Recompense [Fólkvangr End, Book 1] [Loki Fanfiction]

Epilogue

He gives my hand an extra squeeze as he pulls me onto the saddle in front of him. He offers me the reigns and when I quirk an eyebrow he merely shrugs and says nothing. Volstagg lets out a hearty laugh, “Loki, playing the woman again, eh?” This too raises laughter from the men. 

“A story for another time,” Loki murmurs into my ear, gliding his hands over my waist, pulling himself tightly against my back. The laughter ceases and I look up to see Odin has joined the crowd, atop his gilded, white, eight-legged horse. Eight…eight legs. Loki, as though he read my mind, dismisses my question before it escapes my lips as pure coincidence. Every time I believe I have it all figured out I realize Loki has so much more to tell me. I stow the questions for another late night.

Once the entirety of the party has been rounded up we head off into the woods, in the opposite direction of the Bifrost. We pass through a few of the smaller villages on the outskirts of the palace, people gathering in the streets to watch us pass. And by some grace they cheer us. They sing the praises of Thor and Odin and many of the soldiers. A minstrel dances pass, chanting tunes that already recount the battle—albeit more glorified than I would like. He stops when he sees me and stoops into a low bow. 

“My Lady Valkyrie!” He cheers and the crowd hushes, now staring at me. I shift uncomfortably, pulling the horse to a stop. 

Uneasily, I joke, “Have you no ballads for me, good sir?” I laugh, feeling a little like I’m playing pretend at a Renaissance fair. 

“No, for what mere tune could sing your praises properly? These people hail you as our warrior princess,” he proclaims. Well, clearly nobody around here has heard of Xena. 

“You do me too much kindness. But thank you, very much.” I spur the horse into action but the melodious voice of the minstrel lifts up on the breeze, following us out of the town.

“The Lady Valkyrie was wise and fair,

She could tame a beast with naught but her tongue,

And in the raging battle, for herself she did not care,

The fearless girl still prefers her praises unsung!”

As we pass through and into the forest the verses extolling my virtues fade away and I feel as though I can breathe again. I did not expect the people to embrace me in such a way. “I suppose it is fortuitous that our people admire you so.”

“Why does it matter if they like me?”

I dismiss it as idle admiration, battle glory, something that will soon lose its charm. But Loki shakes his head behind me. “It matters because at least then they embrace one of the two of us. They may hate me with bitterest distaste, but they will tolerate me for the mere fact that you love me.”

“That’s not…” I somehow can’t bring myself to argue against Loki. Honestly, he’s kind of right. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I finally manage.

We ride further and further into the forest, through thickets and groves of exquisite fauna. Flowers of brilliant shades sway in the fields, reaching high enough to brush against the bottoms of my boots in the stirrups. I halt the horse a moment, watching Thor and the gang advance without us. I twist in the saddle, looking at Loki over my shoulder.

“What if we just turned off in a different direction right now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if,” I propose again, “we just rode off and kept on riding until we decided to stop? What if we just left all of this behind us and didn’t look back?”