tugged uncertainly at me. I stiffened, I couldn’t help it, and Hel relaxed her hold on me, sensing my unwillingness.
“I… I am sorry I am not beautiful,” she murmured in a rasp, which caused me to almost curiously study her downcast expression. She seemed so small and fragile in front of me, almost breakable. But it would be a lie to say that I was not sickened, and that merely her touch caused my skin to crawl. And when she glanced up at me, the firelight reflecting in her dull black eyes, so just like her mother’s…
I did not reply, and again she tugged at me. I forced myself to relax, if only a bit, and watched in restrained revulsion as she lifted up on her toes. But I was still too tall for her, and she pulled again until I disconnectedly lowered my head.
Every fiber of my being was screaming out against this, compelling me to shove her away, but I didn’t, I couldn’t if I was to end up alive again—and raised shaking hands to either side of her gaunt face. Hel paused before closing her eyes, lips parted, and I could feel her unsteady breath on my own lips.
There was a long moment of nothing, of revolting indecision, before Hel closed the distance between us.
Her lips were dry and cracked upon mine, and instantly I nearly gagged at the taste of her. Despite the scent of putrefaction that already enveloped us, her breath smelled so strongly of mold and decay that it took everything I had to not wrench away in repulsion.
I tried not to think of Stjarna as Hel’s fingers brushed against my skin, sending an additional shiver of disgust skittering through me. Could feel the hot flush of regret and shame, mixed with this indescribable anger and loathing, and helplessness.
It made me nauseous to imagine carrying this filthy secret for the rest of my existence, keeping this from Stjarna—but I couldn’t think of Stjarna, didn’t want to think of her during this.
But suddenly I couldn’t stand it another moment longer—I roughly grabbed two fistfuls of Hel’s thin black hair and indelicately yanked her head backwards, breaking the kiss. I turned my head towards the fire, teeth clenched, combating the feeling of vomit rising quickly within me.
Hel was silent for a long while, unmoving, and I could feel her black gaze fixed intently on me. She tentatively moved to wrap her fingers around my wrists.
And then, so softly, “Father…”
“Do not say that!” I hissed, and I shoved her forcefully away.
Hel stumbled backwards, but caught herself on the edge of her bed. She turned quickly, breaths coming harder now.
I glowered venomously at her.
“Do not utter that fucking word to me,” I spat, and I hoped she could see the absolute loathing on my face, hear it dripping with each word, feel it emanating from me. If this had to happen, I wanted her to feel the hatred in it.
Hatred so strong, that I wanted to kill her in that moment.
And as Hel straightened, expression unreadable, I wondered if I could do it.
I do not think she would anticipate it, nor be able to fight me off. She was strong, I knew, but I was so much taller than her, perhaps if I were to form a seidr blade and plunge it into her rotten heart… but I had no doubt I would be killed by the guards that stood outside her chambers, if not them then others—the loyal, mindless dead would avenge their queen. And then what kind of predicament would I have put Stjarna in?
Hel began walking towards me, each step a little more assertive than the last, and when she finally came to stand in front of me, she threw out her gloved hand, striking me open-palmed in the chest.
I was thrown by the force, and though my body did not require air to live, it knocked the wind out of me. I lurched backwards so hard that my back hit the rough stone wall, and Hel was in front of me in an instant.
Before I could even think that I had never seen her move so quickly, Hel reached up to wrap her hands around the back of my neck. She yanked my head down towards her and lifted up on her toes, crashing her lips vehemently against mine.
Her kiss was forceful, insistent, nothing like before, and without thinking I pushed her furiously away.
“You said you would!” she cried, staggering backwards again, teeth bared. “You agreed!”
Anger in her already harsh voice, tears swimming in her eyes.
I shook my head, on the verge of screaming that I couldn’t do this with her, I couldn’t be with her like this, but something stopped me.
The thought of Stjarna lying in our chambers now, asleep, the thought of her leaving, and my being stuck here in this accursed realm for the rest of eternity.
And Hel was still watching me, waiting for an answer—any answer, but I did not speak.
I swallowed hard, unable suddenly to speak, unable to bring myself to say anything at all.
Hel took my silence as her answer, and languidly reached up to place her fingers on my chest. Again, so different from before, almost cautious. Perhaps my reaction had cooled her and did not wish to risk my leaving.
Fresh dread surged through me when she grasped at the laces of my tunic, and I let out a final, agonized breath of defeat. I refused to acknowledge her as she unlaced the ties. Every brush of her fingers against my skin sent a rivulet of nausea through me, but I swallowed hard again, remained motionless even when the laces were fully undone.
I was so focused on staring blankly into nothingness, attempting to drive any thought at all from my mind, that I started when Hel pressed her lips to my bare chest. I instinctively grabbed her bony shoulders, causing her to freeze, but stopped myself right before shoving her away again, and eventually dropped my hands. Hel, sensing my assent, however obviously reluctant, resumed.
She turned her head and placed her cheek against me, and then I felt her hands on my sides. Slipping down, under the hem of my tunic, then back up over my bare skin. Up over my ribs as I tried to suppress the shivers running through me, then around to my back, pulling me closer to her.
Trying harder now to stare vacantly off into the distance, attempting not to feel the entire length of her emaciated body pressed against me, when I heard her voice, nervous and breathy, whispered into my skin.
“Would you… would you at least pretend like you do not despise me? Just for tonight?”
I was silent for a long time, and she lifted her face to gaze sorrowfully at me. I glared coldly at her, and could see behind this carefully crafted mask that she always wore. I saw pain and fear and craving, and in return I had nothing but burning animosity.
“I will despise you for the rest of time,” I murmured levelly. “And when I die again and come back to this vile place, I will not have forgotten you, nor what you made me do.”
A pause, only her soft breaths in the stillness as she withdrew her hands from beneath my shirt.
“You deserve to be here, Hel. Alone.”
There was grief in her expression, an almost pitying helplessness, as she lowered her gaze—but I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt her in whatever way I could, wanted her to feel my hatred. Wanted to make sure she knew it and saw it and felt it.
Hel did not speak for a long moment, and we both stood there in total silence.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, without looking at me, Hel gradually raised her bare hand and placed it gently on my chest. She stood there for a long time, staring straight ahead, and I could not identify her expression.
Suddenly something was strange, and I faltered and glanced down—at the edges of her splayed palm, from within my skin it seemed, there came a faint light. I looked back at Hel, whose pale cheeks were wet now with fresh, silent tears. Her lips were quivering, brows furrowed.
I glimpsed her tragic visage, lips parted in surprise, as this almost painful warmth spread through my body. Down to my fingertips, settling briefly in my belly before skirting further down through my legs, to the tips of each toe. Hel exhaled hard, face contorted like she was in pain, and her hand began to tremor.
I slowly lifted my left hand, turning it over to see the prominent veins beneath my skin melting away, the ghastly blue-grey tone fading to a more normal level of paleness. I glanced back to Hel, who exhaled harshly now, something akin to both a gasp and a sob, and then her knees buckled.
I caught her impulsively as she fell, and felt her thin body trembling against me, heard her panting harshly against me. And punctuating the silence between those breaths, a pounding in my ears, and a mounting tightness in my chest, tinged with pain, until I realized why, and frantically sucked in a breath.
The subsequent pleasure that filled me educed what almost sounded like a moan from me, it was nothing like I’d ever felt, and suddenly my own knees felt weak. I fell backwards and slid down the wall, Hel still collapsed against me, and we ended up on the floor, my arms still wrapped around her thin body.
We laid there for a long while, until Hel finally stirred against me. She pushed away from me and knelt precariously, supporting herself on her arms. Her long black hair hid her downturned face, and I wondered briefly why she was so weak, for she had not been like this with Stjarna, but before I could open my mouth to ask, she spoke.
“Go.”
Quiet, almost imperceptible.
I studied her withdrawn form, my chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Each one felt so good.
“Hel…”
“Please…” she whimpered, turning further away, as if shielding herself from me. “Just go.”
I lingered for only another moment before, with some effort, lethargically hauling myself up off the floor. My legs were weak and unsteady, but I supported myself with one arm against the stone wall. I stared down at Hel, still kneeling on all fours and so tiny it seemed, before turning away to make my way back into her receiving chambers, then out the main doors.
I wandered sluggishly through the palace, feeling drunk, not even thinking on where I might be going, until I found myself outside on the palace grounds. In the pale light, some artificial source by Hel’s own doing here in this realm, for there were no stars or moon here, I examined my hands, turning them over to gawk again at the changed color of my skin.
Walking, until I came to the training yard, and practically collapsing onto the steps. Placing a trembling hand on my chest to feel my forgotten heartbeat, thinking of Hel, and the realization of my newfound mortality.
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
I stared at Hel in disbelief, though her words made perfect sense.
Of course Stjarna could not stay. She was living, breathing, not dead like me… but…
“No.”
“No?” Hel rasped, cocking one slim, black eyebrow.
“No, she cannot leave. You cannot, she must stay here with me.”
And even as I said the words, I knew they were wrong. To keep Stjarna here in the land of the dead though she was living, it was unbelievably selfish on my part, but I was a selfish person anyway.
Hel cackled, a terribly ugly sound.
“And who are you to tell me who may reside in my realm? You are Loki of nothing here, you do not command me nor my subjects.”
I had no words now, I only glared at her.
“I told you that you would regret it,” she said, and there might have been a hint of amusement in her words. “I told you, Father. She will leave, it matters not where, as long as she is not here, and you will stay. Because. You. Are. Dead.”
Each word punctuated the thin, musty air with such terrible finality.
“Hel…”
She rolled her eyes.
“I grow tired of this. I will let her recover, it should not take long. I suppose you may say your goodbyes. But she must leave. She is living, and this is no longer a realm suited for her.”
Hel turned to leave in a twirl of black, but I took a frantic step forward.
“Hel, wait! What… what can I do? What would it take?”
Hel paused and was still for a long, tense moment, though did not turn to look at me.
“Nothing you would willingly give me,” she finally murmured, so softly I barely heard it, and then was gone.
__
Stjarna was still asleep in our bed when I entered our chambers. I settled weakly on the edge and watched, almost with a curious fascination, her chest gently moving up and down with each delicate breath. I wanted to touch her skin—so warm, I remembered from the night before when she had been lying in my arms—but did not want to accidentally wake her before she was ready.
Ganglot, Hel’s maidservant, had evidently dressed and washed Stjarna while I was gone, and she lay there in a fresh dress, not a spot of blood to be seen. Perhaps she was in a deeper sleep than I thought.
I raked my fingers through my still blood-crusted hair, staring forlornly at her. I could not imagine her not being here now, could not imagine the point of even continuing on without her here. Though a part of me was beyond thrilled she was alive again, the other part of me could not fathom her being exiled from here, not without me.
I cursed Hel under my breath, cursed her very existence. I wished I had never gone to Utgard, wished I had never met Angrboda and produced such an atrocious daughter. I would have hated to meet the other two offspring Angrboda had told me of, Fenrir and Jörmungandr. Truly monsters, banished to gods know where.
I stood up, trying to eliminate thoughts of Angrboda now. She was gone, I need not think of her anymore. I went to the bath chamber, cleaned up and dressed into a fresh tunic and pants.
Stjarna remained asleep as I gingerly slipped into bed. I only wanted to be next to her, in case she were to wake up and not realize what had happened, in case I needed to console her.
I laid there for hours, sometimes watching Stjarna, sometimes out the open balcony to the sky, thinking of nothing and everything. What I would do without Stjarna here, what she would do if she were to be evicted from Helheim. The thought made me sick. Of course I would have to discuss it with Hel again, there was no way I would give in so easily.
Eventually, there came a knocking at the door. I slid out of bed and opened the door. Ganglot stood there, a tray of food in her hands.
“Her Majesty wished to send food.”
I bit my tongue, but took the tray without a word and closed the door as silently as I could with my foot. I laid the tray on the table, but it must have roused Stjarna, because she made a soft sound and rolled over.
I made it to the side of the bed just as she opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.
“Loki?”
I offered her a small smile and sat down on the edge next to her, placing my hand on the side of her head to stroke her cheek with my thumb.
“Oh, my darling,” I breathed, and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.
“What happened?” she murmured, moving to sit up. “My throat hurts…”
“No, just rest,” I advised, gently keeping her from getting up.
“What happened?” she repeated, somewhat hoarsely, looking a little more concerned now.
My lips parted, but no words came at first.
Finally, “You… you were poisoned.”
She furrowed her brows and glanced down.
“Poisoned?” she echoed quietly.
“Yes, Angrboda, she…”
Stjarna’s eyes flickered back up to me.
“You need not worry now. She has been taken care of.”
Stjarna, understanding my meaning with what looked like some discomfort, did not press the matter. She swallowed hard and asked me for something to drink, as her throat was so dry.
I quickly fetched her a cup from the tray and filled it with wine from the flagon on the table, feeling a dreadful twinge as I handed her the cup. She drank deeply and settled back against the pillow with a sigh. But when she went to hand me the cup, her eyes flickered down to her hands and she let out a cry of alarm.
I caught the cup as she dropped it, though she had drained it so there was no wine to spill.
“Loki, my hands!” she looked up at me in alarm. “What is happening—?”
“Hel saved you,” I explained carefully, grabbing her hand to calm her. “She brought you back to life.”
Stjarna’s mouth fell open in shock.
“I am… alive?”
Stjarna withdrew her hand from mine and gingerly placed it on her chest. The realization dawned on her face.
“I can feel my heart,” she whispered, lifting her hands to stare incredulously at them. Her nails were no longer bruised purple, the spidery veins that had once been prominent at her wrists melted away to leave only fresh, pink skin.
Now she slowly smiled, and I felt a pang of guilt.
“Loki,” she said, as the tears welled up in her eyes. But then she saw my pained expression. “Loki…?”
I shook my head, how could I possibly find the words?
“Loki, what’s wrong?”
“Stjarna, I… I don’t know how to say this… but… due to your…”
Stjarna gazed concernedly at me, waiting.
“Hel… she wants you to leave Helheim, due to your being alive now.”
Stjarna’s lips parted in astonishment.
“What? I must leave?”
I only shook my head, agonized.
“Why can I not stay here with you?” she asked desperately.
“She said you are living now, Stjarna.”
“But you could come with…” but she trailed off, realizing mid-sentence that my coming with her was impossible.
I briefly recalled a conversation Hel and I had had long ago, when I had asked what happened if the dead tried to leave here, and the short answer had been, simply, that they did not.
“Loki,” Stjarna whimpered, “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave you, how could she do this?”
“I will speak to Hel again,” I assured her, reaching to hold her hands firmly in mine. “Surely there could be an exception made.”
But even as I said it, I knew Hel would not concede. I had seen the subtle pleasure in her eyes when she told me, could hear it in her voice.
Stjarna nodded, but still appeared unconvinced. Her chin trembled and I pulled her into an embrace, curling my fingers around the back of her neck, holding her close.
“I will fix this,” I murmured, but deep down suspected it would be futile.
__
The next morning I made my way determinedly to Hel’s chambers.
I had not slept at all the night before, so wracked with this nauseating uncertainty. Stjarna had not slept much either, and had wept quietly a few times, lamenting the overwhelming probability of being thrust back somewhere into the Nine Realms alone.
However, I did not get a chance to speak to Hel.
I was incensed to learn from one of the guards at her doors that she had left on a spontaneous tour of the great valley and some surrounding tracts, and would likely be gone the better part of a week.
As I turned away, I cursed her name. Without a doubt she had gone to avoid me, knowing I would seek her out again to discuss the matter of Stjarna leaving Helheim. Though I did not think too highly of my daughter, I had not gauged her as a coward.
I returned to my chambers and told a despondent Stjarna the matter would have to wait at least a few more days. I didn’t know if Hel expected Stjarna to be gone when she came back, though if she did she was in for an unpleasant surprise. I would not let Stjarna be turned out without a fight.
And even as I consoled Stjarna and told her I would not easily surrender to this, and even as she cried and clutched to me and told me she could not be without me again, in the back of my mind I knew it wasn’t fair to her. Stjarna was alive again and she deserved to walk amongst the living under a warm sun.
Despite the bloody circumstances of her newfound breath, she had, for all accounts, been given another chance at life—and I, doomed still here to the shadows. But the greedy part of me could not let her go, and her impassioned pleas only bolstered my resolve to keep us together, somehow.
And so we would wait on Hel’s return, in this uncertain limbo.
__
The next few days passed slowly, though we did not leave my chambers at all and had food brought to us twice a day.
Much of the first day was spent in solitude. I think both of us were hesitant to even speak about what likely was to happen, as it was too horrible to imagine.
The morning of the second day passed much the same way, until Stjarna finally brought it up. She was lying in bed on her back, one knee drawn up, the other stretched out. I lay facing her on my side, trailing a finger over her skin, watching it dot in gooseflesh.
“Where will I go?” she murmured, staring hopelessly up at the ceiling.
My eyes flickered up to hers.
“Stjarna, I’ll speak to her—”
“No, if it… if it doesn’t change her mind. Where do you think would be best for me to go, alone?”
I pressed my lips together, dreading the thought.
“Not Svartalfheim or Nidavellir, of course. Or Muspelheim.”
I did not reply, only studied her face.
“Perhaps Alfheim? None would know me there, I think. The Ljósálfar are enough like the Vanir and Aesir.”
“Not Asgard?” I asked quietly. “You still have family there…”
Stjarna was silent for a long moment.
“I know not. Asgard is still beholden to Vanaheim, are they not? I wonder if Thor would deport me back to Vanaheim due to the treaty, since I killed their king. But maybe that would be a good thing, surely they would attempt to execute me again.”
I shook my head, disturbed by the calmness of her musings.
“Stjarna, that’s ridiculous. Alfheim perhaps sounds… the best…”
Stjarna suddenly bolted up and turned to face me.
“Loki, what if I… what if I killed myself?”
“What?” I snapped. “Absolutely not!”
“Would I manifest here again, or would my soul manifest out there, where you did when you died? You told me when you came to, you were standing in a long line of people, and crossed over a golden bridge into the valley—”
“Are you mad?” I seethed, rising up and cutting her off. “You’re not going to kill yourself, Stjarna—”
“But you could come find me if I were to manifest out there instead of here, it would keep me here with you—”
“I am not worth that,” I snapped, the virulence in my tone barely masking my anguish at the truth of it.
Stjarna shamefully lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap.
“I am not worth you killing yourself, Stjarna,” I repeated, more softly now. “You will not waste this second chance that you’ve been given. I won’t let you.”
“You think I should leave?”
“I…” and every fiber of my being fought against it, but I could not deny it. Though I wanted so badly for Stjarna to stay here with me, I knew it was not what was best for her.
But she shook her head and glanced back up at me.
“What is best for me, Loki, is to be here with you. I don’t care if I’m alive or dead, just as long as I’m with you. You may not remember specifics, but we’ve spent far too long before away from each other. I cannot describe to you the agony I felt in life when you were taken away from me, by your own actions or others’. I never want to feel that again, Loki. Even here, when I was dead, I could remember it so strongly. The pain, thinking I would never see you again, knowing I would never see you again. I will not do it, I will not be without you again. It is worse than death to me, and I refuse to do it.”
I only stared at her, saw the tears rolling down her cheeks, her trembling lips. But she held my gaze, and I knew she would not back down.
“If I cannot be here with you in life, then I will remain here with you in death. I will end my life, if Hel will not take it like she did in Vanaheim. You are more important to me, Loki, than a lungful of air, or the blood flowing through my veins. I care not what you say, because I know you would do the same for me.”
And I had no words for her, because she was right.
If the roles had been reversed, I would have come up with something as insane as killing myself again to remain here with her.
And so there were two options left to us, however badly I did not want the second: Stjarna would be gone from Helheim, or she would die again to remain here.
There was only one other option I could think of, but the thought of it seemed too impossible to even consider. But then again, here was Stjarna alive again. Perhaps… perhaps I could be, too.
__
Finally, Hel returned to Eljudnir.
As soon as I received word, I sought her out. I found her in the great hall, speaking with two of her representatives, dead men she had chosen to oversee different regions in Helheim, to report to her.
“Hel,” I said, not caring to interrupt their conversation. “I need to speak with you.”
Hel glanced at me, appearing vaguely aggravated.
“I am in the middle of something, Father.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re giving court, I will speak with you,” I replied brusquely.
The two representatives glanced uncomfortably down at the ground.
Hel’s expression remained impassive, though she did not break eye contact with me as she waved her hand towards the two men, who quickly bowed and scurried away.
“You take much liberty speaking to me like that in my own court,” she said coolly.
“I don’t—”
“Is she gone yet?”
“What?”
“Is Stjarnavetr gone yet? Surely she is recovered by now.”
I pressed my lips together.
“She’s been in my chambers—”
Hel scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning to ascend the dais to her throne. I followed her, attempting to swallow my anger, unflinching as the putrid reek that constantly shrouded her washed over me, so used to it was I now. She smoothly turned, sinking down to sit.
“I told you to be rid of her, Father, that is why I left.”
“You did not leave to avoid speaking with me?” I demanded, barely able to mask my irritation.
“Partially,” she admitted, uncaringly, “but I also did not wish to be privy to what surely would be a most pathetically tearful departure.”
I gritted my teeth.
“I am here to make a request of you.”
She smirked.
“And what is that, Father? To ask me yet again if she can stay?”
“No,” I retorted. “I wish to request…”
Hel lifted her eyebrows, and I sensed some amusement in her black eyes.
“That you bring me back to life.”
Her face fell, and she glared at me for a long, tense moment. My eyes flickered down to glimpse her thin white fingers curling like claws on the edge of her throne.
“Are you mad?” she hissed, rising up. “You dare to ask me such a thing?”
“You brought Stjarna back to life,” I replied unwaveringly, watching unmoved as she indignantly descended the dais, stopping on the fourth step so she was right above eye level with me.
“So?” she grunted.
“I will not part from her,” I said, “and I see this as the only option.”
I wasn’t going to mention Stjarna’s preferred method. I would do everything in my power to keep it from that.
Hel laughed now, though it was still a tense laugh, and harsh like grit in her throat.
“Surely you jest?” she insisted.
I stared at her, motionless.
“No.”
She chuckled again, though not quite as loudly.
“Can you imagine the chaos here, Father, if I were to bring the dead back to life so… arbitrarily? I am their queen, not their savior.”
I shook my head in anger and spit out, “Then why did you do it?”
Her expression darkened.
“Why did you bother to bring Stjarna back? If it makes a joke of death, then why did you do it?”
“I did not wish to save her,” Hel muttered acrimoniously.
“That is evident!” I snapped, mounting a step towards her. I recalled her words that night as Stjarna lay choking to death on her own blood, her nonchalance… she is not special.
Suddenly an idea formed in my mind, concerning Stjarna’s words the night before about killing herself to stay here with me.
“What about me?” I inquired, not as forcefully now.
“What are you talking about?” she scoffed.
“Would you save me?”
Now her face became stony.
“Would you bring me back to life,” I asked softly, forming a seidr blade in my hand, glowing green as I slowly raised it, “if I were to plunge this into my own heart?”
“What are you doing?” she insisted, voice tinged with just a hint of panic as I raised the dagger and lightly pressed the tip to my chest. Her tone practically confirmed Angrboda’s words to me, long ago.
That day I had found Hel in her chambers, a shivering and emotional wreck after a violent confrontation with her mother. She had bemoaned her fate here as queen to me, and the hopelessness of her eternal loneliness.
And afterwards in the gardens Angrboda had revealed to me, with some callous enjoyment, that our daughter was in love with me—but not in the way that a daughter should love her father.
I remember Angrboda had snickered about it, thought it all hilariously pathetic, and had degraded our daughter to me.
I had been repulsed, but had never mentioned it to Hel that Angrboda had told me. But now I wondered if Hel truly felt that way about me, would that keep her from letting me kill myself? If I were to plunge this dagger into my heart, would that love she supposedly had for me drive her to bring me back to life?
But then again, I did not think I could actually do it. What if she refused to save me, and then Stjarna truly would be left alone. I could not even imagine what it might do to her. No, I could not actually kill myself.
And when Hel’s face slightly relaxed, I think she knew it too.
“I am sure your Vana would enjoy hearing such news before being sent back to the land of the living.”
The blade dissipated in my hand in an angry flash.
“Gods damn you, Hel, gods damn you!” I screamed. “Curse Angrboda that she ever gave birth to a monster like you, and curse Odin that he saw fit to spare your miserable fucking life!”
Hel stared at me for a long, tense moment, before she finally turned and soundlessly descended the dais. I watched, enraged, as she simply left the great hall.
The anger coursed through me like fire as I stood there in a livid silence, grinding my teeth together, clenching and unclenching my fists, until it finally rose up inside like a wave and burst out of me.
I let out a furious scream and bounded the steps to her throne, drew my leg back and viciously kicked it; the heavy chair flew off the dais and collided loudly against the stone wall behind it, shattering and splintering the wood.
I squeezed my eyes shut as the crash echoed and finally died in the great hall, willing my body to cease this irrepressible shaking.
Gods, what was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to tell Stjarna?
Surely this could not be the end, could it?
__
That night Stjarna lay sleeping next to me, having earlier cried herself to sleep. I lay miserably awake, staring up at the ceiling. I could not tell exactly what I was feeling—only this sick mixture of anger, of sorrow, churning nauseatingly inside me.
I knew that once she was gone—for she would leave, I would not let her kill herself only to stay here with me—I would think of nothing but her, and whether she was alright. I wondered if Hel would ever tell me about how Stjarna was, or what she was doing. Hel had knowledge of the outside realms—how I knew not—but a part of me suspected she would take some sadistic pleasure in keeping me from knowing anything about Stjarna after her departure.
Just as I wondered how much time I had left with Stjarna, a light caught my eye. I turned to see a faint glow beneath the door, like somebody on the other side was holding a candle.
As soon as I sat up, there came a muted, almost imperceptible knock. I slowly got out of bed, careful not to wake Stjarna, and went to the door. Much to my surprise, I found Ganglati, Hel’s unwavering manservant, on the other side.
“Her Majesty requires your presence,” he announced quietly, but stoically.
“She can go fuck herself,” I growled, but just as I went to close the door, Ganglati stopped it easily with his hand.
“Her Majesty insisted upon it, to review matters previously discussed earlier this day.”
I paused, but then turned to glimpse Stjarna sleeping on the bed. After a long moment of indecision, I turned to leave with Ganglati, and followed him through the nearly pitch black corridors of Eljudnir, until we came to Hel’s great chambers. The guards opened the heavy doors for us, but Ganglati did not enter. He extended his arm, as if inviting me in, and I begrudgingly obliged.
Hel was standing at one of her large windows, which was thrown open to let the stale air in. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and she did not look at me even when the doors closed resoundingly behind me.
Nothing was said for a long, long time, and as I finally opened my mouth to tell her to fuck off, thinking this was some sick joke on her part, and leave to return to my chambers, she spoke.
“I did not ask for this, you know,” she said, so softly I almost did not hear it. “To be burdened with this curse.”
I closed my mouth, glaring at the back of her head. The large fire in her fireplace cast a hellish glow over the room, the reflections of its yellow flames dancing in her long, oily black hair.
“Grandfather called it a gift,” she continued, as tranquilly as her gritty, tortured-sounding voice would allow. “After he murdered my mother, and stole us from Utgard, he tried to think of a place to hide us away from the world. My brothers he banished, but he had more trouble finding a hiding place for me. I was too ugly, too vile to even think of keeping in a civilized realm. It was only when he discovered I could kill with merely a touch, and in turn give life the same way, he took me to Niflheim, and then below that, even deeper down to this realm of the dead. He told me I was meant to be queen here, to rule over the mindless hordes here.”
Again, I said nothing.
“You asked me… why I bothered to save her.”
Now she slowly turned her head to look at me.
“I did not want to save her. Of course you’d kill Mother, I had no doubt you would, but then you would have blamed me, as well, knowing I could have saved her and chosen not to. You would have hated me for all eternity and I could not bear the thought of that.”
She was right—despite the fact that it was Angrboda who had attempted to kill Stjarna, I would have also held Hel responsible for not saving her, knowing damn well she could have. I did not think hate a strong enough word for what I might have felt for her had she refused to save Stjarna.
“A part of me wishes that I’d never brought her here to the palace. I should have let her die in Vanaheim like she was meant to and then left her to wander out there in the valley with the rest of them. You would have forgotten her in time, they almost all do eventually. But I brought her here to you because in my childishness I wanted to hurt Mother, and… in truth, I wanted to make you happy, but I… I did not anticipate…”
“Anticipate what?” I finally asked, quietly.
Now she turned back to the window, gazing forlornly out into the blackness, and her voice quivered.
“Loving you.”
A coldness spread through me, though I did not react.
“Don’t you see?” Hel said distraughtly, lifting her still tightly clasped hands to her chest, perhaps too ashamed to look at me. “I wanted you for myself, but I… I cannot have you. Mother is dead and still I cannot have you…”
After a long, painful moment, I was finally able to find my voice.
“It would never happen,” I bit out.
“I know,” she murmured painfully, again slowly turning to face me.
Her expression was sorrowful, pallid cheeks wet from her silent weeping. Her thin hands were trembling, one gloved in black, the other ghastly white against her dark bodice.
“And though I doubt you will believe it, when I tell you it pains me to send her away, because I know it will hurt you so.”
“So why did you call me here?” I inquired bitterly. “To profess your feelings for me? To gloat yet again that Stjarna will be gone from here soon?”
“No… I called you here to make an offer.”
Despite the perverseness just moments before, a small tinge of hope leaped within my chest. But as Hel took a halting step forward and then approached me, I watched with growing foreboding until she came to stand in front of me, followed by that overwhelming stench of decay.
“I am sick, Father,” she whispered timorously, black eyes with just the faintest whisper of green rising to meet mine, and hands falling back down in front of her. “I know not if it is this place that has twisted me, or Mother or… or if I was sick before I even came to be here…”
I furrowed my brows and gave a little shake of my head, not understanding, or perhaps not wanting to understand.
Then she laughed, so gently, not ugly and gutturally like usual. Her pale, cracked bottom lip trembled, and another tear rolled down her sunken cheek.
“I have no one here, don’t you see? I use Ganglati sometimes, but he does not know any better. He just wants to serve me in any way I desire. Sometimes… sometimes…”
She hung her head now, looking defeated, so small and frail.
“I imagine you,” she breathed, tone hushed that I could barely hear her, and her voice was agonized. “When I use him, I imagine you. I wish it was you holding me, kissing me, telling me…”
But she stopped, voice caught in her throat, and an iciness spread through me, numbing me, to know that when she made her manservant fuck her, she imagined me.
And then, the softest, most sorrowful, warbling, “I love you.”
I remained silent, only staring callously at the top of her lowered head. Surely she did not anticipate me to return her twisted sentiment?
Whatever this realm had done to her, however this loneliness, and these many centuries with Angrboda had warped her, I could not love her like she wanted. Despite having come from my own body, looking at this thin waif cocooned in black, regardless the grief in her voice, I would never love her.
Perhaps at one time I might have felt some semblance of affection and pity for her, being my daughter, for she was correct earlier in saying she had not asked for this; she had not asked to become reviled as Queen of the Dead amongst the other realms, as some cold and rotten figure.
But no longer.
Nothing now but abhorrence and contempt.
And I replied, hesitantly, not necessarily meant to hurt, but simply the cold truth:
“I could never love you.”
“I know,” came the faint reply. “I did not call you here to beg your love, nor your acceptance. I came to offer you your life back.”
My lips parted in surprise, but I knew there was a catch.
“In exchange for what?” I asked suspiciously, coldly.
Hel now almost seemed reluctant to answer, and when she finally lifted her head to gaze dolefully at me, apprehension washed through me.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Just one night.”
I tilted my head, staring at her oddly, almost uncomprehendingly. Surely she did not mean…?
“One night is all I ask,” she murmured, and my heart fell. “One night and I shall give you your breath back and you may both be gone from here, I promise you.”
But I shook my head, hardly able to form the words to refute her, to rage at her, to… gods, I didn’t even know what to think. I stumbled backwards, mouth fallen open in disgust.
“Hel…”
What she asked was against the very laws of nature, it was forbidden, surely even here in this desolate and barren hellscape. And she was still staring at me, not hard or demanding, but somewhat pleading, forlorn… wanting.
“I know… I know no matter if she left or stayed, you would always hate me. At least this way, I could… I could carry some memory with me, something to carry me through the rest of this bleak eternity here.”
I took another step back, unable to break her wretched gaze.
“No, I will not, I cannot! What you ask, it is… it is…”
But I trailed off, unable to express my absolute repugnance, to even put into words the filth she had insinuated.
“How could you?” I finally sputtered. “How could you expect me to—”
“I want to feel something, even if it is revulsion!” Hel cried, eyes brimming with fresh tears. “Even if you hate me, you feel something for me, don’t you? Even if it is not love…”
I stared open-mouthed at her, stunned into silence. Gods, she truly was mad, she was insane, this world or Angrboda, who the fuck knew, had broken her, and she was genuinely deranged, there was no other explanation.
“I will not do this,” I finally said.
Hel’s expression hardened.
“Then you will remain dead, and she will be gone from here,” she firmly replied.
I stood there helplessly, dumbstruck. But gods, I could not bring myself to even entertain the idea. Yes, I would be brought back to life and Stjarna and I would be able to leave here and start over, but I would forever be marred by this filthy secret, to carry it shamefully for the rest of my life, and eventually into this accursed afterlife once again.
No, I could not do it, I couldn’t make myself do it…
I shook my head and turned around, unable to even look at her, and let out a short, weak laugh in the dreadful realization that I was going to rot down here for all eternity. Of course I couldn’t stay here in Eljudnir, not after this. But would Hel even let me leave the palace?
And Stjarna would be gone, and I would do nothing but agonize about her, never knowing. What an absolutely miserable fucking existence—though I could not deny one of the outcomes was more preferable than the other, despite the path to reach it.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, let out a heavy breath even though I didn’t need to breathe.
Was there any price too great to pay for Stjarna? I had already given everything once for her, what was a second time, I thought bitterly. But, did I even have a choice? Ultimately I wasn’t going to let Stjarna kill herself, no matter how determined she thought she was. I loved her too much to allow that.
My options were to lose Stjarna potentially forever, for who knew if we would even be reunited here when she died again within in the next four thousand years, or this.
Suddenly, I felt Hel’s hand on my back.
I stiffened, but did not move—only opened my eyes and slowly lowered my head. Her thin fingers moved gently over my back, down the length of my spine. I swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to vomit.
Abruptly her hand was gone, but she did not move from behind me.
“Well?” Hel murmured, somewhat hesitantly.
There came that agonizing moment of brief indecision, every fiber of my being screaming against even this consideration—another chance at life with Stjarna, another three or four thousand years spent content and happy and free, or a desolate eternity with no hope for anything ever again but misery?
And I did not speak, but my shoulders slumped, which was answer enough for her.
Hel came unhurriedly around to stand in front of me, but I could not even look at her. I averted my gaze to the side, clenched my teeth so hard that pain radiated through my jaw.
Where before I had grown used to the scent of death that constantly surrounded her, suddenly I was so much more conscious of it, knowing its source, trying not to remember the night she had bared herself to me, shown me how essentially half of her thin body was rotting under her clothes.
Gods, if she had ever wanted my love, she would certainly never receive it now. There was nothing left but hatred—not pity, not even indifference now. Only a cold, burning loathing, and I could tell in her almost uncertain movements that she knew it. But it didn’t matter, really—she knew I would do anything for Stjarna, and that is why she reached up to lightly rest her hand on my chest.
I fought my instinct to recoil from her touch, and felt as she splayed her fingers, then slowly let her hand drift down to my stomach.
I could not help it—my hand flew up and I seized her thin, bony wrist. She winced, for my grip was quite tight, but otherwise did not react. Only waited, and after a long, torturous moment, I finally released her wrist and let my arm fall defeated back down to my side.
“Hel,” I whispered, swallowing hard, voice on the edge of breaking—one more plea.
Still I did not look at her, would not give her that.
Hel did not answer, but reached to grab my hand and lifted it to cup her cool cheek, still damp with tears. My hand was stiff, but she turned her head and pressed her dry lips to my palm.
A shiver of nauseating disgust ran through me.
“I promise,” she breathed, bringing my hand down so it was at the junction between her jaw and neck. “I promise, I will give you your breath back, I promise, I promise…”
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
Married life was not much different from before. It felt the same to me, though I often caught Stjarna admiring the gold ring on her left hand. It still felt a little odd when she would greet me in the mornings, planting a kiss on my forehead or lips and waking me with a soft, smiling, “Husband…”
I figured eventually I would get used to it.
Now that Stjarna knew where her family was, she visited them frequently and encouraged me to see Frigga and Odin just as often. I balanced the visits well enough, considering I was still serving on Hel’s council, a job she had given me since coming here.
I loved seeing Stjarna so happy. Whenever she returned from the valley, either from seeing her own family or my own parents, she was always elated. I imagined she was spending the most time with her mother.
And yet, I still relished my moments alone with Stjarna, whether alone in our chambers or walking around the palace grounds.
One such day we were walking around, and I was listening to Stjarna tell me about the day before when she had gone to visit her family.
“Father is painting again.”
“Is he?” I asked in confusion. “How does he manage that?”
“He makes paints from plants or nuts he finds. Of course, his paintings are rather dark now… there is not much brightness here.”
“No,” I conceded. “There is not.”
“I visited the king and queen afterwards,” she continued. “You have not gone to see them enough, I think. Her Majesty was wondering when you might come back.”
“I only saw them last week,” I said with a small laugh. “It is not like I only have a certain amount of time to see them.”
“No, but it would still be nice.”
“Well… part of it may be that I am not yet accustomed to seeing them… him like that.”
Stjarna did not reply, though she knew what I meant. She recalled, too, the relationship in life between Odin and myself. I could not complain, however—he had been especially affected here in Helheim. It was normal for the dead to forget most, if not all, of their past life. Odin did not remember much from his life, and it was strange to have some memories myself that he did not share, to know some of the terrible things that had transpired between us.
Now he acted… as I would have wished in life. Like a father. It was a bizarre—but not totally unwelcome—quandary. For however long we had been down here, I still could recall vague bits of the rivalry between Thor and myself, the jealousy and animosity and the vying for Father’s attention and respect, and how I was never good enough to earn it—only Thor.
Presently walking in silence, our footsteps soft on the dusty, cracked ground, I thought of Thor.
I could conjure a hazy image of him. Memories were strange here; some things—and only sometimes—I could remember clearly, especially if Stjarna or Mother were to jog them, and others, like Thor’s face, simply refused to come to me.
“Do you remember what Thor looked like?” I asked suddenly.
Stjarna glanced curiously at me.
“Yes, why?”
I shook my head.
“I cannot recall his face. Somewhat, but… not fully.”
“Blond hair and beard, blue eyes. He liked to wear red.”
“Yes,” I murmured, but it still did not conjure anything. Stjarna sensed the doubt in my voice and linked her arm with mine, patting it encouragingly.
I shook my head again.
“All my life, I remember I was in combat with him.”
I could not place it, but I felt a twinge, and I knew I missed him. Thor, my brother. Stjarna had told me when she came here he was the king of Asgard. I wondered how he liked it, though I felt no pang of jealously now. Little seemed to matter anymore in light of all that had occurred.
“What would he think of me if he were to meet me now?” I wondered softly.
Stjarna smiled at me and rubbed my arm.
“I do not think he would recognize you, to be honest.”
“Why, because I am dead?”
“Well, you’ve changed, I think, Loki.”
“How so?”
Stjarna gave a small shrug.
“I still remember, so well, really. There were times when I thought you truly hated him. The things you did, and the horrible things you said…”
I stared at her, trying to recall specifics, but it was so difficult. Maybe it was for the best, because she looked pained.
“I think he would be proud of you, Loki, if he were to see you now.”
I gave a short laugh.
“And why is that?”
“Because now you’re a respectable, married man.”
“Was I not respectable before?”
Stjarna only laughed, but then stopped and cried out, looking ahead.
“Oh, Loki! May we see the gardens?”
I glanced ahead and saw the palace gardens, mostly enclosed in stone and overgrown with rather drab-looking foliage. Despite how often we had explored the grounds of Eljudnir, I had always discreetly directed us away from the gardens.
I pursed my lips.
“I do not think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” she asked, steering us towards it. “Please, Loki, you always say that!”
I sighed, but did not reveal that it was in fact Angrboda’s garden. Or rather, she was the only one to tend it. Last time I had been here I had just come from a distraught Hel’s chambers and Angrboda had crudely—and with some delight—revealed to me my daughter’s true feelings for me.
I quickly pushed that thought from my head, though, instead choosing to focus on the unease I was currently feeling from being here. I did not see Angrboda, however, and figured it would not hurt to let Stjarna have a quick look around. Despite how long she had been here now, she had never actually been here. I could only make up excuses for so long.
The garden did not look much different from when I had been here last. It was still sad-looking, with a scarce smattering of half-dead trees still somehow bearing even deader-looking fruit, and wilted vines snaking their way chaotically across the cracked ground and up over the stone walls, some even electing to strangle a random tree. And then of course the occasional life-size, stone sculpture, typically depicting a person contorted in torment, or fighting off some invisible enemy.
I saw Stjarna wrinkle her nose, for the sickly sweet smell of decay hung thick in the air. Despite this, she strolled excitedly around the garden, glancing interestedly about.
I followed her silently, giving her a few moments longer before letting her know we should move on, as I would have hated us to encounter—
“Loki.”
I groaned inwardly and turned around.
Angrboda stood next to a wildly overgrown statue, one pale hand resting on what appeared to be the sculpture’s shoulder. Her unkempt hair, the color of fresh blood and vibrant against the more somber backdrop, fell in wiry curls down her back.
She cocked her head slightly, gaze drifting from my face to Stjarna’s, who had also stopped and was staring curiously at her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, glancing back at me.
“I wanted to see the garden, I have not yet seen it,” Stjarna offered before I could speak, and by the uncertainty in her voice, it was obvious she was confused. But of course, how should she know this was Angrboda’s garden?
Angrboda stared at her for a long moment, and I could not tell what she might be thinking. Her black eyes were seemingly devoid of emotion.
“And how do you like it?” Angrboda wondered.
“I… I think it is lovely,” Stjarna answered.
Angrboda unexpectedly smiled, revealing the tips of her pointed teeth.
“I have worked very hard on it. It is difficult to grow things here without a sun, you know.”
Stjarna gave a small nod.
“Yes, I can… imagine.”
“Would you like to see more of it?” Angrboda inquired, turning away from me and approaching Stjarna.
Unease rose up in me and I lifted my hand to motion to Stjarna that we needed to leave.
“Er, I think it best if we left—”
“Your Vana wants to see the garden,” Angrboda retorted without looking. “Come, my dear, I will show you around.”
Stjarna shot me a glance of uncertainty, but Angrboda did not seem to notice—or more likely, did not seem care. Stjarna followed her, and I in turn with my mind racing.
Stjarna had known some of the history between Angrboda and myself before I had died. If my fractured memories served me correctly, I had revealed to her shortly before my death of the three children I had gotten off Angrboda after a most unpleasant night when I was very young, and even the other two off of a lowly chambermaid shortly thereafter.
I was not sure if Stjarna was able to recall such details here in Helheim, but I would have been mortified for her to learn how easily I had fallen back in with Angrboda upon my arrival here in Helheim. I had been too ashamed to reveal this to her, and had wished to avoid a meeting with Angrboda like this, just in case those details might slip.
I had no doubt Angrboda would take great pleasure in revealing such particulars to Stjarna, especially since I’d not spoken to her in so long. Our last conversation had consisted of Angrboda telling me Stjarna was a distraction from my true purpose, which was to lead an army of the dead against the living and those who had wronged her. It had ended with me threatening to kill her if she were to go anywhere near Stjarna.
And so I was on edge as Angrboda led us around her gardens, but as long as she behaved herself I was not willing to speak of it and entangle Stjarna in this mess between Angrboda and myself.
Angrboda sauntered along, hands occasionally reaching out to brush a wilted bloom or new—but still poorly-looking—bud. She told us their names, what they could do if mixed into a poultice or drink, and how she cared for them.
I kept my eyes trained on her at all times, searching for any subtle movement that might indicate she were about to do anything sudden or unsavory.
Just as Stjarna commented on one plant, which looked on the verge of death, Angrboda turned abruptly. I stiffened, one hand flying to my hip where I had a throwing knife concealed.
Angrboda caught my eye—she knew—and then smiled.
“How do you find marriage?” she asked Stjarna, ignoring her question about the dead-looking flower.
“It is… it is quite nice,” Stjarna answered, somewhat caught off guard.
“I can imagine. I have never been married, so I would not know.”
Stjarna did not say anything.
“I also wished to apologize for missing the ceremony, Hel had me off doing… other things.”
“Oh, it… it is alright.”
“Mmm.”
Angrboda then motioned for Stjarna to walk in front of her and shot me an almost calculating look. My withering stare did not deter her, however, and she flashed a grin at me before turning to resume her tour of the gardens.
“Most of these plants you can find elsewhere in the Nine Realms,” Angrboda continued. “Some I found here and wished to cultivate. Though many of them look quite wretched, they are thriving. Most of them are poisonous, of course.”
Stjarna furrowed her brows, but lightly cupped a dark purple bloom, ringed with red splotches. Somehow not recognizing the tension—or perhaps choosing to ignore it—she offered a small smile to my old lover.
“I have never seen one such as this. What is it?”
Angrboda smirked, and I saw Stjarna’s uncomfortable gaze flicker down to her sharp teeth.
“I have no name for this little beauty, it is one of the newer species I have found. It does cause the most deliciously painful death, though.”
Stjarna grimaced.
“How do you know?”
Angrboda shrugged, moving to rub her thumb gently over the delicate petals, which were a dark, waxy green.
“I test my potions on guards or servants.”
Stjarna’s mouth fell open in surprise before looking at me in horror. I gritted my teeth in anger and took a step towards them, deciding it was time for us to leave.
“Angrboda, I think—”
“It mixes very well into drink or food,” Angrboda resumed. “If made just right, it causes hemorrhaging, sloughing away the lining of the throat, followed by nearby tissues. Depending on the rate of decay already present, it can be quite the slow second death.”
“Enough!” I snapped.
Angrboda rolled her eyes and motioned further along down the path.
“I do have a small amount of plants that heal. They are there, a little brighter than the others.”
Stjarna, appearing ill, gave a small nod and turned to head in that direction.
I shot Angrboda an irritated glance and went to follow, but as I passed her, her demeanor changed completely.
“Are you not tired of her yet, Loki?” she hissed, stepping towards me so she was nearly touching me. She was taller than me and I had to glare up at her.
“I told you to keep away from her,” I bit out, quietly so Stjarna did not hear.
“You walked into my garden,” she said venomously, and then rolled her eyes. “You could be preparing, Loki, I know not why you waste time with this little wh—”
“Your struggles are not mine,” I retorted viciously, cutting her off. “There is nothing I need to prepare for.”
Anger flared in Angrboda’s black eyes, but I held her gaze unflinchingly.
Before Stjarna had come to Helheim, when I had taken up with Angrboda again, she had been under the impression that I would bring about a war against the Aesir. She had even gifted me a great sword in anticipation, but I had lost my lust for vengeance with death, and had no interest in pursuing her own vengeances from life.
“You cannot avoid it forever, Loki! It is your destiny—”
“Destiny,” I sneered.
A memory now so faint, so distant, I almost no longer recognized it. But I had heard those words before, somewhere in the distant past when I had been alive.
Ragnarök.
The end of everything, a war against life itself, and I was to be its harbinger. I had been told by somebody, nobody I could recall now, that it was my destiny, and there was practically no way to avoid it.
Perhaps it was to be Angrboda who was supposed to push me into it, perhaps that had been her part to play in it all, but for now—I had zero fucking interest in the end of the world. And in this conversation.
“Keep your ridiculous thoughts to yourself,” I growled. “I will not be a part of your pathetic little fantasies.”
Angrboda bared her teeth in anger and moved to grab my arm, but I wrenched away from her and shoved her back.
“Fuck off,” I snapped, and turned on my heel to find Stjarna.
She was down the path studying an ugly bundle of leaves, and she squeaked my name when I grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the garden. Though I did not deign to glance behind me, I could feel Angrboda staring daggers into my back.
__
Several weeks passed.
I had kept my guard up since our meeting Angrboda in the garden, and though I had seen her at times from afar, I had not spoken to her or had any issues. I hoped to keep it that way, as I did not wish Stjarna to have to worry about any of the nonsense that Angrboda touted.
Thus, she was the last thing on my mind one night when dining with Hel and Stjarna.
It was dark, as always, as the sconces did not light up the great hall very well and the candles on the table illuminated even less. Occasionally I could see the light glinting off the armor of the occasional guard, standing in intervals down the walls—always there, always silent.
Hel had been discussing politics, which I could tell bored Stjarna and, to some degree, me as well. There really was not much to it here in Helheim. Hel had her own representatives from different regions across the realm that reported to her, but there was rarely any conflict or other issues to arise.
And so I was relieved when she changed the subject.
“Have you visited Grandmother and Grandfather recently?” Hel inquired, taking a sip of her wine.
“Yes, yesterday,” I answered. “Stjarna is always quite insistent.”
“Yes, you visit your own family quite often, do you not?” Hel wondered, focusing now on Stjarna.
“I do,” Stjarna responded eagerly. “I saw them the day before yesterday, they seem quite happy.”
“Good,” Hel said, though recalling how callously she had spoken of them at our wedding, I knew she truly did not care. “Though I am Queen of the Dead I still would have my subjects be happy.”
I did not say anything, but motioned to a nearby servant for a fresh cup of wine.
“Oh, may I have one, too?” Stjarna inquired, holding hers up.
The servant, who looked ready to collapse into a pile of bones, gave a small nod and turned to fetch us fresh wine.
“Do you… ever see the king and queen?” Stjarna asked Hel, then, sounding unsure of herself. I could understand her hesitation, she was not overly familiar with our family dynamic, despite having just married into it.
Stjarna knew obviously that Hel was my daughter with Angrboda, but that Hel had had dealings with Odin before. She didn’t know the specifics, but knew it was Odin who had placed Hel here when she was very young to rule over the dead.
“They are no longer king or queen of anything,” Hel rasped.
“I am sorry,” Stjarna said. “It is just a habit, I suppose…”
“Well, anyway, yes, I do see them sometimes.”
“What do you talk about?”
Hel sighed, an almost guttural sound, and tilted her head back, thinking.
A new servant appeared then, with a tray with two fresh cups of wine. He handed me one and then Stjarna the other, and them shambled away into the darkness.
“I know not, it is more for appearances than anything. Odin is a shell of his former self, he does not remember putting me here. He knows I am his granddaughter, but that is about it.”
Stjarna nodded and took a draught of wine.
“Are you still training?” Hel inquired.
I shook my head. Used to I had found myself quite often in the training yard, which I’d requested be built for me. It had been a good way to pass the time, or to keep my mind occupied and off of other matters, but lately I’d not felt a need to stay busy.
“I have not been to the training yard in a while, I’ve not the felt the need to. I think Stjarna liked watching me train when we were alive, though, perhaps she—”
Suddenly there was a crashing sound next to me and I bolted up out of the chair, spinning to face Stjarna. She was standing, chair on the ground behind her, cup spilled on the table and plate knocked into the floor. She gripped the edge of the table, bent over, mouth hanging open and face contorted in what looked like pain.
I placed one hand on her back, wrapped my other hand around her arm to steady her.
“Stjarna?” I asked in a panic. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, and one hand flew to her open mouth. She coughed hard, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, and when she tentatively brought her hand away, dread washed through me.
Her entire palm was covered in dark blood, and before I could do or say anything, Stjarna’s back heaved and she vomited, more blood erupting out of her mouth, down her front, over the table. Her hands clutched frenziedly at her throat as she coughed again, more blood coming still, streaming out of her open mouth.
Stjarna made an agonized sound like a sob and I caught her as she fell, right before hitting the table. Blood was still pouring out of her mouth, but now she was shaking, her eyes rolling back into her head, body spasming against me.
“Hel!” I yelled frantically, glancing back at my daughter, who was standing there by the corner of the table, watching everything with an air of mild curiosity. “What is happening?”
Hel shook her head.
“I… I don’t know…”
Stjarna’s fingers curled into claws over her stomach now, and I pushed them out of the way and spread my hand on her stomach, impelling seidr into her. I watched her face intently, fear surging through me—I had used my own seidr to heal myself here, usually in the training yard when one of the guards had nicked me, surely it would help, surely it would stop…
But nothing was happening, it wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working?
“Stjarna, Stjarna, can you hear me?” I demanded, but Stjarna did not respond, and there was still blood, thicker now, still coming, it was still coming, coagulating as it hit the air, drying around her mouth, on her face, on her throat.
“Hel!” I shouted again, desperately, and when Hel did not move, I screamed her name, and she now moved to drop to her knees opposite me. She took Stjarna’s head in her hands, staring intently.
“She is dying,” Hel rasped, and for once she did not sound annoyed. Her black eyes darted up to meet mine. “I cannot stop this.”
Fear gripped me like an icy hand. Though our bodies here were physical manifestations of our souls, if these shells were to die, then truly we were gone forever, our souls simply burned up. Stjarna was going to die her second death and she would be gone forever, turned to ash like those I had cut down so carelessly in the training yard.
But through this overwhelming, nauseating panic, this fear and helplessness, I recalled a conversation Hel and I had had long ago. The only reason I thought of it now was because at the time it had made me suspicious, and I had ruminated on it many times afterwards. A snippet of conversation concerning her powers as queen of the dead, concerning life. She had been touchy about the subject, which was what had caused these misgivings, but it had never been brought back up—until now.
“Can you save her?” I demanded, staring hard at Hel.
She shook her head, but before she could reply, my hand shot out and I grabbed a fistful of the front of her dress, wrenching her towards me. She cried out, bracing herself with one hand on the stone floor and the other on Stjarna’s stomach.
I almost did not hear the sparse smattering of guards around the hall advance on us, withdrawing their weapons, for I had touched their queen.
“Can you bring the dead back to life?”
Hel’s expression darkened, and she knocked my hand away, but her reaction confirmed it for me.
“Bring her back to life!” I demanded, grasping at any hope to save Stjarna, to pull her back from the brink of eternal nothingness. “I know you can do it!”
“I can do no such thing,” she growled.
“You can, I know you can!” I shouted, looking frenetically down at Stjarna, who was still bleeding, but whose hands had softened, whose muscles had relaxed in my arms. It sent me into a fresh panic.
“Hel!”
“She is not special,” Hel retorted, going to stand up, but I grabbed her gloved hand now, felt the bones and wasted flesh beneath, and pulled her viciously back down. I could see her guards out of the corner of my eyes closer now, but they made no move to kill me, likely waiting on instruction from their queen.
“Please, Hel!” I begged, and the tears were coming now, saw her eyes flicker down to see them rolling down my cheeks. “Please, I will do anything, anything, please, save her, please—”
She stared at me for a long moment, that hardened mask giving way now to what almost looked like uncertainty.
“I cannot—I cannot make an exception—”
“Hel!”
Now the indecision gave way to anger, and she yanked her hand savagely out of my grasp. I thought she was going to stand again, and leave Stjarna here to die in my arms, but instead she placed her ungloved hand onto Stjarna’s blood-soaked chest. From her palm emitted a soft, pale glow, and Hel closed her eyes and her mouth fell open. She let out a long breath, and her following inhale was shaky and pained-sounding.
My eyes flickered back up to Stjarna’s face, and a fresh wave of fear rolled through me when she suddenly became very still. Hel withdrew her now trembling hand and Stjarna’s head fell limply back.
“No, Stjarna!” I cried, but Hel whispered my name, almost sounding out of breath, and I glanced frantically at her, and then back to Stjarna.
And then, before my eyes, Stjarna’s skin began to flush—the coldness slowly turned to warmth, the dark, delicate veins visible beneath her skin faded within moments to nothing as they were newly flooded with life, and the faint, bluish tinge around her closed eyes gave way to a soft, rosy pink. And then—a sound that I never thought would bring me such joy—Stjarna slowly breathed in, and then out, and beneath my quivering fingers, her heartbeat.
I breathed her name, almost in disbelief, and clutched her still limp body to me tightly. I buried my face in her neck, kissed her skin, already so warm now, so wonderfully warm on my cold lips, and then up to her cheek tinted pink beneath the smears of dark blood. I tenderly whispered her name again, though doubted she could actually hear me.
Hel slowly rose, staring down at us.
“You will regret this, Father,” she murmured, but I did not even comprehend her words in that moment, and watched in overcome silence as she, almost unperturbedly, approached the table. She picked Stjarna’s now empty cup up, slowly ran her finger around the rim, and then flicked her tongue out to taste her fingertip.
The nearly imperceptible raising of her eyebrows told me everything I needed to know.
Poison.
Anger like fire exploded within me, welling up so strongly that I felt sick. No wonder my seidr had not helped to heal Stjarna—likely another type of magic had kept my own from working.
I moved to lift Stjarna in my arms, shaking with a scarcely-controlled rage, and laid her gently upon the table. Once she was settled, I clenched my fist and felt the energy gather hotly in my hand, producing a long, thin seidr blade.
“You will not leave her,” I growled at Hel, whose untroubled expression remained blank. No time to rage at her for almost letting Stjarna die moments before, there was only one thing in that moment that needed to be done.
I did not wait for a retort, not that I suspected she had one—and turned on my heel.
I stalked the corridors of Eljudnir, hand on fire for how strongly my seidr was coursing through me, every nerve on fire, body shaking with rage. I screamed her name, shaking the walls with my fury. I wanted her to know I was coming, and that I was going to kill her.
Despite the vastness of Eljudnir, it did not take long to find her. But then, I had a feeling she would be there, knowing I would come looking for her.
She was in her garden, studying her precious plants. She was examining one in particular, long, pale fingers curled delicately around the dark red bloom hanging precariously onto the foliage-swathed wall. When I entered the garden, she turned her head to stare almost insipidly at me.
I stood there for a long moment, just watching her, and her me. The pale light of whatever magic Hel had enchanted the sky with to simulate a moon illuminated Angrboda’s fiery red hair, framing her ghoulishly-pale, gaunt mask of a face, and those deep-set, dark, dark eyes.
She saw the seidr blade burning hot in my hand, and her lips curled upwards into a smile, but before she could speak—likely some nonsense about finally freeing me of my Vana—I threw my arm out and erupted forth a bolt of seidr.
Angrboda shrieked in pain when it hit her square in the chest, flying violently back into the wall. Even from here, I could hear her skull crack against the stone, and she gasped in shock as I advanced on her, seidr dagger glowing brighter, searing my hand, as my wrath culminated.
I had no words for her, nothing I wished to say to her. After everything, every feeling I ever thought I’d had for her, whether given freely or not, my only desire now was to see her bleeding out beneath me, to watch her turn to a mound of ash like the guards I killed when training, like she had intended for Stjarna just moments earlier.
Angrboda was up in a flash despite the knock to her head, and lifted her crossed arms as I finally reached her with seidr blade raised.
“Loki!” she screamed, and my blade met with her witch’s black magic, roiling in a cloud-like barrier around her hands and forearms. I wrenched backwards, aiming lower now, for her side, but she managed to block that, as well.
I drew back once again, and she bared her pointed teeth at me, snarling like an animal.
“She was holding you back, Loki,” Angrboda spat out. “She was keeping you from your true purpose—”
I did not wait for her to finish her little speech. I lunged again, but Angrboda’s magic caught my hand and I gritted my teeth in pain as it burned my skin. I jerked away from her, shooting another bolt of seidr out of my other hand. She was ready this time, though, and with a swipe of her hand knocked it away with her own dark magic.
She glared at me, breathing hard.
“She’s nothing!” Angrboda cried. “And you are meant for greatness, Loki! Why can you not see?”
I advanced again, this time reaching to grab her arm, but she twisted out of my grasp just as I swung my other hand, aiming for the side of her neck. At the last moment she managed to throw her hands up again and conjure that black light, but now her middle was exposed, and I summoned another bolt of seidr straight into her abdomen.
Angrboda cried out in pain, and her magic receded momentarily, and my blade came down straight into her open palm, slicing cleanly through. She screamed now and I wrenched the blade out—not even close—spattering dark blood over the both of us.
Despite the wound on her hand, she managed to conjure enough magic to shove me ferociously backwards. I stumbled, but caught myself before toppling into a stone sculpture.
“Don’t you understand?” she demanded furiously, baring her sharp teeth, cradling her bleeding palm. “You will achieve nothing with her here! This is what needed to happen, you were just too weak to do it yourself—!”
She was becoming frantic now, so unlike the Angrboda I knew. But I had no words for her, nothing left for her but this burning fucking hatred.
I gritted my teeth, incensed by her words, and clenched my hand harder around the seidr blade, strengthening it. I went at her again, unrelenting, and she threw up her hands in a final, desperate attempt to block me—I could see her shield of dark magic in the air, like looking through a tinted windowpane, and I could feel the physical resistance of it coiled in the air, but the end was now; my fury propelled me right through her barrier, my own seidr shattering her last defense.
“You are the portent of death!” she screamed. “Loki!”
But I wasn’t listening, I didn’t care. I didn’t care what she thought, whatever her plans were for the dead or living. Whatever she was feeling, whatever she thought and wanted, I only wished to see it spill out onto the ground and into the dirt.
“It is you who will lead the dead to march upon Asgard, it is you, it is you—!”
I reached up with one hand to grab her shoulder, and she saw the glowing green dagger down below, moved to prevent the coming blow with her hands, but I was too quick for her now, likely somewhat stunned from my earlier seidr attacks, and with all my might drove the blade deep into the flesh below her belly, deep into her accursed womb.
I dug upwards, and she made a sound, high-pitched, wavering and wailing like a dying animal, and lifted up on her toes, face contorted in agony. I twisted the knife, putting all of my strength into it, feeling her thick, cold blood running out over my hand, her body against me convulsing in agony.
“You failed, Angrboda,” I ground out, twisting the blade even deeper.
My only words to her, and my last.
Her eyes widened with the realization, and I relished the anguish, the powerlessness, in her expression, the frantic understanding that her scheming had been for nothing, and now she would die her final death in agony.
When I yanked the blade out of her, Angrboda desperately pressed a hand to the wound to staunch the dark flow. Before she had a chance to possibly heal herself, however, I grabbed a fistful of her thick, coarse hair, and with every ounce of brutality I could muster, wrenched her head backwards.
Her black eyes locked onto mine, sharp teeth bared in a furious grimace, and just as she reached up, trembling palm darkening and coiling with surely the last ounce of magic she could muster, I plunged the knife into her left eye.
Angrboda’s legs almost immediately gave out and she collapsed into me, hands clutching frenziedly—instinctively—at me, and I fell to my knees with her, and how ironic a position, considering how many times I’d found myself on my knees before her, supine for her, so willing for her, and then onto the ground so she was on her back and I hovering over her, dagger still embedded deep into her skull.
I kept my eyes fixed on hers, watched her eyebrows attempt to lift in what looked like disbelief as gelatinous blood began to trickle out of her ruined eye socket. Her lips moved, an attempt to slur something unintelligible, maybe it was my name, who the fuck knew—and I unceremoniously pulled the dagger out, and drove it one final time into her chest, deep into her already dead heart.
Blood pouring thickly down her face now, staining her hair black, and her hand came up to clutch at my tunic, shaking, but not for long—her fingers drooped, the taut, tortured muscles in her face relaxed, and her arm fell lifelessly onto the blood-soaked ground.
I stared hard at her face, no longer distorted in pain, stray strands of red hair sticking to her blood-smeared face. Her remaining eye was unmoving, truly dead now—and I curled my fingers slowly in her mass of hair, watching as her eyes, those endless black eyes that for so long had captured me, tormented me, turned grey, and then cracked and crumbled softly into a fine, pale powder.
Her body grew soft within seconds and seemed to collapse in on itself. Her hair thinned and wasted into pallid wisps, before becoming indistinguishable within the ash, and moments later Angrboda was naught but a pile of ashen dust beneath me.
I stared down at what was left of my giantess for a long moment, breathing hard, unable to identify what it was roiling within me. The anger still there, but not as hot—and something else, building steadily, replacing this heat with cold, making me feel weak.
It was as if all of the fight went out of me, and whatever it was burst out of me and I wept. I hung my head, kneeling there on all fours, seidr blade still glowing green and unstained by Angrboda’s blood in my hand, crying; covered in blood, coated in a fine layer of her ashy remains, crying.
I bent forward, the blade dissipating, and pressed my forehead against my clenched fists. And I didn’t know why. Angrboda was dead, I was free of her at last, both Stjarna and I free of her.
But there was a small part of me that felt suddenly, excruciatingly empty; as if the darkness Angrboda had instilled in me so long ago, that had burrowed deep inside me, that had twisted and tortured me for so long in life, and then to cruelly accompany me here even in death, was gone now, and it left a gaping, painful absence.
It physically hurt, gods… it hurt.
And though she was physically gone now, I realized that I might never truly be rid of her.
__
The dim morning light bathed the gardens in a nauseating light, illuminating the blood-stained ground, the blood-spattered leaves hanging limply off the garden walls. All was deathly silent. Not even a breeze dared to rustle the wilted foliage, nor disturb the ashen remains of my giantess.
I had not moved from the spot, and sat here now against the wall with my arms propped up on my drawn-up knees. I stared straight ahead, eyes burning, head and chest aching, the gritty taste of old blood still in my mouth.
I don’t know how long I sat there, thinking of Stjarna, of Angrboda, dark recollections from my life, and now the relief I felt at her finally being dead, truly, truly dead—and Stjarna alive.
Before long, a rustling sound drew my eyes to the far entrance of the garden.
A thin form, swathed entirely in black, stood there. One pale hand bright against her dress, the other I could not even see, wrapped as it was in her black glove.
Hel approached me slowly, though did not speak for a long while, and I knew she was staring at the dusty remains of her mother.
“Did she suffer?” Hel finally asked, breaking the precious silence with her gravelly voice.
“Yes,” I murmured.
She did not respond, though I suspect she was pleased with the news.
“I had Stjarnavetr moved to your chambers,” Hel said. “She is resting, and will be for a while.”
I did not thank her, nor look at her. New anger bloomed in my chest, but I was so exhausted I could not even muster more than a softly spoken whisper.
“You were going to let her die.”
“Of course I was,” Hel replied without missing a beat. “I cannot reverse death for whoever asks for it. That is not how it works.”
And then I remembered her words from before, when she had told me that I would regret bringing Stjarna back to life. I had not paid much attention then, I had been more concerned with Stjarna and then murdering Angrboda afterwards.
“What did you mean before… when you said I would regret this? Why would I regret her being brought back to life?”
Hel cocked a slim black eyebrow, appearing disinterested as ever.
“Because she is living, Father, and this is the land of the dead.”
I stared at her, uncomprehending for a long moment. Surely she did not mean…
“She cannot stay.”
My lips parted in surprise, and I clambered to my feet to stand unsteadily in front of her. Parts of me were aching from the night before, where Angrboda’s magic had hit me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I growled.
Hel, unintimidated, stared blandly up at me.
“She is alive, and therefore no longer a subject of mine. She is no concern to me anymore. Did you forget what dear Grandfather Odin appointed me as when he banished me here?”
“Hel, you cannot mean that—”
“The living do not reside here,” she interrupted, voice edged with annoyance. “She will be gone from here soon enough.”
“But—”
“You, however, Father—” and she smiled, “—shall remain here for all eternity.”
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
Chapter warnings/triggers: Language, Sexual Content
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, turning this way and that. Though it was pitted and tarnished, I could see enough of myself to judge.
Hel’s royal tailor, Vádr, had dropped the wedding dress off last night and I had been too apprehensive to even try it on until now.
I was quite pleased with it. Hel had had it commissioned for me, much to my surprise. It was a simple white gown, with a braided gold cord wrapped loosely around the waist. Pale gold piping trailed along the scooped neck, which fell well below my collarbones, as well as along the edges of my full-length sleeves and hem of my skirt.
After I was finished surveying myself, I reached over to the little wooden box sitting upon the bed and opened the lid, where an assortment of gold pieces lay nestled in tattered, musty red cloth. Hel had also commissioned some jewelry for me. It was not my own taste, I admit, but it was a gift from she who had brought me here to be with Loki, so I would wear them happily.
There was a pale, gem-studded necklace which almost resembled the fine gossamer strands of a spider’s web that had been caught in a drizzle, and a circlet of gold, with tiny gray stones peppered across its granulated surface. I placed it gingerly over my head, enjoying the way it caught the candlelight. I had decided to leave my hair loose around me, save a few small braids, how I knew Loki liked it best.
And yet, despite the happiness I felt, I could not also deny the nervousness churning inside me.
Today was the day, but I could not explain my trepidation, for had I not imagined this all my life? Perhaps not this particular setting, but otherwise to be wed? And now to the man that I had loved for the majority of that time? How lucky I was for the opportunity to finally be joined with him in this way, even if it was here in Helheim and as practically living corpses.
“My lady?”
I paused, hearing Ganglot’s voice outside my door.
It was time.
I swallowed hard, staring at myself in the mirror, urging this nervousness down. There was no reason to feel this way, as our entire relationship, which had crossed the boundaries of life itself, was about to culminate in this moment. What had I to be nervous about? Absolutely nothing.
I smiled, feeling better, and told myself this is what I had dreamt of for so long.
I turned to leave these chambers, ready to begin this next phase of my life—or rather, death.
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Loki
I stood there before Hel, mind racing. I did not know what to think, or even what to look at—my parents sitting below us in their still somewhat frayed finest, gazing with what looked like contentment up at me, or Stjarna’s family, that same look upon their faces—or the smattering of other dead guests invited by Hel, many of whom I had never even seen before.
Hel stood regally behind me, dressed more magnificently than I had ever seen her, a pale, thin waif ensconced in billowing black, with large black feathers sprouting from her hem and her waist and sleeves and everywhere, sometimes seeming to move uncannily on their own. The expressionless guards, Hel’s ambassadors, their servants up against the wall, everybody waiting in a dead silence, without even my own heartbeat to break the stillness.
I thought back to the day before, when I had visited Mother and Father. I had not known what to think upon seeing him, standing there. He looked different—more youthful, despite being a husk of himself. I had been surprised to see he had both eyes, but quickly remembered the scars and injuries of our lives did not follow us to manifest here, since we were technically just the physical embodiment of our spirits.
I had not said anything, only stared at him, as he came closer to me. He was shorter than me, and before I’d been able to stammer his name, he had embraced me. I stood there for a moment, unsure how to react, knowing at one point I had loathed him so hotly that I had wished him dead and relegated him to this place.
But now… I felt nothing but uncertainty.
“My son,” he had murmured, and I’d not known what to say. He looked up at me, both eyes so blue and wide and blinking. “I am sorry.”
My lips had parted in surprise.
“Your mother has recounted to me stories of our lives, and though she has reminded me of my forgetfulness, I know somehow… I wronged you.”
Even I did not remember the cruel specifics, perhaps only that I had not been as loved as Thor, that I was discounted and taken for granted and cast aside.
“You were always my son, Loki,” he continued. “That is one regret I have… one that I do remember…”
And glancing at him now, sitting amongst the smattering of silent, dead strangers, I felt only one emotion: contentedness. Contentedness that he was here with Mother, that everything was behind us, and contentedness for everything that was going to be.
Contentedness that I did not see one dead, with fiery red hair and black eyes, amongst the crowd.
Despite my anxiety, I was ready.
Ready to start, especially, as I’d already been standing here for too long. I wasn’t sure how weddings worked down here, especially since ours was supposedly the first one, but already it was dragging out.
Hel had insisted on giving a speech before the ceremony was to begin, before Stjarna even appeared, and now she’d just finished a few minutes prior.
She’d rambled on about love persevering, overcoming obstacles and hardship. I’d refrained from rolling my eyes, as I knew she was not that invested in Stjarna and I. But she had put all of this together for us, which in some part had surprised me, but I was also grateful for it so had endured without complaint or eye roll.
Before the ceremony, she’d said Stjarna was the focus of the ceremony, and would come afterwards so all eyes would be on her. Ganglot was supposed to have fetched Stjarna during the queen’s speech, and now we were waiting in silence for the bride’s arrival. I was not sure the order of things here, but Hel had decided the order so I would not say anything.
The corners of my lips twitched upwards in a smile, imagining Stjarna’s face when she inevitably would see her mother, father, and little brother in the crowd. She didn’t know they would be here, I had asked it as a favor from Hel. I could hardly wait.
I glimpsed them sitting in the very first row. I of course remembered her father Andimódr, and her brother Réttrmund of course, as seeing their faces jogged my fragile memory. But I had never seen her mother, as she had died in childbirth when Stjarna was still quite young. She was a gentle-looking woman, with warm brown hair and blue eyes.
Suddenly, I was jolted out of my little reverie by the great double-doors at the end of the hall opening.
I looked down the hall, which had been decorated lavishly (for Helheim, anyway); black and gold and silver, glinting dully in the firelight, off the tarnished armor of the dead guards placed intermittently down the equally as dull walls, and tattered tapestries beaten free from gods know how many centuries of dust and grime.
All the guests turned to regard her, standing there in the large doorway, a vision in white and gold. I could not help a smile for the happiness suddenly welling up inside of me. Stjarna began her journey up the aisle, with eyes for none but me, and a smile even bigger than mine.
Her hair was flowing loose down her back, though random strands were braided with delicate gold and silver cord, and she wore a gold circlet studded with jewels. Though there was an almost bluish darkness beneath her eyes, and her skin was colored that sickly pale grey by death, she was absolutely the most beautiful thing I had ever seen—but of course, that was no surprise.
In that moment, watching her advance towards me, I regretted more than ever not marrying her in Asgard so long ago, no matter to how difficult it might have been with our respective stations.
I only briefly dared to wonder how different things might have been if I had done that. Would we be here now, marrying now, attended by our deceased family members, officiated by the queen of death herself?
Finally, Stjarna made it past the scarce guests, who followed her with their dull eyes, and up the dais to where I stood. Her mother, whom I had not actually spoken to, but only seen for the first time an hour ago, looked particularly moved.
We turned to one another and I smiled even more widely without showing my teeth. Stjarna beamed up at me, then glanced down, almost as if embarrassed. The unbounding joy in her face had been evident and a little bloom of warmth swelled inside me.
Hel cleared her throat, which ultimately would not help the gritty rasp of her voice, and began the ceremony. Announcing herself as Queen of Helheim, and that she would officiate this joining of her father, Loki of Jötunheim, and Stjarnavetr of Vanaheim.
Her second speech did not sound like any wedding vows I had heard before, but we were dead so I suppose it didn’t matter much.
Finally came my favorite part, when I could kiss Stjarna in front of everybody.
Hel said, “Do you, Loki, take this woman as your wife?”
“I do,” I said.
Hel turned to Stjarna. “And do you take this man as your husband?”
“I do,” Stjarna said, quite seriously.
I immediately pulled Stjarna to me, a smirk on my face, and leaned down to capture her lips in a heady kiss. Of course I could not help myself, and I pushed my tongue past her lips, and she squeaked my name and extricated herself from me. I grinned widely, and knew that her face would have been red with embarrassment had she been alive.
And yet she was fighting a smile as Hel pronounced us man and wife.
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The festivities afterwards were a macabre scene, this banquet of the dead.
There was a band, though I wasn’t sure the point of them since it was mostly composed of drums and some strange stringed instruments that sounded like a howling wind and not at all like music. I wondered if they had been musicians in their past life, and if so did they even remember what music was. By the sound of it, no.
Hel sat up above everybody, and I to her right and Stjarna next to me.
Still no sign of Angrboda, which relieved me.
I kept staring at Stjarna, even through the feast. I could not not look at her. I could not stop obsessing over how beautiful she looked tonight, the way her smile lit up her face when so often I had seen a frown there. But not tonight—tonight she was happy.
As I suspected, Stjarna did not spend long at the banquet table. As soon as was socially acceptable, she was up and headed towards her family. I watched them from afar at first, wanting to give Stjarna a few moments alone with them.
From the table, and sensing out of the corner of my eye Hel also observing, I watched Stjarna practically run up to her father and throw her arms around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. Réttrmund stood there, grinning widely, and next to him stood the woman that I had assumed to be her mother, Vifóvitr.
Stjarna released Andimódr and hugged her brother next, before finally, almost trepidatiously, turning towards her mother.
The woman smiled warmly at Stjarna and opened her arms, and Stjarna practically fell into them. I felt some concern when Stjarna burst into tears, and Hel sighed dramatically next to me. The woman pulled Stjarna away, placing her hands on Stjarna’s tear-stained cheeks, and she kissed her forehead and they embraced again.
“Thank you for bringing them here,” I said to Hel, without glancing away from Stjarna.
“Mmm,” came the disinterested response. I wanted to roll my eyes, remembering Hel’s speech about love before, and now she was seemingly bored by it all. “They will be gone tonight, back where they belong.”
I glanced at her and raised my eyebrows.
“Surely you will allow them to visit, as you would your own grandparents?”
She sighed again, an ugly sound, dangling her half-full cup of wine precariously from her fingers. “She may visit them where they come from. They are not my grandparents.”
I pressed my lips together, but did not retort.
Instead, “So why did you do this?”
“What?” she said, taking a draught of that bloody wine.
“This,” I responded, indicating the wedding feast. “You don’t really seem to care.”
“It is a gift for you, Father,” she rasped. “Nothing more.”
I thought back to when I had asked Hel if she could bring Stjarna’s family here for the wedding, and had ultimately admitted she would, and would arrange it all simply to spite Angrboda. Hel’s hatred for her mother was something I did not really care to get in the middle of, so I had not inquired further on the matter.
I scoffed. “I know you did not do it simply to make me happy.”
“Oh, but I did,” she replied with a sly smile, the first true emotion I had seen from her that night. And a lie, I suspected.
I caught a flash of white out of the corner of my eyes and turned to see Stjarna rushing up to my side. She reached down to tug enthusiastically at my hand.
“Loki, come! I want you to meet her!”
“Who?” I asked, playing dumb.
“My mother,” Stjarna laughed, pulling at me again, and I could practically feel the disdain emanating from my daughter next to me. “I know you brought them here for me, please come!”
I stood, but felt a pang of unease. I’d met Stjarna’s father and brother in life, of course, but never had I imagined I would actually be able to meet her beloved mother.
Stjarna pulled me eagerly down the steps onto the floor, and towards her family waiting expectantly. Behind them, others danced slowly to dull drumbeats and some other horrible shrill sounds that I could not even begin to describe.
When I came to stand in front of Stjarna’s mother, I bowed, and saw Stjarna twine her fingers with her mother’s.
“Vifóvitr, it is an honor to finally meet you.”
“That a prince should bow to me,” she laughed, and I thought how similar to Stjarna she sounded.
Stjarna was beaming from ear to ear, looking back and forth at us. Her father was smiling, Réttrmund as well.
“Your Highness,” Réttrmund said, and he and his father proceeded to bow.
“Oh, please, not here,” I said, motioning for them to stand again. “I’m not a prince of anything here.”
“Are you not the prince of Asgard?” Vifóvitr asked, glancing briefly at Stjarna in confusion.
“Er, I was, yes, but…”
I wondered if she had been told of my fall from grace. Perhaps then she would not be so thrilled about my marrying her daughter. But then, down here one’s life up above did not matter so much.
She spoke, saving me from a potentially embarrassing explanation, “Stjarna told me how you died.”
I did not say anything, but was a little surprised in that short time Stjarna had already shared such details of our relationship. But then again, talking about the nature of one’s death here could be likened to discussing the weather in the worlds above.
“How you died for her.”
“Mother,” Stjarna said, and Vifóvitr laughed.
“Oh, my love, how could I not approve of one who would die for my daughter? I suppose it was a rather messy affair?”
“Er… you could say that,” I responded awkwardly.
“Well, we do not have to get into it here,” Vifóvitr said. “Lucky you, I think another dance is about to begin. Stjarnavetr, you should go dance with your husband. There will be plenty of time to catch up. This is your wedding, please go enjoy it!”
Stjarna kissed her mother’s cheek before giving me her hand so I could pull her out onto the floor. She was brimming with excitement, it was practically pouring out of her. I pulled her close and kissed her on the lips before the music began, though the dance ultimately was a bit awkward since neither of us had danced to such strident, ghastly music.
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At last, mercifully, it came to retire.
Stjarna was positively elated, as parting with her family was not in the least bit sorrowful. She learned exactly where in the great valley below the palace they resided, and eagerly promised again and again she would come to see them as soon as she could.
My own parting with Mother and Father was not as solemn as I might have suspected, for Frigga made me promise her—just as Stjarna’s mother had—to come visit them with Stjarna in tow, and we could be together as we had not been able to do in life.
I was not complaining. I could not deny my joy at seeing Mother again, who I never imagined to see again. All seemed so surreal, that it should continue on like this after death, seemingly happier and more normal than it could have ever been in life; all our animosities and grudges and sorrows forgotten, and now nothing left but to enjoy but each other’s company.
Both Stjarna and I were exhausted when we finally arrived at my chambers afterwards.
She was laughing as she went to open the door, but I caught her, kissed her cheek, and bent down to sweep her up into my arms. Stjarna giggled and wrapped her arms around my neck as I carried her swiftly into our rooms. I shut the door behind me with my foot and set her down. She sighed contentedly, gazing at me with unabashed adoration.
I leaned down to kiss her lightly on the lips and pulled away with a small smile. Stjarna grinned up at me before allowing her eyes to fall down to her clasped hands, where the thin gold band glinted on her finger.
“Are you happy?” I inquired, slowly running my hands down her arms.
“I did not think I would ever marry,” she responded quietly, looking back up at me. “I always wanted to marry you, Loki, but I felt I could not say it. It was not my place, but I… I wanted us to be a… family.”
“We are now,” I said gently, and when I said it, it sounded odd. I never would have imagined I might say something like that and actually enjoy the sound of it.
“Oh, Loki,” she laughed, almost sadly. “It is still so hard to believe…”
I pulled her closer to me, detecting the sudden tears in her voice.
“I did not think it would be like this,” she whispered.
“Like what? That the queen of the dead should officiate?”
“Yes, that part,” she conceded with a small smile.
“Then what?” I gently pressed, lifting my hand to curl my fingers under her chin.
“That we should be dead,” she finally admitted, lifting her forlorn gaze to meet mine. “I imagined it for so long… being married to you. I often thought, what if you had not been the prince? What if you had just been normal? Perhaps we could have lived in a little house on the edge of the city in Asgard, and I could have given you children, and we could have grown old together…”
“I am sorry, Stjarna,” I murmured, and she looked confused. “I am sorry I could not give you more, in Asgard or here. I am sorry it had to be like this.”
“Loki,” she said, taking my face in her hands. “It does not matter now. Of course, I do wish we were not dead, but it cannot be helped. There is only us now and I am happy. Oh, I cannot express to you in words my happiness…”
“You’re not lying to make me feel better?” I inquired, half joking.
She let out a small laugh and kissed me. “No, I’m not lying. I am so happy, Loki.”
I smiled and turned my head to plant a tender kiss on the side of her neck.
“Not yet, you’re not…” I murmured, voice sinking into a low growl.
Stjarna giggled and tilted her head into mine.
“We’ve yet to consummate the marriage,” I said hotly.
“I do believe we’ve consummated it many times over,” Stjarna quipped.
“But now you shall truly be made a wife,” I answered, feeling that familiar ache of longing begin in me, and running my hands down and around to grip her arse.
“Loki!” she squealed, and I laughed shortly.
“Do not act so modest, darling.”
I gently pushed Stjarna back until she was pressed against the edge of the bed, stark white dress practically glowing against the dark bedsheets. Her lips twitched upwards in a smile as I lowered my head to press a lingering kiss to the little dip between her collarbones, then down to pepper kisses over her bare chest.
My lips brushed against the necklace she wore, with those hard, cold gems, cold like her, not like she used to be, when we were alive. It almost pained me to imagine before, when her body would have been so warm, so welcoming, how it would flush the most beautiful rosy pink—but her skin wasn’t warm anymore, nor was there even the barest hint of color—just that sickly pale grey like me, with those ethereal black veins like spider webs like me.
Stjarna must have sensed my hesitancy, because she lifted her head up and opened her eyes, glazed with desire.
“Loki?” she asked, sounding puzzled.
I merely smiled at her, placing a soft, reassuring kiss to her lips before dropping to my knees in front of her, trying to banish the tenacious thought that I was the reason for her being here in the first place, this strange ending in what one might call a long, convoluted love story.
I held Stjarna’s gaze as I reached under her dress to unbuckle her shoes, taking them off and then her stockings one by one, before my hand wrapped around her ankle and crept steadily up over her calf, until I hooked it behind her knee.
Stjarna’s tight-lipped smile incited me, the desire I could see flickering in her eyes as she watched me, knowing very well my intent. Always my intent, whenever I found myself kneeling before her like this.
As my fingers danced expertly up Stjarna’s legs beneath her dress, I placed a tender kiss at the spot between her legs through her gown, eliciting a small but pleased gasp. I glanced up as my fingers found their goal, and she let her head fall back as I ran a finger through her folds, feeling the increasing moisture there, teasing her entrance.
My lips parted as I watched her pale throat, saw her swallow hard as I languidly ran my fingers through her folds, using my other hand behind her knee to draw her even closer. She let out a heavy breath and brought her hands up and tangled her fingers in my hair, nails scratching gently at the nape of my neck. Though it was not necessary for us to breathe, sometimes it just felt right to even mimic our old habits.
Stjarna sucked in a breath and looked down at me, smirking.
“Are you going to keep teasing me, or get on with it?”
I laughed, I had not even been touching her that long.
“My apologies, darling.”
I stood swiftly, but kept my hand between her legs, the fabric of her dress draped over my wrist, and in one movement had—not gently—spun her around so her front was pressed against the edge of the bed and her arse against my hardening cock through my pants.
Stjarna didn’t even have a chance to speak before I wrapped my hand around the front of her throat and pulled her head back, and unceremoniously slipped two fingers inside her.
I smiled to myself when Stjarna let slip a little moan, and rotated her hips in a rather desperate manner, wanting me to go deeper or faster. But we would get there, I didn’t want to rush things. She reached up to clutch my arm as I kept up a languorous rhythm with my fingers, occasionally reaching up with my thumb to tease the little pearl at the top of her sex.
Stjarna twisted her head towards me and we kissed, somewhat sloppily; she pressed backwards into me, moaning into my mouth when she felt my cock pressing hard against her backside.
“Loki,” she gasped, groaning when I inserted a third finger.
Part of me would have assumed beforehand that she would have wanted me to make love to her, considering it was our wedding night, but I wasn’t getting that feeling from her at the moment; she was grinding against me, and I suspected rather than making love she wanted me to fuck her right now.
Happy to oblige, and more than ready myself, I withdrew my fingers from between her legs, earning a frustrated groan, but I pushed her forward over the bed, yanked up her wedding dress with some sense of pleased depravity, and gently kicked her legs apart.
Stjarna gripped the bedcovers, breaths coming more quickly, and I could practically hear the smirk in it. I hastily untied the laces of my pants, pushed them down, and guided my cock between her legs.
Both Stjarna and I let out simultaneous groan as I slid into her and repositioned my hands firmly on her thighs. I began rocking in and out of her, relishing the sound of my hips smacking against her arse and the sound of her panting with each firm thrust. I dug my fingers even deeper into her soft skin, appreciating her accompanying little moan.
I slowly closed my eyes, tilted my head back and let my mouth fall open as I relaxed into the movement, letting the pleasure wash over me.
Gods, that I could ever tire of this.
I fucked Stjarna until we both came, her panting my name in delicious, breathless litany, and of course since it was our wedding night I made love to her when we had recovered, and then fucked her again in the early hours of the morning, until we were too exhausted to even move, when the sick grey light of day crept like death into my chambers.
Stjarna fell asleep long before me, and I lay next to her, propped up, only studying her, occasionally glancing at the gold band on my own finger.
I twisted it, wondering if I would ever get used to the feel of it. It felt so foreign, though not necessarily wrong.
All my life I had abhorred the thought of ever being tied to another in such a way. I had scoffed at the idea in life, rolled my eyes whenever Mother or Father even hinted at the idea of my marriage to a foreign princess. To be shackled to one forever, eternally bound to their sorrows and tribulations. But not just that, I saw now—also to share in their happiness and joy, as well. As I would be with Stjarna now, whatever small amount of it we might find down here.
But I would provide as much of it as I could for her, whatever she would require and whenever, I would give it to her. We were bound now, as we had not been before, and I could say with confidence that I was happy.
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
The dusty curtains of Hel’s cracked and grimy windows were thrown wide open, allowing the bright light of a typical Helheim morning to come pouring in. Her fire snapped as merrily as it could, evincing some air of contentment.
I settled into one of the cushioned chairs in front of the fireplace, studying Hel as she finished up with some papers at her large desk. For the first time in a long while, it was I who had requested a private meeting with her, instead of the other way around.
“What brings you to me this morn?” she inquired in a throaty rasp, without looking at me.
I did not fault her disinterest in me, for I had not been on the most amicable terms with her lately, since learning of her dangerously amorous feelings for me. I was going to try to be more cordial with her now, however, since bringing Stjarna here and in some small way trying to appease me. It was the least I could do.
“I have news,” I replied, cutting right to the point.
“Yes?” she grunted.
“I’ve asked Stjarna to marry me. Again.”
The scratching of her pen stopped, and she turned in her chair to stare at me.
“Again?”
“Yes, I meant to marry her when we were alive, but then I… died.”
“Ah, yes. Well, congratulations. I am sure Mother is also elated with this news?”
“I haven’t spoken to her and have no plans to.”
“Oh?” Now Hel smiled. “That’s ironic, since she can’t shut up about you. All about your new plaything, some nonsense about avoiding the end of the world…”
“Er, well, anyway, I came here to ask you a favor.”
“Of course, Father.”
“Stjarna was never married, and I want her to have a wedding as we might if we still were alive.”
Hel cocked an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“The great hall might be decorated and there be a feast. I think she would like it.”
“Yes, she seems the type,” Hel mused, and I ignored the subtle derogatory tone. “But you, this surprises me. You do not seem the sentimental type.”
I shrugged.
“Lastly, Stjarna’s mother died when she was young—”
“Yes, I know.”
I ignored that, knowing she might attempt to go on some lengthy monologue about how she knew of the lives and deaths of every soul trapped in her realm.
“And her father and brother are here, as well. I would be most grateful if you could invite them to Eljudnir for the wedding.”
For a moment, I believed Hel would vehemently and without thought deny my request, but to my surprise she cracked a smile.
“That would not be too difficult. I will do this for you.”
I stood up, unable to mask my surprise. I had not expected her to give in so easily. Then, a thought struck me.
“You’re not doing this for me,” I said blandly.
“You’re right, I’m not,” she replied unceremoniously. “I’m doing it to hurt her.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Mother hates her, you know,” Hel explained.
“Yes, I figured as much.”
“She thinks you’re parading the Vana around in front of her to spite her.”
“Yes, I figured that, too.”
“Why, did she speak of it to you?”
I hesitated, not really wishing to discuss this with Hel. “She did. She knows not to go near her.”
Hel crowed in amusement before composing herself, cocking a slim black eyebrow.
“As far as we both know her, do you truly think she will obey?”
I gritted my teeth. “I am going. Do not tell Stjarna about her family, I want it to be a surprise.”
Hel snorted, though I detected a gleam in her eye.
“You’ve grown soft, Father.”
I shrugged again, caring little. At one point in time, such a statement might have bothered me. I know not if it was age, or the fact I had died and everything seemed so trivial now—except for one thing.
“Her family, they cannot stay,” Hel added as I turned to leave. “I’ll not have the palace overrun in souls, otherwise they’ll want to stay for holiday or some nonsense.”
I cracked a small smile, glancing back at her.
“Thank you, Hel. I really do appreciate it.”
I heard her huff indignantly as the giant doors closed behind me.
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Stjarnavetr
I was in ridiculously high spirits since Loki had asked me to marry him.
He had divulged that there would be a lavish ceremony here at Eljudnir, and though I knew not how we would fill the great hall with any but barely sentient guards and a small table of food for us, I did not worry about it much.
We would be married quickly, in less than a week. Despite this, according to tradition, which I admit I did wish to hold even here, Loki and I would not see each other at all for a full week before the wedding. Normally a woman would be surrounded by other females of her family before the wedding, but of course there was nobody. Because of this, I tried not to think about my family too much—my mother and Konavefr and Dreyma and soon, Queen Frigga. Loki was in the same boat, of course. There were no male relatives for him here, either, who would perform the same function as the women would for me.
For the wedding itself, there were hardly any preparations to be made, unlike if we had been alive. After all, who would come to enjoy decorations or food or dancing? Had we still been in Asgard, I imagined some grand wedding for the prince of Asgard, and how the great hall might be lavishly decked in finery, and the subsequent feast to be had for the multitude of guests.
Instead, here in Helheim, I imagined a small, private ceremony, but was thrilled at the thought of even that. It would not be what I had always envisioned it to be, even as a little girl growing up in Vanaheim, but I could hardly complain for the thought of finally marrying the man I had loved for the majority of my life, and now in death.
A few days before the wedding, I received a summons from the queen.
I was a bit nervous, as I had not really been alone with Queen Hel since my initial arrival. She was always so distant, untouchable, and Loki did not speak of her much.
I was admitted unceremoniously into her quarters, thoughts racing. She was standing in the center of her receiving chamber, next to an emaciated man with a hunchback. I lowered my eyes and bowed.
“You called me, Your Majesty?”
“No need to call me that,” Hel said in that grating voice of hers, motioning me closer. “The fiancée of my father shall call me by my name.”
I offered a small smile, attempting to mask my disgust at the rotten smell lingering in the room. I was not used to her unremitting stink, and likely never would adapt. Luckily, the dead were able to cease their breaths and avoid the bombardment any unwanted, foul scents.
“I have a gift for you, Stjarnavetr,” she continued. “For such a joyous occasion, a plain dress will not do. I wish to have you something made for the special day.”
My lips parted in surprise.
“You would?”
“Yes, of course,” she lilted harshly. “This is Vádr, my royal tailor. He served the royal family of Alfheim for a time, before being executed for stealing from the royal treasury.”
I grimaced when Hel cackled, though Vádr did not move or express any emotion. His lifeless gaze shifted occasionally between my face and the floor.
“I’ll have my jeweler Steinn also create some pieces for you,” Hel explained, gesturing for me to come even closer. “He’ll be pleased to have the work.”
Again I came tentatively forward, offering a small smile for Vádr.
“Hello.”
Vádr bowed expressionlessly before stepping forward to begin to circle me. He was a small, ashen man with sunken cheeks and black circles under his eyes. I glanced only briefly at his long, thin fingers, peppered in flaky spots of dry decay.
“He is very quick,” Hel explained, eyes fixed on me.
I stood there, somewhat nervously for Hel’s unrelenting gaze, as Vádr took my measurements. I remained silent, doubting either of them wanted my input. Shortly the tailor began pulling out scraps of fabric from a sad little trunk he had brought and holding them up to me, judging with his sullen eyes.
Hel continued to study me as he worked, and though my discomfort only continued to mount, I remained silent, allowing myself instead to glance curiously around her chambers.
After Vádr had finished and been dismissed to begin creating the dress—which would take only a quick couple of days, I was assured—Hel offered me a seat in front of her fireplace and a cup of wine.
“Are you pleased?” she inquired, seating herself across from me with a brimming cup in her hand.
I smiled. “I do thank Your Majesty for your kindness.”
Hel gave a small nod, but my answer obviously seemed to disinterest her.
Abruptly, “How is Loki?”
I faltered. “Er I—I know not. I have not seen him in four days.”
“Ah, yes,” nodded. “I am somewhat unfamiliar with the traditions of mortal weddings. I do think it odd that the bride and groom are not to see each other for a week beforehand.”
“It is tradition,” I replied. “Or, it was where I come from.”
“Tradition,” Hel murmured, with an air of contempt. “All I know is that dinners have been lonely these past few days, with the both of you eating in separate rooms. My mother’s company is far from adequate. Oh, yes, are the temporary rooms I gave you satisfactory?”
“Oh, yes, very much. Thank you.”
“Good. We do not see many visitors here so things can get a bit… musty.”
Nothing was said between us for a few minutes.
“You are quite lucky, Stjarnavetr,” Hel finally said.
I smiled. “I know I am. I never thought it would happen.”
“Yes, it must be nice to have one that loves you so.”
I furrowed my brows. I had never really thought of it, but I realized Hel at times must feel very lonely here. She ruled alone, and was the only living being in all of Helheim, though her half-rotted body and stench suggested otherwise.
“You have Loki’s love,” I chanced, hoping I was not out of line. “You are his daughter.”
Hel scoffed and looked at me with those chilly black eyes, lips curled upwards in a condescending smile.
“Blood means nothing,” she said roughly.
She did not elaborate, but I assumed she meant Angrboda, her mother. Loki did not speak of Angrboda to me, but I had gleaned in my time here that their relationship was strained, if not—currently—completely nonexistent.
Hel leaned back in the chair, still staring at me. She unnerved me and I glanced down at the cup in my hands, still almost full.
“We merely tolerate each other,” she finally said, mercifully breaking the silence. “I was quite glad when Grandfather killed her, to be honest. I wish I could have seen it.”
I heard her take a sip of wine, but remained silent, now even more uncomfortable.
“I have nobody’s love,” she said, more to herself now than me. “Nobody’s that matters, anyway.”
We sat there for a few more minutes in silence, I wishing desperately that I could leave. Finally, after what felt an eternity, Hel downed the rest of her wine in one swig, stood up, turned to head to her bedchamber, and wordlessly dismissed me with a wave of her gloved hand.
__
Loki
I was to marry Stjarna tomorrow, and it could not come soon enough. Not necessarily that I was excited at the thought of marriage—now that I had had time alone to ruminate, it was a somewhat intimidating thought—but simply because Stjarna had implemented a ridiculous rule that we could not see each other for seven days before the wedding. Some nonsense about tradition, and so I had lain in my bed these past seven nights alone.
But I would appease my Vana, and even had commissioned from Hel’s crusty jeweler Steinn a pair of rings. Nothing fancy, just two plain gold bands for us to exchange tomorrow during the ceremony. Though I did not care one way or the other about wearing a ring, I figured Stjarna would like that. Not that it would hold a candle to her dead family members being present for the wedding, thanks to Hel. I’m sure she would like that much better than the rings.
Otherwise, I had passed my time wandering the palace grounds, busying myself in the training yard or the library, and avoiding Angrboda. I was surprised at how easily I had avoided her, for surely she was looking for any chance to speak with me again. Or perhaps she was not, since I had mentioned to Hel I would not have Angrboda at the ceremony and Hel had told her since she had insisted, as queen, on planning every single aspect of the wedding. Whatever the reason, I was enjoying not having to deal with her drivel.
And so that afternoon I found myself in my chambers, reclined on my balcony with my feet kicked up on the railing and a bottle of one of Hel’s most potent wines on a little table next to me. I had grown bored with killing guards in the training yard that morning and with Hel’s total control of planning the wedding, found myself with nothing to do except sit and drink.
I had not been sitting there long, however, when I received a summons from the queen herself. I grumbled and dragged myself out of the chair, regrettably not even slightly drunk yet, and followed Ganglati, Hel’s eerie manservant, to what I thought would be her chambers. However, he stopped me when I went to turn onto the corridor where her chambers were located.
“I apologize, my lord, but we are not going to Her Majesty’s chambers today,” he said hoarsely.
“What? I thought she wanted to see me. Where are we going, then?”
“Her Majesty says… it is a surprise.” Ganglati’s usually tepid expression twisted, as if the very word disgusted him.
We continued on, through a wing of the palace I had never even been in, and past many rooms. Finally, we ended at a set of dusty doors situated at the end of a short, wide corridor. The sconces on either wall were lit.
“What is this?” I demanded, thinking Hel’s idea of a surprise might not be quite in line with my own.
“Her Majesty says to thank her later,” Ganglati rasped monotonously, bowing his head as I scoffed and went to open the doors.
I stepped inside, hearing Ganglati’s slow shuffling footsteps as I shut the doors behind me. I looked around, confused. I was standing in a set of chambers, a little smaller than my own, but just as nicely furnished. It was extremely dusty, though, a sign it had likely never even been used since the building of the palace.
The fireplace was lit and crackling merrily, just recently stoked I could tell. Then I noticed a flagon of wine on the table off to the side and two cups of wine, half-full. I studied the room suspiciously.
What was Hel playing at?
Suddenly, a soft voice rang out from the bedchamber.
“Odin, is that you?”
And if blood had been running through my veins, it would have drained from my face.
I froze, eyes fixed on the direction of the voice, and despite the innate coldness of my body, an almost panicked flush spread through me as gentle footsteps approached—and then she rounded the doorway.
She stopped and stared at me, and not even a beat passed before she smiled—that warm smile that had assured me when I was little, comforted me when I was hurt, been there for me when nobody else was.
And gods, I lost it.
Tears immediately filled my eyes and spilled over, and I went forward to meet her, and I threw my arms around her and she let out a gentle laugh as I buried my face in her hair. Though the dead really had no smell, I imagined I could smell roses. Always, always she had smelled of roses.
“Mother,” I whispered.
I pulled back to glimpse her face, so wonderfully unchanged, and she reached up to cup my cheek, which was already embarrassingly wet with tears. It only made her smile grow.
“Sit, sit,” I urged, grabbing her hands and pulling her gently to the table. Frigga looked as she always had—save of course for her pale, blue-gray skin and thin veins running all beneath like spider’s web—and was dressed quite nicely in a pleated blue gown. I imagined her life—or rather, her and Odin’s—was good in the valley. She looked clean and neat and well kept.
“Oh, Loki,” Frigga said, and she pulled back and placed one hand over her heart. “I have waited for this for so long, though I must admit I wish it was not like this.”
I laughed, oh gods I couldn’t believe it.
“It doesn’t matter,” I dismissed, shaking my head, still just staring at her, hardly able to contain my elation. “I am… I am so glad to see you, Mother.”
Her smile grew at that and such happiness swelled inside me. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to embrace her again, but figured she wished to speak now.
“Are you staying here at the palace? How long are you here?” I asked excitedly.
“We are here only for the ceremony,” Frigga explained. Always gentle, nothing could ever perturb her. “We must return to the valley the morning after.”
“You must tell me where you and he reside, we will visit often,” I insisted. “Stjarna would love it, too!”
She smiled and clasped her hands together. “Yes, yes, of course. But we can discuss that later! What about your wedding? I cannot adequately express to you my happiness, Loki, for never did I believe that you would be the first of my sons to wed.”
I laughed at that. It made sense; between Thor and I, it was hard to believe I would be the first one to succumb.
“We were most pleased to be invited,” Frigga continued, composing herself. “A guard came to our home with an invitation from the queen of Helheim herself, cordially inviting us to the marriage of our son, her father.”
I winced, but Frigga perceived my small movement and shook her head.
“Loki, be not ashamed. All is past now, and I was overjoyed to meet my granddaughter.”
“You’ve not…” I hesitated. “You’ve not met… her mother, have you?”
Frigga’s lips twitched upwards in a smile. “No. Should I?”
“No, no, it’s alright,” I said hurriedly. “So you met with Hel?”
“Yes, and she is a delight!”
I raised my eyebrows, astonished. Were we talking about the same person? But then again, I hardly had room to criticize Hel, for she was the one who had unknowingly brought Frigga here. Ganglati was right—I would have to thank her later.
“She looks just like you, Loki,” Frigga explained brightly. I could not help but to smile myself. It was coming back to me, her making light of every situation, seeing the good in everything, worrying over nothing, even here when we were all dead.
I sobered up a little, then.
“When she invited you, you remembered me?”
Frigga laughed, as if that was the most absurd thing she had ever heard.
“Loki, I am your mother! How could you say such a thing?”
I gave a little shrug. I was almost ashamed to say I had not thought much of them. I would not bother to tell her during my time with Angrboda, I had practically forgotten even Stjarna. She didn’t need to know that. Gods, was I pathetic.
Frigga noticed my hesitance and tilted her head. She reached over and briefly touched my cheek before letting her hand fall back down to her lap.
“Do not feel bad, darling,” she said with a good-natured smirk. “Your father hardly remembers that he was the king of Asgard. I even had to remind him whose wedding we were attending.”
My lips parted in surprise.
“He is here?” I asked dumbly.
I had nearly forgotten about Odin—yes, but there were two cups of wine set out, Frigga had even said his name when I had come in, mistaking me for him. What a stupid fucking question, obviously he was here.
Frigga nodded. “He went out to get some fresh air.”
Suddenly, I felt apprehension and it was obvious Frigga could see it on my face. I, usually so adept at hiding whatever it was I was thinking or feeling, now wore it like a mask upon my face.
“Loki, I know… I know you two did not end well…”
I prayed my face did not betray the sudden wave of guilt I felt. If Odin barely remembered he had been ruler of Asgard for millennia, surely he didn’t remember his end and the part I played in it. Did Frigga know? Had Odin been able to recall and told her what her youngest son had done to her husband?
“Wait,” I said, stopping her. “How do you remember all of this? Did you not lose your memory?”
“Yes, well,” she hesitated. “I just… fought harder to remember than your father did.”
I nodded. I remembered when I first had come here Angrboda had told me that she still often recalled her own death. If one fought hard enough, they could fight to retain their memories.
“As awful as it sounds, Loki,” Frigga imparted uncertainly, “I’m not sure Odin would have recognized you had I not told him beforehand why we were here.”
“It’s normal here,” I replied dismissively. I did not take it to heart Odin barely remembered me. In my case, it was a good thing.
Now it was Frigga’s turn to look unsure.
“I realize it may not be appropriate to ask, but you are my son, and I need to know. Though I cannot deny I am happy to see you, and more surprised you are getting married than dead, as your mother… I… how? Why are you here? And Stjarna, too?”
The sudden sadness of her expression cut me and I faltered. I remembered how I had died, and Stjarna had told me the manner of her own death and the events leading up to it, but the exact details of my own demise were hazy. In death, I had not given much thought to it, and I wasn’t upset or vengeful about what had happened. Upon dying, most matters from your previous life seemed to melt away. How could I tell her without divulging the part I had played in her husband’s death? Even here, would she forgive me?
“I…” I glanced down at the floor. I could not find the words. “I…”
Frigga gave a small nod, like she knew.
“Odin did not have many memories when he came here, or rather when I, by sheer luck, found him wandering one of the roads in the valley. He did not recognize me at first, but it did not take long for him to come back to me.”
“Did he… what did he…”
“He was vague,” she explained somberly, “but could tell me enough about his own end.”
“Enough?” I inquired nervously.
And much to my surprise, Frigga smiled and reached across the table to take my hand. I gripped her fingers, gaze fixed on her face, on her loving expression.
“My darling, I must admit I was curious as to how it came to… what it did. I asked him what had happened after my own death.”
My stomach tensed up, but I attempted to not betray my sudden uneasiness.
“I suppose it does not matter anymore, and that it was never any of my business to begin with, but I do wish to say one thing on the subject. Normally I would let your father tell you, but he might not even remember at this point…”
I swallowed hard. What would it be? To tell me that he should have killed me when he had the chance, and that I wasn’t his son, just a bastard child of a lesser race? A colossal disappointment to him and his golden court? Suddenly, in that moment, nearly everything I had forgotten or previously not cared about came rushing back. Crippling anxiety filled me, and a small part of me felt ridiculous for even worrying—had I not in life hated him with every fiber of my being? Had he not lied to me from birth, betrayed me and used me for his own endings? Even though some of the details were still obscure, and generally I did not care much for what had happened in my life, I did recall the burning hatred, almost strange now to even imagine. Why, especially now, would I care what he had said or done? Or especially what he thought?
But I knew the exact reason why I would care, and she was sitting directly in front of me.
What would Mother think of me? Or what did she think? Had he told her what I did? Did he recount to her how I imprisoned him within the cold, rocky foundation of Asgard, kept him there chained to a wall like a criminal until he wasted away and died in darkness? I didn’t want her to know if she already didn’t, didn’t want her to think less of me, nothing that might poison her mind against me. The very thought sent me into a panic, but much to my astonishment, Frigga continued smiling at me, so lovingly, as if she knew the thoughts racing unchecked through my head, as if she knew every agonizing, sickening doubt roiling through me.
“Whatever it was you did, my son, he forgave you for it.”
I stared at her, my mouth fallen open; the breath I’d been uselessly holding in my lungs left my body in a great sigh and my shoulders slumped and I slowly fell back into the chair, disbelieving. No, it couldn’t possibly be true…
“He forgave me?” I whispered uncertainly.
She nodded, smile unwavering. “Yes, Loki. Of course he would, you are his son.”
I shook my head and slowly looked down at the table. The image blurred for the thin veil of tears and I shook my head again. Mother squeezed my fingers. At no other place in time in life would those words have made a difference, but here, now, in death when all our previous tribulations had passed and nothing remained, it mattered.
“Oh, but now is not the time to get into all that,” Frigga said gently, drawing my gaze. “It matters not anymore, does it, Loki?”
I swallowed hard and let out another heavy breath. She knew me so well, even after everything that had happened. No, I don’t think she knew exactly what I had done to Odin, but I knew even if she had, it wouldn’t matter.
“Butyou, Loki? What happened?”
“Frey killed me,” I answered, my voice still wavering somewhat from my shock.
She gasped. “Frey killed you? Oh, my darling…”
“I had killed Freyja, and then Týr, and then Frey killed me. I was trying to protect Stjarna, I think…”
Frigga stared at me as I trailed off, mouth agape. Rarely had I seen that expression and I laughed, recovering now from my previous disbelief.
“Loki, what happened? What about Thor?”
I shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t remember much. Thor’s king now, I know. Stjarna told me that.”
“And Stjarna?”
“Er… Stjarna might just have to tell you about that herself.”
“Oh, yes,” Frigga tentatively smiled again, realizing either I did not wish to speak on it or truly had nothing else to say on the matter. “The wedding, then! I am so looking forward to it. I have not been to a wedding in centuries!”
I chuckled. “It might be a little different from those held in Asgard.”
“It matters not,” she proclaimed, clasping her hands together. “Oh, that my little boy is getting married! You know, I always knew it would be you two.”
“Stjarna and I?” I asked skeptically, cocking an eyebrow.
She nodded happily. “Of course. You two were made for each other. And speaking of the bride, when can I see her? I would love to speak with her!”
“I can have a message sent,” I responded. “She’s wanted us separated for a week… some traditional wedding nonsense.”
“Oh, Loki, it is not nonsense to her. I’m sure it is a very important tradition in Vanaheim!”
I shrugged. “All I know is I haven’t seen her in a week and I’m bored to death.”
“Well, it will all be worth it when the celebration is done and you two finally have some time alone,” Frigga promised with a wink.
“Mother!” I exclaimed, somewhat amused, but mostly shocked since I hadn’t recalled her ever being so playful about such things.
Frigga laughed, and then her eyes glimpsed something behind me. Her smile grew even larger and mine abruptly fell, for I knew what it was she was looking at. Or rather, who. She stood up and I tentatively followed suit, almost not wanting to turn around, despite her myriad of reassurances not moments before.
But I was going to have to see him, to speak with him. Suddenly I felt like a pathetic little boy again, vying for his approval, wanting him to love and appreciate me. I hated feeling that, even now, but… then again, times had changed. Every single one of us had changed, hopefully for the better.
All that had happened then—all the misery and hatred and uselessness of it all—I would not let it be like that here. Here, we could be as we should have been in life. I would see to it, for his sake and Mother’s sake, for Stjarna’s sake… and mine as well. I did not want it to be like that anymore.
I took a deep breath and turned around to face him, and he was smiling at me, and an unexpected warmth filled me.
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
“Nice try, Mannadr!” I smirked, slicing the stale air with Laevateinn, the sword Angrboda had commissioned for me.
Four palace guards stood opposite of me, weapons drawn and poised. Before them lay their comrade whom they had likely known for centuries, whom I had just decapitated and whose black blood was pouring thickly out onto the dusty ground, and whose unfortunate fate simultaneously did not faze them at all.
I was training again—for what, I knew not, only to pass the time, I suppose—and I greatly enjoyed it. It took my mind off other matters, anyway.
I always instructed the guards I happened to train with that day to attack me as if they truly wished to kill me, queen’s father or no. Of course they mechanically obeyed and a few times I had ended up with some rather nasty wounds. Luckily, unlike them, I could heal myself even here and did not have to spend the rest of eternity with half my guts exposed or fallen out.
Many of the guards I had killed this way. Hel once told me that even though we were all dead here, it was possible to die a second time, and there was no coming back from it. By that logic, I suspected it was once again possible to return to life, but Hel had always remained rather tight-lipped on the subject, only fueling my suspicion.
But as of late I had not spoken much to Hel if I could help it.
It was an interesting sight when one of them died. The guard would collapse onto the ground and a few seconds later their bodies would slowly disintegrate into an ashen mound, which would eventually disperse in the dry wind. I would have felt odd killing palace guards simply for my own amusement, but Hel had assured me long ago that the guards were not as the other dead in Helheim; they were mindless and followed orders blindly. There was nothing left over of them from their previous life, save their physical appearance, and there was certainly no shortage of them.
“Try me again!” I shouted at the next biggest one, a gnarly brute called Mannadr who had survived my spars for quite some time. He currently was my ultimate goal.
He came at me, sword raised, feet pounding loudly on the hard-packed earth. He swung, aiming for my head, but I dodged the blow and dropped hard to one knee, bringing my sword around in an arc towards his right leg.
The blade did not meet flesh, however, for he swiftly dodged my blow. I gritted my teeth, leaping to my feet as he turned and attempted once again to decapitate me, likely in some blind revenge for his fallen comrade.
Ultimately, he did not succeed, and like his unfortunate friends before him, lay dying his second death upon the ground. I grinned triumphantly to myself, staring into his eyes as the dullness there became duller and his jaw went slack and his mouth fell open to reveal the blackened stumps of his teeth and whatever shriveled flesh remained of his tongue. I withdrew my sword from his chest just as his skin began to crack and turn greyer.
As soon as I finished wiping his blood on the bottom of my boot, a shout drew my attention.
“My lord!”
It was Ganglati, Hel’s slow-moving manservant and occasional fuck toy.
“What?” I barked.
“Her Majesty requests your presence.”
“Tell her I’m busy,” I replied flatly, turning away and wiping my brow. I would avoid her if I could, and it wasn’t as if Ganglati could do anything.
“It is urgent,” he insisted, though his voice was bland as always. “The queen demands it.”
I rolled my eyes, but did not further acknowledge him. I went to begin another spar, but before I could shout at one of the remaining guards, suddenly I felt Ganglati’s hand around my arm and I turned, shocked to see him standing right next to me.
“The queen demands it,” he repeated, insipid gaze focused on me.
“Alright, alright,” I snapped unnervingly, not wanting to ask how he had gotten across the training yard so quickly.
I handed my sword to the guard by the weapon rack and headed towards the palace. I was annoyed at being summoned. The next meeting was not for another four days and I knew not why Hel would need to speak with me like this so suddenly.
After everything had come to light months ago—or whatever I assumed to be months with the changing of the light in the sky, it could have been much longer or shorter—I had grown an aversion to Hel, likely much to the delight of her mother and my lover, Angrboda. It was not that I hated Hel, but it was that I almost felt sorry for her and did not wish to further complicate things between us by being around her often.
“Where is Hel?” I demanded as Ganglati trailed far behind me, despite his show of sudden dexterity minutes before.
“Her chambers, my lord,” he called out.
I was there in minutes. I went past her guards, threw the doors open, and found Hel standing by her large window. She turned and smiled, which she had not done to me in so long.
“Father.”
“What is it?” I asked, somewhat shortly.
“I have a gift for you,” she answered, suspiciously cheerful.
Her words caught me off guard. Immediately I was wary.
“I was just in the training yard—”
Hel breezed up to me, took my hand, and turned to lead me towards her bedchamber.
“Did you kill any guards?”
My skin crawled at her touch. After learning of Hel’s rather iniquitous feelings for me, I felt uneasy at her proximity.
“Yes, two.”
“Wonderful,” she said brightly, in her normal gritty rasp.
Now she stopped at the closed doors and turned to face me, withdrawing her hand and abruptly appearing remorseful.
“Before we proceed, I would like to say that I am sorry if I have offended you in any way,” she admitted. “I did not mean for things to change so between us. I do not like how we have been lately and hope we may overcome this.”
“Er…”
“I hope sincerely that this will make it up to you,” she continued with a blossoming smile, pushing the doors open and leading me inside.
“Hel—”
“Look what I have for you, Father.”
My eyes were drawn immediately across the room towards the fireplace, and I was surprised to see a woman standing there in a faded white dress with her back to us. At the sound of Hel’s voice, however, the woman turned, and something like a jolt went through me.
She was very beautiful, with pale grey eyes and full lips. Her hair was a lovely light gold and fell in pretty waves over her shoulders and down to her waist, which was cinched with a thin, plain brown belt. She tilted her head ever so slightly, lips twitching upwards in a small smile of what appeared to strangely be apperception.
I stared at her for a long, bewildering moment, searching her eyes, oblivious now to Hel’s idiotic grin. There was something in the back of my mind suddenly, clawing its way to the forefront, screaming to be recognized, and when it hit me the useless breath left my lungs and the darkness in my mind receded and I knew her.
I was across the room in seconds, a warmth like I had not felt in so long blooming inside me, filling my stomach and chest and limbs as I enfolded her into my arms, heard my name fall from her now trembling lips followed by a sob of what I recognized as happiness.
I tangled my fingers in her hair, pulling so I could see her face, her lovely, wonderful, beautiful face, the most beautiful face I had ever seen, and I was kissing her lips, her nose, her forehead and eyelids and chin, anywhere I could reach.
She smiled and pulled me close as I buried my face into her neck, breathing her in. She did not smell like she always had, but then again could I even remember? She only smelled cold, if cold had a smell—even her hair did not smell like anything.
“Stjarna,” I said, grinning widely, feeling my own eyes sting with tears. I could not think to stammer anything but her name, her name which to my eternal regret I had almost forgotten. “Stjarna, Stjarna…”
I pulled back to look at her again and saw tears streaming down her face, and it was only then when I finally registered the deadly pallor of her skin. My brows furrowed in concern as I gently ran my thumb over her cool, wet cheek.
“Stjarna?”
I turned to Hel, anger rising suddenly in me like a wave.
“Why is she here?” I demanded furiously. It was a leap, but with how shrewdly Hel had been smirking, presenting Stjarna to me as a “gift,” led me to believe she’d had something to do with this.
Hel quirked an eyebrow. “She died, obviously.”
I stared at her.
“No, Loki,” Stjarna said, and her voice sent a rivulet of pleasure through me, momentarily quelling the anger inside me. She took my face in her hands and I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers, shiny with tears. “I was in Vanaheim—”
“Vanaheim? Why were you in Vanaheim?”
“I…” she faltered, appearing almost pained. “After you killed Freyja, Valdrlund demanded recompense. Thor had no choice…”
“I don’t understand…”
Her lips trembled. “I was… I was the recompense, Loki…”
“Thorgave you to him?” I growled, gritting my teeth.
“He had to,” she said sadly. “I did not want to go, but there was nothing to be done. Valdrlund threatened war.”
Suddenly, something awful took form in my mind, banishing this warmth inside and filling me instead with this cold dread.
“Did he… what did he…” I placed my hands on hers on my cheeks, staring at her in worry.
“I did it, Loki,” Stjarna said, managing a quivering smile. “I killed him.”
My lips parted in surprise.
“We were… we were…” she glanced down now, reluctant to speak. “He insulted you and I grew so angry, Loki, for all he had done and I… I…”
“Oh, Stjarna,” I breathed, closing my eyes and pressing my forehead to hers, worry churning sickeningly inside me. “Did they hurt you?”
“No. They were going to execute me, but…” Stjarna’s large grey eyes flickered over to Hel, who tilted her head and shrewdly curtsied when acknowledged.
“Hel?”
“I paid her a little visit in prison,” Hel explained nonchalantly. “It was no trouble.”
So that was where Hel had been this morning.
I turned back to Stjarna, knowing not whether to feel rage for her having died by the hands of my daughter, or joy for her standing here with me.
“You may go,” Hel said, not bothering to mask her arrogant smile, as I took Stjarna’s hand and led her out. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on.”
Her harsh laughter rang out as the doors closed resoundingly behind us.
__
I could not stop looking at her, even as I led her slowly and aimlessly around Eljudnir.
I was remembering every aspect of her features, both saddened and upset with myself that I could have dared to forget any part of her. Her laugh, her smile, the way her hand felt against me or lips upon mine.
It was as if something had opened up inside me, something I could not explain, and every waking moment from then on I needed to be with her, to remind me of the light and love I had lost and so desperately wanted back, everything I had forgotten and wanted to remember.
I had Stjarna recount to me everything that had happened since my death, which I learned had been less than two years ago. Stjarna possessed a much heartier memory than I had when I had come here, but I suspected it had something to do with the way she had died and Hel being the one to have personally brought her here to Helheim.
As she spoke I studied her face, the way her lips formed every syllable, her hand movements, and I was conjuring memories I believed to have been permanently buried or even gone. The tiniest details began to emerge from my subconscious with every word and I wanted to be angry for all that had transpired after my death to my beloved Vana, and that we should be reunited in such a dreadful place, but I could hardly evoke the emotion with her standing so real in front of me, all smiles and void of any negativity.
She was here now, and we were together again.
“Tell me of this place,” Stjarna said as we walked around the edge of the palace, lacing her fingers with mine. “Hel did not say much.”
And so I told her of Helheim, a bleak and lonely realm divided into nine regions where the dead resided, domed by a sky that wasn’t a sky, but still by some magic gave the appearance of night and day. I spoke of our life here, and much in the same way Hel had explained everything to me when I had come here.
How these forms we possessed were not our actual bodies, but what was left of our souls manifested physically here. We still behaved like the living—eating, drinking, carousing, and even breathing, despite the fact we did not need to.
I laughed when Stjarna tried it and was startled upon realizing she did not have to actually breathe, but preferred to like the rest of us to retain some semblance of our life.
Inevitably, she inquired about Hel and Angrboda.
At that point we were headed back to my chambers, having inadvertently explored most of the grounds.
“Hel is queen here.”
“And she is your daughter.”
“Yes.”
“By Angrboda?”
“Yes.”
Stjarna was quiet for a long moment.
“Hel told me Angrboda was here, as well.”
I nodded, not really wanting to speak of Angrboda for the shame coursing through me now. Could I bear to tell her I had taken up with my giantess again? But of course I could not stay with Angrboda.
I did not speak on it.
“These are my chambers,” I announced when we finally reached them. I opened the door, praying Angrboda was elsewhere.
Stjarna entered and I shut the door behind me and quietly locked it, in case Angrboda decided to drop in any time soon. I’d have to find her later, tell her we were done. I almost found it surprising, how entirely I had devoted myself to her, and seemingly felt nothing now that Stjarna was here. Angrboda would not be pleased with my fleeting emotions.
Stjarna walked around, quietly studying my rooms.
“It is similar to your chambers on Asgard,” she remarked softly.
My eyes followed her as she continued her slow, investigatory procession around the room, touching various things. I was surprised somewhat at her comment, that here she should remember so trivial a fact, though it was strangely comforting to hear those words.
“Some things are different, though it is much the same,” she observed, wandering out to the balcony. “I will get used to it, though.”
“You will, as did I,” I answered, coming up behind her to wrap my arms around her waist.
“Are you happy here, Loki?”
“I am now,” I replied, kissing her cheek from behind.
“It almost does not seem real,” she mused somberly, leaning into me. “I did not think I would ever see you again.”
I only kissed her, hopefully offering some comfort, and unwilling to admit I had nearly forgotten her. I wondered if I had ever been this ashamed in my previous life. I doubted it.
“I am glad Hel brought me here, though,” Stjarna continued, turning in my arms to face me. She cupped my face and lifted up on her toes to gently kiss my lips. “It matters not where I am, as long as I am with you.”
I grinned, soaking up her words, and did not think I could wait any longer.
Stjarna giggled knowingly as I pulled her backwards into my chambers, drawing her tight against me so I could rain kisses eagerly across her face. She just as fervently returned my affections, and we lay together for the first time in seemingly forever, and in the end it was as if nothing had changed between us, save for the ceasing of our hearts.
My Stjarna was so different from Angrboda. There was something in her kisses not present in Angrboda’s, warmth in her eyes instead of cold pitilessness, the way she gasped my name so filled with reverence, clutching at me as if I was the source of her existence, and how afterwards when we lay breathless, still entwined, she enfolded herself into me and told me how much she loved me.
Since neither of us wished to be anywhere but here with the other, Stjarna and I remained in my chambers the rest of the afternoon and all through the evening and night—talking, joking, reminiscing and making love. It was the happiest I had been since I could remember, and in those moments could not imagine what possibly might come next. But for now, I hardly cared.
__
Some days passed, all of them in a haze.
I came to peace quite quickly with Stjarna’s arrival. Of course I was delighted to have her with me again, but initially had hardly known who to be furious with. Valdrlund for daring to claim her and abuse her, or Thor for sending her off to Vanaheim in the first place; Hel for bringing Stjarna here, or Stjarna for being more than happy to die to be with me again.
Stjarna assured me repeatedly that all was well and she was happy, when I began to think of it and would grow angry all over again. Eventually, I tried to not think of it like that, and only considered the fact that Stjarna was here with me again.
Hel thought it all quite amusing, commenting laughingly that she would never have expected me to behave in such a manner. I cared not, though—Stjarna was here and was all I could think of. We spent every waking moment together.
One day I was strolling around the grounds with Stjarna. A dry breeze was blowing, occasionally whipping up the dusty ground.
“Loki?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, anything.”
Stjarna appeared reluctant and we stopped.
“Is Valdrlund here?”
I was silent for a moment.
“Hel explained it to me like this. All are equal here, no matter what we were in our past life. He is here, but he likely does not remember any of his past life. If he does, he will soon forget it.”
“Why do I not?” she asked curiously. “I have heard this, but I remember everything.”
I looked up, thinking.
“Perhaps it was the way you died. I will admit, Stjarna, I was forgetting much of my life until you came here. Oddly enough you being with me now reminds me of much of it.”
She smiled. “That is a good thing?”
I grinned at her and took her hand in mine, continuing to walk. “That is a very good thing.”
“My parents are here, aren’t they?”
“Yes, as are mine.”
I had thought of them, Frigga and Odin. Sometimes it pained me to think they were here, that though we might be so close, I might never see them, and they might not even remember me. It seemed amazing how drastically things had changed, and how much initially I had forgotten even of them. I knew in my life I had loved and revered Odin, and at one time reviled him, but nothing seemed so important anymore. I knew if I could, I might embrace him again if I saw him, and my mother…
“I wonder if they found one another here,” Stjarna wondered. “I wonder if they are happy.”
I knew not how to reply to that, and Stjarna appeared saddened.
By now we had reached the training grounds. There was not a soul in sight, but then again there never was unless I was training.
“Is there war here?” Stjarna asked, gazing inquisitively at a weapon rack.
“No. The most conflict in this place is between individuals.”
“So why did you build this?”
“I was bored.”
Stjarna laughed. “Well, I am glad there is a library. I never thought there would be a library in the realm of the dead.”
I smiled, but Stjarna wasn’t looking at me anymore. I followed her suddenly somber gaze across the training yard and my guts immediately tightened.
Standing serenely by herself on the path on the other side of the yard, and staring at us, was Angrboda.
I highly doubted she had been strolling around Eljudnir by herself and just so happened to end up at the training ground the same time as us.
“Is that Angrboda?” Stjarna asked softly.
I looked at her, almost not wishing to admit it.
“Yes.”
Stjarna gave a small nod and did not resist as I hooked her arm with mine and turned us to continue our walk in the direction we had just come from.
Having them speak was the last thing I wanted, if only to spare Stjarna the sordid details I knew Angrboda would only be too happy to divulge.
__
A few days later, there was a meeting of representatives.
I slipped out of bed, readied, and kissed Stjarna before leaving. She stretched, smiling at me as I told her I would be gone for a few hours, but I would be back soon.
The meeting was boring, as usual. Nothing of interest, though Hel did snap at Gaumr when he interrupted her and spoke a little too sharply to another representative.
Afterwards, I headed back to my chambers, eager to slip back into bed with Stjarna.
I rounded a corner and was only momentarily surprised to see Angrboda leaning against a column, obviously waiting for me.
“Good morning,” she purred, eyes locked on me. By her expression it did not appear to truly be a good morning.
“Angrboda,” I coolly acknowledged.
“This might be a bit of a leap, Loki, but… I do think you’ve been avoiding me.”
“You’re just now noticing that?” I dismissed, going to brush past her.
“Busy with that new plaything of yours?”
I stopped, unable to help the smile that spread involuntarily across my face.
“Are you jealous, darling?” I smirked, turning with somewhat of an arrogant flourish.
The corner of her lips twitched, but then she returned my smile and sauntered deliberately up to me.
“Why would I be jealous, Loki? I know she cannot possibly satisfy you as I did.”
I laughed, amused at the notion, when Angrboda stepped closer and placed her hand on my chest.
“You don’t look at her like you do me, I see it.”
“Then you are blind as well as ignorant,” I retorted. “There is no one I look at as I do you, but it is not with what you want, Angrboda.”
“So what were all of those heated declarations, Loki? When you told me you loved me and I was all there was?”
“Chalk it up to my being drunk on death, darling,” I replied tautly.
Angrboda was not amused.
“Would she see it as such?” she asked, running her fingers down my arm.
I pulled away, vaguely annoyed.
“You do not love her as you do me.”
“You’re right,” I replied, attempting somewhat to mask my true emotion. It almost pained me to admit it, but some part of me loved Angrboda. I had admitted it to myself long ago, and to her multiple times, in the dark of the night and clouded in lust and headiness, but it was not the type of love I held for Stjarna. It was a love I was more than willing to leave to die.
“Why do you partake in this foolishness?” she demanded, suddenly heated, when I went to turn, realizing she was losing whatever was left of this useless conversation. “Why do you waste your time on that Vana wench?”
“I am not wasting my time,” I retorted. “But you are. You and I, we’re through.”
Angrboda’s brows slightly lifted, but other than that there was nothing else to betray her emotion.
“You spurn me for her?”
“It was always her, Angrboda,” I replied, somewhat exasperated. “I—”
“You think Hel did you a favor, Loki?” Angrboda snarled, baring her sharpened teeth. “You think she did this out of love?”
“Absolutely not,” I responded immediately, unwilling to fall into Angrboda’s baiting. “Whatever manifests itself in Hel is not love.”
I had not spoken much to Hel since Stjarna’s arrival here in Helheim, but then again had been pretty much taken up with Stjarna and been able to think of little else. I did not dismiss Angrboda’s accusation, though. I had no doubt Hel had done this simply to spite her mother, whom she hated.
“Of course she killed your lover only to torment me.”
“What, can you not to stand to lose me, Angrboda?” I laughed. “It is almost comical. You finally have me after so long, and now I’m snatched away again.”
That must’ve been the wrong thing to say to an angry giantess; I did not flinch or recoil as she came quickly forward and roughly took a fistful of my tunic in her hands, pulling me close.
“Are you spited, love?” I taunted.
She pressed her lips together, black eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You think me jealous of that her, Loki? She is naught more than a distraction.”
“From what?” I goaded.
“Your true purpose.”
I chuckled, realizing. Angrboda believed Hel had given Stjarna to me to prevent Angrboda’s grand scheme for me, one of the reasons she had gifted me the sword Laevantinn. Occupied these past days with Stjarna, I had practically forgotten Angrboda’s lust for me to go to war for her against the world, to lead an army of the dead against those who had wronged her.
“You laugh, but you cannot see,” she spat.
“And what is it that I do not see?” I asked tightly, reaching to disentangle her fingers from my tunic.
“Your destiny,” Angrboda growled. “Fucking her will not stop it.”
“The only destiny you hope for me will never come to be,” I said firmly. “And whatever there is left of it, you are no longer a part of it.”
I turned to leave, but before I could make it even a step, abruptly I felt Angrboda’s iron grip on my shoulder and she jerked me backwards and spun me around to confront her fury.
“You will not spurn me for that Vana whore!”
“Do not touch me, Angrboda,” I bit out, any semblance of restraint vanished with her hostility towards Stjarna.
“Do not think that I won’t—”
But before Angrboda could spit another word out, my hand was around her throat and her back to the wall. I dug my fingers into her neck, pressing the length of my forearm firmly against her front to keep her still.
“You will stay away from her,” I growled, staring fixedly into the angry, inky blackness of her eyes. “If you dare to touch her, I will kill you, and not even our daughter will be able to save you.”
Her gaze was cold, wrathful.
“Only for you, lover.”
I remained motionless, debating on whether to describe to her in lurid detail the endless agony I might inflict on her if she were to carry out any harm against Stjarna, but then I had no doubt Angrboda already had some idea what might befall her if she were to proceed with any part of her vengeful deliberations.
I roughly released her, turned on my heel, and returned to my chambers, where I found Stjarna still sleeping peacefully.
__
A few days later, Stjarna and I were relaxing in my chambers.
We had spent nearly the entire morning in bed before requesting for food to be brought. The remains of our little midday meal lay on my table. I lounged in bed, finishing a glass of dark red wine. For the realm of the dead, Helheim’s vineyard produced remarkably delicious wines.
Stjarna was standing at the open window, a fairly sheer robe wrapped around her, hands poised lightly on the sill. Soon after Stjarna’s arrival, I had requested of Hel a wardrobe made for Stjarna. I would not have my lover dressed here forever in her death shroud. She was staring outside, watching the rain fall and turning the already barren landscape even greyer.
“It rains here,” Stjarna murmured.
“Yes, I believe there is some enchantment over this place,” I replied from the bed. “It certainly does help with the monotony.”
“I’m glad it rains,” she said. In her voice I detected a hint of sadness, so I set the glass of wine on the bedside table and got up to stand behind her. I wrapped my arms around Stjarna and she melted into my embrace.
“Why do you like that it rains?” I inquired.
She shrugged.
“It is just something else like up there.”
“Ah,” I said, somewhat uncertainly. Then, tentatively, masking the tinge of worry, “Are you unhappy here?”
“No,” she replied, turning in my arms. She cupped my face in her hands and offered me a small, reassuring smile. “I am simply thinking about my family.”
“Konavefr and Dreyma and the boys?” I offered. I suspected Stjarna’s step-mother and sister-in-law and nephews still resided in Asgard.
She nodded. “I wonder if they… if they know…”
I kissed her forehead. “There’s no way to tell, but I’d suspect not.”
She gave a little nod and let her hands fall slowly to my chest. “It is almost comforting to know that.”
“I am sorry,” I murmured.
“It cannot be helped,” she replied with a small smile. “I am only grateful we are together again.”
I placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then her nose, and swallowed.
“Stjarna?”
“Hmm?” She murmured, leaning into me and moving her hands around my sides to my back.
I hesitated.
Shortly after Stjarna had arrived here in Helheim, and we had begun reminiscing over all that happened, I had recalled that shortly before my death, I had asked Stjarna to marry me. I had not spoken of it, but constantly it was nagging at the back of my mind.
But I could remember now Stjarna’s reaction in Asgard, and did not hesitate now.
“Will you marry me?”
There was a brief silence, then she pulled back to stare at me. Her lips were parted in surprise and I grinned amusedly, moving to grab her hands and lace her fingers with mine.
“We were not able to get quite that far, if you remember…”
“I remember,” she whispered, lips curling into a smile. “You still want to marry me?”
At that, I burst into laughter.
“What kind of question is that? Of course I still want to marry you, Stjarna. I always wanted to, I was just too stupid to realize it for most of the time.”
Stjarna echoed my laughter and it was music to my ears.
Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)
Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
Chapter warnings/triggers: Language, Sexual Content, Graphic Violence
The seasons were changing again; though the peaks of the purple mountains remained white, the warming temperatures had melted the snows further down the slopes and swollen the rivers flowing into the valleys and the city.
A festival had been held these past few days to celebrate the end of the bitter winter and the beginning of a hopefully fruitful spring, but no part of my heart could rejoice in anything anymore, it seemed.
Even though the festival had ended some hours ago, I watched silently the remnants of the merriments below from Valdrlund’s balcony. From here I could only barely hear the lingering carousers, most of them drunk and hovering in droves by the fountains of wine.
I remembered when I was very little, Father would bring Mother and I to the spring festival every year. He always bought us flowered crowns from a cart and me some exotic candy as a special treat if I behaved. I almost allowed myself to smile, recalling how we would spend the whole day partaking in the revelry, which included games and dancing.
A light breeze, still laced with the chill of winter, ruffled my hair and caused me to shiver, as if to so thoughtfully remind me I had long ago left all that behind, and lived now in a new, harsher reality.
As if on cue, I heard the villain of my new reality approach me from behind, but did not turn to acknowledge him. He wrapped his arms around my middle and rested his chin on my shoulders. I kept my eyes fixed on the sights below as he kissed the side of my neck and sighed contentedly.
“You looked beautiful today,” Valdrlund observed.
He had commissioned a new dress for me for the celebrations, a frothy, pale blue gown embroidered with gold braid and precious stones. I had never thought I would be wearing his colors again, but much had happened I never would have suspected, hadn’t it?
I did not reply, but he likely did not care.
Valdrlund had been in a good mood lately. There had been no uprisings, or even the faintest whisper of rebellion since his quashing of the last one months ago. The people were not as unhappy now that spring was here and the hope of a new year, and all seemed well enough.
I slowly closed my eyes as Valdrlund began trailing kisses across the top of my shoulder, tugging gently at the gauzy strap of my gown, exposing my shoulder. I was silent, unresponsive, when he took my wrist and pulled me back into his chambers towards the bed.
__
Afterwards, I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Valdrlund lay on his side next to me, head propped up.
Unsurprisingly, Valdrlund no longer seemed to notice—or more likely, he chose to ignore—my brooding. He still talked to me as if I cared, kissed me as if I liked it, made love to me like I wanted it. In fact, Valdrlund more or less seemed amused by it all, since he knew I could not leave him; and so he somewhat tolerated my attitude.
And always it was there, boiling just beneath the surface. Though I went through the movements, though I did as he said, for there was no use in fighting back, I let him know, whether I demonstrated it with my words or my body, that I hated him with every fiber of my being.
I would ignore him, belittle him, sometimes push him away from me when he tried to kiss or embrace me. When he was on top of me, or when I was sitting astride him and he lifting up to kiss me, I would turn my head or shove his hands away, even as he was inside me.
My small acts of defiance did not always anger Valdrlund as I hoped they would, however. Sometimes he would laugh at me attempting to provoke him. Where used to he would explode at the smallest inconvenience, perhaps with years of kingly dealings he had learned to somewhat control his temper.
Only occasionally would he grow truly angry with me these days, usually if I blatantly defied him in front of others. But he always waited until we were once again within the privacy of his chambers to let me know I had displeased him, usually with his fists.
“How intricate a web the Norns have spun for us,” Valdrlund said softly, suddenly, breaking the silence.
I did not regard him, but he was used to that by now.
“To break us apart as they did, and then to be reunited so many centuries later,” he mused, as if everything he had ever done to me was some unfortunate coincidence. “It was quite fortuitous that Freyja died. I was glad to hear it, in fact.”
Now I tilted my head towards him, vaguely curious as to his next words.
“I knew immediately I could get you back,” he explained, lightly stroking my bare hip beneath the thick covers with his fingers. “Thor would not risk war for the sake of you.”
“It is regrettable you did not leave me there,” I whispered.
“What, to become as much of an outcast as that bastard prince?” Valdrlund laughed, and I winced. “No, I would bring you home.”
“You should not have taken me in the first place,” I remarked somberly, finally glancing at him. “You should have left me with my father.”
He smirked and reached out to cup my cheek, but I turned my head away and sat up, holding the covers up to my breasts.
“I couldn’t just let a pretty little thing like you leave the palace, could I?”
“You said you loved me,” I muttered virulently.
“And I do.”
I laughed in bitter derision as he also sat up. “You do not love me.”
“Stjarnavetr—”
“Why did you hit me, Valdrlund? Why did you always demean me, if you loved me? Why did you take me from Asgard, if you love me?”
His face darkened, but I cared not. Let him grow angry, I wanted it.
“Loki did not hit me, or demean me,” I added, feeling a stroke of bravery.
Valdrlund’s eyes flashed and he growled my name in warning. He did not tolerate mention of Loki, unless it was by him for some purpose of ridicule.
“He loved me.”
Suddenly Valdrlund’s hand was around my neck and he pulled me close, expression thunderous.
“Well, he does not love you anymore, does he?”
Despite the fury brewing inside me, his words sent a rivulet of pain through me.
Valdrlund roughly released me.
“Get out, you’ve served your purpose tonight.”
Without a word, I slipped from his bed, dressed, and was gone.
__
Though Valdrlund now only called me to him perhaps twice a week, and I was left to my own devices those other nights, I slipped deeper and deeper into this melancholy. Not even tutoring Valdrlund’s son, Vándr, could cheer me, and Valdrlund once remarked displeasingly to me that his son had commented on my change in mood.
Part of me was seething with rage; fury that I had come here to the palace in the first place when I was young, that Loki had been slain in front of my eyes, that I had been handed back to Valdrlund, to return to that which I had been five hundred years before. Every time he fucked me, I was consumed with anger that he practically owned me, that he thought he held me so completely; such acrimony that he did, and was right.
And yet, when afterwards I was gone from Valdrlund’s presence, that other part of me overshadowed the resentment: sorrow. Loki was dead, I was alone in this world now with nowhere to go, nobody to take me in if I ever did decide to flee the palace.
I wept most nights when I did not go to Valdrlund. I would curl into a ball on my bed, muffling my sobs with my pillow. It still hurt, sometimes the pain so acute it felt like a knife in my belly. Various nights, when after I had cried myself out, or when I sat upon the edge of my tub before a bath, only when I was sunken to the deepest depths of my despair, I would tentatively form a small seidr blade in my hand. Slowly I would trace it over my wrist, up the inside of my arm. Occasionally over my chest or down to my belly and I would wonder if I was strong enough to drive it inside me, wondered if I could ever enrage Valdrlund enough that he would do it for me.
But then I would think of the pain—how much it might hurt, and for how long before I succumbed—and quickly dissolve the blade, shocked less and less at myself every time I dared such thoughts. And then, always, I would think of Loki and how sad he would be if he knew I was considering something so abominable. But then again, he would not wish me here suffering Valdrlund, either.
I had not had a terrible life looking back, for most of it had been spent with Loki in happiness, but all five hundred years of it had gone in the blink of an eye, and all my trials and tribulations to lead me back here where I had begun.
Would only that I had the strength to do it, to rid myself of this life and its endless agonies. So that I did not end my nights curled up and crying Loki’s name over and over, asking why he had left me and why I could not even find the courage within myself to end it and be rid of everything.
__
A few weeks later, I found myself in Valdrlund’s chambers in a most familiar position: crouched against the wall, trembling and badly injured.
We had begun the evening with a nice dinner laid out, but currently the table and chairs were overturned, food littering the floor amongst innumerable shards of glass and wood.
Valdrlund was not here, not anymore. He had stormed out moments before after pinning me against the wall, hand wrapped tightly around my throat. I had infuriated him, goaded him, almost wanted him to hurt me. I did not want him pretending as if all was well; I wanted to remind him what he was, how much I hated him and that I would not play along with this charade of his.
I could not recall how it had started, but I remembered screaming at him, insulting his manhood and his reign, comparing it to that of his father’s. I could have brought Loki up to further incense him, but it did not feel right uttering Loki’s name in such a way to Valdrlund.
As I had wished—and gotten more than I bargained for—it had not taken Valdrlund long to go ballistic.
I was shaking violently; there was blood dripping out of my nose, pooling at the corner of my lips and in my mouth. He had struck me more times than I could count and I was certain he had broken my wrist after I had attempted to use my seidr against him.
Tears ran freely down my blood-stained face and eventually I could not hold back my sobs, despite the fact I was the one who had instigated the whole thing. I had provoked him knowing it would happen, pushed and pushed until he snapped; and yet foolishly still I wept.
But it would not have fazed him seeing me like this, slumped so pathetically on the floor. He had seen me like this many times before, by his own hand. It was never his fault, always mine.
I wrapped my hand gingerly around my wrist, blooming with bruises, and sent a warm cloud of seidr into it. I could feel it healing within and soon the pain was gone, replaced now by a dull aching. I did the same on my face, ceasing the bleeding and reducing the swelling.
Valdrlund would not return tonight, I knew, so I sat there for a long time, arms wrapped around my drawn-up legs. I stared out at the destruction of our fight through a veil of tears, some small part of me wishing he would have gone further, and then maybe I would not have to endure until the morning, when it might all begin again.
__
Something changed after that night.
It began raining the next day and did not let up for two days, and Valdrlund did not summon me until the third day.
I entered his chambers, void now of any evidence of our fight, and a cold foreboding raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
Valdrlund was seated stoically at his table, fingers drumming lightly on the surface. I stared at him as I closed the door, attempting to appear unfazed. Typically, after such incidents as had happened two days ago, Valdrlund would apologize profusely to me, hold me close and somehow try to justify himself masked in apology.
This did not happen.
“Are you well?” he asked stiffly.
He was inquiring as to the injuries he had inflicted on me. Valdrlund was more than aware he had seriously hurt me, but obviously not bothered to investigate further, since he knew I was capable of healing myself. The routine was not new to either of us.
I did not reply.
He stood up and walked towards me, clasping his hands behind his back.
“I need you to understand one thing, Stjarnavetr,” he said.
I remained staring ahead as Valdrlund began leisurely circling me, unable to quell the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Just as I swallowed, suddenly he was in front of me. I gasped as he reached up to grab me roughly by the jaw, fingers digging into my skin as he brutally forced my head up.
“I am king here,” he growled darkly, voice rippling with threat. “Do you know what that makes you?”
When I did not answer—or rather, could not—he gave me a little shake. I winced, tears involuntarily filling my eyes when he tightened his grip even more.
“That makes you my whore, Stjarnavetr. I do not call you to me so I can hear you question me, or insult me, or degrade me. I do not call you here to speak of Asgard or that son of a bitch you used to fuck.”
Heat flared indignantly inside me at that.
“Allow me to remind you, love, that you are alone here. I am the only thing keeping you off the streets. If it were not for me, you’d be reduced to fucking the scum of this city for money. It’s the lone skill you possess, Stjarnavetr, and lately you’ve been disappointing me.”
Valdrlund brusquely released me before grabbing my arm and dragging me unceremoniously towards his bed. I gasped again as he spun me around and began forcibly undressing me, shoving me so I was propping myself up against the bed. I stared ahead, biting my lip as he practically ripped the different layers of my dress away, feeling my entire body flush with fury.
His mouth was by my ear, hot breath ruffling my hair.
“Convince me you’re worth me keeping you here,” Valdrlund murmured, unlacing his pants behind me. “It would pain me to see you fall so low, having to sell yourself every night merely to keep food in your belly.”
I did not deign to reply that I knew him better than that, and that he would never allow me to leave him in such a way, even if he did threaten me with banishment to some lowly city brothel. Even if I had infuriated him to beyond sanity, my past with him warranted something else entirely. He would not let me go—gracefully, anyway.
Valdrlund did not bother to see if I was ready and entered me roughly from behind. I bit back a groan of discomfort as he grabbed my hips to steady me, pushing all the way in until I felt the front of his hips against my backside.
I curled my fingers on the bedcovers, gritting my teeth for the pain.
His voice was coarse, deep, and I could feel his sporadic breath on me, the occasional prickling of his short-cropped beard when he brought his lips too close to my skin.
“I would grow so angry, Stjarnavetr, thinking of you in Asgard, knowing you were with him…”
Deeper he dug his fingers into my hips, harder; I grimaced and my body stiffened, which only made it worse.
“I wanted to kill him for fucking you, wanted to hurt you for liking it.”
Suddenly, Valdrlund pulled out of me and spun me around, pinning me against the bed, but he did not kiss or caress me as usually he would do. This was not about satisfying that kind of pleasure.
He clutched my face with one hand, still aching from earlier, cold blue eyes trained intently on mine.
“I wish I could have seen it,” he said huskily, a small smile on his lips. “I wish I could have been there when Frey killed him… seen your face when he died in front of you.”
That lance of heat again, but worse this time. I jerked my face out of Valdrlund’s grip and knocked his hand away. Not missing a beat, he shoved me and I toppled backwards onto the bed with a cry. Within moments he was on top of me, pushing my legs roughly apart when I tried uselessly to close them.
Valdrlund leered salaciously at me as he proceeded to remove his vest and tunic, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. He kept his pants, however, and leaned forward to wrap his hand around my throat. I could not contain a small whimper when he unceremoniously pushed into me.
“Now be a good girl and at least try to pretend,” he growled, beginning a forceful rhythm that had me cringing in pain. I grabbed two fistfuls of the covers, his words echoing in my mind.
Seen your face when he died in front of you…
My head was tilted to the side as he fucked me, tightening his grip around my neck and pushing down as he increased the force of his thrusts. My entire body was one fire, but not with anything akin to lust, no longer discomfort or the pain searing between my legs—all of it was rage. And it kept growing hotter and hotter, this physical revulsion of him.
I slowly looked up at Valdrlund, tears spilling over now, animosity burning in my heart. He was still gazing at me, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. His smile grew and he appeared vaguely amused as he released my throat. I sucked in a breath of air, not having realized in my state how completely he had been cutting my air off.
Valdrlund grabbed my hips, already bruised, and rolled us over. I caught myself above him as he ran his hands up my sides and then back down, focused on his bemused expression. He thought I was his, thought that I belonged to him. He thought he would have me always, and that he would always win.
He closed his eyes, hands guiding my hips above him, complacent that he had won yet again and that he had taught me a lesson and relegated me to this—but the fire was intensifying, the hatred more desperate.
I was staring at his face, at his closed eyes and lips parted in pleasure for my pain, tears rolling down my cheeks and revulsion churning sickeningly inside me.
Gods, how I loathed him.
All the agony Valdrlund had put me through—the abuse and degradation when I was young, the murder of our unborn son to haunt me for the rest of my days, and now dragging me back across the universe to warm his bed, to further abuse and manipulate me, all of the grief and heartache, and it was rising in me like a wave, filling me and blinding me, like nothing I had ever felt in my life.
And I was bending forward, curling my unsteady fingers into a fist, feeling the seidr gather hotly in my palm, shimmering into the form of a blade. It wasn’t me grabbing a fistful of his hair, wasn’t me watching his face through this burning veil of tears as I pushed the blade up under his jaw—and it slid in so easily, gods, there was hardly any resistance—and his eyes flew open and his jaw dropped but he couldn’t make any sound but a sick, wet gargling, because there was blood pooling upwards, rising up to dribble out of the sides of his gaping mouth.
Valdrlund’s grip tightened painfully on me and I cried out when he bolted upright and tried to throw me off, but he faltered and we both fell off the bed and crashed heavily onto the floor. I did not even feel the pain of the hard wood against my backside and his weight crushing me, only pushed harder as an icy panic coursed through my body.
He coughed harshly and blood sprayed out of his mouth onto me; pouring down, hot on my skin, and he was staring at me, trying to weakly push off of me, and I squeezed my eyes shut because I didn’t want to look, I didn’t want to see the pain on his blood-stained face.
I knew not how long had passed—was it five seconds, or a minute or ten?—when his arms finally gave out and he collapsed lifelessly on top of me.
I gradually opened my eyes and then my hand, tentatively allowing the unstained blade to dissipate. I tremblingly pushed him off of me and scrambled across the floor, on the verge of hysterical weeping, and could only bear to glimpse him when I was at least a few feet away.
It was just then when I realized I was gasping frantically for air. I lifted up and stumbled against the bed, nearly falling. My entire body was shuddering violently, especially my legs, and I stared at his limp body lying there on the floor.
And I laughed.
I knew not where it came from, it almost did not sound like my voice. It was not a delighted laugh, nor one of joy. A short, nervous laugh, marred by a choked sob.
For so long Valdrlund had controlled me, for so long had the memory of what he had done haunted me, had a place in my mind even though I did not want it there. But he was dead now, I had done it and surely I would pay, but I didn’t care, I didn’t care—I was free of him at last.
What would Loki have said? Would he have been proud of me?
I staggered to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and fell into it, almost afraid to stare at the mess next to the bed. My chest and belly and hands were warm and sticky; I gripped the arm rests tighter, attempting unsuccessfully to quell the fresh wave of fear rising up in me like bile.
It did not work, however, and suddenly I had the great urge to vomit and I lurched forward, feeling something come up, but when I coughed and sputtered nothing came out and I covered my mouth, and then I could taste his blood, smell it so strongly, and I gagged again.
“No, no, no,” I whimpered, standing up, heart beating so hard it felt as if it were about to leap out of my chest.
I glanced hysterically around, fear gripping my insides like an icy hand. I snatched my ruined dress off the floor and quickly pulled it on, panicking when I noticed—only really seemed to notice now—how red my hands were.
No longer anger, not victory or relief, but this mind-numbing fear as I endeavored to wipe my hands off on my dress, but it was just smearing, drying in the little creases of my hands.
I could scarcely comprehend it, who it was inside that had possessed me to do it. My back hit the wall and I sank to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chin.
“No…” I whimpered again, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes shut, as if that might make it all go away.
And it was not Loki I wanted there with me in that moment, nobody I had seen in centuries as I buried my face between my knees, choking back sobs.
I wanted my mother.
__
They did not discover Valdrlund until the next afternoon, when the king did not emerge from his chambers, nor his mistress. It was not entirely unusual, for sometimes the king elected to spend his mornings in seclusion with her.
It was only after the midday meal when his page found him lying dead next to his bed, and me still curled up against the wall, tear-stained and covered in blood. I suppose I could have tried to leave, but I knew it was over. I was tired and wanted it to be over, and now it could.
The trial was quick and hushed; crowds gathered outside the palace, whispers of what had happened. Járnvándr was too young to rule, so Veleta would rule in his stead until he came of age.
I was to be executed in nine days’ time; it was not soon enough.
My cell was not unlike the one I had inhabited so many centuries ago, relegated here to pass my unborn child afraid and alone in the dark. But it was quite different from then; I was not weeping, screaming for somebody to help me.
I was left alone instead in my unhappy solitude.
I sat upon the little bed in the dark, hands clasped in my lap. There was a torch on the wall, but I had not yet lit it with my seidr. In truth, currently, I felt more comforted by the dark.
Strangely enough, it was not fear of dying my mind was consumed with, but of my life. I thought of Loki and Queen Frigga and Gullhár and Maerrhár and Málvit, and of my home down in the valley; how pretty the gardens my mother used to keep looked in the spring, and wondered if any trace of it remained now.
Eventually I sat back against the cold wall and wrapped my arms around me for warmth. I closed my eyes for a long moment, and when I opened them and turned my head, saw Loki sitting next to me on the bed.
My eyes almost immediately stung with tears, blurring his image.
I could see him in the dark, every tiny move evoking a faint green shimmer at his edges. I had not forgotten one aspect of him; pale green eyes, thin lips, long nose, strong jaw. He cocked his head slightly and the corner of his lips twitched upwards in a smile.
“Hello,” I whispered.
He gazed at me, uncomprehending.
I quickly wiped my eyes, bringing Loki back into focus. I sadly returned his smile, felt the tears burning in my eyes again. I extended my hand, but did not touch him. Gods, how I yearned to touch him—to feel his arms around me, to feel any semblance of safety.
I placed my hand on the bed near his, moved my fingers closer until the tips were practically touching.
My eyes rose to meet his.
“I wish things had not turned out so,” I murmured, voice thick with tears. “I wish we could have been happy.”
Now I recalled sorrowfully when he had proposed to me on Asgard, and I tried to imagine us getting married. We would have wed on Midgard, but since I knew not the customs of the Midgardians, I envisioned instead an Asgardian wedding.
The great hall would be decked splendidly in gold and green, and Queen Frigga was there, as was my father. I could see Loki in his ceremonial armor, even grander than usual, and his golden helmet shining in the light. My own gown would be of billowing white and gold—he had always loved me in gold—and we would stand there side by side.
The Allfather would pronounce us and Loki would slip that gold band upon my finger and we would kiss and then I would be his—oh, truly I would be his.
And though we would never have children, I knew we would have been happy.
But the Norns had spun a tangled web, and our lives evidently had not been meant to continue on together.
I slowly opened my eyes and gazed forlornly at Loki. I inched my hand a little closer, just a hair’s breadth away lest I shatter the illusion.
“I love you.”
__
I know not how many days had passed—six or seven, I think—when she came.
I was sitting once again on the bed, staring at the floor, thinking of my mother and father, when suddenly my nose was filled with the unmistakable stench of death—musty, rotten. I looked up and gasped.
Standing across the cell, silhouette framed in light by the torch behind her, stood a woman in a long black dress. I was overcome with an innate sense of dread and glanced hurriedly at the door—I had not heard it open.
I stumbled clumsily off the bed and stood frozen against the wall, staring in silent shock.
The woman was not beautiful; her skin was so pale it was nearly grey, and her hair was long and straight and black as raven’s wings. She was incredibly thin, sickly looking, and her eyes were large black orbs set into a gaunt, white mask. One hand was slim and pale against the black of her dress, the other gloved entirely.
She smiled thinly.
“Stjarnavetr,” she rasped.
“How did you get in here?” I demanded, though so quietly I wondered how she heard me.
The woman laughed, dry and grating. “These doors are nothing to me.”
“Who are you?”
Her smile grew as she took a step closer, causing me to further stiffen against the wall. Despite her outward appearance, her gait was almost graceful.
“A friend of Loki’s.”
I furrowed my brows, breath catching in my throat when she came to stand right before me.
“Don’t you know who I am?” she inquired, tilting her head slightly, black eyes searching mine.
I shook my head, struggling not to retch. She smelled awful, like decay, and suddenly it popped into my head—but from where I knew not.
“You are Hel,” I whispered precariously, and as soon as I said it I knew I was right.
She grinned proudly.
“He spoke to you of me?”
“Who?”
“Loki,” she answered.
“I don’t…” I gave a little shake of my head. “I don’t understand…”
“Surely he told you of Angrboda?”
Through this nauseating fog of confusion and fear, her name came to me. Angrboda, the giantess from Utgard that had borne Loki three children. He had revealed this to me in the days preceding our attempted fleeing from Asgard.
I nodded, still bewildered, though looking back I suppose it was fairly obvious.
“You look like him,” I remarked dumbly.
Hel snickered.
“I should hope so, for I am his daughter.”
A coldness spread through me. The queen of the dead stood here before me, Loki’s daughter by a giantess I had only heard terrible things about. I could hardly fathom it, but now that she had said it, I could so easily see.
“I have him,” she divulged, more gently.
“You have him?” I echoed unbelievingly.
“He is with me in Helheim,” she explained, and despite the roughness of her voice, I could tell she was trying to speak soothingly to me. “Would you see him again?”
“Wh—what do you mean?” I stammered.
She smiled. “I know of your… predicament, Stjarnavetr. I saw it. I want to help.”
“Why?”
“I can take you to him.”
My lips parted in surprise, and in my shock I still had not registered where he was now or what she meant.
“You can?” I asked desperately.
She nodded.
“Then take me to him,” I begged.
“But my love,” Hel cooed, leaning in and pressing her cool cheek to mine. She let out a soft breath and I shivered. “It is the land of the dead and you are living.”
My guts clenched. “I must die?”
“Dying is not so bad,” she assured, turning her face slightly so her lips brushed against my skin. “Would you die for him, Stjarnavetr?”
I pulled back to tearfully regard her, watching as she lifted her hand and splayed her long fingers directly over my heart. Immediately, a coldness spread through my chest and my heartbeat became heavy and thudding, pounding slowly and painfully in my ears. All sound seemed to fade and it felt as if I was falling.
Suddenly, it was light again and I sucked in a deep breath, realizing that I was on my knees and Hel was holding me, having caught me before collapsing to the ground.
“What happened?” I gasped, looking up into her black eyes.
“That was you, dying.”
My stomach dropped. “I am dead?”
Hel laughed and it was ugly.
“No, only a demonstration, if you will.”
“What… what is it like to be dead?”
“Infinitely more comfortable than living,” she replied, stroking a lock of my hair, almost affectionately.
I tore my gaze from hers to the floor.
“I want to see him,” I whispered, barely able to fathom actually seeing him again.
“I know,” she said, wrapping her arms around me, and the movement caused her stench to once again fill my nose and I fought the urge to gag. She continued to caress my hair and kissed the top of my head. “I know.”
I looked up at her, unthinking now, hardly caring for what happened.
“Take me to him.”
Hel smiled, and I faltered as she moved to cup my face with both hands. I froze when she lowered her head and kissed me. She opened my lips with hers and I felt her inhale and it was as if all the breath had gone suddenly from my lungs, leaving only an icy cloud in my chest, and it hurt.
I clutched frantically at her, eyes fluttering and my head so abruptly heavy that I could not physically hold it up. Suddenly, we were on the bed and she cradling my head in her lap like a doting mother. She brushed my hair back from my forehead, smiling down at me; not a cruel or knowing smile, but a sweet, reassuring one.
And even as the coldness began to seep into all the corners of my consciousness, and my lids became so heavy I could not keep them open, I felt Hel’s lips on my forehead and I knew she was trying to comfort me, and my last thought was of nothing as the blackness enveloped me.
A/N: Shoutout to @immersed-in-mischief, who was so excited at Loki referring to himself as Clíodhna‘s boyfriend that I had to include a little reaction from Clíodhna, too
Bookstore owner Clíodhna Donovan always enjoys seeing her delectable customer Loki Laufeyson. A wealthy and prominent CEO of a Boston company, he’s kind to her and her staff, spends outrageous amounts of money on first editions (money that helps to keep her indie store afloat), and is stunningly attractive to boot. When he makes her a scandalous proposal, she wonders what will happen if she has the boldness to accept.
She’s about to find out.
Chapter Warnings: I think it’s pretty clear what’s going to happen here. Anal fingering, anal sex, don’t read it if you don’t like butt stuff.
There is sexual content & explicit language in every chapter; specific warnings as needed. If I miss tagging or warning for something that warrants it, please message me or comment on the chapter so that I can add.
A/N: I’m ¾ of the way through, wooooo!
After returning from trying out the BMW, the remainder of Saturday was spent playing a game, cooking dinner together, watching another movie, and talking as they lay entangled on the couch. They got ready for bed and undressed before climbing under the covers, Loki stating that Clíodhna needed another long, good night of rest.
Clíodhna was too content and sleepy to argue, curling up against his warm, solid chest, her entire body immediately relaxing at the feel of him. The last thought she had before falling asleep was that it had been a lovely day, and she hoped they’d have many more like it in the future.
She woke Sunday morning, feeling rested and thankful that she didn’t have to be at the bookstore until noon. It was too delicious laying in bed with Loki, cocooned in the warmth of the bedding and his body.
A/N: Shoutout to @immersed-in-mischief, who was so excited at Loki referring to himself as Clíodhna‘s boyfriend that I had to include a little reaction from Clíodhna, too
Bookstore owner Clíodhna Donovan always enjoys seeing her delectable customer Loki Laufeyson. A wealthy and prominent CEO of a Boston company, he’s kind to her and her staff, spends outrageous amounts of money on first editions (money that helps to keep her indie store afloat), and is stunningly attractive to boot. When he makes her a scandalous proposal, she wonders what will happen if she has the boldness to accept.
She’s about to find out.
Chapter Warnings: Nothing that needs mentioning here.
There is sexual content & explicit language in every chapter; specific warnings as needed. If I miss tagging or warning for something that warrants it, please message me or comment on the chapter so that I can add.
Before she’d even opened her eyes, Clíodhna could tell it was morning by the light filtering through her eyelids. She tried to fight against full wakefulness, but that was difficult when the softest kisses were being pressed to her face. On her forehead, one cheek and then the other, her chin, her nose, and finally her mouth, which had curved into a smile as the kisses had drawn near.
“Good morning,” she heard in the voice she loved, that made her feel cherished and protected and safe, and that could so easily make her aroused. Today, his aim seemed to be to soothe.
Loki’s hand brushed her hair back from her face as she finally opened her eyes to see him looking at her with a tender affection that made her throat ache. Words he’d spoken during their scene the night before flashed suddenly in her head.
“You really are incredibly responsive, sweetness. I can see why your boyfriend enjoys you so much.”
Her boyfriend. Is that how Loki thought of himself? It sent a giddy tingle down her spine to think of it.
“Good morning,” she answered, stroking her fingers down his arm. “What time is it?”
“Just after nine. You slept for a little over thirteen hours.”
Summary: After being gravely injured on Svartalfheim and believed dead, Loki’s body has been brought home to Asgard by the Einherjar. But one little healer with a special gift is able to bring him back, tempting him to return to the realm of the living and restoring his spirit to his body as she begins the arduous process of healing his devastating injuries.
With his heroic acts well known, Loki must now decide what his future will be and how the healer who has so intrigued him will figure into it.
Warnings: Sexual content this chapter
Kari fell into a deep, dreamless sleep after the emotion of the day and the exertions of the evening. Despite her usual tendency to wake as the day dawned, she didn’t stir until well after the sun had risen the following morning.
She woke with a smile on her lips and Loki pressed along her back, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. She stroked her fingers over the back of his hand and along his forearm, feeling his fingers twitch at her touch. Then he moved just enough to place a soft, warm kiss on the back of her neck.
“How did you sleep?” he asked, his voice rough with drowsiness.
She turned in his arms to face him, a little amazed that she was in Loki’s bed after a glorious evening of making love with him. It had been beyond her wildest dreams.
And he had been heroic in his pursuit of the blossoms that would bring her grandmother back to full health, facing the trauma of his past on his own and pushing through it, all to save Bergljot. If her grandmother hadn’t already been enamored with him before that, she certainly would be now.
Her face relaxed into a lazy smile. “I can’t recall a time when I ever slept better! But I do wish I hadn’t slumbered for quite so long. I need to see how my grandmother is faring and really should have been there before now to check.”
Loki turned away for a moment, holding out a message as he faced her again. “This arrived for you two hours ago. I hope that you do not object to me opening it, but I knew that you were exhausted. Since the news was good, I opted to let you catch up on your rest, rather than waking you. I hope that was the right decision.”
Kari opened the note and read it. It was from Eir.
“Bergljot is rapidly improving. Appetite is returning and vital signs are strong. She was hungry before daytide, so she was given porridge and scrambled eggs before falling back asleep. It is likely that she will not wake again until quarterday.”
Kari looked around for the clock.
“It is well over an hour until quarterday begins,” Loki said. “Shall we dine and then make our way to the infirmary?”
Summary: After being gravely injured on Svartalfheim and believed dead, Loki’s body has been brought home to Asgard by the Einherjar. But one little healer with a special gift is able to bring him back, tempting him to return to the realm of the living and restoring his spirit to his body as she begins the arduous process of healing his devastating injuries.
With his heroic acts well known, Loki must now decide what his future will be and how the healer who has so intrigued him will figure into it.
Warnings: Sexual content this chapter
Kari fell into a deep, dreamless sleep after the emotion of the day and the exertions of the evening. Despite her usual tendency to wake as the day dawned, she didn’t stir until well after the sun had risen the following morning.
She woke with a smile on her lips and Loki pressed along her back, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. She stroked her fingers over the back of his hand and along his forearm, feeling his fingers twitch at her touch. Then he moved just enough to place a soft, warm kiss on the back of her neck.
“How did you sleep?” he asked, his voice rough with drowsiness.
She turned in his arms to face him, a little amazed that she was in Loki’s bed after a glorious evening of making love with him. It had been beyond her wildest dreams.
And he had been heroic in his pursuit of the blossoms that would bring her grandmother back to full health, facing the trauma of his past on his own and pushing through it, all to save Bergljot. If her grandmother hadn’t already been enamored with him before that, she certainly would be now.
Her face relaxed into a lazy smile. “I can’t recall a time when I ever slept better! But I do wish I hadn’t slumbered for quite so long. I need to see how my grandmother is faring and really should have been there before now to check.”
Loki turned away for a moment, holding out a message as he faced her again. “This arrived for you two hours ago. I hope that you do not object to me opening it, but I knew that you were exhausted. Since the news was good, I opted to let you catch up on your rest, rather than waking you. I hope that was the right decision.”
Kari opened the note and read it. It was from Eir.
“Bergljot is rapidly improving. Appetite is returning and vital signs are strong. She was hungry before daytide, so she was given porridge and scrambled eggs before falling back asleep. It is likely that she will not wake again until quarterday.”
Kari looked around for the clock.
“It is well over an hour until quarterday begins,” Loki said. “Shall we dine and then make our way to the infirmary?”
Bookstore owner Clíodhna Donovan always enjoys seeing her delectable customer Loki Laufeyson. A wealthy and prominent CEO of a Boston company, he’s kind to her and her staff, spends outrageous amounts of money on first editions (money that helps to keep her indie store afloat), and is stunningly attractive to boot. When he makes her a scandalous proposal, she wonders what will happen if she has the boldness to accept.
She’s about to find out.
Chapter Warnings: Use of restraints & toys (including nipple clamps, flogger, prostate massager), anal play
There is sexual content & explicit language in every chapter; specific warnings as needed. If I miss tagging or warning for something that warrants it, please message me or comment on the chapter so that I can add.
After their second round of making love, Clíodhna and Loki had showered together, a process that ended up being quite lengthy and filled with slippery, soapy bodies sliding against one another. A quick breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast was followed by Clíodhna gathering her things and heading back to her apartment for a few hours until she needed to leave for work.
It was a busy Sunday afternoon, and although she was tired after closing, she didn’t want to turn down Marc and Samantha’s invitation to join them for drinks and appetizers. She needed to eat, anyway, and it had been too long since she had gotten a chance to catch up with them on gossip.
Unfortunately, the duo spent much of the time trying to get Clíodhna to spill details on what was going on between her and Loki. After his unsubtle visit to her office, it was clear to her staff that things had progressed well beyond your typical manager/customer relationship.
“Even our VIP customers don’t get that kind of service. Or at least they didn’t previously,” said Marc with a smirk.
“So are you sexing up all the handsome, wealthy shoppers these days, or…?” teased Samantha.
Bookstore owner Clíodhna Donovan always enjoys seeing her delectable customer Loki Laufeyson. A wealthy and prominent CEO of a Boston company, he’s kind to her and her staff, spends outrageous amounts of money on first editions (money that helps to keep her indie store afloat), and is stunningly attractive to boot. When he makes her a scandalous proposal, she wonders what will happen if she has the boldness to accept.
She’s about to find out.
Chapter Warnings: Use of restraints & toys (including nipple clamps, flogger, prostate massager), anal play
There is sexual content & explicit language in every chapter; specific warnings as needed. If I miss tagging or warning for something that warrants it, please message me or comment on the chapter so that I can add.
After their second round of making love, Clíodhna and Loki had showered together, a process that ended up being quite lengthy and filled with slippery, soapy bodies sliding against one another. A quick breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast was followed by Clíodhna gathering her things and heading back to her apartment for a few hours until she needed to leave for work.
It was a busy Sunday afternoon, and although she was tired after closing, she didn’t want to turn down Marc and Samantha’s invitation to join them for drinks and appetizers. She needed to eat, anyway, and it had been too long since she had gotten a chance to catch up with them on gossip.
Unfortunately, the duo spent much of the time trying to get Clíodhna to spill details on what was going on between her and Loki. After his unsubtle visit to her office, it was clear to her staff that things had progressed well beyond your typical manager/customer relationship.
“Even our VIP customers don’t get that kind of service. Or at least they didn’t previously,” said Marc with a smirk.
“So are you sexing up all the handsome, wealthy shoppers these days, or…?” teased Samantha.
Bookstore owner Clíodhna Donovan always enjoys seeing her delectable customer Loki Laufeyson. A wealthy and prominent CEO of a Boston company, he’s kind to her and her staff, spends outrageous amounts of money on first editions (money that helps to keep her indie store afloat), and is stunningly attractive to boot. When he makes her a scandalous proposal, she wonders what will happen if she has the boldness to accept.
She’s about to find out.
Chapter Warnings: Use of restraints & toys (including nipple clamps, flogger, prostate massager), anal play
There is sexual content & explicit language in every chapter; specific warnings as needed. If I miss tagging or warning for something that warrants it, please message me or comment on the chapter so that I can add.
After their second round of making love, Clíodhna and Loki had showered together, a process that ended up being quite lengthy and filled with slippery, soapy bodies sliding against one another. A quick breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast was followed by Clíodhna gathering her things and heading back to her apartment for a few hours until she needed to leave for work.
It was a busy Sunday afternoon, and although she was tired after closing, she didn’t want to turn down Marc and Samantha’s invitation to join them for drinks and appetizers. She needed to eat, anyway, and it had been too long since she had gotten a chance to catch up with them on gossip.
Unfortunately, the duo spent much of the time trying to get Clíodhna to spill details on what was going on between her and Loki. After his unsubtle visit to her office, it was clear to her staff that things had progressed well beyond your typical manager/customer relationship.
“Even our VIP customers don’t get that kind of service. Or at least they didn’t previously,” said Marc with a smirk.
“So are you sexing up all the handsome, wealthy shoppers these days, or…?” teased Samantha.
Bookstore owner Clíodhna Donovan always enjoys seeing her delectable customer Loki Laufeyson. A wealthy and prominent CEO of a Boston company, he’s kind to her and her staff, spends outrageous amounts of money on first editions (money that helps to keep her indie store afloat), and is stunningly attractive to boot. When he makes her a scandalous proposal, she wonders what will happen if she has the boldness to accept.
She’s about to find out.
Chapter Warnings: Use of restraints & toys (including nipple clamps, flogger, prostate massager), anal play
There is sexual content & explicit language in every chapter; specific warnings as needed. If I miss tagging or warning for something that warrants it, please message me or comment on the chapter so that I can add.
After their second round of making love, Clíodhna and Loki had showered together, a process that ended up being quite lengthy and filled with slippery, soapy bodies sliding against one another. A quick breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast was followed by Clíodhna gathering her things and heading back to her apartment for a few hours until she needed to leave for work.
It was a busy Sunday afternoon, and although she was tired after closing, she didn’t want to turn down Marc and Samantha’s invitation to join them for drinks and appetizers. She needed to eat, anyway, and it had been too long since she had gotten a chance to catch up with them on gossip.
Unfortunately, the duo spent much of the time trying to get Clíodhna to spill details on what was going on between her and Loki. After his unsubtle visit to her office, it was clear to her staff that things had progressed well beyond your typical manager/customer relationship.
“Even our VIP customers don’t get that kind of service. Or at least they didn’t previously,” said Marc with a smirk.
“So are you sexing up all the handsome, wealthy shoppers these days, or…?” teased Samantha.
Bookstore owner Clíodhna Donovan always enjoys seeing her delectable customer Loki Laufeyson. A wealthy and prominent CEO of a Boston company, he’s kind to her and her staff, spends outrageous amounts of money on first editions (money that helps to keep her indie store afloat), and is stunningly attractive to boot. When he makes her a scandalous proposal, she wonders what will happen if she has the boldness to accept.
She’s about to find out.
Chapter Warnings: Use of restraints & toys (including nipple clamps, flogger, prostate massager), anal play
There is sexual content & explicit language in every chapter; specific warnings as needed. If I miss tagging or warning for something that warrants it, please message me or comment on the chapter so that I can add.
After their second round of making love, Clíodhna and Loki had showered together, a process that ended up being quite lengthy and filled with slippery, soapy bodies sliding against one another. A quick breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast was followed by Clíodhna gathering her things and heading back to her apartment for a few hours until she needed to leave for work.
It was a busy Sunday afternoon, and although she was tired after closing, she didn’t want to turn down Marc and Samantha’s invitation to join them for drinks and appetizers. She needed to eat, anyway, and it had been too long since she had gotten a chance to catch up with them on gossip.
Unfortunately, the duo spent much of the time trying to get Clíodhna to spill details on what was going on between her and Loki. After his unsubtle visit to her office, it was clear to her staff that things had progressed well beyond your typical manager/customer relationship.
“Even our VIP customers don’t get that kind of service. Or at least they didn’t previously,” said Marc with a smirk.
“So are you sexing up all the handsome, wealthy shoppers these days, or…?” teased Samantha.
Bookstore owner Clíodhna Donovan always enjoys seeing her delectable customer Loki Laufeyson. A wealthy and prominent CEO of a Boston company, he’s kind to her and her staff, spends outrageous amounts of money on first editions (money that helps to keep her indie store afloat), and is stunningly attractive to boot. When he makes her a scandalous proposal, she wonders what will happen if she has the boldness to accept.
She’s about to find out.
Chapter Warnings: Threesome, clone sex, double penetration (oral/vaginal and vaginal/anal), obviously that means there’s anal sex in the chapter as well!
There is sexual content & explicit language in every chapter; specific warnings as needed. If I miss tagging or warning for something that warrants it, please message me or comment on the chapter so that I can add.
When Clíodhna woke the next morning, she was very aware of the twinges in her muscles from the activities of the night before. Although Loki had been careful with her, she wasn’t used to holding a position like that for as long as she had. Her shoulders and upper arms held some residual soreness, as did her thighs. But the aches served as reminders of the delicious time she’d had, and she smiled as she began to gently stretch.
Loki sailed into the room, his eyes lighting up when he saw that she was awake. He sat down on the side of the bed and bent to kiss her forehead.
“I imagine you’re feeling sore in several places, darling.”
“A little. Nothing too bad.”
“Why don’t you roll over and I’ll see if I can work out some of that soreness? I’ll be right back.”
Clíodhna turned over onto her stomach and laid her head on her pillow. Loki returned momentarily and folded down the covers, then sat next to her.
He spoke as he uncapped a bottle. “This is a blend of lavender and rosemary oils. It should help with the aches and any inflammation you may have.”
The scent filled the air around her as he rubbed his hands together, then placed his palms on her back. Working with confident, steady strokes, he massaged the oil into her back and shoulders, then down her arms. She could feel the soreness easing as he stroked, the oils and the warm pressure of his touch doing their job. She was positive he was also using his magic to make the soothing sensations penetrate even further, the warmth sinking deeply into her and leaving behind bliss where there had before been aches.
It is symbolic of the vast unfairness of life that when a character is fortunate enough to have Loki they are almost always at some point blessed with another.
