Mischief's Wings (Sequel to "By Name Only")

Chapter 22)

"Letter that you rip, rip,
Break me down and build me up..."

(Loki's POV)

I am surprised to find that Tenshi hasn't followed me outside to watch me train. Then again, she's been surprising me a lot these past few days. She's been so unlike her usual self. Where she is usually witty and sarcastic enough to rival me on a good day, she's been quiet and submissive. She's acting like the court ladies here, or trying to, at least.

I don't like it.

I prefer her when she acts like herself. When she gets passionate about something and doesn't shut up until she gets her thoughts out, or when someone messes with someone or something she loves and she defends it so savagely, those are times when I see the true her. The passion, the intelligence, the utter sass that make her the person she is are the qualities I love about her. But she's hiding those here. She's trying to be someone she's not.

And I hate it.

I'm lost in these thoughts as I change into the loose, brown canvas tunic and leggings that are provided for my training. My back is momentarily exposed, the centuries of scars visible for all to see. Including the brand on my left shoulder, the ᛏ that marks a traitor to the crown. The rune for Tyr, god of war and justice, marks me as a criminal for all of eternity. On the slim chance that I can ascend the throne, this mark will be hidden under my coronation cape.

But that chance is slim. Almost non-existent. Because Thor will always be the more worthy brother. In the eye of the Allfather, I will always be less. And it's useless to hope otherwise. No matter what I do, I will never be good, strong, brave, big enough.

I've come to accept it.

I put on the leather training armor and lace up my boots. Unlike Midgardian boots that lace up the front, these lace up the inner side to prevent the laces being cut in training. Aiming for the feet is a common move when one plans to throw their opponent off balance. To counteract this, I have learned to be sure-footed and light. This has saved me numerous near misses in which I could have been pinned were I slower.

I grab a blunt blade from one of the many barrels lining the training yard. As amazing as our healers are, it's no fun getting stabbed during training, unless the person getting stabbed is Thor. Then, it's hilarious. The oaf deserves it more often than not.

I head out onto the field where my old friend Viðar awaits. The god of vengeance makes a surprisingly good teacher when it comes to fighting. No one else on Asgard quite simulates the hatred for another being that spawns desire to end its life quite like he does. Thanks to his teaching, I can be cold and calculating while my opponent is blinded by rage, as I have learned to suppress my emotions in battle. Yet another advantage to me.

I twirl the blade in my hand, my muscles relaxed, but still ready to swing into action. He goes for my head first, which I dodge easily and block only to push his blade away and go for his ribs. He knocks my blade upward and aims for my side. I dance out of the way and slash toward his knees. He steps back and we continue.

The match goes on for a few hours, but a word never passes between us. It never needs to. With Viðar being mute, I've learned to watch his body language, which tells me so much more than words ever could. He disarms me after finding an opening and gives me a smug look and a bonk on the head. Apparently, I've gone soft.

Well, of course I have. I spent a year in prison before Father let me out to serve penance on Midgard. I couldn't exactly train in my cell, could I? Ah, but Viðar has never accepted excuses. He prefers concentrated efforts toward progress. Which is exactly what I plan to give him.

I cross the field to the water barrels and ladle some up to drink. As I guzzle it down, some of it dribbles off my lip and onto the already stained leather. It's not very princely, but I couldn't care less in this heat. Sweat rolls down my face, a futile effort to keep me cool. It's only making my tunic wet.

Viðar sips some water as well and we both take a break before returning to our training.

(Tenshi's POV)

Once Loki and I part ways, I head to the library. I need something to distract myself from the events of the morning and what better way than improving my knowledge of the Asgardian language?

The librarian is a kindly older woman who shows me where the language section is. All Asgardians have Allspeak, but I won't fit in if I don't know their language. I pick up a primer and get comfortable in my favorite reading nook. Loki had taught me how to read runes and write in the runic style, so my reading is a slow, but steady process. Paper and quills are stored in the nooks for people who want to take notes on what they're reading. I mark the words I can't pronounce.

If I catch Loki in a good mood later, I'll ask him about them.

A couple of noblewomen giggle as they pass my nook, and I distinctly hear the word 'outsider'. They're talking about me.

Lovely.

I let them pass me by, their presence merely another reminder of my goal. Although, that goal is starting to look pretty daunting, especially since my back is starting to ache. I don't sit light-pole-straight on a regular basis, and constantly being held in that position is making my back and shoulder muscles hurt.

"Beauty is pain," I mutter to myself.

I keep working on the primer. Before I realize it, hours have passed. My back is stiff, my neck aches and my eyes are starting to go blurry from reading for so long. I rub my eyes and then my neck. "That's enough for today."

"I agree," comes a familiar voice from the doorway. I whirl, forgetting that I'm sitting down, and topple sideways off the chair.

A/n: Greetings, readers! I know it's been a long time since I last updated. I'm sorry! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Love you guys!

Blue