The Heat of the Snow // A Loki Fanfiction

Chapter 2

"Your father never taught you how to make fire?"

Loki grits his teeth and smiles tightly at Stefan. "My father had other things on his mind. Other matters to attend to."

Stefan tuts, appalled at his father's lack of attention to the more important things. And now in the safety and warmth of Stefan's large log cabin, Loki watches him curiously. Is this how real fathers are supposed to react? He didn't exactly have a normal childhood, regardless of whether he was adopted or not. But he'd never really seen his father incensed about his education.

It's not like he doesn't know how to make fire. He's made it before, using magic of course. But after he'd seen the look of joy on Stefan's face as they'd travelled fast through the forest—the snow streaming from the back of the sledge—Loki had promised himself to avoid using it unless absolutely necessary. If Stefan could find happiness from the modest light of the stars and the tempestuous winds of the North, then maybe he could too. It's a world without magic. But maybe that's exactly what's needed. 

"I want to learn," Loki tells Stefan, leaning closer to the smouldering logs. "I'd appreciate your teachings."

Stefan demonstrates the movements again, pointing encouragingly as Loki tries to start it himself. "You will need to, boy. We have storms rolling in over the next couple of days and a fire can be the difference between life and death. The igloo fires are a little smaller than ours here in the cabin, but they give off a lot of heat. You will be quite comfortable." Stefan winks. "If you learn to light them in time, of course."

It takes a couple more tries before Loki is able to successfully ignite the wooden sticks in the hearth. But when he does, the satisfaction reminds him of the first time he conjured a firework in the palm of his hand. The flames grow, licking all the way up the inside of the chimney and casting a warm glow across his skin. He didn't realise how cold he actually was—usually, it wouldn't matter to a God like him.

"While we're at it," starts Stefan, raising an eyebrow, "are those the only clothes you have with you? They're not very suitable for the temperatures here."

"I'll be fine," Loki dismisses with a wave of his hand. "I've encountered worse climates than this."

"Is that so? Well, you will take one of my jackets anyway, to be sure."

Just as Loki opens his mouth to protest, the door swings open, and with a brisk wave of icy air, you walk in—your eyes focusing on him warily.

"Ah, Y/N...you're back!" declares Stefan, gesturing towards Loki. "Loki, this is my daughter. Y/N...this is Loki, the last of our guests."

Loki notices you say nothing. You just stare at him before turning to your father and shrugging off your coat, hat and gloves. "Why didn't he arrive with the others?" you ask in a brisk foreign tongue—it's so sharp and quick that Loki has to concentrate hard to understand it. "Now I have to go back to the igloos and show him in? What a joke."

"Y/N!" Stefan hisses before smiling at Loki and reverting to English "Come, now that you've successfully learnt to light a fire, let's celebrate with some good food."

"We're feeding him too?" you sniff, pushing past them both.

Inwardly, Loki laughs, especially when you glance over your shoulder at him and he defiantly holds your gaze. "Pleasure to meet you, Y/N," Loki smiles. "And good food sounds...perfect."

"I'm sure it does," you say, your accent thick as you descend into English. "You become hungry when you get lost, no?"

"We'll have wine too please, Y/N," Stefan cuts in as you head to the kitchen. He gestures Loki to a dining table adjacent to the fire, made of thick wood with a garland of twisted evergreens in the centre. It's completely different to the tables in Asgard. More intimate, designed for fewer people and to encourage closer conversation. With a smile, he obliges, taking a seat and listening with muted enthusiasm as Stefan begins to reel off facts about the camp—how it started, where the idea came from.

"Y/N's mother was here then of course," Stefan goes on, a faraway look in his eye. "She and I both built this cabin. It was nothing more than a hut when we first came here—we were from a neighbouring town originally, you see."

"Where is she now?" Loki asks, keeping his eyes on the kitchen door.

Stefan just smiles for a moment. "She's in the stars," he says simply before kissing the ring on his hand.

Loki frowns, suddenly interested in the sadness on Stefan's face. How he looks past him to the window where the snow has just started to fall.

"Shall we eat?" you say, pushing the door open with your foot. Your arms are laden with a heavy ceramic pot and a bottle of wine tucked into the crook of your elbow.

Loki gets to his feet and offers a hand. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," you tell him quickly, manoeuvring around the chairs to deposit the pot into the centre of the table. You hold out the wine. "You like red?"

This close, and with the flames of the fire dancing across your skin, Loki notices the flecks of colour in your eyes. Pretty, for a human, he thinks to himself. "I do indeed," he says, watching you carefully—how you place the bottle down in front of him before smiling at Stefan. There's a warmth there that he hadn't noticed. They're close...I guess they'd have to be...

"So what do you do, Loki?" you ask, settling down opposite him. Hearing his name, accented and foreign on your lips, stirs something inside his chest.

Loki coughs and shifts in his chair. How can he explain to these people who he is, what he does? Especially when he's barely able to do it anyway without someone disregarding his opinions. "I work in...government," he says slowly, testing the words.

"Government?"

"Yes." He holds out his glass as Stefan opens the wine. "Helping to change things."

Stefan smiles. "You won't find much need of such topics up here. The world of the North governs itself; we are merely spectators of nature's great forces."

A land that governs itself? What would Odin say if he suggested that? He must have been smirking because suddenly a voice snaps at him from across the table. Your voice. "We wouldn't expect someone from the government to know what living in a place like this is like. Nor would we try. People come here for the snow and the northern lights—for the pretty photographs—but it doesn't fully change them. It doesn't affect their soul." Loki stares at you as you speak, your words as hot as the fire warming his skin. "The world here breathes life. It's in everything you see, everything you touch. Spirits of those who have long passed...they're closer to us here. There is magic in everything."

If only you knew magic the way I do, Loki thinks, his eyes focused on yours. The destruction...the cruelty. "Magic can be beautiful, yes. But there is great darkness in it too."

You slosh wine angrily into your own glass. "Life is both light and dark. It's foolish to expect one and not the other. We see first-hand how cruel but just life can be, and we respect it all the same."

"Let's eat, shall we?" Stefan suggests, hurriedly removing the lid to the ceramic pot and spooning some of the contents onto his plate. "Loki?"

"I'm agreeing with you, Y/N," Loki grins, sitting back in his chair. "And if these lands are seeing the world for what it truly is, then I know I'm in the right place. Who could say they enjoy the light without a lick of darkness anyway?"

You open and close your mouth, tearing your eyes away to spoon food harshly onto your plate. Who is this guy? He's...weird. The next time you glance at him, he's still looking at you, eating slowly and reaching for his glass to take a sip of wine. When the red liquid stains his lips, something hot zips through your stomach.

Loki smiles knowingly.

God, you think to yourself, get a grip...