The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training || Loki x Reader

Chapter 5

It's six o'clock in the morning when your alarm goes off. You don't half-wake up to slam the OFF button, the way you normally do. Instead, you lie there for a few moments, staring at the ceiling. Seven days. For seven days, you've endured the whispers of your classmates, the stares of complete strangers any time you try to go out in public. Five lunch periods during which everyone glanced at you at one point or another, freshmen and seniors alike. Some seem to pity you. Others are jealous, as hard as that is for you to fathom. Apparently, some of your fellow classmates are delusional enough to want to play Buttercup to King Psycho's Westley.

Or would he be Prince Humperdinck?

You sigh. Why am I spending my last five minutes of peace arguing with myself about whether or not The Princess Bride is a fitting analogy for my life?

"Sweetheart?"

Did I say five minutes? Make that five seconds. "I'm awake, Mom." Hearing the door squeak open, you pull the covers over your head. "Mo-om, I said I'm awake." You feel the mattress sink as she sits on the edge of the bed. When she doesn't move, you peek out, finally shaking off your morning laziness enough to sit up. "What?"

She rubs your foot through the blanket. "I just wanted to tell you that I am incredibly proud of you. I always have been. I couldn't have asked for a more amazing daughter - "

"Mom - "

She shakes her head. "Let me finish. Please. You are so beautiful, and so strong. You've always been strong. So feisty. And I've always loved that about you, even when you turned that temper against me." She takes a deep breath, clearly fighting back tears. "I know this isn't fair. And we're all scared. But what scares me even more is that we don't know what happens to the girls...to the ones who don't win. So I just wanted to tell you, do whatever you have to do to stay alive. You hear me?" You go to answer, but she continues, "I'd rather see you married to that - that - and know you're alive, than not."

"I'll be fine."

"I know. But you can be a headstrong little thing sometimes. You have pride, and morals, and that's good, but it can also be dangerous. So if the - the king asks you something, you don't talk back. You don't attack any of the other girls. You play by their rules. I want nothing more than to have you back home, home and safe. I want you to have a normal life. But if it's a choice between being executed and being the king's plaything - "

"I get it, Mom," you interrupt. "Option two. Just, um, stay alive. Right?" She bites her lip, nodding. "I will. I promise."

Her eyes flutter shut, and a single tear leaks out. "Thank you," she whispers, brushing it aside before opening her eyes again. She grabs your hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. "Now go get dressed. We're leaving for the train station in an hour."

You take time to say goodbye to your room, getting just the slightest bit overly emotional. Okay, so maybe more than a little bit; heck, even using your curling wand for the last time makes you tear up. You actually bother with makeup, for once, brushing your favorite eyeshadow over your eyelids, a light stroke of blush blended into each cheek, your eyelashes curly and clump-free. Finally, the doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of your escort. Your family climbs into the provided limo, flanked by two government officials, and you wave goodbye to the neighbor's dog, watching her run around the yard. I'm going to miss that dog, damn it.

A crowd has formed by the time you arrive, practically your entire town, kept in check by the guards and the stanchions set up. It's hard to say which goodbye hurts most: as you make your way to the platform, Carlie hanging from your waist, you have to stop every few seconds to blow kisses to your friends. Erik's hug almost makes you cry, because only a month ago your biggest worry was whether or not he'd have enough time off from school to come home, and now you're the one leaving. Mom plants a kiss on your cheek before shepherding your siblings back to the car, leaving you and Dad behind.

"So, Bean," he says in a strangled voice. You do your best to ignore the shouts and camera flashes coming from a couple of yards away. "This is it."

"Yeah." He smiles. "My little patriot."

You can't help but chuckle at that, and give him a little salute. You were requested to dress in your country's colors for Transport Day, and you may have gone a little overboard. With your white blouse tucked into a short blue skirt, a la Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, a blue belt, blue shoes, and a red bow in your hair, you're a walking, talking American flag. "Thanks, I try."

"You didn't pick an item to bring, did you?" You shake your head; you've been so sick with worry for the past week, you'd completely forgotten. From behind his back, he produces a thick book, covered in black velvet. You glance at it, then look up at him, one eyebrow raised in a question. "It's a photo album," he clarifies. "Your mom and I put it together last night. Not sure what kind of stuff we'll be able to send you once you're over there, so we wanted you to have this. No metal, no pointy edges, so it should get past security okay."

You turn it over in your hands, running a thumb over one corner. "Thank you, Dad. I love it." You force yourself to grin. Be brave.

"I'm glad." He clears his throat. "Look, you know how I feel about this...this whole situation. I want you to get out of there as soon as humanly possible, alright? Stay low, out of...his attention. I don't care about the money, I don't care about the throne: first opportunity you have to come home, you take it."

You let out a sad little laugh. "I know."

"And if that monster lays a hand on you, you write home and you tell us and we'll figure something out."

"I'll take care of myself, Dad, all right?" You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, and feel him kiss the top of your head. "Love you."

"I love you, too, Bean."

I will not cry. I will not cry.

You take a step back, holding the photo book tightly against your stomach. "I should - I should go."

He nods. "Be safe, Bean. Get home safe."

"I will," you call over your shoulder, offering a timid smile to the guard who helps you into the train car.

You watch as, all too quickly, your hometown disappears, watch as the houses and trees and streets turn into a blur of movement. You decide against checking out the photo album - right now, all you have the energy to do is place the book on the empty seat next to you. Leaning back, you close your eyes, wait for your pounding heart to steady itself, and let the gentle vibrations of the train lull you to sleep.