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Fifteen: Sunrise

Can the sweet, blissful memories of a paradise left behind give you the courage to go after Loki when he decides to return to Asgard?

CHAPTER WARNINGS: none

MASTERLIST

Looking in your full-length mirror and adding the final touches to your dress for the press conference, you began crying.

You wanted Loki. He wanted to go away from you and give up. Perhaps what you had between you wasn’t so strong, after all. To expect true love to emerge from two castaways desperate to survive and lonely for contact was ridiculous anyhow. That kind of thing was meant for romance movies. This wasn’t a movie, and Loki wasn’t Chris Hemsworth.

Then why was he standing over your shoulder in your reflection, looking woeful and reaching out a hand to touch your arm?

You turned around, hoping it was an actual projection of Loki finally seeking you out. It wasn’t. It disappeared as soon as you whipped your head around. This forced the tears to flow in rapids down your hot face.

Perhaps it was subconscious, and perhaps it was likely to backfire, but you were wearing your most daring dress. With a heart-shaped neckline that plunged low, it was a deep forest green with gold lace overlay on the skirt. A far cry from the normal lengthy sundresses you wore on workdays. You hoped Loki would notice before Bucky did.

You heard a knock at the door. Heaving one final, labored sigh, you left the mirror image behind and went to put on the bravest face you could muster.

It wasn’t Bucky. Nor was it Loki.

“Steve?” you asked, pleasantly surprised.

He was dressed well, in a baby blue polo and khakis (the polo may have been a size or two tight), ready for the day’s special event. The minute he saw your bloodshot eyes, he frowned.

“I thought so.”

“Huh?”

“May I come in, Y/N?” he proposed, sounding like a concerned father about to confront his rebellious daughter.

You nodded in silence and opened the door for him. “I thought you were Bucky.”

“That’s why I came to talk to you,” he explained. “Now, I may be a bit old-fashioned, but I can still read people. Y/N, you aren’t in love with Bucky, are you?” 

Your lower lip trembled. For all the emotions you’d swallowed to open the door, twice as many spilled over the dam that Steve’s words broke open. “No, I’m not,” you wept, sitting on the sofa in distress. Steve quickly sat beside you and put a large, brotherly arm around your shoulders. “I only kissed him to keep him from tearing Loki apart! I never expected this to get out of control, or for Loki to take it so seriously! I’ve fucked up so hard, Steve, and now I’ll never see him again!”

“So, is it Loki you love?” suggested Steve.

“Steve, what the hell do you think? Yes, I love Loki!”

Steve couldn’t help but raise a skeptical eyebrow with a snicker. “What was in the water on that island? Did you bring any back?”

You smiled a little. “Neither of us expected it. He got an infection and almost died. When he came out of it…none of the past seemed to matter anymore, to either of us.”

The Good Captain smiled reassuringly. “Why haven’t you said anything since you’ve been back?”

You explained how you’d been isolated due to illness, and how any moment you weren’t recovering, Bucky was keeping you glued to his side. Steve nodded with a small sigh of his own. “I can talk to him after the press conference.”

Shaking your head and burying it in your hands, your tears began anew. “It’s too late. They’re using the conference to announce—”

“—I know, but Y/N, if I may say something?”

You nodded silently for Steve to continue. “Bucky may be a little excited and fast-moving right now, but he’s doing it all for you. If you told him the truth, he may get upset, he may even find The Soldier, but he would never force himself on you.”

You knew that, and yet something about how he kept you close was beginning to give you the creeps. However, Steve knew Bucky more than anyone else in the world, and he knew what he was talking about. So, you chose to believe him.

“But continuing to lie about your feelings only hurts everyone in the room. You and Loki and Bucky, but also the rest of us. Do you think we want to see all of you mopey and depressed?” This was true. Everyone living at the Tower was in close enough proximity that mood swings could travel through osmosis. “Not to mention, you only deprive all three of you of what you really want.”

“What do I do? The conference is in ten minutes, and Bucky—”

As if on perfect cue, there was a second knock on the door. This time, it was Bucky. You quickly ran into the bathroom to splash a little cold water on your face and re-apply your makeup while Steve chose to keep Bucky busy with small talk.

By the time there was no evidence of sadness in your face, the conference was ready to begin. Steve’s phone started buzzing instantly. “That’s Tony. We’re late. Loki’s going first, but we’d better hurry.”

Bucky smiled before you could say anything, looping your arm through his. “Let’s go have a happy ending, doll.”

You knew what to do. You took in a deep, brave breath. “Yes. Let’s.”

Loki was already working the press when the door was opened for you, Bucky, and Steve. You would need to wait until his turn ended in order to walk up the middle aisle, so as not to disturb Loki’s speech about returning home.

“I am grateful that the UN and The Allfather have granted me full pardon, and I will use that new freedom to leave Midg—Earth and return home for some much needed…”

He was nothing like the cocky jerk of a God who could manipulate a crowd with the rightly timed wink. The island had narrowed him both physically and emotionally. His skin was paler, he stood still. It broke your heart.

You turned and gave Steve an alarmed look. He smiled gently and nodded, indicating that, perhaps, interrupting his monologue was what you needed to do. “Bucky,” he said quietly. “Can we talk in the lobby?”

“What for?” Bucky asked, releasing your arm long enough for him to turn to his friend.

“Bucky,” you said gently, turning his face back to yours and quickly kissing his brow. The minute to started to talk, however, everything spilled out at once. “I think you’ll understand. I only kissed you because…you were dangerous, and it was the only way I could think of you de-escalate you! I was scared! I never meant to lead you on, but that’s what I’ve been doing, and I’m so, so, SO filled with regret. I’ve hurt you, and I deserve to have you rip me apart for it, but—”

Bucky pressed a finger to your lips with a quiet ‘shh.’ His eyes were sad, but nothing in his looks indicated the growing anger that preceded The Soldier. “You mean it? You were only trying to keep me from hurting you and him?” He jerked his head to indicate Loki as he continued to speak solemnly, unaware of your arrival. Then, it hit him. “It’s because you love Loki and not me.”

He looked to Steve, who quietly nodded confirmation. Bucky quickly stepped back from you. His cheeks were growing red. “I…can’t say I’m not angry. I do think I need to leave…but Y/N…just go be with him if that’s what you really want.”

Your heart leapt. Was it truly that easy? “Bucky, you mean it?”

Bucky grunted angrily. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe I wasn’t letting you get a word in edgewise because I knew in the end this was going to happen. And I…I can’t exactly love you if you don’t love me back.”

“Thank you, Bucky. I’m truly sorry for treating you like this,” you said humbly. You meant it, too. You hoped that one day in the future, Bucky could still be a friend.

Steve looked tense. “You need to go work out?” he asked Bucky, firmly placing a hand on his shoulder.

He bit his lip. “The Soldier’s at bay,” he said decisively. “But a run wouldn’t hurt.”

You bowed your head in gratitude as Bucky removed himself, Steve close behind, leaving you with a reassuring smile as he took his friend out to calm himself before something changed.

Loki was still speaking, but his time was ending. “And so, I wanted to thank those of you who supported me while—”

With every ounce of bravery you could muster, you stepped into the room, positioning yourself at the top of the aisle, feet apart, waiting to be seen. When he spotted you, he stopped short. The sudden pause in his flowing, rehearsed speech sent the press whispering excitedly, some following his gaze to see what had caught him off guard.

“Loki,” you said loudly. “Don’t go. Please!”

He didn’t say anything. Nothing in his face betrayed his thought. Tony peeked his head out from behind the stage with a confused look.

“I love you, Loki,” you added, causing several paparazzi to gasp. Many begin flashing bulbs in your face, distressing you and causing you to raise a hand to shield your eyes until you could hear a loud, booming voice calling for them to retreat.

“OH SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!” Loki shouted, holding up a hand and using his magic in an impressive move. Each of the flashbulb faltered and flickered out of function with a ‘pop!’ A few of the reporters grunted in annoyance. He raised an eyebrow in the manner he used to while you were still rivals. “Go on,” he said to you.

With some of your courage restored, you began walking slowly up the aisle. “I only did what I did to save your life, but it went too far. I took it too far. And…I took for granted that you’d understand right away, or that I’d be able to explain it later and you wouldn’t feel hurt. I was wrong. I know you’re about to go away and never forgive me.”

He remained silent. You took that as a cue to go on.

“I’ve broken up with Bucky. He’s going to be okay…” For dramatic effect, you took two more steps, putting you exactly halfway up the row and in the center of the room. “…but if you leave for Asgard…I won’t be.”

He still wasn’t speaking. Tony looked at him like he was a complete kook. You felt yourself turn cold. Loki wasn’t saying anything, and it was obviously in rejection of you. He’d made his choice, and you’d been the one to force him away from you.

“Loki, here I am, begging you in front of all of New York, to forgive me and to say you love me again.” You threw out your arms, indicating the multitude of reporters getting every pixel of the moment. You knew, either way, this moment would be all over Youtube before you could sneeze. You may as well have hammed it up, just a smidge.

Finally, Loki said something. “I am going to Asgard.”

And that was it. A few people gave an audible ‘aw’ of sympathy for you. A few others gasped. Clicks and mumbled filled the room again, and even without the flash bulbs, they were annoying.

And thus, I’ve officially destroyed everything, you admitted inside. Nodding quietly, you mumbled a weak, “Safe travels, then. And I am sorry, Loki. If I could go back and do it all over, I’d let him rip me in half before I hurt you again. I should have done that in the first place.”

Holding you head high, you added, “Goodbye.”

You turned, your entire would going fuzzy as the humiliation and heartbreak swept over you as a tsunami of regret and self-hatred.  As you started slowly walking away, pondering on whether jumping off the heliport upstairs would hurt less than hanging yourself, the paps began another wave of relentless recording and whispering around you.

Yeah, go ahead and further humiliate me, jackasses, you thought.

They weren’t. They were reacting to something else. Loki had leapt off the stage in a graceful arc and run after up the aisle. You had no idea, nor warning, so when he scooped you into his arms and twirled you in a circle, you yelped.

He put you down when you hollered, spinning you around so that he could press his forehead to you and whisper, “Silly Chickadee, I’m going to Asgard…and you’re coming with me.”

Unbelievable. “Loki…I really love you…”

“Shh, I know.” He brushed your chin delicately with this thumb and drew your mouth up into a long, deep kiss.

The press when insane, surrounding you and barking questions, taking photos, and invading your space. Neither of you noticed them as you held one another tightly. The tempest of the world washed away the more you latched on to each other there, an oasis in the middle of it all.

You were an island.

Loki parted his lips from yours just long enough to whisper clearly: “And Y/N, I love you too.”

Two months later…

Butterflies tickled your insides, and the nausea that the trip had induced wasn’t helping.

You and Loki were at the gates of the grand palace of Asgard, waiting to be announced and received by Loki’s father and mother, the King and Queen. Thor had gone in himself to do it, thinking that Loki coming home after all that had transpired with a girlfriend in tow would be a rough announcement on their unsuspecting parents. Thor's delivery would soften the blow of it.

You stared up at the grand, golden gates, and immediately wished you were on Loki Island again.

“Uh, Loki?”

You felt him squeeze your hand with love. “It will all be well.”

You felt a twinge of guilt looking up at him.

Perhaps, you should have told him about the baby before coming here. Perhaps it would have softened the blow that the dumbass had knocked you up on the island if you had told him before the trip, as opposed to your first thought, which was letting him know on his home soil. 

You weren’t sure at first you even wanted it. Was it too soon? Then you thought again: having a ‘little souvenir’ from the fortnight you’d spent with Loki was no crazier than the rest of your relationship. Both of you had handled worse, and together.

But now was not the time, either. You were both somewhat anxious being here.

“I know, Loki,” you smiled. “I do wish we were on our island instead of here, though.”

“As do I, Chickadee,” he said, chuckling as you winced at the name.

He laughed as you began punching his shoulders playfully. Both of you were giggling, not realizing the palace gates opening to you, and that the entire Royal Court of Asgard was now bearing witness to your ‘lover’s quarrel.”

“I TOLD YOU TO STOP CALLING ME THAT, LOKI YOU BIG DUMMYHEAD!!!!”

“Oh, you love it!” Loki answered, scooping you into a melodramatic kiss while all of Asgard looked on in confused silence.

Maybe, it was true. 

THE END

Y'all, I don't know what to say. Thank you for taking this ride with me, and making it my most-read fic yet! I hope you enjoyed, and that the finale was worth all the emotional ups and downs it took to get there!

Next up for me, if you're interested, is VISIONS OF ASGARD. Please go check it out if you're into sweeping lore and slow-burn drama (and, of course, Loki-centric romance!)

Yours, Lena

Marvel Studios Assembled: The Making of Loki

I don't have anyone to tag, but to those who see this. Happy sammich

Reblong to give someone an ice cream sanditch.

Or hit em with the "So? Literal CHILDREN have been shot at, and literal CHILDREN have been killed because of it. If you don't vote for something to change you're crazy"

"Oh he's literally gotten shot at for this country, if your not voting form him your crazy."

Motherfucker, getting shot at and the general reaction being "God Dammit how did you miss wtf you had one job" is what many experts consider to be like the benchmark for not being well liked.

reblog if the first musical you listened to was not Hamilton

I love for this shit. (Compliment)

Expecting to march to your death, you're instead greeted as a royal bride by the Allfather, but not everything seems to be a 'happy ending,' with only the Queen giving you any hope of belonging.

CONTENT WARNING: none WORD COUNT: 2.2k

Praying for a swift sentencing and execution, you paced your cell restlessly for five days and four nights. Odin seemed to be taking his time with you, perhaps adding torment to your finals hours as further punishment for the sin of Seeing. 

You spent many of those hours re-visiting the prophecy in your mind. Nothing added up to you. You’d seen a small group of thieves, not Olympian soldiers. You’d seen the Princes victorious and side-by-side. Every manner of interpretation aligned to the same conclusion: your vision was inaccurate, and it ultimately became a fatal error. 

Subsisting on stale, grainy bread and water for the duration of your imprisonment, your muscles grew weary, and soon even pacing for more than a few moments became strenuous exercise. “They…they plan to starve me to death,” you realized on the fourth evening of your captivity. “Slowly. Over months!” A beheading would have been kinder. Perhaps the King thought it was too kind for the likes of you. 

Your terrifying thought was interrupted as someone was let into the row of cells by a guard. You were the only prisoner on the row, so whoever this was, they surely were here for you. Was it your executioner? It was tradition for an executioner to beg pardon from their victim the night before the event. Somehow, this idea came as a relief to you as a figure drew toward you. It meant your suffering and years in the darkness were over. 

As the figure stepped into the dim, red torchlight, you saw that it was Mistress Unn. 

“You’re a long way from the Sanctum,” you said quietly, turning toward the visitor. Mistress Unn wore a heavy, opaque veil that she’d only lifted upon being left alone with you. When she didn’t answer you immediately, you added in wistful longing, “What do you think daylight is like?”

Mistress Unn rolled her eyes. “I suppose the dramatics you were always so predisposed toward finally suit you.” 

“Will they take me outside? Or will they do it before the King? I just want one minute with wind on my face,” you endured. “Before I…well…no longer have one.” 

Your visitor twisted her lip in disapproval. “I am to bring you before His Majesty tomorrow evening, at dusk.” 

This was odd news. Executions were always a dawn affair, without exception. You had no idea as to why. It was simply how things were done. 

“I don’t understand,” you mumbled. 

“That is all I have been told myself, I know not why they are breaking tradition,” said the Mistress coldly. “But now that I have completed tonight’s task, I will leave you until tomorrow.” 

The guard blew out the torchlight after her departure, leaving you in the darkness you were entirely used to. 

Within the dungeon, you had no sense of time. After what felt like both years and seconds, Mistress Unn returned, a bundle of opal-white cloth tucked under her arm. As she held out the cloth to you through the bars, it unraveled to reveal that it was a gown. Though very simply cut, it was more elegant than anything you’d ever worn in your life. 

“I suppose the King doesn’t want to lay his lone eye on your hideous Seer’s robes,” mused the Mistress. “And being white…”

She cut herself off upon seeing your fearful face. White was Asgard’s most significant color. It could mean any sort of formality was happening, be it a funeral or a marriage, a birth or a victory parade. Nobles wore the hue every year on their birthdate. In this case, it was your shroud. The beautiful silken fabric would soon be dripping rubies. 

“Shall I don it now?” you asked. Mistress Unn nodded silently and turned away, giving you the slightest dignity as you undressed. 

It was funny to you how well the dress seemed to fit. There was something woefully elegant to the gown that made it seem a waste on a dead woman. It didn’t make sense. This had to be some additional form of last-minute torture on your way to the block. You’d often heard of Odin being a cruel despot, but here he was playing with a mouse already trapped. Why was it that only the worst brutes ever wielded power?

You were desperate for some of Mistress Nanna’s mind-numbing tea, but you were not offered such a mercy. Instead, you could only feel your skin quake harder with every step you took through the palace. Frantically, you mind searched for a set of reasonable last words, but nothing came to you. 

When the doors to the throne room parted for you, Mistress Unn (fully veiled, of course), and the entourage of guards, you were greeted with two long rows of spectators, dressed to the nines in  gold and silver. They looked at you not with pity, but curiosity. You’d expected the telltale drumbeat that escorted every condemned to the block, but no such drumming went up. Instead, a light harp and flute duet fluttered into the air around your ears, a pleasant lullaby to sing you off to eternal sleep.

At the head of the aisle, the Royal Family stood in a row, also in their finest garments (much too grand for an execution). 

You were dreaming. This made no sense. 

“Mistress? What--?”

“--I don’t know!”

You were led up the aisle, ahead of the soldier escorts and Mistress Unn. Ahead of you was a beam of light, and when it struck your face, the immediate warmth brought a resigned tear to your eye. You wished you could carry that momentary feeling with you as you reached the foot of The Allfather’s throne, where you fell to your knees in a humble bow.

“Stop shaking, little maiden, it is the happiest day of your life.”

“Truly, my Lord, for I have seen daylight at last,” you replied sadly, before adding, “And now I can die having seen it. I accept my fate as consequence for my prophecy and will not fight it--” 

“--she cannot control them, she is a naturlig!” cried Mistress Unn, her pleas for your life touching you. “Mercy, Dear Lord!” 

Norns, Mistress Unn, where was this motherly affection for me before today? Sweeping the toilets? 

The King frowned and leaned back on his throne. “So I have heard from her…attorney,” he said, looking warily at Heimdall, who stood against a column to the left of Odin’s throne.

Attorney? Who of any sway is here speaking for me? Who can defend me when it was I who led Prince Thor to his death?

You allowed yourself a longer look at Loki. He was standing freely and widely-posed, his stoic face bearing down on you with the weight of a miller’s stone. His arrayment was ornamental, shining gold plates shimmered from his breast and arms, a bright green tunic underneath. Why was he in ceremonial armor, and yet looking like he was shackled to the wall himself?

Something wasn’t correct. 

Odin continued. “I am told she is the only naturlig of her generation, and therefore, the only one of her youth and years who could have offspring with her same powers.”

“Y…yes, that is true, Majesty,” Mistress Unn mumbled. 

“Girl, rise and meet my eye,” Odin commanded. “I am told your name is Y/N.”

“Yes, my King,” you said, your voice barely audible. 

“There has been a proposal for your hand to be given to my son’s in marriage,” he said, almost too casually. “And I have declared it must be so.” 

Your skin went cold with further confusion. The bouncing torchlight began to fuzz and blur your vision. “I…I beg pardon, Your Majesty?”

“While you may have an egregious sin against the crown on your hands, it is apparently a greater sin to spill the blood of a naturlig Seer. Your punishment will be eternal indentured servitude to the Royal Family through marriage to the Prince Loki, to pass on your gift to your heirs, and to be constantly under my watchful eye until the natural end of your days.” 

Your mouth fell open. Were you hearing correctly? 

“And so, little maiden, take the hand of your groom as Heimdall lights a cauldron of eternal fire,” Odin declared. Queen Frigga made a gesture with her hands in your direction, and a crown of cherry blossoms sprouted across your forehead in a modest tiara, bringing at least a little beauty to your homely appearance. 

Loki took one step forward and stiffly offered his hand. Having no choice but to obey, you took it, caught off-guard by how cold it was against your palm. You expected a prince’s skin to be warm. When you looked up into his eyes, your heart stilled. He was glaring at you with a look you couldn’t match an emotion to.

Was he the one who stood up for me? you thought, unable to concentrate on Odin’s words as he recited the Marriage Rite. You doubted it from the look on his face. Loki looked unhappy to be there. I imagine he expected a princess bride, and I am anything but. 

A few moments later, after a chaste kiss on the lips that held all of the affection of a molding statue, you found yourself the newest royal of Asgard, standing before the applauding nobility, a far cry from the grave you’d expected to be falling into by now.

Frigga applauded with the crowd. Odin stood between you and Loki with a straight face. For his part, Loki looked about the most miserable groom to ever live. Something on your new husband’s face chilled you. 

You suddenly got the feeling that you were about to trade one prison for another. 

You may have been the lowest-ranked royal bride in Asgardian history, but Odin still had the kitchen spare no expense for the wedding feast. It was truly awful that tradition dictated that the bride and groom were served last, for being in the dungeon and subsisting on bread and water had made you weak and hungry. Your head spun and your stomach howled. It was all you could do to stand by your husband’s side silently for nearly an hour and a half as the multitude of guests filed through the smorgasbord and left it in ruins. 

He was cold. Not just emotionally distant, but he almost had a tactile aura of freezing air expanding past his personal space and laying dots of frost on your arm. You were cooler than if you were standing in the middle of an ice house. 

Should I speak to him? 

He hadn’t said a word to you, nor even addressed you indirectly. For being known for having a silver tongue, Loki must’ve set it away in a closet somewhere, for he was silent as stone once his vows were recited. As a group of nobles danced, Loki watched from his seat at your table, mindlessly swirling a goblet of wine in his hand, occasionally addressing one of his friends when they walked past. 

The only warmth you felt all night was from Queen Frigga, who sought you out toward the end of the evening. You bowed lowly, but she immediately dismissed it. “Only in Court will you ever need to bow to me. Here, you may address me as Mother.” 

“My Lady--Mother, I am most aggrieved…and confused…no one is telling me anything!” you said with worry. 

“I suspect not,” the Queen frowned. “I think I will send for you at tea time tomorrow. I will summon you every day, and while there, I will hold finishing lessons for you. Perhaps this won’t simply be an ‘acquisition’ after all. You do need to fill the role of ‘Princess’ now that you’re here.”

You managed a half-smile. “You are too kind.” 

“Surely it won’t be difficult for you to learn our ways. You have, after all, lived in the palace since girlhood.” 

Yes, but I spent nearly every moment of it sequestered in a prison of old biddies and hags, you wanted to say. 

“And,” the Queen went on, “I also believe your gift could use a little fine-tuning. I was Loki’s magic tutor as well.”

You shook your head. “My gift is as is and will always be. It is weak and imperfect, and cannot be changed.” 

Frigga nodded. “I’ve always held a suspicion that wasn’t entirely true. Not being directly connected to The Sight myself, I could never say so with certainty.”

Not saying anything, you looked back over at Loki, who was speaking now to one of his closest friends, a blonde man whose name you had yet to know. He was certainly handsome, your new husband. Sleeping with him would be a penance most pleasurable to pay. Perhaps the Norns were smiling upon you. One thing was for certain, you shouldn’t question this blessing you were handed. 

Sleeping with him…oh Norns…

“What worries you?” asked the Queen, taking your hand. 

“I’m sorry, Mother,” you said quietly. “I just…I was expected to remain chaste for my entire life. Thus, I never learned how to--”

“--ah!” Frigga nodded, knowingly. She looked over her shoulder at a small door behind the throne. “Well, if you would like to take a stroll into the open air with me, perhaps I can set your mind at ease.”

To think, three hours prior, you were expecting to lose your head. Now, you were about to have a talk regarding the most forbidden of subjects with the Queen of the Realm herself! 

Don't question your blessing, you repeated to yourself. Just walk with it and make it matter. 

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