Cleave | Loki x Reader

• VIII •

▪︎ reconciliation ▪︎

1800, Asgard

Y/n

Descending the marble stairs coming from Midgardian Studies with Revna. That was when I first noticed the voices. The bickering. Familiar, that. Advancing on the Grand Hall, the noise only increased in volume.
'Well, Loki's really gonna have to hoof it then.'
It was Thor's voice carrying over from across the hall to where I stood plastered between the two sides of the massive door. A ring of Æsir looming at the foot of the throne, centred around a large stone table adorned with what appeared to be some kind of miniature display of life. Without halting to listen in, my intrigue at this godly assembly – to which I had not received an invite to – proved too overpowering, and I marched onwards.

'Why is it suddenly me having to hoof it?' Loki. To find comfort in the sound of his voice – layered with that familiar twinge of theatrics – ultimately managed to unnerve me. Rather ironic, really.

'Well, because it's your turn,' sounded Thor's voice, now only a few steps away from me.
'Says who? Why? Why is it suddenly me?' By then, Loki had his back turned to most of the other attendants as he was busy in a face-to-face brawl of words with his brother.
Meanwhile, I had arrived at the table and settled myself between Idun and Bragi. With a certain gesture, the two gods acknowledged my arrival. From the far end of the table, both Frigga and Odin greeted me with a nod of the head, an expression adorning their faces appearing to be far from welcoming to my being there.

'Because clearly this isn't me,' Thor retorted matter-of-factly.

'Just because it isn't you, it isn't necessarily me either.'

'It's got your shape to it. I am broader.'

'What do you mean, it's got my shape? It's wearing armour; it could be anybody.' Loki was growing more exasparated by the second – and so was I.
'It's wearing a helmet. It doesn't look like anyone,' I puffed sharper than I'd anticipated.
'I just don't think it's me,' Loki mumbled. He always had to have the last word, remember?
There was a silence dangling over the table, and I think the Æsir gave it just so the princes could discover exactly who had interrupted their petty little quarrel. Heads turned, and eventually they had me detected.

'Y/n. Wh–what are you doing here?' Thor stuttered. Loki, though visibly surprised, remained uncharacteristically silent.
'Your bickering could be heard all the way down to the kitchens. Also, I mean to learn of your endeavours here, as why should I not?' Defiant, I locked Thor's gaze in mine. At that, I sensed the All-Father's eyes on me, fiercer than before, yet I refrained from meeting his gaze.
Odin's mighty voice carried across the table, 'What you see here before you, my child, is the desert of Jennia, as you might have recognised by now, seeing that, only a few summers past you traversed the dunes yourself.'
Thirty-five Midgardian summers had passed, yet here on Asgard, the seasons, much like the time, expand far more than Midgardian understanding would ever be able to comprehend.

I glanced down at the table, this time concentrating on what lay before me without any bickering taking up most of my headspace. The miniature display of life was indeed Jennia, its dunes and endearing springs proving as much. Heat emanated from the golden sand and the tiny waters sparkled mysteriously. I recognised the magic – it was Loki's, or rather, Frigga's. The sensation of her seiðr enveloping me, tickling the hairs on my skin, felt almost exactly the way his did. And it made sense – all that he knew, his mother had taught him, and everything he created on his own, he did so on the foundations she had crafted for him.
Sometimes, I forget that Loki is one of the few seidmen existing in the Nine Realms – Frigga had fortunately seen the potential her son bore and had crossed the boundaries of natural law, and decided to instruct him on the art of wielding it.