Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

10 | The Little Bed In The Prow

 When insects begin congregating around the lanterns, Y/N and Loki retreat inside to find Aasta loading kindling into the kitchen's purring little furnace.

"I managed to pick up some supplies from towns along the river," she says, the boat's living space filling with a pleasant, dry warmth as the fire starts mouthing at the new bark. "Just the basics, milk and flour and the like, but enough to make a good meal," peculiarly, her words seem to flow easier than they had before, her tongue less tangled, and Y/N's brows pull together.

She is about to ask where she had found this new sense of serenity, but catches sight of something on the countertop:

An unopened bottle of blackberry wine that had been on the shelf for the past few weeks is now half-empty, the dust rubbed away around its grubby cork.

Feeling her lips twitch with a smile, Y/N and Loki exchange a look as they slide onto the bench curving around the dining table.

Stoking the fire with confident hands, Aasta isn't tipsy, but the drink has restored colour to her cheeks. She stands and dusts her hands on her apron. "Can I ask you two a question?"

Two deep pans hang over the log burner, one bubbling with a thick creamy sauce, and the other churning angrily with boiling water. 

She gives the sauce a stir. "How did you two meet?"

Y/N blinks in surprise. She had expected a lecture about breaking into palaces, or an interrogation into what they plan to do next--- 

---or a slightly tactless query about frost giants. 

Do frost giants mind being called 'frost giants'? Y/N wonders. 

She supposes they might not even know they're being called frost giants. 

And, if the rest of them are the same size as the one sitting next to her, she doesn't really understand how they earned that label; Loki is tall, yes, but she wouldn't exactly call him a giant. 

Do they have some other name for themselves? And what do they call Asgardians? 

'Annoying little pricks', probably. 

"Y/N was my maid," Loki is explaining, and Aasta's eyebrows almost touch her hairline.

"The whole time I've known you, you were a prince's maid?"

Loki smiles. "Y/N is an essential cog within The Royal Palace."

Her neck heating, memories of days spent lounging about, playing with paint, and sharing candle-lit meals in The Prince's royal chambers blossom in Y/N's mind. Sheepilshy:

"I'm really not."

On the counter—beside the bottle of blackberry wine—a mountain of pasta twists drown a chopping board, and, with one smooth motion, Aasta sweeps them into a bowl. When she adds them to the pot of boiling water the angry bubbling quiets down—as if it were an animal that had just wanted to be fed.

Throwing a wink at Y/N:

"So, how did you bag yourself a prince?"

"I didn't—"

A smirk twitches at Loki's lip. "Persistence."

Frowning, Y/N gives his ribs a nudge with her elbow. "Hey!"

"It's true," he continues, leaning back comfortably. "She was always starting conversations with me, following me about, wanting to help me with whatever I was doing." He waves a nonchalant hand, and Y/N flaps it away, appalled.

"You asked me to help you! You started conversations with me!"

Loki simply laughs at her, the sound filling the cramped little kitchen, and it's the best thing Y/N has ever heard.