Infatuation Of The Mind • ♤Loki Laufeyson♤

Chapter seven - Punishment

You had now been on Asgard for nearly two weeks. The everyday life had begun to root itself.

Ilse and you had breakfast togheter each morning. It was your favourite part of the day. Sitting in your robe with your legs flushed against your body, eating bread and fruit. Until it felt as if you would never be able to eat another bite, ever again.

She had also converted you into becoming a real tea drinker. Everyday she brought you new flavours, brewed to perfection. Which you devoured togheter with warm milk and honey. You liked the tea as it was. But adding the softness of the milk and sweetness of the honey, really turned it into a treat. It was like treating yourself to a reward each morning.

After breakfast you usually took a walk togheter if your schedules allowed. One morning she took you to the armoury, showing where you could find the weapons and armours.

During combat training, you preferred the daggers and sometimes a smaller sized sword, a rapier. The thin blade made it easier for you to maneuver it. Out of Thor and the warriors three, Hogun was the hardest to beat. He was fast and straight forward. Fandral's fighting style was very equal to yours, which often prolonged the combats. It was smoother and more graceful. Whilst Thor and Volstagg's attacks were more hard and aggressive, using their raw strength as their main advantage. You had yet to fight Sif, but you looked forward to it.

There had only been one time where you got hurt and had to be sent to the infirmary. It happened on your fifth day on Asgard. You had been training with Thor, who you had grown really close to during your stay. Mjolnir had crushed your left shoulder from behind and as you fell, one of your daggers had cut deep into your thigh. Usually, Thor was able to stop Mjolnir long before it even came near his opponents. But you caught him off guard and the hammer struck you.

The only thing you had been able to register was the scream of your sister. You were in so much pain, that you could barely feel it. Adrenaline rushed through your veins, and you even tried to stand up. Only to stumble back down. Your hand suddenly felt damp and you could feel the unpleasant feeling of sand between your fingers. Crimson blood mixed with sand covered your whole hand. If the pain didn't make you nauseous, the blood did.

Two days, you had to stay in the infirmary. Your body had responded well to the treatments and the medications. Tyrvi had stayed by your side, the whole first day. Holding your hand as they yanked your shoulder back in place and stitched the wound in your thigh.

The morning after the accident, you had woken up to a pile of books laying on your nightstand. A small note, with the words "These were not on your list of favourites. Let me change that." written on it, signed with an L. Placed carefully on top of the pile. The moment you had read the note, you knew who it was from. It made you smile and you felt honoured that he actually had collected those books and brought them to you. Thinking that you might like them. You didn't know what smell you loved the most. The clean, woody leather smell of a new book or a book that had been read over and over, each page flipped multiple times. With the warmer, mustier wood smell to it.

You had barely seen Loki since that evening he had walked you to your room. Every time you had seen him, it had been from a far. If the fates allowed, your path crossed with his and you got a few minutes to talk. But you were both drawn in different directions. People constantly pulled your sleeves, you were always needed elsewhere.

But now, on your thirteenth day in Asgard. You saw him seated in the gardens, reading a book. He had his back against a tree and his legs outstretched and crossed.
Whenever you saw him concentrated, he had his lips tightened into a thin line and one brow slightly raised.

For a minute, you just stood there watching him. His eyes moved as they traced the printed sentences on the paper pages. He used his tongue to gently wet the tip of his thumb, before turning the page.