Here is a chapter! Do enjoy :)
~Music~
More Celtic music! There are some great ones online.
Note on the picture: Ignore it. I can't change it at school, but I took a different route on the chapter than I had planned, so it's unrelatable.
Thanks!
(and remember the petition!)
Chapter Eleven
~Nobody's POV~
Thea sleeps restlessly that night. The chains are hurting her, so that she can hardly get in a comfortable position. The cot is surprisingly soft, but she has been throwing herself around so much, it generally feels like lying on a rock. She tosses and turns as she tries to fall asleep, and is eventually lulled into a disruptive sleep by the continuous sounds of the nocturnal palace. She lies on the cot skewed, with one of her legs hanging off the side and her arms jerked up so that she looks like a tangled voodoo doll. Her hair, still black, lies in a mass around her pained face. Her pale face is lit up by the presence of the bruises on her cheekbones, ugly and yellow. Blood still is scattered about her lip, her hands and wrists, her ankle, and her temple. On the floor, a ways from her, a pool of crimson lies, the only reminder of the fallen servant, lit up by the eerie orb at the top of the room, casting everything into a pale blue glow.
Hours past midnight, the iron bolt clanks as the door is opened. A shadow walks through and makes its way towards the sleeping, still-whimpering girl. She is still dressed in jeans and an old t-shirt of Kyle's, one depicting the band 'Styx', which look almost as out-of-place in this situation as does the blood splattered on the girl.
Loki looks down at his daughter, and as he sees her pale face, even miserable in sleep, his features contort into pain, internal pain that looks as though he has put a hook through his chest and dragged it back out. His eyes dart immediately to her bruises, and the blood. The bruises that he put on her skin, and the innocent blood that was spilled because of him.
His expression turns darker, his breathing comes quicker, and he stalks from the room. Crossing to the room on the other side of the hall, he slams his fist into the wall and lets out a frustrated scream.
Loki closes his tired eyes briefly and exhales deeply, his breath blowing strands of his shaggy black hair. Then, he walks back into Thea's room and shuts the door quietly behind him, making sure to lock it.
He is reaching under the washstand when he hears a frightened gasp. Looking up, he sees Thea staring back at him with her terrified green eyes. When she tries to sit up, and then wails from the attempt at yanking the manacles, he says hurriedly, quietly, "No, no, no. Stay still."
As Loki takes out a soft white cloth from the shelf underneath the washstand, Thea's eyes track his every move. He dips the cloth inside the bowl of water and then squeezes the excess out. The dripping water is almost a soothing sound.
When Loki turns around, Thea braces herself against the wall and watches him warily. Not taking his eyes off of her, Loki opens the iron cuffs with a touch of his hand. They clank to Thea's sides.
He reaches out to her face, and Thea makes a whimpering sound in her throat and turns away, shielding herself with her arm.
"Let me see, Thea," he says firmly, but with none of the harshness from earlier that day.
"No."
He pulls back, surprised, "What did you say?"
"I said no. Get away from me." She holds her face determinedly, hidden fire in those green eyes.
"Thea," he says, and there is bitterness in his voice, "Let me see your face."
She refuses to turn, "N-no."
And then she begins to sob, her shoulders shaking. When Loki tries to reach out for her shoulder, she slams it back, and then seems to cling to the wall as she cries, great rasping cries of emptiness and despair.
"Theodora," says Loki, "Turn around right now."
"M-make me," she spits, her black hair shielding her face from him, like a protective curtain, "Y-you can t-try. Y-you want to h-hit me again?"
"Thea!" His voice rises an octave. He is pleading.
"DO IT!" she screams shrilly, "DO IT! How about you just go ahead and KILL ME while you're at it, you might as w-well the am-mount you h-hurt me!"
Loki stands and looks down at the curled-up, contorted, miserable girl that is his daughter. He feels his anger growing, curdling like an unkempt flame that licks at his ankles. "I am trying to help you."
"Help me!?" she exclaims, her eyes feral, "HELP ME!? The only way you could HELP me would be to leave me and never come back! You t-try to help me, b-but you h-hurt me more! I wish anyone were standing there b-but you! I wish the devil were standing there instead of you! I wish VIDEL were there instead of you! Do you REALIZE how much you b-burn me wh-when you pretend, and pretend, and pretend and DAMN IT, GET AWAY! "
Thea is not the only one who is crying. The blue orb on the ceiling reflects the wetness on Loki's cheeks. When he speaks, he speaks as though he were choking on his last words, "You are right, Thea."
"It's w-worse when y-you're supposed to care!" she cries, "It's w-worse to the people that y-youre su-supposed to love, when you d-do terrible things to th-them."
"I am a terrible father," whispers Loki, clutching his fists as though he were trying to break iron, "I know I am. I-"
"You're the WORST!" she howls, stumbling to her feet and bracing herself unsteadily, "And I wanted you to b-be, I wanted you to..."
"You wanted what?" he demands, "You wanted a perfect angel father like your stepfather? Like Max? I'm not perfect, Thea, any more than you are! I make mistakes, I make damned mistakes, mistakes I know that will cost me more than if I totalled an entire city! I've never been a father, I don't know how to do ANYTHING! What do you want from me? To become someone who puts up a-"
"I just wanted you to be my father!"
Her words freeze his, and he stares at her.
"I w-wanted you to b-be my father!" she cries, "I did, I really did."
"You what?" he whispers, disbelief painted over his face, in his widened eyes, in his gaping mouth.
"But now I don't!" she yells, "Now I DON'T! I want you to leave me forever! I wouldn't even care if you DIED or not!"
"Thea!"
"THAT'S WHAT YOU TOLD ME! In my room, on my birthday!"
"That's not what I meant by it!" he yells, "I would never wish you dead, not for anything in this world or in the worlds beyond!"
"I find that hard to believe!" she screams. She lunges, and pushes him into the wall, "Get away, you murderer!"
His temper snaps as he watches his daughter shriek hysterically at him, "I am not the only murderer in this room!" he shouts, "I believe YOU are the one who killed Mansar, killed him with that blade, killed him cold blood! I believe it was YOU who killed-"
"DON'T YOU BRING UP LEAH!" she howls "DON'T! DON'T!"
"I wasn't going to bring up Leah! But you ARE a little killer, Thea, and if this is my only legacy to you," He glares at her through narrowed, furious eyes, "Then so be it!"
He flings the still-dripping towel to the ground and stalks from the room, slamming the door behind him.
The only way that Thea keeps herself from screaming and crying is the pool of blood on the ground. It is scattered now by Loki so that drops of crimson make a path towards the direction that he took, the path of death that always follows him.
Thea refuses to eat.
She drinks the water in the cannister next to the bed, but she refuses to touch a single bit of the fruit, bread, or pieces of meat that Loki leaves her. She's hungry, but to a girl as dogged as Thea, this discomfort is nothing.
"Why aren't you eating?" he asks the next evening..
Thea is sitting on the small bunk, her legs drawn up to her chest. Her back is to him.
She crosses her arms and refuses to look at him, refuses to speak. Tears are still streaming down her face, new and old mixing together. Her eyes are red. She hasn't been sleeping either.
"You need to eat."
She glares at the wall.
"Eat."
She clenches her jaw.
Thea hears movement, and then Loki takes her by the shoulder and turns her around. "I said eat."
She stares at him, her eyes narrowing in utter loathing.
Then, she grabs his face, and Loki snarls in pain as she burns the side. As he stumbles back, she whispers fiercely, "I'd rather starve!"
"You stubborn brat!" spits Loki, clutching his chin as his blue skin begins to slowly heal. She squeals as he grabs a slice of meat from the plate, and then her waist. She fights him fiercely, but he pulls her onto his lap, wrapping his arm around her chest, immobilizing her arms.
She presses her lips closed and stares at the wall in front of her. She breathes heavily through her nose, and although she tries to stop them, a few tiny tears trickle down her face.
"Eat!" he whispers angrily, the piece of meat close to her mouth.
Thea keeps staring ahead, attempting to elbow him.
She makes a guttural sound in her throat as Loki takes her chin in his hand and attempts to pry open her jaw. She butts her head back, striking his neck painfully, and he growls.
She writhes in his arms silently, but he keeps her pinned to his chest.
"I will stay here until you eat."
She tries to kick him, but the attempt falls flat. Loki yanks her hair so that her neck falls back. Still holding her hair with the same hand that he is holding her arms, he taps her jaw with his finger. "Open up," he taunts.
She squeals through pressed lips as he slowly pulls her jaw open and forces the meat in her mouth. He turns her face and keeps her mouth closed with his hand. She glares at him.
"Eat it."
Tears are streaming down her face, and, her eyes livid, she chews and swallows.
"Now do you want to start this again?" demands Loki, "Or do you just want to eat the rest on your own?"
"You don't have time to force feed me," she snaps, her voice surprisingly not wavering, "You're too busy murdering innocent people!"
Loki laughs, "I do have time," he whispers, "And I will do it."
"Go to hell."
"Eat."
She does it, only to stop him from having the satisfaction of her struggling against him again.
The next morning, Loki departs the palace at first light. Disguising himself as a palace guard, he walks into the stable and saddles the big bay horse, which stamps and snorts from its disruption of sleep. As he leads the horse by the reins down the stable aisle, the horses hooves clopping on the cobblestones, Loki glances to the right and sees Stjarna. The white horse is hanging his head over the stable door and flares his nostrils as Loki walks up, smelling him.
"I should have you minced into a pie," says Loki dryly, "Maybe that will teach my daughter to see a single speck of sense."
Stjarna regards him through his liquid black eyes and blinks his long eyelashes.
Loki scowls and turns away, tugging at Banamadr's reins and walking out of the stable.
The ride to Neidra's estate is almost two hours at a canter, but Loki enjoys it. It allows him to attempt to calm his thoughts and sift through them. He is enraged at Thea, for her stubbornness, for her similarity to him in this way that tells him she cannot be beat. The little part of his conscious tells him that he is in the wrong, but as he nears the edges of Neidra's property, he pushes those thoughts aside as frivolous and trivial.
While Asgard's architecture is almost purely Norse-like and slightly medieval, Neidra's mansion is adorned with Victorian-gothic esque motif, from the spires to the occasional stained glass, the overridden moss and the stone halls, to the snake-like gargoyles lurking from the corners of the walls, the low lighting, flying buttresses, and pointed arches. Immortality, Loki muses, must give a person plenty of time to change their taste in architecture once or twice a millenium.
Once the servant girl leave him, Loki dissolves his illusion and walks through the doors. Inside, he finds Neidra standing at a long counter filled with a variety of odd items: feathers, claws from what appear to be a giant eagle, bits of hair, garland, herbs, spices, and dried fruit. She is wearing a red dress, her long, silver-tipped hair drawn up in a high ponytail, but from her arm hangs a crimson-colored snake, hissing softly in the dim light. And she is murmuring distant words as she caps a glass vial that is bubbling gently.
When she turns to him, Loki sees that she has red paint- or blood, he can't tell from here-smeared on her cheeks and her forehead, two finger-swipes on each. Her silver eyes are gleaming.
"I assume from the smell that it is completed," says Loki, nodding towards the glass vial.
She smiles so mischeviously and slightly unnervingly, Loki wouldn't have been surprised at all if fangs had spread over her full lips instead of normal human teeth.
"Of course, my love," she says, handing him the vial. It is hot to the touch, as if the liquid inside had been burned in some sort of hot spring, "It is ready. Now, all you must do is give it to her. She will protest, though, won't she?"
"Thea would protest against a fanged monster if she had the urge. Actually," he adds, with consideration and a certain amount of disguised pride, "She already has."
"And when are you bringing her to me?" asks Neidra sweetly, stroking the snake's head with one of her fingers. Loki notices that the tips are stained red as well. "I so want to meet this fiery daughter of yours."
"And I so look forward to her coming here," says Loki, glancing around the stone-walled room, "Although perhaps not in here."
"No, no, no," says Neidra hurriedly, "It is far too complex and dark in here for such a delicate little flower."
"Theodora is many things," says Loki, "But delicate is not one, not by any stretch of the imagination. Regardless, I am eager for her to learn the ways of her kind; she has been removed from this for quite long enough now, and she needs a woman's touch."
Neidra smiles again, but her voice is collected and calm as she says, "Of course, of course. I so do look forward to it, darling."
"As do I," says Loki, making sure to put iron in his words, "But recall that if you are harsh to her, and news of this reaches my ears, it will not bode well to you or your son."
"Loki, you must trust me completely with your daughter!" she exclaims, "I would never do anything to break this vow to you!"
"Good." Loki takes the bottle, glances at it once again, and then pockets it, "I will administer this to Thea today, and perhaps will bring her tomorrow morning, if she is up to it. And it shall not harm her, correct?"
Neidra inspects her nails, "I have taken every precaution to ensure that it does not and, if I say so myself, my skill is prodigious."
Loki nods curtly, "Very well. I shall be off. Farewell, and farewell to you too, Caomh. I know pefectly well that you are lurking in the shadows behind me."
"Caomh!" exclaims Neidra scoldingly as Caomh emerges from the darkness behind Loki, "Apologize to your king at once!" She offers Loki a slovenly smile.
"No need," says Loki, looking amused, and then he is gone.
Neidra immediately drops her subservient smile, and turns to her son, whose copper hair is illuminated in the candlelight. "Don't be so careless next time. Loki notices things easily, as do I."
"Yet you did not realize that I was standing there."
"As it may be," says Neidra, "Be cautious still."
"Tell me, Mother," says Caomh as Neidra stands over her counter, still stroking the slithering snake, which appears to be extremely docile in her arms,"Will that potion hurt Loki's daughter?"
Neidra's smile widens so that this time, her incisor teeth are visible. Incisor teeth that, when exposed to the light, glimmer an indistinguishable crimson. "Of course it won't. Not for long, anyway."
Caomh smiles.
"Don't look so pleased. Not long enough to hurt her for too long, but enough so that she will learn the cost of her father's mistakes. Besides," Neidra flutters her hand to the ground, where a mass of gold lies, "I need her immortal. Otherwise, she may not prove useful."
Caomh looks down at the phoenix, its head twisted grotesquely and the feathers so bloodied that it is almost as if the bird had been red to begin with. "What shall I do with this?"
"I couldn't care less. Give it to the hounds, for all I care. All I needed was its flame."
"For what?"
Neidra smiles again and then reaches her finger out to a nearby candle. She grasps the flickering flame, and where it would normally burn her, she pinches the light easily, without pain.
Caomh raises his eyebrows.
"I am not one to take on the daughter of one of the greatest sorcerers alive without a bit of advantage," says Neidra, looking at her crimson-coated fingernails. She considers it curiously, and the licks the tip, "I am not such the fool."
I loved writing this chapter. Don't know why.
Please VOTE and COMMENT!!!!
love,
xxSierraxx