Cleave | Loki x Reader

• IV •

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1587, Asgard

Y/n

As the years rushed by – more than sixty of them to be precise – I began to realise that time passed differently for the Vanir and Æsir. Especially in their youth.

Thor and I grew fonder and fonder of one another with every passing day, even though shared leisure time were a luxury I was gifted rarely.
Instead, I was obligated to attend the girls' silly afternoon tea gatherings. Each. And. Every. Day.

Despite of having been raised to one day become not only the wife of one of the princes but also a proper shield maiden as well, it was still deemed improper for a high maiden to consort exclusively with boys.
It mattered not whether those boys came from the stables or the palace.

Three more birthdays and I'd finally have the freedom to spend my days as I pleased – more or less so. The one true beacon guiding my days.

Naturally, there were activities I had to undertake solo, away from the company of any lads.While I did train weekly with the crown prince, my actual combat lessons were held exclusively in the company of fellow shield maiden.
On top I had my studies of Midgard, for which Revna served as not only my tutor but my confidante just the same.

Often times I'd catch myself gazing out the window during these lessons – although Revna caught me even faster. Yet, there I sat, alone. Watching my friends chasing one another across the royal gardens. Fandral chasing Volstagg and Volstagg attempting to chase Thor – the point at which the game more often than not found its end due to Volstagg's inability to catch any of the others.

This one time – and this one time only – had I seen Loki amongst them as he partook in their favourite game. And he did so in the only way a mischievous mind like his would: hiding behind bushes, sneaking up on his playmates, teleporting out of their reach mere seconds before they would seize him.

He played his own game of tag, without ever actually chasing or fleeing from anyone.
He bent the rules, reshaped the game – all much to their displeasure.
When Fandral had shoved Loki into one of the bushes he'd previously hid behind, Loki declined his brother's offered hand. He rose to his feet on his own and strode off without another word.
He never attended another game thereafter.

You see, Loki and I had shared minimal interactions beyond our weekly seiðr lessons, leaving me acquainted with only a fragment of his character.
Mostly he kept to himself, absorbed either in perfecting his seiðr or immersed in books within a library section I – thanks to my age – couldn't yet access.

Initially, I held hope he might join Thor and me during those scarce hours of freedom, but upon the arrival of the others he'd recline even further back into his seat. Unfazed. With his nose held high, his shoulders stiff and controlled, he would return to whichever book he was carrying around at the time.

I refrained from broaching the subject during our sessions; I was too young, and all I inferred from his behaviour was the simple wish to be left alone.
The only friend he seemed to have, and genuinely wanted to have, was his brother.
Oftentimes, when I observed from my chambers' window, the two princes were embarking on a ride out, and I could glimpse the genuine joy on their features and that good mischief in their postures.

Revna had more than once recounted instances of maids discovering their gloves filled with sticky honey and tutors having their writing utensils stolen, only to later have them reappear on the very edge of the Bifröst.