"You should not have tried to heal this on your own, my child," Frigga says patiently, yet firmly.
"I know," you say bashfully as your throbbing hand now rests in her lap.
Her fingers glow in their golden seidr as she passes them lightly over your terribly swollen and bruised wrist. The discoloration now travels up your palm. For a full day you had attempted to hide your injury from the others. You hadn't wanted them to know what Loki had done. But you found it much more difficult to heal yourself with one hand, and you hadn't made much progress. Finally, the pain was too much, and you sought out Frigga's help.
You wince as she passes her fingertips across the bruised area once more, and Frigga's eyes leap to yours.
"I'm nearly finished," she says softly.
You look away, and focus on the swirling patterns in the rug on the floor of Frigga's chambers.
"My husband has received word from the Kings," Frigga says, clearly trying to make idle conversation to distract you from the pain.
"And?" you ask.
"They have agreed to hold the Tablet in the Vanaheim Vault. There is the matter of settling on final terms, but Norns willing the dreaded thing will be protected by the Aesir, Vanir, and Ljósálfar soon enough," she coos gently, working now on the torn tendons that run up the side of your arm.
"As long as it's safe," you say quietly.
Frigga smiles and withdraws her hands. You hold up your wrist and admire it's flawlessness. No more bruises. No more pain.
"Thank you, Omi," you whisper, leaning in to give her a hug. It's Anthony's name for Frigga, but you had found yourself sinking into the comfort and familiarity of using his term. And Frigga had given you her blessing to do so.
"You're welcome, my child," she responds, holding you tightly for a moment.
You leave Frigga's chambers to make your way to the kitchens, bumping into a familiar small girl on the way.
"Y/n!" chirps Thyra, giving you a small curtsy.
"Hi Thyra," you laugh. "Are you going to get Loki's dinner tray?"
She nods. "Prince Loki told me this afternoon that he wanted an apple with dinner tonight. Something about wasting one he'd been given before. But I had to go to the market to get one because chef used them all in the pies yesterday!" she giggles, holding out an apple to you.
"You went all the way to the markets just for this, Thyra?" you say stunned. "You don't need to do that, honey. Next time you let me know and I'll tell Loki he can eat what we have here in the palace."
"It's no trouble Your Highness. I like the market. Besides," she grins, looking at her toes. "I did something bad for lunch. So I owed it to him."
You arch one suspicious brow at Thyra as she giggles.
"And what, young lady, did you do?" you ask with a playful tone.
"Prince Loki demanded dates with his lunch, but he gets tummy aches when he eats too much sugar and I didn't want him to feel bad so I gave him prunes instead!" she grins.
You can't help the astonished laugh that escapes your lips. You shake your head at the young girl.
"And what did my prince say to that, little one?" you ask her.
"He pretended not to notice. But I know he did," she says, playing with the hem of her skirt. "So when Prince Loki asked for the apple I wanted to make sure he got it this time. There's not too much sugar."
You find yourself overwhelmingly thankful for this kind, sweet little soul. Unsure how to properly express your gratitude for her help in delivering Loki's food while you were injured, you kneel and open your arms, inviting her into your embrace.
Thyra cocks her head at you with a curious expression, but quickly smiles and runs into you, burying her little face in your chest as you hold her tightly, stroking her hair and resting your cheek on the top of her head.
"My mama used to play with my hair," she says quietly after a moment.
You adjust and look down at the girl you hold, a sudden wave of painful, uncomfortable familiarity washing over you. Brief flashbacks to your childhood. The loneliness.
"Honey," you say softly. "I'll play with your hair whenever you want me to."
"You will?" Thyra says, looking up at you with wide eyes.
"Of course I will," you say softly, pulling her back in closely. "My son likes it when I play with his hair too."
"He's funny," Thyra says. "He calls me Feera," she giggles.
As you kneel on the ground of the palace, holding this little girl in your arms, the part of your heart that has ached ever since Tony pulled Anthony from your arms is suddenly soothed for the first time.
You place a light, gentle kiss on the top of the girl's head and pull back, taking both of her small hands in yours.
"You're a brave girl, Thyra," you say. "Thank you for taking care of Loki while he's sick. I know he can be a little bit scary sometimes."
Thyra simply smiles. "He's not scary. Not really. He's just sad."
You tuck a little piece of golden brown hair behind the girls ear and rise from the floor.
"Thank you for the apple Thyra. I'll take Loki his dinner tonight and make sure he knows it's from you."
Thyra smiles and does her little curtsy before giggling and running down the hall, out of sight.
Staring at the ripe green apple in your hands for a moment you shake your head and smile before heading to the kitchens and gathering Loki's tray, which has been prepared and sits waiting for pickup on the feast table.
Placing the apple in the center in a place of prominence, you begin making your way to the dungeons.
"Sister!" a hearty voice calls from down the hall.
You glance over your shoulder and turn slightly to see Thor, Mjolnir in hand, striding your way. His red cape fluttering behind him, lapping at his ankles.
"Hey Thor," you answer. "Do you really have to wear that thing all the time?" you laugh. "Aren't you just at home? Can't you...I don't know, relax?" you laugh as you continue towards the dungeons, Thor falling into step beside you.
"Alas, I am a Prince in this land, my lady. As much as I long for my sweating pants, I must remain ready for battle at all times while among my people," he says.
"Sweat pants."
"Pardon, my lady?"
"Sweat pants, Thor," you laugh. "If you call them sweating pants, people will get some very strange ideas about what you get up to in your spare time."
"Ah yes, the sweat pants, then," he laughs, then looks down at the tray in your hands. "I see that you are taking my brother his evening meal?"
"Mhmm," you answer, eyeing the stairs down to the dungeons up ahead.
"Do you mind if I accompany you?"
"What for?" you ask suspiciously.
"I-I...well, I simply wish to speak to my brother," he stammers slightly.
"Ah," you answer, unconvinced. You have a feeling Frigga may have sent a little bird to chirp in his ear, and inform him of the outcome of your last visit to Loki. He was likely there for protection.
Nevertheless, you allow him to walk with you. As you descend the stairs and approach Loki's cell, you catch Loki pacing. Back and forth he moves, irritated, his arms crossed in front, a single hand brought to his chin.
But the moment you come into view he stops, turning to you and Thor and scowling at you both before his eyes land on you.
"You are foolish to return here after such disrespect, mortal," Loki spits.
"Brother," thunders Thor. "Cease your empty threats."
"Predictable," hisses Loki. "How the mighty have fallen, brother. Of all the goddesses across the realms, you bed an average, miserly mortal?"
The lightheartedness you had carried in your chest after your encounter with Thyra all but vanishes, replaced with a deep sting and a traumatic blow to your self-confidence as Loki manages to belittle and berate your appearance and race in one fell swoop.
"You know not what you say, brother," growls Thor dangerously. "Please, I urge you to proceed carefully."
Loki tears his glance from Thor to look at you. He watches as you try, and fail, to hide the hurt on your face. For a brief moment, you see that Loki is puzzled by your reaction - expecting anger or sarcastic responses. But the pain in your eyes surprises him.
Quickly, however, he puts his mask of cold nonchalance back on as Thor approaches him, lowering the transparent shield and stepping through into his space.
"We must talk, brother."
"No offense Thor, but I do not enjoy our little talks. They usually end with banishment or a jail cell. Seeing as I'm already in the latter, I can only assume you bring glad tidings of exile," sneers Loki.
Thor is silent but balls his fist and tightens his grip on Mjolnir. You shift the food tray, holding it with one hand while balancing it on your hip. You reach out your free hand to place it gently on Thor's forearm. He relaxes, taking a step back from Loki.
Loki's eyes narrow as his gaze lands on your hand on Thor's, and you quickly pull away.
"Loki, I wish to speak to you of the time you've forgotten. It is important you understand what has happened during your time in exile on Midgard, and why you were allowed to return to Asgard," Thor says.
You watch Loki's face as he takes in Thor's words. You knew Thor was planning to tell Loki that he had spent the past three years on Earth only to be invited to return to hunt Amora. All other details were to be left out. That was the agreement.
"I don't see what there is to discuss," Loki purrs. "Clearly during my time on Midgard I failed to do anything even remotely productive seeing as you're still lumbering around the halls of the palace and the one-eyed ergi sits comfortably on his cushioned throne."
"Do not insult our father in that way, Loki," threatens Thor, lifting Mjolnir and holding it up to Loki's chest.
"I would never insult my father thusly. I insult your father," spits Loki.
Thor takes another aggressive step towards Loki but you move quickly, balancing the food tray as you step between the two men, your back to Loki. You hold out one hand and it lands on Thor's chest as he advances, causing the goblet of mead on the tray to slosh over the sides slightly.
You walk Thor backwards a few steps.
"Don't let him get to you, Thor. Go. Walk it off," you say.
Thor growls as he looks up at Loki who stares angrily through his dark brows at the two of you. Finally, Thor relents, turning and storming from the dungeons.
You watch him go, disappearing completely from sight before you turn back to Loki.
"Sorry, about that," you say, waving your hand over the tray, cleaning up the spilled mead in a shimmer of icy blue seidr as Loki watches you intently.
You then place the tray on his bedside table.
"The apple is from Thyra," you say, adjusting the tray. "She went all the way to the markets for it, you know," you say, looking over at Loki who has no visible reaction to your statement. Yet you see a tiny tinge of pink in his ears.
Looking down to hide your smile, you notice the edge of his fitted sheet riding up the corner of his bed. Absent-mindedly, you drop to your knees and pull the edge down, tucking it in tightly and smoothing the corners before standing, and turning back to Loki who hasn't taken his eyes off you.
You can't read his face, which is rare, but you know he's intrigued and your cheeks start to burn as you realize what you have just done. You quickly step from the platform of Loki's cell and raise the transparent barrier, eager to leave before he catches your blush.
But as you turn your back to leave, he calls for you.
"What is your name, mortal?"
You pause and look at him over your shoulder.
"I have a few," you answer.
"Your favorite, then."
You give him a sad smile, answering simply.
"Depends on the day."