Loki's Daughter, Mortem and Mischief

Chapter Six

The next morning arrived with rain. Hot, sticky, syrup-y rain. The kind of rain that leaves you feeling dirty and sweaty. The drops were as big as fists and of course, it was my turn to go and feed the chickens that morning.

As soon as I woke up to the sound of that god awful rain pelting against my window, I knew I was in for a treat that day. It was almost as if the world was punishing me because my father wasn't. I longed to just stay in bed and ignore my responsibilities. It was moments like these that made me long for the real Asgard. The Asgard where I was born.

There, I was a princess, a royal to be revered. I wouldn't have had to lift a finger a day in my life if I so pleased. If not for ragnarok, I would be sleeping the morning away, all tucked in bed within my giant shiny palace. I would wake up whenever I wanted before my ten nurse maids brought me breakfast and dressed me in the finest silks Asgard could offer. With a wave of my hand, they'd be dismissed and I would be left to do whatever I pleased. And above all else, I would be respected, revered even. In the real Asgard, I wouldn't be some silly teenager like I was in New Asgard. Instead, I would be the crown princess, the sole heir to the Asgardian throne. My opinions and wishes would matter. And I certainly wouldn't be quarreling with my father over a stupid secret.

I laid in bed, just daydreaming about the life I could've had and the world that could have been. Things would've been so different if not for ragnarok. It would have been better for everyone had it never happened. My mother would undoubtedly still be alive, my real father would have never died either. They would still be happily married and my father would have no reason to be grieving her. Even Thor would have been better off, he would've never lost an eye. I'm sure even Hertha would be happier too. Everyone would've been happier if Ragnarok never happened. I knew I would be.

I couldn't help but wonder what if? What if history had just gone a bit differently and Asgard remained just as strong as ever? The Asgard of my childhood, a place without sticky rain, without chickens to feed, and more magic than I knew what to do with. The gilded kingdom where I was born was nothing short of majesty. Every day was filled with sun and perfecr blue skies. Not once did we have to worry about the cold or rain. If that perfect place was never destroyed none of us would be refugees. We wouldn't be surviving off a fishing business, living meal to meal and paycheck to paycheck. There'd be no poverty amongst us all, just as it had been when I was a child. Everyone would have their lives just as they ought to be. And I would be in the palace, with my mother and father. I would be safe, sound, and far from solitude. But that Asgard now only existed in my dreams. It had died. And the people who had made it so vibrant were now gone too. I longed for my homeland, the place of my birth, and the pelting rain again my window only heightened that.

I was no longer in the real Asgard, I was in in New Asgard. The air was hot, sticky, and miserable and all the while, I had to go feed the chickens. I begrudgingly got out of bed and pulled on my rubber boots. I stomped outside, each footstep fueled with absolute annoyance. I did not want to brave the rain to feed the stupid chickens, yet duty called. This was hardly the responsibility I had dreamed of as a little princess up in a castle.

I swung open the side door, ready to tackle the chicken coop just as I was supposed to. But to my surprise, there was my father, already scattering feed to the birds. He was absolutely drenched and yet he was working away nevertheless.

Looking up, he smiled at me and waved. His pants were covered in mud and the birds were absolutely harassing him. It looked like a scene straight out of The Birds.

"What are you doing?" I called out as I stood in the doorway. I could already feel the wave of guilt washing over me.

"What does it look like?" he replied with a laugh, "I figured you could use the extra sleep, that's all!"

And bam, the wave of guilt crashed over me like a tsunami. My heart sunk like the titanic, seemingly splitting in two before settling in the pit of my stomach.

Dammit, I thought to myself. My father was killing me with kindness. Because of last night's antics, he was making sure to show me that he didn't deserve my betrayal. My father's actions were only echoing his disappointment in me, making me feel worse than ever.

"I could've done it," I explained as he began to put away the feed, "I got up early enough and everything."

"It's no matter," he said, shrugging as he locked up the chicken coop, "I don't mind picking up a few extra chores. But besides, a princess needs her beauty sleep."

"I'm not a princess anymore," I sighed as he squeezed past me to get inside, "You really didn't have to do that."

"I know, but you're my princess," My father replied as he poured a cup of coffee, "I wanted to help out. It's really not a big deal."

"I feel bad," I said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"It's fine," he insisted as he sat across from me, "Now, how are your blisters?"

He held his hand out, prompting me to put my hands in his. Carefully, my father unwrapped my bandages and revealed the pussy and bubbly mess underneath. He scowled as he examined my palms.

"It hurts doesn't it?" He asked.

I did no more than nod.

"Damn," he sighed as he began to re-wrap my hands, "If only your mother were here, she'd be able to heal you up in no time."

It went silent for a moment as my father finished dressing my wounds and went straight to drinking his morning coffee. The guilt only continued to build within me until I simply couldn't handle it anymore. Coupled with my curiousity, my longing for the past, and every other little annoyance that plagued me, I just couldn't sit in silence.

"What was that thing from last night?" I blurted out. My dad immediately closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if I had just asked him the most controversial question ever.

"That device? What was it?" I questioned, "I know I shouldn't care and I really am sorry for invading your privacy but I have to know. Okay? I have to know what's going on with you, I just need to know."

"Hela, dear," he replied in a somewhat annoyed tone, "If you needed to know, I would tell you."

"I don't care if I need to know, just tell me," I begged, taking his hand in mine.

"It doesn't concern you," he said as gently as he could manage. I could tell he was doing his best to stifle his temper.

"Just tell me," I pleaded, "What is all of this about? That's all I want to know."

"Hela," he said firmly, "Please, I'm doing my best to-"

"I know, I know," I interrupted, "You're a great father, I know that and I am so thankful. But please, tell me what that device was? Tell me what any of that is even for?"

"Hela-"

"Please, papa," I pressed on, "I just want to know-"

"Hela," he repeated, his voice harsh and loud, "I have done everything I can to keep you safe and I am not jeopardizing that at the expense of supplementing your curiosity."

"But father-"

"Do you really want to know?" he asked, "Even if it puts you in danger? If it means your entire life may be ripped from you in an instant? Are you willing to make that sacrifice for your juvenile curiousity?"

"W-well," I stammered as I pulled my hand away from him, hardly being able to keep up with his questions.

"Fine then," he said firmly, "If you just must know."