Cleave | Loki x Reader

• XIV •

A/N: Yes. There's another part to the story.
Thought I would just let it end like that? Nah.
It has taken me far too long to upload this and I hope now you know why.
This was a behemoth of a finisher for our past-timeline. One that was originally meant to be a single chapter.
I hope you enjoy.
All my love, and happy Easter!
– Vio
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▪︎ as the driven snow ▪︎

1960–2010, Asgard

Y/n

The sparring ring thrummed with the clang of metal against metal, the sharp cries of warriors in training ringing through the morning air. My grip tightened around the hilt of my short sword as I twisted away from my opponent's strike, my shield coming up just in time to deflect the blow. A grunt escaped me as the force of the impact shuddered through my bones, but I pressed forward, seizing the advantage in his momentary lapse. A sharp turn, a well-placed sweep of my foot, and he was down – my blade hovering just above his throat.

A chorus of cheers rose from the watching Einherjar, but I barely took any note of them.
My eyes were drawn to a small figure standing at the edge of the training grounds, clinging to her nursemaid's hand.
Randi.
She was bundled in warm furs, her thick curls barely contained beneath the delicate braids Ilsa had woven that morning. Her bright eyes – so familiar – were wide. One blue, one hazel, but both round with awe as she gazed at me. At the armour encasing me. At the sword in my hand, the shield on my arm, Loki's dagger at my hip, my silver braid snaked around my crown.
Hurriedly, I dismissed my opponent with a nod before unfastening my horned helmet – more of a coronet really – and tucking it beneath my arm as I strode toward her. Before I could say a word, she pulled free from her nursemaid's grasp and ran to me, arms outstretched.
I caught her with ease, lifting her high into the air before settling her on my hip.
'Did you see all that?' I asked, brushing a stray curl from her forehead, as my gaze caught Ilsa's. I'm sorry, the maid mouthed, blushing.
Randi nodded, her small hands gripping at the edge of my breastplate. 'You're so strong, Y/n.'
Her voice was breathless, brimming with admiration. 'Wear the helmet again, pretty pleeease. It's soo beautiful.'
Siwftly, I glanced over to Ilsa, my eyes telling the Ljósálfr all she needed to know, and her features conveyed just the same.
As if I could ever say no to that face.
Reaching up, she wrapped her small hand around one of the horns, tugging lightly. Seconds passed with her simply being in awe of the golden horns on my brow. Then her small smile made way for mumbled words, 'I want to be just like you one day.' And I froze.
A pang settled deep in my chest.
Then, I set her down and the moment her little feet met grass, she was off.

Randi has always been small. Delicate, with limbs too thin, too fragile – yet her spirit is anything but. Oh, and her grip. Those little hands can crush finger bones.
She moves through the world with reckless energy, fearless and unyielding, as if she belongs to it in ways no one else does.

'Randi, slow down,' I called as she barreled ahead of me through the palace gardens.

The golden light of Asgard's late afternoon suns caught in her curls, turning them almost auburn, but her little feet moved too fast for her own good. She dodged flowers and brushed past hedges, her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes.
A root jutted out from the ground ahead of her, unnoticed. I barely had time to warn her before she caught her foot on it, tumbling forwards with a startled gasp.
I lunged, reaching for her, but she was already picking herself up. Her hands scraped, smudged with dirt, but instead of crying, she scowled down at them.
'I had it,' she muttered, dusting herself off with all the pride of a warrior denied their victory.
I swallowed a laugh. A terrible realisation hitting me square in the face. She reminds me of... me?
Still I laughed. 'I'm sure you did, lítið.'
She glared up at me, bottom lip jutting out. 'I'm not small. You are!'
Yes I was, once – to someone, a little snowflake even.
I crouched in front of her, my expression softening as I tamed her wild hair into a loose bun.
'You are,' I said gently, brushing the dirt from her cheek. 'But that doesn't mean you're not fierce.'
Her brows knitted together then. 'What's fierce?'
I tapped her nose. 'Strong. Brave.'
The scowl wavered, then vanished altogether. 'Like you?' she asked innocently while her tiny arms rose up only to jut them down again in a vigorous, tiny move, mimicking me with my sword and shield in hand – Driving it down in my opponent's leg. Yes, she saw that. But that's not the part that upset me.