Cleave | Loki x Reader

• VI •

▪︎ siren's call ▪︎

1765, Jennia, Asgard

Loki

In some strange way, life of an immortal directly translates to this certain Midgardian noun I once encountered. One most mortals would probably never even suspect, yet ought to be considered the only logical answer when defining the word immortal.
Routine.

Gods essentially have obsessive-compulsive disorder, if you will. They go to war; they feast. They negotiate some peace treaties; they feast. Go to war again, this time allied with the previous sworn enemy - purely for entertainment's sake, you get the gist - conquer some lands together and then feast. They may even make some blood brothers along the way and slay some frost giants here and there as a means to some macabre kind of bonding session, only to then end the day with - you guessed it - a feast. Hence, to say that the experience of 'first times' tends to be forgotten by my people, is an understatement. We experience first times, we live on, and eventually, we die. Give or take five thousand years, which might just be considered the crux of said problem. And yet, in this centuries-old mind of mine, I can still vividly recall the moment when I decided to let myself understand what she truly was. All too well. To quite simply put it in one word: she was a siren.

If, in some other scenario, one were to ask me for, not so quite simply, two words, I would not have been able to stop at just two. Thus, this single one has to suffice. Saying it all, while all the same, nothing at all.

But I digress. Let me start by saying that she was a feisty one. Always has been, always will be. The day our father decided to send Thor and me on a quest to the desert of Jennia, she, to the surprise of every god in the pantheon, rebelled.
Just as we had departed the great hall, within a matter of mere seconds, she was waging war on her kyrtill and slippers, tearing the finery off her body and sending the footwear flying across our heads. Fortunately, Thor and I had managed to duck just in time, and when I faced him I found the perplexed expression mirrored on his face that undoubtedly reflected the one on mine.
'Did he really think he could just let me turn fourteen without even the slightest acknowledgement of my right to go on a quest? Letting me rot for decades longer, and then suddenly deciding that it's a good idea to send the two of you instead?! The audacity of this man!' she exclaimed.

A forceful tug on the fabric covering her shoulder revealed to us the true purpose of this rather drastic way of undressing. Underneath her courtly kyrtill she was wearing her combat gear, or at least the parts she managed to conceal beneath the silks. Her chest was heaving up and down mercilessly and her lips were tightly pursed in surpressed rage. A tense silence hang above our heads, driving her to stomp back into the main halls of the palace, and I prayed, for all of our sakes, that Odin had already retired to attend to some other matters of his.
Just when she had slammed the door behind her, Thor and I hastened to press our ears against the narrow opening in-between the two massive sides of the door. Thank the Norns, she didn't scream at him - respect was one of the things she had already mastered wielding to her advantage - for we weren't able to discern the precise words she uttered to him, but we most definitely did not hear her quaver either.

She was a force to be reckoned with, and if I hadn't already suspected her to be, then she gave me no reason for further doubt when she emerged from the great hall once more, walked straight past us, and declared, 'We will leave at first light'.
And I despised that about her.

》》》《《《

We had indeed left the city of Asgard at first light, despite my excessive struggle with the blanket an over-enthused Thor had made his first obstacle of the day to tear off me. Arriving at the stables, the two of us were met with an image of the yngri hetja, neither of us had ever seen before. Clad in full shield maiden's armour, she was packed with a sizable kitbag, a utility belt carrying two flasks and two daggers; on her back a wooden shield and a sword. Her left shoulder was covered by a pauldron, and the thick leather piece she wore as a chest plate, had been coloured in a deep shade of purple - the colour she liked best. However, what stood out the most had unquestionably been her unconventional decision to fashion trousers underneath the armour.
'May I ask, what you are staring at, my lords? Say, does my attire, in any way, offended my most noble and humble masters?' she taunted. 'No? Good. Because for a moment there, you had me thinking I was to witness the pair of you wetting your own trousers at the mere sight of mine.'
Bending down to secure the kitbag under her horse's belly, she continued, 'But really, you two, is it truly as scandalous for a woman to wear trousers as it is made out to be? Should not my clothing enhance my battles rather than hinder them? Boys?'
As she was facing us again, awaiting some kind of verbal response, I found it hard to drown out the nagging certainty that I hadn't actually processed a single word she had said. It had not been for her wearing the trousers; it had been for her making it appear as if she was born to fight the battles no man ever could.
I wasn't sure of what had transpired between her and Odin in the great hall the day before, yet I now knew, without a doubt, that she had fought her first of many battles within these walls - and had come out of it victorious.