Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

5 | The Kingdom Next Door

Loki sits up in bed, quickly, and strains his ears against the night.

His palm opens automatically---a lumination spell building in his fingertips---

Then he remembers where he is; the Asgardian he's supposed to be.

Instead, he fumbles in the dark, feeling around for the matchbox he knows is on the bedside table.

Very little is on the bedside table.

He'd wondered about dragging himself to a market to buy a few trinkets—a little brass elephant, a vase—something to eat away the emptiness that clings to his new room like mould; but he hasn't got round to it yet.

Loki hasn't got round to leaving the third floor yet.

It takes several strikes of the match before he finally gets a spark, and touches it to the wick of an oil lamp.

A soft flame blooms.

Holding it up by the handle, Loki's eyes scan the surrounding shadows; a dressing table, a chest of draws, shuttered windows without a pane.

He thought he'd heard someone talking to him---saying his name.

But the room is empty.

--❈--

It's raining.

It's been raining for a while, droplets fat and warm as blood dribbling from the sky as if someone has forgotten to turn off a faucet.

Y/N sits on the bow of the boat, her bare feet dangling over the edge. Unsteady on the bobbing vessel, she had been weary of straying too close to the water at first---in case she should fall in---but isn't anymore.

It hadn't taken her long to become used to boat life; maybe even fond of it.

Boats, due to their constantly-in-motion state and somewhat limited square-footage, seem to come with the immense privilege of boredom:

Y/N has done absolutely nothing for two weeks now, besides the occasional shift of steering, or making the vessel what Aasta calles 'ship shape'--- which mainly involves scrubbing the grimy windows and beating dust from neglected linen.

Y/N watches riverplants slide past below her feet. They're flat, resting on the surface, heavy with pink flowers.

Raindrops roll off them in the same way they're rolling off Y/N's head.

When the heavy clouds had begun to gather, Y/N had fetched her oilskin and arranged it over her shoulders---but soon tossed it aside, sweating a little.

The Vanir Kingdom is hot and has only grown hotter the further into it their boat crawls. Slowly, as they'd neared its borders, the evergreen trees flanking the river faded into deciduous, then fruit bearers, then trees Y/N---and even Aasta---have never seen before.

They're dripping now, umbrella-like leaves heavy with rain that doesn't seem to be coming to a stop.

"How do people breathe down here? The air is so wet I'm drowning!" Aasta wipes her brow with the back of her hand. It's moist, although she's sheltered by the helm of the boat, her other hand guiding the steering wheel.

Y/N stands up, having to peel her sodden dress from the boat's deck.

Well, it's not a dress, it's one of Loki's shirts.

Y/N's cotton outfits had become unbearably warm several stretches of river ago, and---unprepared---she'd replaced her thick dresses with the lightest thing she could find.