FIC: "Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home" 5/? (Avengers Loki/Thor NC-17 Non-Con, Infanticide, Miscarriage)
Continued from Chapter 4 of "Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home"
For Notes, Warnings, Ratings, and Disclaimers, please see the masterpost.
Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home (5/?)
It had not taken any great thought to determine how to approach the servants in the kitchen. Loki knew better than expect sympathy and camaraderie from his new fellows, but he also knew that he could easily turn them against him with but one high-handed order. They might not be his allies, those who had once served him and could be harboring any number of--possibly justified--grudges and slights. But he still had wits enough to realize that he could not afford to make any more enemies. Not if he hoped to emerge with his skin intact.
The woman at the buttery window was a stranger, no great surprise since it had been many years, centuries even, since he had needed to cozen the kitchen maids for treats. She was tall and fair-haired, with dark eyes and laugh-lines around her mouth, though she wasn't smiling now. Loki saw from her expression that she recognized him, and also that she was not entirely pleased to see him. Still, she did not slam the shutter in his face, or pretend not to see him.
Loki approached her with his expression blank, careful to keep his gaze down. "Good afternoon, Mistress," he said. "I am here to ask for food and drink for his Majesty and three guests, to be sent to his rooms. He has also asked for extra mead, if you would be so kind." He lifted the platter, and slid it over the counter. "He will also need another platter of cheese and fruit for his table."
For a long moment, she stared at him. "I know who you are," she said.
"I thought as much, Mistress."
She drummed her fingers on the countertop. "Mistress Ragnve," she said at last.
"Mistress Ragnve," Loki repeated.
"Two days ago, you would not have spoken to me with such respect," she said abruptly. "Why should I trust your courtesies now?"
"Two days ago, I was not a slave, Mistress Ragnve." Loki raised his hands, showing off his bindings. "Certain realities have become clear to me. One of which is who truly has the power to make my new station the most difficult."
Ragnve appeared to think this over, but her expression didn't alter. "You never gave much care before as to who might suffer for your mischief."
Loki saw no point in answering this, especially to deny it. After a moment, Ragnve went on. "You come to me with politeness out of self-interest, thrall."
There was no point in denying that, either. "I do, Mistress. Can you blame me for it?"
Ragnve turned away, and made several notes on a tablet at her elbow. She pushed it over the counter to him. "Make your mark there," she said briskly. "I'll get some pitchers of mead now. The rest will be sent soon."
"Thank you, Mistress Ragnve."
That had gone far better than he had hoped. So much so that Loki was careful to read each item on the tablet before pressing his thumb next to the list, signifying that the tally was correct. He handed the tablet back to Ragnve as she returned, bearing a tray with three pitchers of mead and four cups. She took a metal disk from a box on the counter and slid it into the top of the tablet, pressed a button, then handed the disk to Loki.
"When your master's food is brought," she told him, "it is your responsibility to see that all is as your master wishes. If you are satisfied, give this tally-piece to your master to make his mark, then return it here when you come next. If something is amiss, give the tally-piece to the servant un-marked and they will come to me." She glanced at Loki's neck, then turned and reached for something on the wall next to to the open window. It was a thin lanyard, made of braided leather with a sturdy brass clip on the end. She took the disk back from Loki, clipped it to the lanyard, then returned the whole thing to him. "Wear that inside your tunic. If you lose your tally-pieces, the penalty is one stroke for every mark's worth of goods unaccounted-for."
Slowly, Loki took the lanyard and hung it around his neck, tucking it inside his tunic. "Thank you, Mistress Ragnve," he said. "You have been most helpful." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I am grateful."
She sniffed. "Call it my self-interest. I have no time to waste watching new slaves fumble about."
"Nonetheless." Loki gave her a bow of his head, no more than was appropriate from his station to hers, but a bow. "Good day to you, Mistress Ragnve." He pulled the tray of mead to him and lifted it. It was unexpectedly heavy, his arms already aching and tired even so soon after waking, but he had little choice but to find a way to carry back to Thor's chambers. He turned to go.
"Loki."
It was the first time she had called him by name. Loki turned back. "Yes, Mistress Ragnve?"
She was looking at him thoughtfully. "I said you did not care who suffered for your mischief."
"You did, Mistress."
"You did not care, whether they be commoner or King." She suddenly grinned, her teeth wide and white in her weathered face. "You have balls of brass, Loki Laufeyson. I would not see you stumble over something so petty as a tally-piece." She waved her hand. "Now go. Don't keep your master waiting."
He dared to return a fraction of her smile before bowing again. "Mistress."
Loki left the kitchens in better spirits than he had arrived. It didn't last long, but it was something to carry his steps through the long passage back to the upper halls of the palace. Even so, he was exhausted by the time he reached the top of the narrow staircase that opened onto the more public corridors. He was in real danger of dropping the tray of mead, an absurd prospect for someone who once could--and had--carried a horse back and forth across the Rainbow Bridge to win a bet.
He had no choice but to stop at the top of the steps and rest, the tray put aside on the landing and his arms hanging down between his knees. His hands were cold and shaking, and he felt the ache in his arms creeping into his shoulders and back. He had been awake for only a few hours, and already he felt as though he could go back to bed and sleep for another day.
It was getting worse. Whatever bindings had been put on the chains, whatever magic had been forged into the metal itself, the spells were determined to suck every drop of power out of him. He wouldn't have thought there was anything left to drain out of him by now, but the now-constant chill shivers of weakness through his limbs proved otherwise. Surely it had to stop at some point, had to reach a limit to what the spells were allowed to take from him. But so far, that limit didn't seem to have been passed. And Loki seemed to be getting weaker by the hour.
Finally, when he heard other steps approaching from below, Loki pushed himself to his feet, his knees trembling shamefully, and picked up the tray. It wouldn't do to be caught shirking, not on his very first day. He slipped into the corridor before the unknown servant, whoever they were, came into view, and set off down the hallway, moving as swiftly as he dared.
The remainder of the journey was without incident. It wasn't long before Loki was pressing his palm to the lock on Thor's quarters and hoping Thor had thought to have it keyed to him. Apparently his new status as Thor's servant had been recognized--that, or his old one as Prince had never been revoked, a frightening thought--for the door slid open smoothly at his touch.
The Vanir and Thor were seated around the fire pit, talking easily. As Loki had said to Thor, he was familiar with the expectations of his new station. Had he not himself been one of the gathered lords often enough, seated at his ease waiting for a servant to put a cup of mead or wine into his hand? He served Thor first, using the gold cup provided with the tray. Thor actually looked a bit startled as he accepted the mead, as if he'd forgotten Loki was there until his cup was in his hand.
"Thank you, Loki," he said.
"My King," Loki answered, and bowed to him before going around to serve the others in order of their rank. This meant that Njord was the next to be served. Loki suspected that Njord would have liked nothing better than to find some fault with the service or the offered mead. Or even to dash the contents of the offered cup in Loki's face. But Loki was careful to present Njord's mead to him with all due deference, and to suggest that the drink offered by the host was disliked or inadequate would be a grave breach of manners. Throwing mead on a slave was not, as far as Loki was aware, any cause for censure, but as it was the equivalent of spilling it deliberately on any of Thor's other possessions, Loki felt that he was fairly safe from that particular indignity. Njord made do with a curled lip and look of scorn as he took the cup.
When the others had been served, Loki put the pitchers at the ends of the table, where the lords could reach them if they wanted to refill their own cups. After that was done, he had no other orders to follow, no other protocols to obey.
None save one.
He didn't allow himself to hesitate. The Vanir would be watching him, and Loki was damned if he'd give them the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. Without a word, Loki dropped to his knees by Thor's left side, bowing his head and folding his chained hands in his lap. He couldn't deny that it was something of a relief to be off his feet.
A sudden silence fell over the room. Loki had no doubts that he was the cause of it, so he kept his head down, gaze fixed firmly on his own hands. It was Njord who finally spoke. "So, you truly expect us to believe this farce?" he spat out, and Loki saw his feet shift from the corner of his eye, as if he leaned forward. "That you would enslave your own brother? That even Loki would agree to this over a clean death?"
Thor did not move from his easy sprawl. "You doubt my word, Njord?" he said, and despite the ease of his posture Loki heard the dangerous rumble in his voice. "It was sworn and spoken before the court of the Aesir, with Gungnir in my hand and Mjolnir at my side. And was it not five minutes ago that you argued that Loki did not merit the justice of Asgard, since he was not my brother?" Thor shifted, and Loki fought to remain still as his hand settled on the back of Loki's neck, heavy and powerful. "Either I am a liar, or not. Either he is my brother, or not. And in any case, I think you should choose your words more wisely in future, Njord."
There was a long, tense silence. "I meant no offense, Thor. You must understand that I was surprised to hear that Loki had been found at all. We all thought him dead."
Thor's hand squeezed gently on Loki's neck. "Not so, as you can see. And when my father returns from his long journey, I would not have him learn that Loki was found, only to die with his blood on my hands."
"So you think your father would approve of this?" This was from Muli. Loki did not know him well, but what he remembered of him was that he was thoughtful, a methodical fighter rather than a fierce one. If he was asking the question, it was likely a question that was on many lips. Loki could hardly deny that he, too, was interested to hear Thor's answer.
"It does not matter if he approves or not. I am the ruler of Asgard now. But, yes, I think he would understand." Not "approve," Loki noticed, and wondered if Muli had also taken heed of the omission.
"He would understand that you have caused your own brother to be called sansordinn?" That was Njord again, proving once more that consistency and logic were not among his strengths. But the word struck Loki cold. It was no more than he had thought himself, but Njord had laid his humiliation bare, speaking the insult in front of him in the sure knowledge that Loki would not--could not--so much as open his mouth in protest. He face burned, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, in and then out, to show Njord nothing. Nothing.
"Njord." Until now, Ulfvaldr had not spoken, which Loki had thought wise of him. It had been his own way as well, to let the others have their say until they either came to the conclusion he wanted or hung themselves with the rope he gave them. Even in the midst of his own quiet fury, Loki couldn't deny there was some satisfaction that Njord appeared to have done the latter. "You are like a dog with a bone, and you overstep your bounds. Thor shares no blood with Loki. You know this."
"Odin has never disclaimed Loki," Njord fired back, and Loki felt the words like another blow. "Foster kinship is still kinship. To Odin, Loki is still an heir, a son, and therefore still brother to Thor. To order him dishonored is disgraceful."
This was news to Loki. True, he had never asked, but he had not imagined any circumstance under which Odin would not, at the very least, have disowned him. It made him feel a little ill, that Thor had not bothered to impart that small piece of information. But then, it wasn't exactly in Thor's interests to have Loki seen as his brother, was it? Loki swallowed the cold anger that swelled in his belly, forcing himself to kneel quiet and still under Thor's hand.
For his part, Thor seemed content to let the Vanir shout this out among themselves. And why not? It was not he who was being called coward, and weak, willing to offer up his ass for any man who wanted it. The worst Thor was being accused of was not preventing Loki from being shamed. Which was true, but as a legal criticism it was so ridiculous that even Loki wouldn't have argued it.
"Odin is no longer ruler," Ulfvaldr was saying. "And Thor disowned Loki as his brother when he made him a slave. Slaves cannot rule, or claim kinship by fosterage. You know this very well, Njord. You only protest because you dislike Loki, and would rather have seen him killed outright."
"Or because you would rather it was yourself who had the chance to dishonor him," Muli added, making only a cursory effort to lower his voice. Njord would have thrown himself at him, snarling, if Ulfvaldr had not stood in his way.
"My lords!" Ulfvaldr shouted. "Are we not here to meet with our ally Thor, to re-affirm our ties of friendship and trust? To show our support because Asgard has captured a man who could have destroyed us, who has already tried to conquer or annihilate three of the Nine Realms? We are not here to quibble over King Thor's rulership, or make insult." Ulfvaldr's cloak fanned by Loki's face as he spun around to face his ruler. "Njord. My lord," he said, with the kind of level tact that seemed to require expression through gritted teeth. Loki was well familiar with it. "Perhaps you would care to clarify the meaning of your previous words to King Thor."
Long moments passed before Njord cleared his throat. "I meant no disrespect to your rule, Thor," he said at last. "I can understand that you would want to honor your father's wishes, and yet find a fitting punishment for that one's crimes. It is indeed just."
"Your apology is accepted, Njord," Thor said immediately, and his hand stroked the back of the Loki's neck. "Another round of mead, to seal our friendship!"
That was Loki's cue. He rose and began to refill the cups, knowing that his subservience was just as much a peace offering to Njord as the mead itself. It burned, but even as he poured he had to admit that it was a skilled gesture. Were it not his own person being used as the tool, he could have admired Thor's skills as a diplomat.
Loki had just finished filling Thor's cup again, the first having been drained in a toast to Njord, when the chime at the outer door rang. Loki set down the pitcher and went to answer it. As he expected, it was a group of servants bearing the food he had ordered from the kitchens, and he inspected each tray before allowing them through to where the delegation sat. The servants laid out the platters on the table, and Loki took the tray of fruits for the breakfast table and carried it over himself. After dismissing the servants back the kitchen, he filled a plate for Thor and presented it to him, then knelt back down at his side.
To his relief, the conversation had moved on from his own punishment to other matters. There were signs of new dealings between the Dwarves and the Dark Elves, according to Muli. Trinkets of Dwarf metal and Dark Elf craftsmanship were turning up in the markets of Vanaheim in increasing numbers. Njord saw it as an omen of a secret pact between the two. Ulfvaldr was of the opinion that, in the face of all logic, the Dark Elves might just be trading with the Dwarves because of the high quality of their goods.
Loki would have been interested to hear Thor's thoughts, but the next thing he knew he was starting awake to the touch of Thor's hand on his head. "A farewell toast," Thor was saying, and Loki pushed himself to his feet to obey. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, but the ruins of the meal and the darkness outside suggested that he had dozed off some time ago. How he had remained upright and not revealed his inattention by toppling over was a mystery.
A sudden surge of vertigo came over him as he stood, darkness sweeping over his vision even as he took his first step to the table. It passed within a moment, so quick that none of the others even took note of it, but it left Loki feeling dizzy and slightly sick. He had to lift the mead pitcher with both hands, and nearly slopped the first stream over the edge of Thor's cup. Thor gave him a sharp look, brows furrowed with what might have been concern, but there was no way for him to say anything. Loki took extra care with the other men, then went around re-filling their cups as they were emptied until the mead was gone.
When the final toast had been drunk, the Vanir finally stood and began to take their leave. Loki retreated to the sideboard with the empty pitchers and waited for them to go, keeping his head down while he watched from under his lashes. Njord cast him several dark looks as he left, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he said nothing, and the other two didn't so much as spare him a single glance. Then the door was closing behind them, and Loki could breathe. His first test was over. And unless he was very much mistaken, he had passed it. Congratulations, he thought wryly. You have proved yourself an excellent slave. Who would have thought Loki would have such skills?
Now that they were gone, it was like the lifting of a weight. Loki had not even been aware of the tension he had held in his body until it drained away, leaving him hollow and exhausted from the strain of maintaining the facade. He hadn't quite appreciated the constant vigilance that would be required by his role in the presence of others. It was difficult enough to play his part with Thor, but when he had to add on the perfect subservience expected of a lowly slave, he wondered how he could possibly crush himself down small enough to fit.
Thor came back to the meeting area with a broad grin on his face, his cheeks flushed with drink and merriment. "That went well, I think," he said. "Njord was pleased enough with our agreement, in the end."
"Your agreement?"
Thor frowned. "Were you not listening? He is sending an envoy within the week to discuss the defenses. The old goat hasn't so much as lifted a rusted sword to our benefit in years. If we can get him to send some tribute in warriors, then at least Asgard will not be carrying the defense of Vanaheim on our shoulders alone."
"Oh." That was indeed something of a concession, one that Odin had never managed to wring from Njord in many long sessions of debate. "My attention must have wandered. I apologize."
"No matter." Thor smiled again, then came closer. "Are you tired so soon, Loki? You look pale, and I saw how your hand shook."
"I am a little weary," Loki admitted. It crossed his mind, then and there, to say something about the binding chains, about how they drained him, made him feel far more weak and sick than they should. But as soon as he thought it, he dismissed the idea. No matter how ill he might feel, it was too soon. He could not have Thor think for a moment that he was angling for favors, and asking for the release of his magic could not be seen as anything but self-serving. "I must not have slept as well as I thought," he said instead.
"Then call the servants to clear away the food, and go rest." Thor was already moving to pick up his cloak from the back of the bench. "I must meet with the Warriors Three, and then I will eat in the Great Hall. You will have time to rest."
"Wait." Remembering the tally-piece, Loki pulled it from around his neck, and went to hand it to Thor. "I believe I need your mark on this."
"Oh, yes." Thor pressed it carelessly, and dropped it back into Loki's hand. "Tell the buttery-maid to give you an account for yourself, as well. You will need to eat when I'm not here, after all."
Loki was, in fact, starving again, but the thought of trudging all the way down to the kitchens for a meal was too much. There was plenty of food left on the table; he would eat his fill before calling the other servants to clear away the remains.
Thor draped his cloak around his shoulders, then came over to give Loki an unexpected kiss. Loki barely had time to realize his intent, and closed his eyes as Thor's bearded lips rasped over his cheek. Loki was so exhausted that it was tempting to just stand there passively until Thor was finished, but that wouldn't do. Thor seemed intent on being rather more amorous than his farewell of the day before, so Loki opened his mouth obediently to the press of Thor's lips. Thor's breath was sour with mead and his mouth tasted of heavy spiced meats. His tongue slid past Loki's teeth, wet and slimy, and it was all Loki could do to not gag on it. He forced himself to return the kiss as best he could, and finally Thor pulled away, smiling. "I shall see you after dinner," he said. His tone was a promise of more than just his presence, and Loki felt his skin crawl with dread.
When Thor was gone, Loki made a meal of their leavings, then pressed the button to summon the cleaning servants. He had to wait to let them in, and then out again, and by the time they were finished he could hardly keep his own eyes open. He knew he should probably prepare himself again. But he was simply too tired, and he ached all over. Let Thor have him dry, for all he cared. Loki staggered into the bedchamber, fell face-first onto the bed, and plunged into sleep.
Continued in Chapter 6/? of Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home
This entry was originally posted at http://s1k1s1k1.dreamwidth.org/2256.html.
For Notes, Warnings, Ratings, and Disclaimers, please see the masterpost.
Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home (5/?)
It had not taken any great thought to determine how to approach the servants in the kitchen. Loki knew better than expect sympathy and camaraderie from his new fellows, but he also knew that he could easily turn them against him with but one high-handed order. They might not be his allies, those who had once served him and could be harboring any number of--possibly justified--grudges and slights. But he still had wits enough to realize that he could not afford to make any more enemies. Not if he hoped to emerge with his skin intact.
The woman at the buttery window was a stranger, no great surprise since it had been many years, centuries even, since he had needed to cozen the kitchen maids for treats. She was tall and fair-haired, with dark eyes and laugh-lines around her mouth, though she wasn't smiling now. Loki saw from her expression that she recognized him, and also that she was not entirely pleased to see him. Still, she did not slam the shutter in his face, or pretend not to see him.
Loki approached her with his expression blank, careful to keep his gaze down. "Good afternoon, Mistress," he said. "I am here to ask for food and drink for his Majesty and three guests, to be sent to his rooms. He has also asked for extra mead, if you would be so kind." He lifted the platter, and slid it over the counter. "He will also need another platter of cheese and fruit for his table."
For a long moment, she stared at him. "I know who you are," she said.
"I thought as much, Mistress."
She drummed her fingers on the countertop. "Mistress Ragnve," she said at last.
"Mistress Ragnve," Loki repeated.
"Two days ago, you would not have spoken to me with such respect," she said abruptly. "Why should I trust your courtesies now?"
"Two days ago, I was not a slave, Mistress Ragnve." Loki raised his hands, showing off his bindings. "Certain realities have become clear to me. One of which is who truly has the power to make my new station the most difficult."
Ragnve appeared to think this over, but her expression didn't alter. "You never gave much care before as to who might suffer for your mischief."
Loki saw no point in answering this, especially to deny it. After a moment, Ragnve went on. "You come to me with politeness out of self-interest, thrall."
There was no point in denying that, either. "I do, Mistress. Can you blame me for it?"
Ragnve turned away, and made several notes on a tablet at her elbow. She pushed it over the counter to him. "Make your mark there," she said briskly. "I'll get some pitchers of mead now. The rest will be sent soon."
"Thank you, Mistress Ragnve."
That had gone far better than he had hoped. So much so that Loki was careful to read each item on the tablet before pressing his thumb next to the list, signifying that the tally was correct. He handed the tablet back to Ragnve as she returned, bearing a tray with three pitchers of mead and four cups. She took a metal disk from a box on the counter and slid it into the top of the tablet, pressed a button, then handed the disk to Loki.
"When your master's food is brought," she told him, "it is your responsibility to see that all is as your master wishes. If you are satisfied, give this tally-piece to your master to make his mark, then return it here when you come next. If something is amiss, give the tally-piece to the servant un-marked and they will come to me." She glanced at Loki's neck, then turned and reached for something on the wall next to to the open window. It was a thin lanyard, made of braided leather with a sturdy brass clip on the end. She took the disk back from Loki, clipped it to the lanyard, then returned the whole thing to him. "Wear that inside your tunic. If you lose your tally-pieces, the penalty is one stroke for every mark's worth of goods unaccounted-for."
Slowly, Loki took the lanyard and hung it around his neck, tucking it inside his tunic. "Thank you, Mistress Ragnve," he said. "You have been most helpful." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I am grateful."
She sniffed. "Call it my self-interest. I have no time to waste watching new slaves fumble about."
"Nonetheless." Loki gave her a bow of his head, no more than was appropriate from his station to hers, but a bow. "Good day to you, Mistress Ragnve." He pulled the tray of mead to him and lifted it. It was unexpectedly heavy, his arms already aching and tired even so soon after waking, but he had little choice but to find a way to carry back to Thor's chambers. He turned to go.
"Loki."
It was the first time she had called him by name. Loki turned back. "Yes, Mistress Ragnve?"
She was looking at him thoughtfully. "I said you did not care who suffered for your mischief."
"You did, Mistress."
"You did not care, whether they be commoner or King." She suddenly grinned, her teeth wide and white in her weathered face. "You have balls of brass, Loki Laufeyson. I would not see you stumble over something so petty as a tally-piece." She waved her hand. "Now go. Don't keep your master waiting."
He dared to return a fraction of her smile before bowing again. "Mistress."
Loki left the kitchens in better spirits than he had arrived. It didn't last long, but it was something to carry his steps through the long passage back to the upper halls of the palace. Even so, he was exhausted by the time he reached the top of the narrow staircase that opened onto the more public corridors. He was in real danger of dropping the tray of mead, an absurd prospect for someone who once could--and had--carried a horse back and forth across the Rainbow Bridge to win a bet.
He had no choice but to stop at the top of the steps and rest, the tray put aside on the landing and his arms hanging down between his knees. His hands were cold and shaking, and he felt the ache in his arms creeping into his shoulders and back. He had been awake for only a few hours, and already he felt as though he could go back to bed and sleep for another day.
It was getting worse. Whatever bindings had been put on the chains, whatever magic had been forged into the metal itself, the spells were determined to suck every drop of power out of him. He wouldn't have thought there was anything left to drain out of him by now, but the now-constant chill shivers of weakness through his limbs proved otherwise. Surely it had to stop at some point, had to reach a limit to what the spells were allowed to take from him. But so far, that limit didn't seem to have been passed. And Loki seemed to be getting weaker by the hour.
Finally, when he heard other steps approaching from below, Loki pushed himself to his feet, his knees trembling shamefully, and picked up the tray. It wouldn't do to be caught shirking, not on his very first day. He slipped into the corridor before the unknown servant, whoever they were, came into view, and set off down the hallway, moving as swiftly as he dared.
The remainder of the journey was without incident. It wasn't long before Loki was pressing his palm to the lock on Thor's quarters and hoping Thor had thought to have it keyed to him. Apparently his new status as Thor's servant had been recognized--that, or his old one as Prince had never been revoked, a frightening thought--for the door slid open smoothly at his touch.
The Vanir and Thor were seated around the fire pit, talking easily. As Loki had said to Thor, he was familiar with the expectations of his new station. Had he not himself been one of the gathered lords often enough, seated at his ease waiting for a servant to put a cup of mead or wine into his hand? He served Thor first, using the gold cup provided with the tray. Thor actually looked a bit startled as he accepted the mead, as if he'd forgotten Loki was there until his cup was in his hand.
"Thank you, Loki," he said.
"My King," Loki answered, and bowed to him before going around to serve the others in order of their rank. This meant that Njord was the next to be served. Loki suspected that Njord would have liked nothing better than to find some fault with the service or the offered mead. Or even to dash the contents of the offered cup in Loki's face. But Loki was careful to present Njord's mead to him with all due deference, and to suggest that the drink offered by the host was disliked or inadequate would be a grave breach of manners. Throwing mead on a slave was not, as far as Loki was aware, any cause for censure, but as it was the equivalent of spilling it deliberately on any of Thor's other possessions, Loki felt that he was fairly safe from that particular indignity. Njord made do with a curled lip and look of scorn as he took the cup.
When the others had been served, Loki put the pitchers at the ends of the table, where the lords could reach them if they wanted to refill their own cups. After that was done, he had no other orders to follow, no other protocols to obey.
None save one.
He didn't allow himself to hesitate. The Vanir would be watching him, and Loki was damned if he'd give them the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. Without a word, Loki dropped to his knees by Thor's left side, bowing his head and folding his chained hands in his lap. He couldn't deny that it was something of a relief to be off his feet.
A sudden silence fell over the room. Loki had no doubts that he was the cause of it, so he kept his head down, gaze fixed firmly on his own hands. It was Njord who finally spoke. "So, you truly expect us to believe this farce?" he spat out, and Loki saw his feet shift from the corner of his eye, as if he leaned forward. "That you would enslave your own brother? That even Loki would agree to this over a clean death?"
Thor did not move from his easy sprawl. "You doubt my word, Njord?" he said, and despite the ease of his posture Loki heard the dangerous rumble in his voice. "It was sworn and spoken before the court of the Aesir, with Gungnir in my hand and Mjolnir at my side. And was it not five minutes ago that you argued that Loki did not merit the justice of Asgard, since he was not my brother?" Thor shifted, and Loki fought to remain still as his hand settled on the back of Loki's neck, heavy and powerful. "Either I am a liar, or not. Either he is my brother, or not. And in any case, I think you should choose your words more wisely in future, Njord."
There was a long, tense silence. "I meant no offense, Thor. You must understand that I was surprised to hear that Loki had been found at all. We all thought him dead."
Thor's hand squeezed gently on Loki's neck. "Not so, as you can see. And when my father returns from his long journey, I would not have him learn that Loki was found, only to die with his blood on my hands."
"So you think your father would approve of this?" This was from Muli. Loki did not know him well, but what he remembered of him was that he was thoughtful, a methodical fighter rather than a fierce one. If he was asking the question, it was likely a question that was on many lips. Loki could hardly deny that he, too, was interested to hear Thor's answer.
"It does not matter if he approves or not. I am the ruler of Asgard now. But, yes, I think he would understand." Not "approve," Loki noticed, and wondered if Muli had also taken heed of the omission.
"He would understand that you have caused your own brother to be called sansordinn?" That was Njord again, proving once more that consistency and logic were not among his strengths. But the word struck Loki cold. It was no more than he had thought himself, but Njord had laid his humiliation bare, speaking the insult in front of him in the sure knowledge that Loki would not--could not--so much as open his mouth in protest. He face burned, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, in and then out, to show Njord nothing. Nothing.
"Njord." Until now, Ulfvaldr had not spoken, which Loki had thought wise of him. It had been his own way as well, to let the others have their say until they either came to the conclusion he wanted or hung themselves with the rope he gave them. Even in the midst of his own quiet fury, Loki couldn't deny there was some satisfaction that Njord appeared to have done the latter. "You are like a dog with a bone, and you overstep your bounds. Thor shares no blood with Loki. You know this."
"Odin has never disclaimed Loki," Njord fired back, and Loki felt the words like another blow. "Foster kinship is still kinship. To Odin, Loki is still an heir, a son, and therefore still brother to Thor. To order him dishonored is disgraceful."
This was news to Loki. True, he had never asked, but he had not imagined any circumstance under which Odin would not, at the very least, have disowned him. It made him feel a little ill, that Thor had not bothered to impart that small piece of information. But then, it wasn't exactly in Thor's interests to have Loki seen as his brother, was it? Loki swallowed the cold anger that swelled in his belly, forcing himself to kneel quiet and still under Thor's hand.
For his part, Thor seemed content to let the Vanir shout this out among themselves. And why not? It was not he who was being called coward, and weak, willing to offer up his ass for any man who wanted it. The worst Thor was being accused of was not preventing Loki from being shamed. Which was true, but as a legal criticism it was so ridiculous that even Loki wouldn't have argued it.
"Odin is no longer ruler," Ulfvaldr was saying. "And Thor disowned Loki as his brother when he made him a slave. Slaves cannot rule, or claim kinship by fosterage. You know this very well, Njord. You only protest because you dislike Loki, and would rather have seen him killed outright."
"Or because you would rather it was yourself who had the chance to dishonor him," Muli added, making only a cursory effort to lower his voice. Njord would have thrown himself at him, snarling, if Ulfvaldr had not stood in his way.
"My lords!" Ulfvaldr shouted. "Are we not here to meet with our ally Thor, to re-affirm our ties of friendship and trust? To show our support because Asgard has captured a man who could have destroyed us, who has already tried to conquer or annihilate three of the Nine Realms? We are not here to quibble over King Thor's rulership, or make insult." Ulfvaldr's cloak fanned by Loki's face as he spun around to face his ruler. "Njord. My lord," he said, with the kind of level tact that seemed to require expression through gritted teeth. Loki was well familiar with it. "Perhaps you would care to clarify the meaning of your previous words to King Thor."
Long moments passed before Njord cleared his throat. "I meant no disrespect to your rule, Thor," he said at last. "I can understand that you would want to honor your father's wishes, and yet find a fitting punishment for that one's crimes. It is indeed just."
"Your apology is accepted, Njord," Thor said immediately, and his hand stroked the back of the Loki's neck. "Another round of mead, to seal our friendship!"
That was Loki's cue. He rose and began to refill the cups, knowing that his subservience was just as much a peace offering to Njord as the mead itself. It burned, but even as he poured he had to admit that it was a skilled gesture. Were it not his own person being used as the tool, he could have admired Thor's skills as a diplomat.
Loki had just finished filling Thor's cup again, the first having been drained in a toast to Njord, when the chime at the outer door rang. Loki set down the pitcher and went to answer it. As he expected, it was a group of servants bearing the food he had ordered from the kitchens, and he inspected each tray before allowing them through to where the delegation sat. The servants laid out the platters on the table, and Loki took the tray of fruits for the breakfast table and carried it over himself. After dismissing the servants back the kitchen, he filled a plate for Thor and presented it to him, then knelt back down at his side.
To his relief, the conversation had moved on from his own punishment to other matters. There were signs of new dealings between the Dwarves and the Dark Elves, according to Muli. Trinkets of Dwarf metal and Dark Elf craftsmanship were turning up in the markets of Vanaheim in increasing numbers. Njord saw it as an omen of a secret pact between the two. Ulfvaldr was of the opinion that, in the face of all logic, the Dark Elves might just be trading with the Dwarves because of the high quality of their goods.
Loki would have been interested to hear Thor's thoughts, but the next thing he knew he was starting awake to the touch of Thor's hand on his head. "A farewell toast," Thor was saying, and Loki pushed himself to his feet to obey. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, but the ruins of the meal and the darkness outside suggested that he had dozed off some time ago. How he had remained upright and not revealed his inattention by toppling over was a mystery.
A sudden surge of vertigo came over him as he stood, darkness sweeping over his vision even as he took his first step to the table. It passed within a moment, so quick that none of the others even took note of it, but it left Loki feeling dizzy and slightly sick. He had to lift the mead pitcher with both hands, and nearly slopped the first stream over the edge of Thor's cup. Thor gave him a sharp look, brows furrowed with what might have been concern, but there was no way for him to say anything. Loki took extra care with the other men, then went around re-filling their cups as they were emptied until the mead was gone.
When the final toast had been drunk, the Vanir finally stood and began to take their leave. Loki retreated to the sideboard with the empty pitchers and waited for them to go, keeping his head down while he watched from under his lashes. Njord cast him several dark looks as he left, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he said nothing, and the other two didn't so much as spare him a single glance. Then the door was closing behind them, and Loki could breathe. His first test was over. And unless he was very much mistaken, he had passed it. Congratulations, he thought wryly. You have proved yourself an excellent slave. Who would have thought Loki would have such skills?
Now that they were gone, it was like the lifting of a weight. Loki had not even been aware of the tension he had held in his body until it drained away, leaving him hollow and exhausted from the strain of maintaining the facade. He hadn't quite appreciated the constant vigilance that would be required by his role in the presence of others. It was difficult enough to play his part with Thor, but when he had to add on the perfect subservience expected of a lowly slave, he wondered how he could possibly crush himself down small enough to fit.
Thor came back to the meeting area with a broad grin on his face, his cheeks flushed with drink and merriment. "That went well, I think," he said. "Njord was pleased enough with our agreement, in the end."
"Your agreement?"
Thor frowned. "Were you not listening? He is sending an envoy within the week to discuss the defenses. The old goat hasn't so much as lifted a rusted sword to our benefit in years. If we can get him to send some tribute in warriors, then at least Asgard will not be carrying the defense of Vanaheim on our shoulders alone."
"Oh." That was indeed something of a concession, one that Odin had never managed to wring from Njord in many long sessions of debate. "My attention must have wandered. I apologize."
"No matter." Thor smiled again, then came closer. "Are you tired so soon, Loki? You look pale, and I saw how your hand shook."
"I am a little weary," Loki admitted. It crossed his mind, then and there, to say something about the binding chains, about how they drained him, made him feel far more weak and sick than they should. But as soon as he thought it, he dismissed the idea. No matter how ill he might feel, it was too soon. He could not have Thor think for a moment that he was angling for favors, and asking for the release of his magic could not be seen as anything but self-serving. "I must not have slept as well as I thought," he said instead.
"Then call the servants to clear away the food, and go rest." Thor was already moving to pick up his cloak from the back of the bench. "I must meet with the Warriors Three, and then I will eat in the Great Hall. You will have time to rest."
"Wait." Remembering the tally-piece, Loki pulled it from around his neck, and went to hand it to Thor. "I believe I need your mark on this."
"Oh, yes." Thor pressed it carelessly, and dropped it back into Loki's hand. "Tell the buttery-maid to give you an account for yourself, as well. You will need to eat when I'm not here, after all."
Loki was, in fact, starving again, but the thought of trudging all the way down to the kitchens for a meal was too much. There was plenty of food left on the table; he would eat his fill before calling the other servants to clear away the remains.
Thor draped his cloak around his shoulders, then came over to give Loki an unexpected kiss. Loki barely had time to realize his intent, and closed his eyes as Thor's bearded lips rasped over his cheek. Loki was so exhausted that it was tempting to just stand there passively until Thor was finished, but that wouldn't do. Thor seemed intent on being rather more amorous than his farewell of the day before, so Loki opened his mouth obediently to the press of Thor's lips. Thor's breath was sour with mead and his mouth tasted of heavy spiced meats. His tongue slid past Loki's teeth, wet and slimy, and it was all Loki could do to not gag on it. He forced himself to return the kiss as best he could, and finally Thor pulled away, smiling. "I shall see you after dinner," he said. His tone was a promise of more than just his presence, and Loki felt his skin crawl with dread.
When Thor was gone, Loki made a meal of their leavings, then pressed the button to summon the cleaning servants. He had to wait to let them in, and then out again, and by the time they were finished he could hardly keep his own eyes open. He knew he should probably prepare himself again. But he was simply too tired, and he ached all over. Let Thor have him dry, for all he cared. Loki staggered into the bedchamber, fell face-first onto the bed, and plunged into sleep.
Continued in Chapter 6/? of Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home
This entry was originally posted at http://s1k1s1k1.dreamwidth.org/2256.html.