The Widower's Forgotten Smile
Title:The Widower's Forgotten Smile
Rating:R
Prompt:Eating Disorders
Warnings:Non-con
Fandom:Marvel Cinematic Universe
Word Count:5271
Summary: Ísleikur Petarson had come to Asgard to start over, following the death of his wife and child. It surprised him when he stopped being able to eat; or at least, want to eat. In fact, the only thing he wants to eat is the ice cream made by the jotun, Loki, who lives down the street, and the only person he enjoys talking to is the man's daughter, Mirjam. Sequel to 'The Thunderer's Paramour'
It was Mirjam's opinion that her little sister, Röskva, was unfortunate looking only because unlike her, mama and Aunt Ursa, had pale, boring Æsir skin. Not that she was ugly, but she definitely was the odd looking one in the family. Only her shiny blue-black hair and bright green eyes like mama were pretty. Not that she would say so out loud; it would upset mama. It was rather easy to do that these days; papa hadn't been to see the baby yet, and she was nearly two weeks old. There wasn't anything going on, Mirjam was fairly certain about that. Lady Sif and Vakur had come to see the baby, cooing over her the way everyone seemed to do; but she didn't know why papa hadn't come. Papa should have shown his face by now. Vakur hadn't wanted to leave when he came to visit - he loved coming to see Mirjam, mainly because he was allowed to run around outside and get dirty, not having to do any of that awful formal stuff that was required of him as a prince.
She made her way furtively down the stairs, pausing at her mama's door, glancing in to see him feeding the baby, his expression sad and tired. Taking a breath she continued on down and into the shop, which was deserted at this time of the day. She took down her apron and fastened it around her waist. “Good afternoon, Aunt Ursa.”
“Good morning, sweetheart.” The dark-elf replied, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “How was school this morning?”
“Fine.” She went and cleared a table, carefully stacking the empty wooden bowls on the bottom, those with some traces of ice cream in them going on top. “We learned about the sun and the moons of Asgard.”
“How interesting.” She was busy filling a travel container with ice cream. “Honey, I want you to take this down to Mister Elahson's shop, you know who he is right?”
She set the bowls down near the sink. “Yes, he lives down the street, he is a milliner.” She frowned. “I thought Mister Elahson didn't like ice cream.”
“Indeed, but his nephew has recently come to Asgard from Alfheim, it is for him.” Ursa handed her the container. “And if he won't eat it, well, Mister Elahson has shop assistants who will.”
Mirjam nodded. “Yes, Aunt Ursa.” She turned and went out the door, looking once up and down the street before crossing to the other side, heading for the shop she'd only been in a few times; mama didn't need the formal gowns the man sold; and neither did her aunt or herself. But it didn't mean she didn't like to look at the fancy garments hanging in the windows. What always got her were the small dolls that modeled dresses that were suited for the nobles of Asgard, not - not the people who lived in this part of the city.
As she came near the store, she saw a stranger standing outside, washing the windows. He had shaggy brown hair and only a hint of a beard and mustache, and he was wearing a mourning outfit. No wonder Aunt Ursa had sent her down with ice cream; this man looked even sadder than her mama. “Excuse me, are you Mister Elahson's nephew?”
The man turned and looked at her - he had big, brown eyes that were warm, but sad. “Indeed I am.” He crouched down to her level. “My name is Ísleikur Petarson.” He gave her a worn smile. “And what is your name?”
“Mirjam Lokadottir.” She held out the container of ice cream. “My auntie asked me to bring this to you. It's ice cream, I think the flavor is our house specialty.”
“Ice cream?” He took the container and lifted the lid. “It's purple.”
“It's honey-lavender. Mama invented it. Everyone loves it.” She gave him a grin. “You don't have to worry about Mister Elahson stealing any, he doesn't like ice cream.”
Mister Petarson stood up, still looking sadly into the container. “No, no he doesn't.” He then gave her an odd look. “You seem awfully young to be wandering the streets alone.”
She frowned. “I just live up there.” She pointed towards her house. “The place with the dark blue and gray awnings.” She lived her chin. “And I'm six.”
“Oh, I'm sorry then.” He said in a tone that Mirjam recognized from some adults whenever they were humoring her; she didn't mind. “Well, you best hurry home, before your mama comes looking for you.”
“Mama's busy with my baby sister.” She scuffed her shoe on the pavement. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Mister Petarson.”
“Thank you, Miss Lokadottir.” He nodded and went into the store.
“I wonder why you're so sad.” She turned and skipped back up the sidewalk, heading for home. Maybe Röskva would be sleeping again when she got back; she wanted to spend some time with mama all on her own again.
*
Ísleikur saw Mirjam running down the street nearly every day, heading for the school that was on the far end of the block. There was something heartwarming about a half-jotun girl running with Æsir children and no one saying anything, it reminded him of Alfheim, where one's outward appearance was one of the last things anyone took into account. When he learned that the girl was the base-born daughter of the Crown Prince Thor, he wasn't certain what he thought; he'd seen the girl's mother, a lithe smaller-than-normal jotun whom he never saw without the girl or an infant in a sling, reminded him of the delicate dolls he set in the shop windows.
Something ethereal and otherworldly.
The rest of the man's history, however, made Ísleikur sick. Not out of what Loki had done, but what had been done to Loki. Of course, he was betting on most of it being gossip and exaggeration; at least, he hoped it was. The only rumor he knew to be true was that the jotun was still the mistress of the crown prince, although he didn't fit the image in his mind. He thought mistresses were usually richly dressed, proud, haughty beings; they certainly wouldn't be running a small food shop, and being - motherly. Although why a man would want a mistress when they had a wife, he couldn't understand either. But then, the crown prince was in a completely different social class from himself.
As his uncle was fond of saying, the nobility weren't just a different class, they were a whole different species.
Then again, he'd only been half-listening to his uncle since he arrived on Asgard a month ago, after his in-laws finally convinced him to leave Alfheim; it had been seven years since the Fever swept through that realm, killing his wife and young child. His uncle needed help in his shop and while he knew he needed to get on living, some days, it just seemed next to impossible. He had thought that being away from Alfheim, away from the family he had grown to love, it would be easier. Now he lived in an area of Asgard full of children and it only reminded him of what he had lost. He wasn't too surprised when he stopped being able to eat normally again. Practically the only thing he'd managed to eat in the month he'd been on Asgard was the ice cream made at the jotun's shop, although he had yet to sit in the place and enjoy a bowl of it there. That was his goal for today; to down the street, sit at a table, and eat ice cream. Granted, it wasn't healthy for him, but his uncle didn't harp on him to eat as long as he ate something.
The mild weather kept most people out of the shop, he imagined the place was much busier in the summer. He steeled himself up as he pushed open the door, glad of the lack of crowd. When he stepped inside, he was struck by a wonderful smell that had nothing to do with ice cream; a rich, oddly starchy smell that reminded him of baking bread, but it wasn't that - and there was an odd sizzling sound from somewhere behind the curtain that hid the backroom of the shop.
“Good afternoon.” The jotun was behind the counter, and he gave him a very tired smile; Ísleikur recognized the look on his face; a mother with a newborn infant. “How are we today?”
“I am fine.” He came up to the counter. “I don't want to interrupt your lunch, if this is a bad time.”
“I beg your pardon?” The man frowned. “Lunch?”
“I'm not certain what it is your cooking, but it must be delicious.” He felt his cheeks go slightly pink. He'd come in here for a bowl of ice cream, not to make an ass of himself.
“Oh. You must smell the Peruvian fries, it's a new dish we have recently started serving.” Loki smiled. “Would you like to try them?”
“Peruvian fries?” He frowned. “I have not heard of that food.”
“It's a Midgardian dish, made from a vegetable called a potato, which, as it transpires, grows like mad once it gets started.” He gave him an encouraging smile. “You must be Ísleikur Petarson, Hans's nephew.”
“Yes.” He nodded slightly. “I - I believe I would like to try these Peruvian...is Peruvian a county on Midgard?”
“Peru is, that is where the potato was first cultivated. On Midgard, they are called French fries.” Loki frowned. “Although I do not know why.”
“Well, whatever it is called, it smells wonderful.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbled and he let out a rather embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry.”
“No need, just have a seat and I'll bring you out a plate shortly.” He tilted his head to the side slightly. “Would you like some ice cream as well?”
“As good as it is, I think I've had enough ice cream lately.” He paused and glanced at the menu over the jotun's head. “Although... perhaps an ice cream soda wouldn't be bad...”
Loki smiled. “What kind?”
“Vanilla cola, please.” He replied, returning the smile and then went over to a table that was halfway between the door and the counter, allowing him to observe the entire establishment. When his food was placed in front of him, he decided that maybe, just maybe, his eating problem might be over.
*
“I am sorry I could not come sooner.” Thor's voice sounded genuinely sorry, but a niggling feeling in the back of Loki's mind told him that he wasn't as sorry as he should be.
“It is all right, I understand.” The lie fell off of his tongue with ease, quite frankly, Loki was outraged. Röskva was nearly a month old and only now was her father showing up to see her. Lady Sif had been here twice already; the future queen of Asgard had seemed troubled, but he had not pressed the issue.
Thor settled the baby into the crook of his arm and moved his foot, so the rocker was set into motion. “Is Mirjam not here?”
“Mirjam is spending the night with a school friend, had I known you were coming, I would have told her she needed to stay home. She will be sorry she missed you.” He sighed softly. “Perhaps you can come visit again before the week is out.”
“I will try, but I am finding more and more duties are being expected of me as of late.” Thor let out a sigh of his own, brushing a finger against Röskva's cheek. “I should find the time to make time, but it is not easy.”
Loki closed his eyes, the niggling feeling getting slightly stronger. “You will one day have a realm to rule, Thor. When that day comes, I know that finding time for visiting the girls and myself will be even harder.” He let out a breath. “I would rather you make time to see the girls, I'm certain that once Röskva's a little older, they could come visit you, couldn't they?”
“Perhaps.” Thor's voice didn't sound certain. “I will discuss it with Sif, of course.”
“Of course.” Loki kept himself from smiling - Sif was rapidly becoming his favorite member of the royal family. He opened his eyes. “Was there trouble on Midgard that kept you away so long?”
“Yes, apparently the organization that the Avengers was founded under was being undermined by a darker group.” He let out a breath. “Needless to say, the evil runs deep, infecting all aspects.” He shook his head. “Even though it was disbanded, the damage was extensive.”
“But you were able to return home, many do not have that luxury, I suspect.” He heard the baby give off a soft whimper. “I believe it's nearly time for our little one to eat again.”
Thor stood and came over, placing the babe back in her mother's arms. “She's beautiful, Loki.” He brushed his fingers against the infant's cheek. “Like her dam.” He went back to the rocker while Loki unfastened and opened his shirt so Röskva could nurse.
Loki blushed slightly as he settled his daughter against his breast, and a moment later, felt the girl latch on. “Thank you, although I think she favors you more than myself.”
“Children change.” He let out a slight laugh. “Oh, speaking of, Vakur would very much like for Mirjam to come to his name-day party next month. I am certain a formal invitation will be sent.”
“I'm certain Mirjam would love to attend. We shall see.” He adjusted his hold on his daughter. “I nearly forgot how close her and Vakur's birthdays are.”
“Yes.” Thor closed his eyes, rocking slightly. “I must go soon, I have things that were neglected while I was on Midgard and there are things that cannot wait.”
Loki bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his retort. It was strange how Thor's absence had cleared his head a little more. The prince came up with excuses constantly and always had; while he'd been a slave, he'd been used to such treatment, now he saw things in a different light. He knew he wasn't a demanding creature, who commanded his attention all hours of the day. All he really wanted was for Thor to come by one hour a week, it could even be the same hour every week, and see his girls. He could care less about his relationship with Thor; it wasn't as if the prince would ever honestly return his feelings. But the girls didn't deserve to be ignored. “I understand.” It was so automatic, so calm - Norns, he was pathetic.
Thor stood and placed a kiss on the top of his head. “I will come and see you all again, next week, perhaps. I do not know.”
“Send a message ahead, so I can insure Mirjam will be here.” He looked up at the prince, offering him a smile. “Unlike Röskva, she is not nursery bound.”
He chuckled. “Yes.” He touched the babe's cheek, and then knelt down in front of the chair.
“Thor? What?” He was cut off as the prince opened the other side of his shirt and latched on to his other nipple, his tongue brushing over the stiff peak and then began to drink. “Nn...” He bit into his lip to keep from crying out, and a moment later, he felt the tears fall from his eyes.
**
Ísleikur just needed a friend. Preferably one who didn't shake their head with pity behind his back and fuss over him as though they feared he was going to break. Since he knew that he had to be a friend in order to have one, he set out for the one person he wagered could use a friend as well; Loki. The man worked, was raising his girls alone - and he'd heard that the jotun had sold his own horns to free the dark elf who lived with him. The more he learned second-hand about the jotun, the more he wanted to know first hand.
His job here at his uncle's was not exactly demanding - most of his time was spent designing and making display gowns. Most of the actual dresses that were made and sold at the shop were done by the apprentices, he also served as the other person to answer questions. It wasn't exactly the job he always dreamed of doing, but it was something he could do. When he lived on Alfheim, he had been a part of his late wife's family's fabric business - and he had continued to work for them even after her death. They hadn't sent him to Asgard out of dislike, or out of cruelty - he knew full well that he needed to live his life and staying on Alfheim would not let him do that.
Everything just seemed impossible at the moment.
He adjusted the skirt of a doll in the window and waved as he saw Mirjam pass by the shop, her face bright. She waved back to him and then she stopped, her attention caught by something - one of the dolls, he figured. Taking a breath, he went to the door and stepped outside. “Good afternoon, Mirjam.”
“Good afternoon, Mister Petarson.” She answered, swaying back and forth, slowly. “That's a very pretty yellow dress.”
“Ah yes.” He came to stand next to her, knowing the dress she was referring too. “I'm glad you like it. Although I think that may be a bit to grown up for you.”
She looked up at him, grinning. “I know. But it's still pretty. It looks like something Auntie Sif might wear.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Although I do not think Lady Sif will be visiting my uncle's shop anytime soon.” He saw her face fall as she nodded. “What is the matter?”
“Papa came to see my baby sister and he didn't send a messenger ahead of time, so I didn't know he was coming, so I didn't get to see him.” She let out a sigh. “I haven't seen my papa in two months.”
“That is terrible, I'm sorry to hear that.” He tried to give her an encouraging smile. “Perhaps he will come and see you soon. If I had a little girl like you, I don't know how I could go a day without seeing her.”
She looked up again and smiled. “I like you. You're nice.”
“Thank you.” He looked up the street. “I believe you were expected at home sooner.” He saw Loki heading towards them. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.” He replied, smoothing down Mirjam's hair. “I hope she hasn't been bothering you.”
“Not at all.” He smiled a little more certainly. “She was just looking at the dolls, that is all.”
Loki nodded. “I can imagine lots of girls do that.”
Mirjam tugged on her mother's sleeve. “I'm gonna go home, okay?”
“All right, honey. Don't worry about being too quiet, your sister isn't asleep.” He smiled and hugged her again before she took off up the street. “She wasn't bothering you, honestly?”
“No.” He almost frowned. “Although she seemed a little upset, she mentioned not getting to see her father when he last visited.” He instantly regretted his words, because Loki suddenly looked ill. “Are you all right?”
“I...” He took a step away and in response, he set a hand on the jotun's arm, not clasping it, just barely touching it. “I am a fool, that is all.” He jerked away and hurried after his daughter, leaving Ísleikur alone.
“Damn it.” He turned and went back inside, feeling ill.
*
Loki lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He would not allow himself to cry over recent events, it would do no good. He had known that when he and Thor renewed their relationship, it would be different, he had told the prince that; but somehow, it was more twisted and messed up than it was before. When he had lived in the palace, he hadn't had the freedom to come and go as he pleased, he was kept hidden most of the time, and while he saw Thor more often, he'd felt more indebted to the man then now. Freedom had opened his eyes to so much; being able to do as he pleased with his life and Thor seemed to think he was still just sitting in a room somewhere, waiting to be played with.
He rolled over onto his side, hugging a pillow to him. He should just tell Thor that it was over between them. It would be quite simple, really. He could speak with Sif, work out a day during the week for the girls to visit Thor in the palace, or even just one day every other week, and that way, the girls could see and get to know their father and he wouldn't have to see the prince. That was a blessing, he supposed, that he and Sif got along so well.
For some reason, he had been thinking about the man down the street lately. Ísleikur. Since the man was in mourning clothes, Loki didn't want to do anything untoward or forward, although he would very much like to invite the man to dinner sometime - just as a friend. It was very clear to him that being around all these families on this block were rather upsetting to him; it didn't make any sense as to why he would come here of all places to grieve. Then again, perhaps there was something about this block that drew people in need of healing or starting over.
“Mama?” Mirjam's voice came from the doorway and he sat up.
“What is it, honey?” He frowned and opened his arms, and a moment later, she scrambled into bed with him.
“I had a bad dream.” She hugged him. “I was coming home from school and I took a wrong turn and got lost, and no one would help me get home.”
He embraced her, smoothing her hair and kissing the top of her head. “You're safe now, and it was just a dream.”
“I was scared.” She shuddered and he held her tighter. “I was so scared, mama, not even the guards would help me get home.”
“Sssh.” He rubbed her back in slow circles. “It's all right.”
“Mama, can I stay in here with you?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I promise I won't wake Röskva up.”
“Of course you can, sweetie.” He laid down and a moment later, so did she. “Snuggle up close, okay?”
“Okay.” She yawned and tucked her head under his chin. “Good night, mama.”
“Good night, Mirjam.” He closed his eyes, letting himself drift off to sleep.
**
Mirjam was rather surprised when Papa wasn't at Vakur's name-day party. Of all the place she expected him to be today, the party was where he should be. She heard he was on Midgard again, but what he was doing, no one knew exactly. Auntie Sif didn't look to happy about his absence either, but like mama, Auntie was good at hiding what she was feeling. Since the party was for both grown-ups and kids, she would be spending the night here in the palace, rather than going home. Mama couldn't come because bringing Röskva wouldn't be a good idea.
“Mirjam!” Grandmother's voice was light and genuine. “Goodness child, you have grown!” She held out her arms and she gave the queen a light hug. “I almost didn't recognize you!”
“I haven't changed that much, have I?” She knew her eyes were wide.
“Oh, I'm just teasing.” she gave her a swift kiss and then frowned. “What is it?”
“Why do grown-ups do that? Teasing is mean. Mama says so. So do my teachers at school.” She heard a collective draw of breath in the room, but couldn't understand why. “It doesn't make sense if adults tell us not to tease when they can tease worse than kids can.”
Grandmother smiled weakly and then shook her head. “You know what, you are right. I shouldn't tease.” She made a movement to ruffle her hair and then caught herself. “And here I have been properly reprimanded by my granddaughter who knows better than to tease others.”
“No one likes to have hurt feelings. You can't fix hurt feelings the way you fix a broken plate.” She noted that most people had gone back to their conversations and were ignoring the two of them.
“How wise, did your mama tell you that?” Grandmother sounded genuinely curious as Auntie Sif came over to join them.
“No, Aunt Ursa told me that.” She looked up at Sif. “Good afternoon, Aunt Sif. Thank you for inviting me to come to the party.”
“Oh, you're welcome.” Sif gave her a very big smile. “How is your little sister?”
“She doesn't sleep nearly as often as she used to.” She scuffed her feet on the floor. “And she can almost hold her own head up too.”
“I bet she's just a precious thing.” Her auntie kissed her cheek. “Perhaps Vakur and I will come and visit you all soon, would you like that?”
“I would!” She replied, grinning. “You could meet my friend, Mister Petarson.”
“Mister Petarson?” Auntie glanced at Grandmother and then back at her. “Does he live near your house?”
“Uh huh. He's Mister Elahson's nephew, he makes dresses.” she swung her arms from side to side. “He likes to come to the shop for Peruvian fries and ice cream sodas. He comes almost every other day.”
“I'm certain he's a very nice man.” Grandmother offered. “Speaking of food, why don't we go get you a plate?”
“Yes, please.” she replied, polite and dutiful, the way she always was around the much older woman.
“Sweet child.” They crossed the room to the wide buffet table. “I hope to see you all here for the Yule Feast in a few months.”
“I hope so too, I like coming here.” She looked over all the dishes, hardly knowing where she wanted to start. There was always so much food when she came to visit.
*
Ísleikur made it to Loki's shop shortly before it closed. The chairs were already on the tables and the jotun was getting ready to mop the floor when he pushed the door open, feeling uncertain. “Good evening.”
Loki leaned his mop against a table, setting a bucket down. “Good evening, Ísleikur.” He started for the counter. “The usual? I'm afraid we're out of fries for the day.”
“No, no I don't need anything.” He took a breath and came over to him. “I was wondering if it would be all right for me to give this to Mirjam.” He took out the doll that was wearing the saffron colored dress that she kept admiring in the window of the store. “It seems that she is the only girl or lady who has fallen in love with the dress.” He looked at it sadly and held it out. “I don't know if I am glad of that or not.”
Loki took the doll, turning over in his hands. “It is a fine dress, why would you not want to make a larger version?”
“My late wife... that shade of yellow was her favorite.” He swallowed.
“I am very sorry for your loss.” The jotun's voice was genuine. “She must have been a wonderful woman.”
“She was, and thank you.” He sank down onto a stool, taking a shuddering breath. “I... it has been seven years and sometimes, it feels like it has only been seven days.” Loki set the doll on the counter and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I left my in-laws on Alfheim and came here, hoping it would help, but somehow, it seems harder.” He offered the jotun a weak smile. “Believe it or not, this is me in good shape.”
“I think that's all any of us are in this part of the city, in good shape.” He sighed. “I've been in far worse places and in far worse situations. I have very little to complain about.”
“I suspect you would very much like it if the floors would clean themselves.” He quipped, causing the jotun to laugh.
“That would be nice.” He pulled his hand away, looking tired. “I'm afraid Mirjam isn't here to accept your gift, but I will give it to her on your behalf.”
“Thank you.” Oddly, he didn't feel like leaving just yet. “Would it be all right if I just sat here for a bit?”
“Of course it is.” He went behind the counter and dished up a bowl of honey-lavender ice cream. “Here. On the house.”
“Thank you.” He replied and turned to face the bowl, keeping his head down while he ate. The cold treat was comforting, as it always was. He wasn't certain how much ice cream he'd eaten in the past few weeks, but he knew it was probably more than he should have; but this, along with the fries - and beef broth - were the only things he'd actually enjoyed eating as of late. Everything else, from savory pies to grilled vegetables seemed bland and tasteless.
“You want something besides ice cream?” Loki's voice cut into his thoughts.
“Pardon me?” He looked up.
“Ursa and I were about to have some soup, you're welcome to a bowl of it.” He gave him a rather sympathetic smile. “If you don't, that's perfectly fine as well.”
“I don't want to impose.” He set his spoon down, feeling rather sheepish. “It, I should...”
“Nonsense.” A voice came from the back of the store and Ursa swept into the room. The dark elf rather intimidated Ísleikur, and she was among the last people he ever wanted to argue with. “You come along right now young man, and eat something other than ice cream.”
“Yes, ma'am.” He replied as she took his empty bowl and Loki led him into the back room of the shop. The kitchen was just as comfortable looking as the shop was. The scent of soup and baked bread wafted around him and for the first time in weeks, his stomach rumbled in hunger.
Rating:R
Prompt:Eating Disorders
Warnings:Non-con
Fandom:Marvel Cinematic Universe
Word Count:5271
Summary: Ísleikur Petarson had come to Asgard to start over, following the death of his wife and child. It surprised him when he stopped being able to eat; or at least, want to eat. In fact, the only thing he wants to eat is the ice cream made by the jotun, Loki, who lives down the street, and the only person he enjoys talking to is the man's daughter, Mirjam. Sequel to 'The Thunderer's Paramour'
It was Mirjam's opinion that her little sister, Röskva, was unfortunate looking only because unlike her, mama and Aunt Ursa, had pale, boring Æsir skin. Not that she was ugly, but she definitely was the odd looking one in the family. Only her shiny blue-black hair and bright green eyes like mama were pretty. Not that she would say so out loud; it would upset mama. It was rather easy to do that these days; papa hadn't been to see the baby yet, and she was nearly two weeks old. There wasn't anything going on, Mirjam was fairly certain about that. Lady Sif and Vakur had come to see the baby, cooing over her the way everyone seemed to do; but she didn't know why papa hadn't come. Papa should have shown his face by now. Vakur hadn't wanted to leave when he came to visit - he loved coming to see Mirjam, mainly because he was allowed to run around outside and get dirty, not having to do any of that awful formal stuff that was required of him as a prince.
She made her way furtively down the stairs, pausing at her mama's door, glancing in to see him feeding the baby, his expression sad and tired. Taking a breath she continued on down and into the shop, which was deserted at this time of the day. She took down her apron and fastened it around her waist. “Good afternoon, Aunt Ursa.”
“Good morning, sweetheart.” The dark-elf replied, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “How was school this morning?”
“Fine.” She went and cleared a table, carefully stacking the empty wooden bowls on the bottom, those with some traces of ice cream in them going on top. “We learned about the sun and the moons of Asgard.”
“How interesting.” She was busy filling a travel container with ice cream. “Honey, I want you to take this down to Mister Elahson's shop, you know who he is right?”
She set the bowls down near the sink. “Yes, he lives down the street, he is a milliner.” She frowned. “I thought Mister Elahson didn't like ice cream.”
“Indeed, but his nephew has recently come to Asgard from Alfheim, it is for him.” Ursa handed her the container. “And if he won't eat it, well, Mister Elahson has shop assistants who will.”
Mirjam nodded. “Yes, Aunt Ursa.” She turned and went out the door, looking once up and down the street before crossing to the other side, heading for the shop she'd only been in a few times; mama didn't need the formal gowns the man sold; and neither did her aunt or herself. But it didn't mean she didn't like to look at the fancy garments hanging in the windows. What always got her were the small dolls that modeled dresses that were suited for the nobles of Asgard, not - not the people who lived in this part of the city.
As she came near the store, she saw a stranger standing outside, washing the windows. He had shaggy brown hair and only a hint of a beard and mustache, and he was wearing a mourning outfit. No wonder Aunt Ursa had sent her down with ice cream; this man looked even sadder than her mama. “Excuse me, are you Mister Elahson's nephew?”
The man turned and looked at her - he had big, brown eyes that were warm, but sad. “Indeed I am.” He crouched down to her level. “My name is Ísleikur Petarson.” He gave her a worn smile. “And what is your name?”
“Mirjam Lokadottir.” She held out the container of ice cream. “My auntie asked me to bring this to you. It's ice cream, I think the flavor is our house specialty.”
“Ice cream?” He took the container and lifted the lid. “It's purple.”
“It's honey-lavender. Mama invented it. Everyone loves it.” She gave him a grin. “You don't have to worry about Mister Elahson stealing any, he doesn't like ice cream.”
Mister Petarson stood up, still looking sadly into the container. “No, no he doesn't.” He then gave her an odd look. “You seem awfully young to be wandering the streets alone.”
She frowned. “I just live up there.” She pointed towards her house. “The place with the dark blue and gray awnings.” She lived her chin. “And I'm six.”
“Oh, I'm sorry then.” He said in a tone that Mirjam recognized from some adults whenever they were humoring her; she didn't mind. “Well, you best hurry home, before your mama comes looking for you.”
“Mama's busy with my baby sister.” She scuffed her shoe on the pavement. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Mister Petarson.”
“Thank you, Miss Lokadottir.” He nodded and went into the store.
“I wonder why you're so sad.” She turned and skipped back up the sidewalk, heading for home. Maybe Röskva would be sleeping again when she got back; she wanted to spend some time with mama all on her own again.
*
Ísleikur saw Mirjam running down the street nearly every day, heading for the school that was on the far end of the block. There was something heartwarming about a half-jotun girl running with Æsir children and no one saying anything, it reminded him of Alfheim, where one's outward appearance was one of the last things anyone took into account. When he learned that the girl was the base-born daughter of the Crown Prince Thor, he wasn't certain what he thought; he'd seen the girl's mother, a lithe smaller-than-normal jotun whom he never saw without the girl or an infant in a sling, reminded him of the delicate dolls he set in the shop windows.
Something ethereal and otherworldly.
The rest of the man's history, however, made Ísleikur sick. Not out of what Loki had done, but what had been done to Loki. Of course, he was betting on most of it being gossip and exaggeration; at least, he hoped it was. The only rumor he knew to be true was that the jotun was still the mistress of the crown prince, although he didn't fit the image in his mind. He thought mistresses were usually richly dressed, proud, haughty beings; they certainly wouldn't be running a small food shop, and being - motherly. Although why a man would want a mistress when they had a wife, he couldn't understand either. But then, the crown prince was in a completely different social class from himself.
As his uncle was fond of saying, the nobility weren't just a different class, they were a whole different species.
Then again, he'd only been half-listening to his uncle since he arrived on Asgard a month ago, after his in-laws finally convinced him to leave Alfheim; it had been seven years since the Fever swept through that realm, killing his wife and young child. His uncle needed help in his shop and while he knew he needed to get on living, some days, it just seemed next to impossible. He had thought that being away from Alfheim, away from the family he had grown to love, it would be easier. Now he lived in an area of Asgard full of children and it only reminded him of what he had lost. He wasn't too surprised when he stopped being able to eat normally again. Practically the only thing he'd managed to eat in the month he'd been on Asgard was the ice cream made at the jotun's shop, although he had yet to sit in the place and enjoy a bowl of it there. That was his goal for today; to down the street, sit at a table, and eat ice cream. Granted, it wasn't healthy for him, but his uncle didn't harp on him to eat as long as he ate something.
The mild weather kept most people out of the shop, he imagined the place was much busier in the summer. He steeled himself up as he pushed open the door, glad of the lack of crowd. When he stepped inside, he was struck by a wonderful smell that had nothing to do with ice cream; a rich, oddly starchy smell that reminded him of baking bread, but it wasn't that - and there was an odd sizzling sound from somewhere behind the curtain that hid the backroom of the shop.
“Good afternoon.” The jotun was behind the counter, and he gave him a very tired smile; Ísleikur recognized the look on his face; a mother with a newborn infant. “How are we today?”
“I am fine.” He came up to the counter. “I don't want to interrupt your lunch, if this is a bad time.”
“I beg your pardon?” The man frowned. “Lunch?”
“I'm not certain what it is your cooking, but it must be delicious.” He felt his cheeks go slightly pink. He'd come in here for a bowl of ice cream, not to make an ass of himself.
“Oh. You must smell the Peruvian fries, it's a new dish we have recently started serving.” Loki smiled. “Would you like to try them?”
“Peruvian fries?” He frowned. “I have not heard of that food.”
“It's a Midgardian dish, made from a vegetable called a potato, which, as it transpires, grows like mad once it gets started.” He gave him an encouraging smile. “You must be Ísleikur Petarson, Hans's nephew.”
“Yes.” He nodded slightly. “I - I believe I would like to try these Peruvian...is Peruvian a county on Midgard?”
“Peru is, that is where the potato was first cultivated. On Midgard, they are called French fries.” Loki frowned. “Although I do not know why.”
“Well, whatever it is called, it smells wonderful.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbled and he let out a rather embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry.”
“No need, just have a seat and I'll bring you out a plate shortly.” He tilted his head to the side slightly. “Would you like some ice cream as well?”
“As good as it is, I think I've had enough ice cream lately.” He paused and glanced at the menu over the jotun's head. “Although... perhaps an ice cream soda wouldn't be bad...”
Loki smiled. “What kind?”
“Vanilla cola, please.” He replied, returning the smile and then went over to a table that was halfway between the door and the counter, allowing him to observe the entire establishment. When his food was placed in front of him, he decided that maybe, just maybe, his eating problem might be over.
*
“I am sorry I could not come sooner.” Thor's voice sounded genuinely sorry, but a niggling feeling in the back of Loki's mind told him that he wasn't as sorry as he should be.
“It is all right, I understand.” The lie fell off of his tongue with ease, quite frankly, Loki was outraged. Röskva was nearly a month old and only now was her father showing up to see her. Lady Sif had been here twice already; the future queen of Asgard had seemed troubled, but he had not pressed the issue.
Thor settled the baby into the crook of his arm and moved his foot, so the rocker was set into motion. “Is Mirjam not here?”
“Mirjam is spending the night with a school friend, had I known you were coming, I would have told her she needed to stay home. She will be sorry she missed you.” He sighed softly. “Perhaps you can come visit again before the week is out.”
“I will try, but I am finding more and more duties are being expected of me as of late.” Thor let out a sigh of his own, brushing a finger against Röskva's cheek. “I should find the time to make time, but it is not easy.”
Loki closed his eyes, the niggling feeling getting slightly stronger. “You will one day have a realm to rule, Thor. When that day comes, I know that finding time for visiting the girls and myself will be even harder.” He let out a breath. “I would rather you make time to see the girls, I'm certain that once Röskva's a little older, they could come visit you, couldn't they?”
“Perhaps.” Thor's voice didn't sound certain. “I will discuss it with Sif, of course.”
“Of course.” Loki kept himself from smiling - Sif was rapidly becoming his favorite member of the royal family. He opened his eyes. “Was there trouble on Midgard that kept you away so long?”
“Yes, apparently the organization that the Avengers was founded under was being undermined by a darker group.” He let out a breath. “Needless to say, the evil runs deep, infecting all aspects.” He shook his head. “Even though it was disbanded, the damage was extensive.”
“But you were able to return home, many do not have that luxury, I suspect.” He heard the baby give off a soft whimper. “I believe it's nearly time for our little one to eat again.”
Thor stood and came over, placing the babe back in her mother's arms. “She's beautiful, Loki.” He brushed his fingers against the infant's cheek. “Like her dam.” He went back to the rocker while Loki unfastened and opened his shirt so Röskva could nurse.
Loki blushed slightly as he settled his daughter against his breast, and a moment later, felt the girl latch on. “Thank you, although I think she favors you more than myself.”
“Children change.” He let out a slight laugh. “Oh, speaking of, Vakur would very much like for Mirjam to come to his name-day party next month. I am certain a formal invitation will be sent.”
“I'm certain Mirjam would love to attend. We shall see.” He adjusted his hold on his daughter. “I nearly forgot how close her and Vakur's birthdays are.”
“Yes.” Thor closed his eyes, rocking slightly. “I must go soon, I have things that were neglected while I was on Midgard and there are things that cannot wait.”
Loki bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his retort. It was strange how Thor's absence had cleared his head a little more. The prince came up with excuses constantly and always had; while he'd been a slave, he'd been used to such treatment, now he saw things in a different light. He knew he wasn't a demanding creature, who commanded his attention all hours of the day. All he really wanted was for Thor to come by one hour a week, it could even be the same hour every week, and see his girls. He could care less about his relationship with Thor; it wasn't as if the prince would ever honestly return his feelings. But the girls didn't deserve to be ignored. “I understand.” It was so automatic, so calm - Norns, he was pathetic.
Thor stood and placed a kiss on the top of his head. “I will come and see you all again, next week, perhaps. I do not know.”
“Send a message ahead, so I can insure Mirjam will be here.” He looked up at the prince, offering him a smile. “Unlike Röskva, she is not nursery bound.”
He chuckled. “Yes.” He touched the babe's cheek, and then knelt down in front of the chair.
“Thor? What?” He was cut off as the prince opened the other side of his shirt and latched on to his other nipple, his tongue brushing over the stiff peak and then began to drink. “Nn...” He bit into his lip to keep from crying out, and a moment later, he felt the tears fall from his eyes.
**
Ísleikur just needed a friend. Preferably one who didn't shake their head with pity behind his back and fuss over him as though they feared he was going to break. Since he knew that he had to be a friend in order to have one, he set out for the one person he wagered could use a friend as well; Loki. The man worked, was raising his girls alone - and he'd heard that the jotun had sold his own horns to free the dark elf who lived with him. The more he learned second-hand about the jotun, the more he wanted to know first hand.
His job here at his uncle's was not exactly demanding - most of his time was spent designing and making display gowns. Most of the actual dresses that were made and sold at the shop were done by the apprentices, he also served as the other person to answer questions. It wasn't exactly the job he always dreamed of doing, but it was something he could do. When he lived on Alfheim, he had been a part of his late wife's family's fabric business - and he had continued to work for them even after her death. They hadn't sent him to Asgard out of dislike, or out of cruelty - he knew full well that he needed to live his life and staying on Alfheim would not let him do that.
Everything just seemed impossible at the moment.
He adjusted the skirt of a doll in the window and waved as he saw Mirjam pass by the shop, her face bright. She waved back to him and then she stopped, her attention caught by something - one of the dolls, he figured. Taking a breath, he went to the door and stepped outside. “Good afternoon, Mirjam.”
“Good afternoon, Mister Petarson.” She answered, swaying back and forth, slowly. “That's a very pretty yellow dress.”
“Ah yes.” He came to stand next to her, knowing the dress she was referring too. “I'm glad you like it. Although I think that may be a bit to grown up for you.”
She looked up at him, grinning. “I know. But it's still pretty. It looks like something Auntie Sif might wear.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Although I do not think Lady Sif will be visiting my uncle's shop anytime soon.” He saw her face fall as she nodded. “What is the matter?”
“Papa came to see my baby sister and he didn't send a messenger ahead of time, so I didn't know he was coming, so I didn't get to see him.” She let out a sigh. “I haven't seen my papa in two months.”
“That is terrible, I'm sorry to hear that.” He tried to give her an encouraging smile. “Perhaps he will come and see you soon. If I had a little girl like you, I don't know how I could go a day without seeing her.”
She looked up again and smiled. “I like you. You're nice.”
“Thank you.” He looked up the street. “I believe you were expected at home sooner.” He saw Loki heading towards them. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.” He replied, smoothing down Mirjam's hair. “I hope she hasn't been bothering you.”
“Not at all.” He smiled a little more certainly. “She was just looking at the dolls, that is all.”
Loki nodded. “I can imagine lots of girls do that.”
Mirjam tugged on her mother's sleeve. “I'm gonna go home, okay?”
“All right, honey. Don't worry about being too quiet, your sister isn't asleep.” He smiled and hugged her again before she took off up the street. “She wasn't bothering you, honestly?”
“No.” He almost frowned. “Although she seemed a little upset, she mentioned not getting to see her father when he last visited.” He instantly regretted his words, because Loki suddenly looked ill. “Are you all right?”
“I...” He took a step away and in response, he set a hand on the jotun's arm, not clasping it, just barely touching it. “I am a fool, that is all.” He jerked away and hurried after his daughter, leaving Ísleikur alone.
“Damn it.” He turned and went back inside, feeling ill.
*
Loki lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He would not allow himself to cry over recent events, it would do no good. He had known that when he and Thor renewed their relationship, it would be different, he had told the prince that; but somehow, it was more twisted and messed up than it was before. When he had lived in the palace, he hadn't had the freedom to come and go as he pleased, he was kept hidden most of the time, and while he saw Thor more often, he'd felt more indebted to the man then now. Freedom had opened his eyes to so much; being able to do as he pleased with his life and Thor seemed to think he was still just sitting in a room somewhere, waiting to be played with.
He rolled over onto his side, hugging a pillow to him. He should just tell Thor that it was over between them. It would be quite simple, really. He could speak with Sif, work out a day during the week for the girls to visit Thor in the palace, or even just one day every other week, and that way, the girls could see and get to know their father and he wouldn't have to see the prince. That was a blessing, he supposed, that he and Sif got along so well.
For some reason, he had been thinking about the man down the street lately. Ísleikur. Since the man was in mourning clothes, Loki didn't want to do anything untoward or forward, although he would very much like to invite the man to dinner sometime - just as a friend. It was very clear to him that being around all these families on this block were rather upsetting to him; it didn't make any sense as to why he would come here of all places to grieve. Then again, perhaps there was something about this block that drew people in need of healing or starting over.
“Mama?” Mirjam's voice came from the doorway and he sat up.
“What is it, honey?” He frowned and opened his arms, and a moment later, she scrambled into bed with him.
“I had a bad dream.” She hugged him. “I was coming home from school and I took a wrong turn and got lost, and no one would help me get home.”
He embraced her, smoothing her hair and kissing the top of her head. “You're safe now, and it was just a dream.”
“I was scared.” She shuddered and he held her tighter. “I was so scared, mama, not even the guards would help me get home.”
“Sssh.” He rubbed her back in slow circles. “It's all right.”
“Mama, can I stay in here with you?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I promise I won't wake Röskva up.”
“Of course you can, sweetie.” He laid down and a moment later, so did she. “Snuggle up close, okay?”
“Okay.” She yawned and tucked her head under his chin. “Good night, mama.”
“Good night, Mirjam.” He closed his eyes, letting himself drift off to sleep.
**
Mirjam was rather surprised when Papa wasn't at Vakur's name-day party. Of all the place she expected him to be today, the party was where he should be. She heard he was on Midgard again, but what he was doing, no one knew exactly. Auntie Sif didn't look to happy about his absence either, but like mama, Auntie was good at hiding what she was feeling. Since the party was for both grown-ups and kids, she would be spending the night here in the palace, rather than going home. Mama couldn't come because bringing Röskva wouldn't be a good idea.
“Mirjam!” Grandmother's voice was light and genuine. “Goodness child, you have grown!” She held out her arms and she gave the queen a light hug. “I almost didn't recognize you!”
“I haven't changed that much, have I?” She knew her eyes were wide.
“Oh, I'm just teasing.” she gave her a swift kiss and then frowned. “What is it?”
“Why do grown-ups do that? Teasing is mean. Mama says so. So do my teachers at school.” She heard a collective draw of breath in the room, but couldn't understand why. “It doesn't make sense if adults tell us not to tease when they can tease worse than kids can.”
Grandmother smiled weakly and then shook her head. “You know what, you are right. I shouldn't tease.” She made a movement to ruffle her hair and then caught herself. “And here I have been properly reprimanded by my granddaughter who knows better than to tease others.”
“No one likes to have hurt feelings. You can't fix hurt feelings the way you fix a broken plate.” She noted that most people had gone back to their conversations and were ignoring the two of them.
“How wise, did your mama tell you that?” Grandmother sounded genuinely curious as Auntie Sif came over to join them.
“No, Aunt Ursa told me that.” She looked up at Sif. “Good afternoon, Aunt Sif. Thank you for inviting me to come to the party.”
“Oh, you're welcome.” Sif gave her a very big smile. “How is your little sister?”
“She doesn't sleep nearly as often as she used to.” She scuffed her feet on the floor. “And she can almost hold her own head up too.”
“I bet she's just a precious thing.” Her auntie kissed her cheek. “Perhaps Vakur and I will come and visit you all soon, would you like that?”
“I would!” She replied, grinning. “You could meet my friend, Mister Petarson.”
“Mister Petarson?” Auntie glanced at Grandmother and then back at her. “Does he live near your house?”
“Uh huh. He's Mister Elahson's nephew, he makes dresses.” she swung her arms from side to side. “He likes to come to the shop for Peruvian fries and ice cream sodas. He comes almost every other day.”
“I'm certain he's a very nice man.” Grandmother offered. “Speaking of food, why don't we go get you a plate?”
“Yes, please.” she replied, polite and dutiful, the way she always was around the much older woman.
“Sweet child.” They crossed the room to the wide buffet table. “I hope to see you all here for the Yule Feast in a few months.”
“I hope so too, I like coming here.” She looked over all the dishes, hardly knowing where she wanted to start. There was always so much food when she came to visit.
*
Ísleikur made it to Loki's shop shortly before it closed. The chairs were already on the tables and the jotun was getting ready to mop the floor when he pushed the door open, feeling uncertain. “Good evening.”
Loki leaned his mop against a table, setting a bucket down. “Good evening, Ísleikur.” He started for the counter. “The usual? I'm afraid we're out of fries for the day.”
“No, no I don't need anything.” He took a breath and came over to him. “I was wondering if it would be all right for me to give this to Mirjam.” He took out the doll that was wearing the saffron colored dress that she kept admiring in the window of the store. “It seems that she is the only girl or lady who has fallen in love with the dress.” He looked at it sadly and held it out. “I don't know if I am glad of that or not.”
Loki took the doll, turning over in his hands. “It is a fine dress, why would you not want to make a larger version?”
“My late wife... that shade of yellow was her favorite.” He swallowed.
“I am very sorry for your loss.” The jotun's voice was genuine. “She must have been a wonderful woman.”
“She was, and thank you.” He sank down onto a stool, taking a shuddering breath. “I... it has been seven years and sometimes, it feels like it has only been seven days.” Loki set the doll on the counter and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I left my in-laws on Alfheim and came here, hoping it would help, but somehow, it seems harder.” He offered the jotun a weak smile. “Believe it or not, this is me in good shape.”
“I think that's all any of us are in this part of the city, in good shape.” He sighed. “I've been in far worse places and in far worse situations. I have very little to complain about.”
“I suspect you would very much like it if the floors would clean themselves.” He quipped, causing the jotun to laugh.
“That would be nice.” He pulled his hand away, looking tired. “I'm afraid Mirjam isn't here to accept your gift, but I will give it to her on your behalf.”
“Thank you.” Oddly, he didn't feel like leaving just yet. “Would it be all right if I just sat here for a bit?”
“Of course it is.” He went behind the counter and dished up a bowl of honey-lavender ice cream. “Here. On the house.”
“Thank you.” He replied and turned to face the bowl, keeping his head down while he ate. The cold treat was comforting, as it always was. He wasn't certain how much ice cream he'd eaten in the past few weeks, but he knew it was probably more than he should have; but this, along with the fries - and beef broth - were the only things he'd actually enjoyed eating as of late. Everything else, from savory pies to grilled vegetables seemed bland and tasteless.
“You want something besides ice cream?” Loki's voice cut into his thoughts.
“Pardon me?” He looked up.
“Ursa and I were about to have some soup, you're welcome to a bowl of it.” He gave him a rather sympathetic smile. “If you don't, that's perfectly fine as well.”
“I don't want to impose.” He set his spoon down, feeling rather sheepish. “It, I should...”
“Nonsense.” A voice came from the back of the store and Ursa swept into the room. The dark elf rather intimidated Ísleikur, and she was among the last people he ever wanted to argue with. “You come along right now young man, and eat something other than ice cream.”
“Yes, ma'am.” He replied as she took his empty bowl and Loki led him into the back room of the shop. The kitchen was just as comfortable looking as the shop was. The scent of soup and baked bread wafted around him and for the first time in weeks, his stomach rumbled in hunger.