WHO: Loki, Lynne. WHAT: Nightmares. WHERE: Their rooms.
Quiet pervaded in the early hours, no sound to be hear by ears, no movement to be caught by eyes. There was a soft light that existed over everything at this hour, the first glimmers of day as it broke over a golden prison, a gilded cage. It felt that every breath was stolen, waiting only for the opportune time to expect a payment he would not be able to afford. What would the cost be then? What would he lose?
A horrible knocking came at the door, violent and crashing, disrupting thought and as the doors were thrown open, the light was scattered into darkness. There were only the sounds of screaming and struggling and a dark warning on his ears then, and his arms were restrained. This place was supposed to be a haven, a small space in a large kingdom they could share and have for themselves, and it was violated. Bound where he was meant to wait, he could see everything in shambles. Tables were overturned, knocked around in his frantic attempt to save the only thing he had. There was blood but he could not tell to whom it belonged. The longer he stared at the blossoming red flowers on the cold floor, the sicker he felt. If it was hersβ¦ if it was hersβ¦
He closed his eyes only to open them and find he was once again held for judgement. He had violated no law, had not compromised any truce, broken any promise. Since he had come here, he had done no more than dance like a puppet for the man he had once called a father, for the council that wanted nothing more than to watch him suffer for his crimes, crimes he knew he would never truly be able to atone for. He could never fully repent, but even they could see that he was not the same man he was then, he was willing to forsake his titles, his relations, his own body for the chance to simply have a life with a human woman. Gladly would he have lived on Midgard with her, however short a life he would be granted. Instead, that request was denied, and he was kept here, watched like he would crumble and lash out at any minute.
In truth, he could do just that at any moment, bound and seething and wounded in a way he knew was calculated. It was all he could do to remain silent in wait.
Mouths moved but the words were unintelligible. His eyes moved from figure to figure, but their faces were distorted as they rained anger and accusations down on him. Nothing made sense until he heard a series of names above the discordant noise. Fenrir. Jormundgandr. Hel. Angrboda. Lynne.
Her name sent him into a rage.
It felt like his skin was ripping, like he was becoming something monstrous, but he could not stop himself. They had already taken so much from him. They could not take her too. It was then that he realised what they had taken her for. This was his ultimate punishment; they would take the only thing that he ever wanted. The council would take his family, his beloved and tear them apart. Guards were restraining him again as he was presented with the executioner's blade. He knew it was not meant for him.
And then he woke.
Loki was covered in a sheen of sweat and he was shivering. The room was in perfect order, nothing changed or upturned, out of place or destroyed. He flew from the bed, collapsing onto the floor where the roses of blood had been, but there was nothing there. He stood slowly, eyes taking everything that they could in the darkness. His heart was racing, his breathing erratic as he tried to forget his nightmare, but each time he blinked, he saw the cruel grins of the council, the glint of a blade. When his eyes finally found her just where she should be, asleep and whole and alive, time stopped momentarily.
In an instant, he had her gathered up in his arms, holding her as tightly as he could, forsaking any kind of formality for not waking her.