Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-11-05 22:29:00 |
|
|||
Loki and Elsa take a trip to Norway because they're both feeling a little nostalgic for their homelands. The result? Gløgg, troll figurines, and snowball fights with the locals.
One of these days, if they were ever on friendly communicative terms again, Loki would have to thank Julia for teaching him how to make portals. Now that he had the hang of them — and had given them his own special Loki style — he realized he probably could have made them all along. That was a frustrating realization, actually. Because it reminded him that if he’d put more focus and attention into his magic instead of his daggers, he could have been a much more powerful sorcerer. More than that, he might have been able to avoid death at the hands of Thanos. Yes, that was the real kicker, wasn’t it? The harsh gut punch of hindsight. If he’d put more effort into the magic his mother had taught him, he might still be alive in his universe. Hel, he might still be in his universe. And not wasting away emotionally, mentally, (aesthetically?) in this repetitive circle of doom called Derleth. But Loki wasn’t going to think about that this week. No, no. Loki was determined — dead determined — to enjoy this week. He wasn’t going to think about the past or the future. He wasn’t going to dwell on the relationships he’d smashed to bits or the choking pain he felt at experiencing the deaths of newfound friends. He wasn’t going to worry about whatever evil might be lurking around the corner next week. None of that. He was just going to enjoy himself. He was going to have fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really had fun. Maybe Disney World. Maybe Vegas. Maybe never. Nostalgia was the name of the game. It had been centuries since Loki had been to Norway. The last time he’d been there — well, those stories were easily looked up in books on mythology. Needless to say, he and Thor had always had a good time in the Scandinavian countries. And it stood to reason that he still would even without his brother. And he wasn’t wrong. Loki had picked a location at random. A spot that had once been a small village up north on the fjords. Nowadays, or at least in 1983, it was a popular skiing destination. Lucky for them snow came early, covering the entire village (which still had some of its antiquated charm in the form of stave churches and decorative rosemåling) in a glistening sheen of white. Tiny stands sold local trinkets — handknit scarves and mittens, whittled trolls, roasted chestnuts — and every few meters people stood over a log fire, laughing and enjoying the company of others whilst their noses blushed red from the cold. Loki ordered two glasses of gløgg served in thick paper cups. Then he wandered out of the line and back to Elsa, holding one out for her. The steam twisted in the cool air. “You know, the last time I was here they served these in horns.” On her end, Elsa was also ready to let anxiety and worry take a backseat - she was an anxious person by nature anyway, apt to let her nerves jump to and fro like sizzling bolts of lightning. She worried for Anna, separated from her but unfortunately used to it by now - used to the melancholy that settled over her and the breaths of the feeling, in and out, were a chill and sudden gust of wind off Arendelle’s seas. But her sister was capable. It was an interesting time, all of the realms uniting - Elsa only wished she was there to see how it all would lead to something resembling Happily Ever After. If such a thing existed. She was delighted by the portals - she knew a few different ways to make them too, but hadn’t actually tried; that type of magic wasn’t usually something she considered. There was a portal from Arendelle to Storybrooke, and even more ways now that you didn’t need beans or mirrors to travel throughout the realms, but not one she’d ever made. Maybe she could learn eventually. At least by now, she had gone shopping for clothes after earning enough money to afford new outfits - today, for Norway, it was a long wool coat that was pale blue like the ocean in the morning, fit and flared with princess seams at the back. Beneath that she had on a sweater and denim jeans (her first pair), the bottoms tucked into boots climbing high. Technically she could have wandered around in a skirt and a t-shirt but - blending in and everything. Her wishing star necklace, a silver brooch in an ice crystal design, remained on her - that she would never sell. You never knew when you would need to make a wish, after all. “Oh, this smells good,” she said appreciatively, taking the gløgg - bare hands, no gloves. They were stuffed into her pocket but she’d be fine without them. The snow looked like a feathery cushion and it was bright in the sun, so bright - she’d also want to check out those stands selling little fun treasures; the trolls were amusing to her. “We had something similar in Arendelle too - not out of horns though. That seems much more fun.” The first sip she took already had her a little flushed - needless to say, Elsa was not usually a drinker. But it was hard to resist the sweet spice of mulled wine - this particular kind had the sting of something savory too, like fennel. “I’m a lightweight, just to warn you in advance.” Still slightly paranoid that Derleth would turn the tables on him and make this a version of Midgard that did despise him as a ruthless alien overlord, Loki had been very, well, low key about his appearance. Of course, telling Loki not to stand out was always like telling a dalmatian not to have spots. Even his undercover appearances as he referred to them had a certain flair for the dramatic. He’d caused an incident on the subway in his female form the other day. Apparently legs were a distraction on Midgard. But at least he was trying not to be too ostentatious. And for Elsa he even toned it down a bit more. Although he couldn’t explain why he did this. Perhaps because he didn’t feel the need to show off in front of her. Well, not in his appearance at least. Which was how he found himself in a pair of brown wool slacks and a navy blue and white sweater, stitched in the old fashioned Nordic fisherman style. With boots to match, of course. And he wore a scarf too, even though it wasn’t really necessary thanks to his Jotun anatomy, which was stylishly tucked into the front of the sweater. Loki took a sip of the gløgg and gave a reasonably satisfied expression. “Could be a little stronger.” But he supposed it wouldn’t be fair to judge based on his memory of the mulled wine on Asgard. Those were brewed to get gods tipsy, after all. And the fruits on Asgard were naturally made of stronger stuff than their Midgardian counterparts. But it wasn’t bad. He enjoyed the spice. The dash of cinnamon gave it a very festive taste. “Fear not, Your Highness. If you begin to feel yourself losing your balance I will be certain to get you back to your castle before the clock strikes midnight. Or before you turn into a pumpkin. Or a snake? You know, I never could keep those old Midgardian stories straight. Hard enough remembering the ones they wrote about me.” Loki paused. “That’s a lie, actually. I remember all the stories they wrote about me.” He grinned. It was supposed to be a joke, but maybe it had fallen flat. Perfunctory conversation had never been Loki’s strong suit. Neither was making friends. Or being friendly. Or not sounding like a complete and utter narcissist. He cleared his throat with a cough and slowly walked beside her, further into the market of handmade goods. “Your necklace is stunning. Did it come with you from home?” Elsa chuckled gently, a sparkle in powder blue eyes - she admired Loki’s sweater, it was very fitting for their excursion. “I remember all the stories written about me too,” she replied, with a small smile. “Some are...close to true? Some aren’t. Some are because a would-be suitor gets it into their head to pay a visit to see if they are true.” She received visitors once in a blue moon, mages and scholars or other royals who had heard tales of a beautiful Snow Queen, a heart as chilly as the magic she wielded and nothing but icicles in her cold, blue stare. They wanted to see her in the flesh, their curiosities too much for them - or perhaps they even wanted to weave a story for their friends back in their home, boasting about having 'conquered' the unmovable mountain that was Her Majesty. They never conquered her. Perhaps because she was not one to be conquered at all? One hand reached up to touch the necklace, feeling the edges of the crystal design. “It did, yes,” she nodded. “I’m not sure if its function will reset each week but it - grants wishes, usually. I haven’t tried it out yet, however.” She was aware how silly that sounded, how very fairytale, but - well. That was the world she hailed from. “I think the basics of the stories people tell about me are mostly true. These are the old stories, of course. The new ones are a bit more complicated. But the old ones have a lot of truth in their themes and their symbolic interpretations. But when something becomes an old tale it gets simplified. There’s always a hero and a villain. It loses nuance over the years because people turn them into morality stories or warnings about certain patterns of behavior. And naturally someone has to be the fall guy. The mythology around my family loves to make me the fall guy. And people are hard to dissuade. They hear a story or a rumor and that tends to stick.” Loki shrugged, but it was clear from that sudden disappearance of mirth in his expression that he was a little bothered by this fact. It wasn’t easy being the one who was always misunderstood. Granted, that had been something of his own fault in a way. He pushed the mischief persona. He made the God of Lies believable. So it was difficult to complain when the persona he fabricated became the truth of so many people. And his modern day behavior, at least in the eyes of most Midgardians, did very little to challenge those perceptions. “But it sounds like that’s something you’re familiar with.” He sipped the wine and stepped to the side to allow an older couple to pass more easily. “Suitors.” Loki laughed a little, shaking his head at an old memory. “I remember those days. My parents were always more focused on finding someone for my brother, Thor, but neither of us were very eager to make a match. And even though Thor technically was older, my father always said the throne could go to either of us. Which made suitors a problem for us both. We were both poorly matched for partners though. I was too sullen and picky. He was too in love with battle and himself.” Loki wondered if that had changed for Thor. He had been different ever since he met that Midgardian woman. Jane. But Loki had never had that click with anyone. Not yet anyway. Loki raised a brow mid-sip when she explained the necklace. “Wishes? Like … any kind of wish?” “As someone who is often the villain of her own story and has been shoved into that role multiple times, occasionally of my down doing and also because storytellers mixed me up with my aunt - yes, I’m familiar with it,” Elsa assured, also stepping to the side; she moved when Loki did, and then tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow so they wouldn’t get separated - it wasn’t too busy in the marketplace, but crowds tended to make her nervous regardless. She was very much an introvert, though the fresh air - it was cold, and went straight to her lungs - invigorated her; this was the time of year when rivers ran beneath ice and the winter settled in like an embrace. One she’d always welcomed. “So I suppose, from story villain to story villain, we just see past that sort of nonsense already?” It was very much a been there, done that type of situation. One of the stands sold homemade ornaments, along with those whittled trolls - she stopped to have a look, already knowing that she wanted some kind of souvenir. “Any kind of wish,” Elsa confirmed. “Why - if you could wish for anything, what would you wish for?” Loki was surprised when she placed her hand on the inside of his elbow. Not because he was adverse to the touch or the closeness, but because it was unexpected. Before Derleth there were very few people who would have dared to stand so close to him. No, that wasn’t right. Not before Derleth. Before he died. Not frightening someone away was an unfamiliar change, but a welcomed one. “You don’t strike me as much of a villain. Far from it, in fact. My guess is that the stories about you that people believe have been blown way out of proportion. As they often are. Maybe you’ve made some mistakes in the past. Maybe you even thought you were on the wrong side of good for a while. But no one who speaks so fondly of their sister and their people could really be bad. And no one who risked their life in order to make coffins for strangers could ever be a villain.” Loki offered an encouraging smile. “At least, not from my definition of villainy.” Loki allowed her to lead him toward the handicraft stand. He picked up one of the trolls, smirking at its long woolen beard and absurd little hat. Then he set it back down, idly pretending to be interested while she answered his question. “Any wish?” He scrunched up his face in thought. “I’m not certain. That’s kind of a loaded question. Part of me wishes I could go back and do things differently, but truthfully I don’t know if I would. And if I did then I wouldn’t be the person I am now. I might be worse.” There were other things he might wish for. To see his brother. To feel true affection for someone. To love himself. To be a hero. To go back and change his decision to join Thanos. “I think I’d probably wish to see my mother once more. So I could apologize to her. For the things I did.” Loki glanced back at the trolls. He picked up another one. “This one is cute.” “Many mistakes,” Elsa confirmed with a huff of a laugh, expelling a chilly cloud of frosty air. “One day I’ll have to go over it all - it’s just...kind of a long story.” One that she wasn’t averse to telling, of course - maybe she would be if it involved telling a perfect stranger, but she didn’t mind sharing the days leading up to her disastrous coronation and then after with Loki; they had so much in common, it was easily shared. “I appreciate that though.” Elsa had struggled a lot with her magic - with understanding how her powers were linked to emotion; when she was happy, she created life from snow. When she was afraid, her ice was jagged and menacing. She was raised to think selfishly, to retreat into herself - and she understood now that her parents, while they may have claimed to love her and Anna, didn't always act as if they did. Her self-esteem plummeted into the ground and it wasn't something that got better overnight. A work in progress, mainly - and while she supposed she wouldn't call herself a villain all the time (she'd never had malicious intent), she definitely bore her lion's share of wrong doings when it came to the well-being of her kingdom. Admittedly, wishing for something was a difficult thing to consider. There were lots of things that would be so much easier if they were just magicked away. "Did your mother used to sing to you?" she asked, sipping her mulled wine as she examined the trolls. "Ours did. A specific song..." Idly, she hummed part of a lullaby. The melody of it, it was haunting - a music box resting on a bedside table. "It was about a river that held all the answers - this one is cute," she agreed, selecting the troll Loki had picked up. “Any story worth telling is. Long, I mean.” It was strange how much they had in common. In many ways it was a relief because Loki had spent centuries feeling like the so-called only one. Knowing there was someone else who’d been through similar experiences gave him an uncommon sense of community. Perhaps even made him less lonely. On the other hand it did worry Loki a little. He thought he’d had a lot in common with Julia in the beginning. But it turned out the connection they had only existed because she was missing a piece of her soul. And while his soul was complete, he felt a kinship in many of her actions and behaviors. Behaviors she never would have had if her shade had been intact. Which no doubt said a lot about how he saw himself. Loki’s judgment of other people, particularly in relation to himself, wasn’t exactly foolproof. He had the tendency to see what he wanted to see. And then disappointed himself when what he wanted to believe turned out to be untrue. It was a curse that had been following him for some time now. One he’d inadvertently inflicted on others. A rosy blush spread over his cheeks — if asked he’d simply blame the cold — when Elsa began humming a tune. His mother did sing to him when he was younger. Loki couldn’t quite remember the name of the lullaby she would hum when she put him to bed, but he knew he’d recognize it if he heard it. Listening to Elsa, however, started to bring that memory back. It was a peculiar sensation that caused Loki’s throat to clench up from both guilt and nostalgia. He shook it off. “Yes, she did. But my favorite was when she would make fireworks. She could conjure the most beautiful magic. Her illusions were so vibrant and real.” The corner of his lips curled upward in an embarrassed smile. “She was incredible. Beautiful, powerful, wise. I didn’t appreciate her enough while I had her. And I never thanked her for the things she taught me.” He nodded to the troll. “Do you want it? I can buy it for you. And not with George’s money either. I managed to get some on my own.” “Mothers are often like that. Must be something they learn in Mother Schooling,” Elsa's smile turned a little wistful then too - it was complicated because she loved and missed her mother, and her father. But she thought of the gloves they’d given her, the fabric worn and holes created because she used to wring her hands so much (she went through a few pairs of gloves, in her day) and how much she loathed herself - and it made everything about the former King and Queen feel bittersweet. They’d died because of her. Because of their journey, searching for a way to strip her of her magic - and a part of her was glad they’d never found a way. Not glad they’d perished at sea - but that they didn’t get to keep telling her something was wrong with her. She perked up when Loki offered to buy the troll. “I’d love that - thank you,” she was elated about it for some reason. Maybe because the troll reminded her of home. “There’s a species of troll native to Arendelle. They don’t look like this though - they curl into mossy rocks when they sleep and have powerful magic too. It can restore lost memories.” There was money in her purse as well, folded bills she’d acquired - plenty of it she’d used to purchase clothing and other supplies, but she had some left over. Currency meant for these lands and also back in New York, where the campus was. “Now you pick something,” she encouraged. “I’ll buy it for you.” Clearly they could purchase their own things but - it was the thought that counted. Plus she was kind of interested to see what Loki would actually pick. Loki removed a few Norwegian notes from his pocket and set them on the counter for the troll figurine. Then he laughed — actually laughed — at the idea of Mother School. Partly because the idea was absurd, but also because he couldn’t really imagine Frigga the All-Mother attending classes on how to raise children. She was loving and kind, but she wasn’t easily pushed around. She had a sharpness to her. A wit that Loki had picked up on. And while she was beloved for her gentleness and grace, she wasn’t a woman to be trifled with. And Loki couldn’t imagine anyone trying to teach her how to be a mother. And even if they did, he imagined Frigga would have done it her own way regardless. “I’ve always loved the Midgardian tradition of keeping troll statues around the house and garden as a means for warding off actual trolls. It always struck me as a bit naive. If a troll wants to take over your garden there’s very little a puny statue is going to do to stop them.” It was interesting hearing about the trolls of Arendelle though. And the more Elsa spoke of her kingdom the more Loki wished he could see it. That would be a wish he might use one day. If he had unlimited wishes. “Trolls with powerful magic? Are there any beings in your realm that can’t wield magic? Because I’m beginning to envy this home of yours.” Loki gave her a playful nudge. Then he picked up his change and slipped it back into his pocket. “Me? Oh, I’m not much for trinkets.” Unless said trinkets contained powerful energy stones capable of controlling aspects of the universe. But that was the old Loki, right? He gave the stand a closer look, eyes drifting from the mittens to the scarves to the trolls. It had been such a long time since he’d purchased something simply because he wanted it. He’d never needed to buy things on Asgard. The palace had everything he could ever need. And visits to Midgard had always been more about taking. His gaze stopped on a small bowl full of colorful stones. Each stone was imprinted with a different rune. He picked through them until he found one in particular—Bjarkan—carved into a light green stone. “This.” The idea of Arendelle being chock-full of magical beings made Elsa snort a laugh. It was at least a dainty giggle though, something that rang like silvery bells atop a wedding cake. "Most of Arendelle isn't magical," she assured. "I'm - something of an anomaly, as much as my parents wished I wasn't. My aunt Ingrid had the same magic though - it was always...something we weren't meant to talk about. Then I ended up imprisoned in an urn because my sister was under a spell that only made her see the worst in me, and I suppose at that time she thought it'd be safer if I was locked away. Where my magic couldn't hurt anyone." To be fair, Elsa thought the same thing about herself for a long time as well. It was difficult to break out of a cycle like that. "That's pretty," she said about the stone Loki selected. "It looks like the color of springtime. What does it mean?" Either way, it would be his - she set down the right amount of money for it, and also took the little troll that had been neatly wrapped up in paper, so she could place it into her handbag. “Your sister imprisoned you in an urn?” Loki’s brows furrowed, his face slackening to something akin to both surprise and sympathy. For some reason that story reminded Loki of something Fandral had accused him of during their recent — and embarrassingly public — argument. Something about people telling the truth when they didn’t have control of themselves. Loki had argued against that logic. He didn’t believe the things he said when he was grieving were true. Just as he refused to believe that the things he said and did while under the control of the mind stone were true. Those were merely base emotions magnified. Still, there was a lingering fear that Fandral might have been right in some skewed way. Just as Elsa might have feared that her sister was right in thinking that her powers made her a danger and was thereby safer for everyone if locked away. He frowned. “I’m so sorry. That must have been unimaginably difficult for the both of you.” And then Loki wondered. Had it been just as difficult for Thor as it had been for him when he was imprisoned in the Asgardian dungeons? He’d never considered that possibility before. Loki picked up the stone and ran his thumb along the rune, feeling the grainy edge where it met the smooth curve. “It’s supposed to represent a twig from a birch tree. That’s why these lines jut out on the side. Its meaning is varied depending on the person and the stage of their life, but in general it symbolizes some form of rebirth or liberation. Sometimes it can be more literal, like fertility or the birth of a new child. But mostly it’s a sign of renewal. Whatever renewal is for the person who wields the rune. A new love affair, desire, personal growth, or the start of a new adventure.” Loki paused, as though considering whether he wanted to explain more. Then, after a moment, he added, “Many people associated this rune and its power with my mother. But there was a famous poem that linked it to me. Hel if I know why though.” He finished off the rest of his mulled wine in a single gulp and tossed the cup in a bin beside the stand. On the other side of the street near a small square, children were building a snowman and chasing each other through the snow. The sun was beginning to set over the mountains and the orange glow glistened over the pristine white landscape. “I think your people are correct. You are an anomaly,” Loki said, gently leading her away from the stand. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so open with someone so quickly in my entire life. Then again, maybe I’m just getting soft in my old age.” Elsa’s mulled wine was all finished as well, and she tossed her own cup into the trash - her cheeks were all pink, roses blooming there, and that was probably due to the flush brought about from the wine rather than the cold. Because lightweight, like she said earlier. “I doubt that’s what it is,” she chuckled, hand tucked back in the crook of Loki’s arm again as she attempted to not sway - but honestly, she never drank alcohol. Hardly ever. A glass of wine here or there with dinner - nothing particularly wild. “Hmm - maybe the rune is linked to you because...” She squinted, studying him (and it would be embarrassing if she tripped over a rock or something, so she attempted to also pay attention to where she was going). “Birch is very resilient, you know. It can survive incredibly harsh conditions - it grows back after a fire, one of the few trees that do.” Something to ponder, anyway. When it was cold, the sunsets always seemed lovelier - maybe because of the intense coral shades, the pinks and reds, how they mixed with clouds that looked like perfect sheets of fabric. They floated, like they were parachutes for shooting stars - she wanted to remember what this all looked like, in case they were back in a Void for awhile. Or someplace else without actual seasons. “Are you any good at building snowpeople?” she asked then, glancing at the children - they were having trouble assembling their snowman, so Elsa helped them out a little from across the street. Just a wiggle of her fingers, flattening the tops of the middle and bottom balls so they’d stack easier. The alcohol barely even caused a stir in Loki’s system. That was both one of the benefits and detriments of being who he was. It took an extraordinary amount of alcohol — or magic — for him to feel even a tad bit lightheaded. Most of the time he just faked a little tipsiness simply to allow himself the opportunity to be more boisterous or daring in public. But a small glass of wine might as well have been a tall glass of water. It did very little but leave a sweet, fruity taste in his mouth. But Loki had been paying careful attention to Elsa ever since she admitted to rarely indulging in intoxicating beverages. He heard the minuscule change in her laugh and saw the slight sway in her delicate step. His instinctual response was to reach over and place a steadying hand on the one she tucked into the crook of his elbow. A quiet offer of extra balance. When she finished likening him to a tree he gave a closed mouth chuckle. It sounded a bit like an exasperated hmph, but in amusement rather than annoyance. “And the bark of a birch is both gritty and sharp, but paper thin.” Another insight into his exterior persona? It wasn’t unlike his fabricated persona. The one he used to prevent people from getting too close. The one that was beginning to fail him because there was nowhere to hide in Derleth. That, too, was paper thin. A mask that was just barely able to hide the truth underneath. The truth that he was a man barely in control of himself and his emotions. It was a harsh but uncanny bit of honesty he alluded to in his self-assessment. But Elsa’s comparison was different. Loki felt complimented by it. It was flattering to be seen for such an internal quality. Not many people were capable of looking beyond Loki’s brash pretenses and deceptive facade. Loki followed her gaze to the sunset. Up above, the oncoming night was fading into the purple haze of twilight. Loki always liked that fluctuation in the sky. That ever changing precipice above the horizon where day met night and tried to find a hue where they might both coexist before one eventually succumbed to the other. “I promised Fen I’d make stars in the Void. I meant to do it last week, but circumstances weren’t really suited for stargazing. Maybe next week,” Loki said idly. Then he watched as Elsa secretly helped the children with their snow sculpture. “I haven’t played in the snow since I was a child. I reckon I’m a bit out of practice.” “Sharp isn’t bad, necessarily,” Elsa grinned reassuringly - they all wore masks, it seemed. Sometimes you had to, in order to survive. Trying to think past her own facade and what her own equivalent tree would be difficult though. “I’d probably be a sugar maple. Since I love sweets - or cottonwood. It spreads trash everywhere,” she covered her mouth and giggled again, finding that amusing for some reason - beyond the tightly buttoned up, prim and proper queen she was honestly the biggest nerd who loved to laugh. She just didn’t have much to laugh about on most occasions. Alright, playing in the snow. They could give it a try, at least? She fully planned to turn Derleth’s campus into a winter wonderland at some point (she wanted to make vanilla or peppermint snow cream, or maple syrup taffy) - but being out here, in nature, it was pleasant too. “There’s definitely enough here to make snow angels, at least,” she said, picking a good spot to flop down into - swish, swish, moving her arms and legs. Her braid was definitely coming loose from its woven design but she didn’t mind so much. “I used to love stargazing. Learning the constellations.” Loki was mulling over her self-comparison to a sugar maple when she suddenly switched gears to the cottonwood and then broke into an awkward giggle. Loki didn’t understand that similarity at all. And the idea of a cottonwood, or Elsa for that matter, spreading trash everywhere just didn’t correlate into anything logical in his mind. In other words, whatever the joke was, it went right over his head. But her laugh was infectious and within seconds Loki found himself halfway between a vibrant grin and a hesitant chuckle. Laughter wasn’t a bad look on him. A little uncomfortable perhaps because this was actual laughter — and not some pseudo maniacal guffaw meant to instill fear or confusion — but he had a good face for laughing. For smiling, too. Real smiles, that is. Which only made up a tiny percentage of the grins that ever reached his face. A percentage he was close to fulfilling during this single outing. But before he could say anything she was pulling away from his arm and flopping down in the snow. Was she possessed? Was it possible one of the ghosts that still haunted the campus had followed them through the portal? Loki was concerned for all of fifteen seconds. Then some of the children saw what Elsa was doing and followed in her stead, waving their arms in the snow and giggling. Loki’s posture stiffened. He hesitated. Was he supposed to do that as well? Was it supposed to be fun? Had he just gotten a queen wasted on half a cup of cheap mulled wine? “I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” he said, just barely above a mumble. Then he lay down in the snow beside Elsa, although not so close as to get sideswiped by her swishing arms and legs, and slowly copied her motions. He turned his head to the side to look at her. “It’s freezing and my back is getting wet. Is this considered enjoyable in your realm?” Elsa was laughing even harder now - some of it was due to the fact that she considered half a cup (though it was more than that! Really! Wasn’t it?) of cheap mulled wine to be strong, but most of it was because Loki was just hilarious. She had an odd sense of humor, to be certain, but maybe that was because she just - never got to really be herself, while growing up. Or interacting with people - she was an actual shut-in, and had spent a good amount of time locked in an urn as well, a cage and prison for magical beings. Maybe quirky was a better word for her. Well, she was what she was - take her or leave her, she supposed. “You don’t think it’s a little bit enjoyable?” she hedged, as more powdery white snow swished this way and that. “Granted, maybe one needs an actual snow suit to lie in the snow but - still. Not bad for your first official snow angel. You did good.” Only minimal complaining. The sky was darkening, looking like a bruise as the sun continued to set. She gazed up for a moment, wondering what next week would bring - probably nothing as decent as this. But then, she also thought that there wasn’t much point in speculating about terrible things - she’d just get caught in a loop and not be able to really appreciate the current moment. So she hummed instead, that eerie melody from before - lyrics this time. “Where the North wind meets the sea here's a mother full of memory. Come, my darling, homeward bound - when all is lost, then all is found.” Her sing-song faded away, fog in the night, and she turned to gently tug on Loki’s sweater sleeve before sitting up and brushing the snow off of her. “Alright, come on then - we can definitely go someplace where your back isn’t wet.” “It’s because I’m so angelic. It just comes naturally to me.” Deadpan sarcasm. Loki tried to look at his snow form without getting up, but didn’t see what was so impressive about it. Perhaps Elsa was just trying to be nice. “Maybe a little bit. But if I had to choose between rolling around in the snow or sitting beside a fire with a glass of wine … Well, there isn’t really a choice there.” That being said, his complaints about the cold were little more than an exaggeration. He may have lived his entire life as an Asgardian, but Loki was still a Frost Giant. And, for lack of a better phrase, the cold never really bothered him. He just enjoyed complaining. But he wasn’t lying about preferring a fireside proximity. Nor was he lying about the wine. When she began to hum, Loki turned his gaze to her. He watched as she stared up at the sky. She was so peculiar. So optimistic and full of a joy he couldn’t quite understand. The stories she told about her past and the people she’d left behind felt very similar to his own experiences in life. As such he expected her to be more morose about her situation. Or bitter about her history. But she wasn’t. Or, if she was, she hid it well. In that they were different. Loki still had hurdles in his past that he hadn’t quite managed to put behind him. He envied her positivity and her brightness. And he wondered if he was also capable of living with a more optimistic lens on life. Or was that simply out of his reach? He sat up as she tugged on his sweater and was about to point out that he could easily dry them both off with his magic when a snowball smacked him dead center of the back of his head, coating his dark hair in white. Loki whisked his head around to see a group of three children giggling behind a handmade snow barricade. “Why those little Midgardian monsters.” Loki rolled over onto his knees and grabbed a handful of snow, packing it tightly before hurling it through the air towards the trio. He missed on purpose because, as established, he was only half a villain these days. But the children were prepared and responded by throwing multiple snowballs at both him and Elsa. And their aim was well practiced! Oh gods - these children just threw snowballs at them. And now they probably had a little more to worry about than a wet back. Still, it was amusing and Elsa’s cheeks were definitely flushed from laughing - laughing, the chill, the alcohol, all of the above. She spit out the mouthful of exploded powder she’d just ingested because of the cold projectile, and immediately began creating her own snowballs - technically she could bury the children in an avalanche or make another Marshmallow, but she was also attempting to go for only ‘fun’ things this go-round, and using her magic in a place where she’d likely be burned at the stake as a witch didn’t seem to apply to ‘fun.’ She’d just have to engage in a snowball fight the old-fashioned way. “I think they just issued a challenge,” she gasped, packing another snowball with bare hands and hurling it at the small people. It was a snowball lacking anything that cheated or would be painful (like rocks, for example) and she missed on purpose too - her reflexes were, admittedly, more refined than the average person’s. Whatever that was due to, she didn’t know - it just was. The snow was really flying now, the children’s happy shrieks piercing the air, and Elsa scrambled closer to Loki to block the onslaught and try to scoop together enough snow in an attempt to build a shoddy fort, or even a wall - thwack, she was a human shield as the snowball smashed against her side and pretty much all of her coat was cold and wet now. “They got me - “ Farewell, cruel world. Okay, okay. This was actually amusing to Loki. It even bordered on — gasp! — fun. Getting along with children had never really been one of his strong suits. Not that he disliked them. He had a few of his own, but they weren’t exactly humanoid. So, his relationship with them was quite a bit more removed and not exactly father-like. Although, in a very bizarre way he still recognized them as his children even if they couldn’t have the same bond as he might have been able to have if they were more like him in appearance and intelligence. But his tenure at Derleth had warmed him more to children. Stevie and Billy in particular — and yes, Tandy, despite her infuriatingly moody teenage girl disposition — had softened his feelings towards young people. Which might have explained why he was so forgiving with his snowballs. And before he knew it he was laughing along with Elsa and the children. He avoided most of the snowballs. Ducking here. Dodging there. Always just missing the kids with his own magic-free snowballs. They found that fantastic, of course. What child didn’t want to make an adult look like a fool? And Loki was a little too good at playing the role of the shocked and surprised stranger; his exaggerated expressions inspiring one giggling fit after the next from the children. And then the moment of epic drama. Elsa saved him from a snowball death. Loki caught her in his arms in a half dip, as though they were in the middle of a tango or filming the melodramatic end of a gothic romance, his face drawn into frantic grief. “No! My beloved queen! What have you done? Why did you throw yourself in front of me? I am nothing but your lowly subject. I do not deserve your sacrifice. Now you’re gone and I’ll never be able to tell you how much I—” Then all three children pummeled him with snowballs from head to toe. Loki gasped. “I am struck.” He stumbled a few steps, and then theatrically fell into the snow, careful to make sure Elsa didn’t land hard. “Now I die.” And this part he was very good at playacting. ‘Dying’ was Loki’s specialty. He choked out a few raspy breaths and then slumped still. They were both officially dead. Elsa went down when Loki did, in a show of dramatics that rivaled the finest Greek tragedy. The snow was soft when she landed, so that broke her fall, but also he did too - she sprawled on him, officially perished. This, naturally, continued to delight the children - they knew it wasn’t real but were cackling up a storm since they considered this their victory in the snowball fight. All until Elsa rose up from her brief foray into death and quickly gathered a brand new snowball. “Resurrection!” she cried, hurling the snowball at one of the kids in their puffy jacket. He dissolved into giggles, and all of them were laughing so hard she almost told them to remember to take a breath - then their mother, or someone, called them from across the way since it was getting dark. Unfortunately, they had to leave but given the way they were smiling, it was sure to make for a good memory. That was nice, she thought. Getting a chance to be a part of good memories. “You’re a fantastic actor,” she informed Loki breathlessly, trying to shake the snow from her hair - the braid was just almost entirely unraveled at this point, she’d have to fix it later. “I can see why you’d be there, critiquing ghost performances.” Loki waited for Elsa to ‘return to life’ before he did, peeking one eye open before the other, just to make sure it was safe to reveal he wasn’t actually dead. He sat up about the same time someone called out to the children that it was time to go home, but he still managed to catch two of the children waving at them before scurrying off. Well, that was unexpectedly — absurd? — fun. Loki withheld a laugh, but he was grinning. All of his real smiles had a sadness to them and this one was no different, but it was a good sadness. Like Loki had just experienced something he very rarely had the chance to appreciate. A fleeting moment where he didn’t have to pretend to be smarter, stronger, or scarier than someone else. A moment when he let his facade as the untrustworthy trickster god fall. A breath of fresh air as he was — for a minute or two — just Loki. A Loki who wasn’t bound by the trauma and tragedy that wove itself through his daily life. For a split second, between one snowball and the next, he was happy. “I’m well practiced in the art of dying,” Loki said as he climbed to his feet, brushing the snow from his sweater and slacks. “I’ve played that trick on my family before. On more than one occasion actually. The fake death, that is. There’s nothing that gets more attention than convincing everyone around you that you’re dead. Of course, they were always furious when I turned back up again.” He told her this with a playfulness in his voice, but it was clear that was something more beneath those words. Something that clearly still pulled at his heartstrings. But now wasn’t the time for that conversation. Loki stepped closer to her and brushed off some of the snow from her back, using his magic to dry the fabric of her coat which was damp from the fall. “But you’re really good with snowballs. And with children. And I think if you ever wanted to give up your queendom for a career on the stage you’d have a fair shot of not being harshly critiqued by someone like myself.” Oh, yes, there seemed to be much to unpack there - because well practiced in the art of dying? Loki’s family being disappointed that he returned from being fake dead? Elsa picked up on something beyond the lightness, the way sometimes you tasted the bitterness beyond the sweet of a spoonful of treacle; it was very much there, just nuanced. But she wouldn’t push about it. That really wasn’t in her nature (it was Anna who tended to push no matter what, whereas Elsa was better at figuring out the why’s and when’s of that sort of thing). “Tempting, honestly,” she responded about giving up her queendom - there was truth in that statement. Sometimes she just felt as if she didn’t fit in the role she was wedged within but that was also a conversation for another time. “Though since I’m not actually a queen here I’m free to enjoy the stage and the snow whenever possible, I suppose. I can get in a little bit of practice.” She smiled at him, flushed and happy since she too had been having fun. “I suppose we should get back? Your friends are probably wondering where you are.” But if he wanted to stay in Norway, well - she wasn’t going to protest. Friendships were new to Loki. He still hadn’t entirely worked out the subtleties of what and how much to say. He wasn’t completely ignorant of social graces. (He was raised in a palace, after all.) But he still didn’t know that delicate line between too much information and not enough. Especially not with someone he actually enjoyed being around. Someone he thought might understand him better than most. He’d clearly already made mistakes when it came to Julia and Fandral. And he’d messed up more than once with Baby Horns Loki, Sylvie, and Alligator Loki. He’d almost even completely destroyed his relationship with Natasha, but thankfully had the good sense to make the right decision in the right moment and earn himself a second chance. None of which even broached the other difficulty with Loki which was differentiating his physical feelings towards someone from his emotional and intellectual feelings. So, this act of getting to know people without frightening them off was definitely a work in progress for him. He felt, for example, like he could tell Elsa anything and she would listen with a kind ear. Because she was that kind of person. But on the same side of that token, he was afraid of telling her anything too deep for fear that she might not like him. And Loki really did want her to like him. And not just because she was a queen, although there was a kind of selfish kinship in that. But because she didn’t seem to want anything from him. Or expect anything from him. And she was simply pleasant company. Well read pleasant company. Which, of course, made all the difference to a man who’d spent most of his childhood alone in the family library because he wasn’t popular or athletic like his brother. “Oh, I made sure to let them all know that I would be out and about. And I promised I wouldn’t ignore my phone this week like I did when I was ‘kidnapped’ by pirates. No need to worry on my account. I don’t have a curfew.” Loki also didn’t really have a room to go back to because he’d been avoiding it ever since Derleth switched up the housing arrangements. He was secretly sleeping in the Peaslee Theatre when he was on campus. “But if you’d like to go back, I’d be glad to escort you. Or…” A boyish grin crept across his features. “We could take the ski lifts up to the mountain and race each other back down the slopes. Second place buys the hot cocoa? Or another gløgg, if you think you can handle it.” “Oh!” Elsa’s expression lit up. “Yes, I think a race sounds like a fun time. So does the gløgg - but definitely make sure you have enough to buy us both another cup.” Her eyes twinkled at that, a rare bit of mischief present there - she wasn’t immune to such things (her and Anna had their sisterly moments, of course, like siblings did) and, as proven before, could get a little giggly when she imbibed. And apt to make stupid jokes. Once they took the ski lift up she would burn her way down the hill, the thrill of adrenaline a balm for any sting of the wind or bitter ice - and while Elsa hadn’t really done a race in awhile, she was sure she still had what it took to win. Without cheating. Probably. Gathering her handbag, which she’d let rest near a pile of half-made snowballs, she curled her hand around Loki’s arm. “Let’s go.” |