Archive of Our Own

It was an ordinary evening when Loki first felt someone's beckoning, subtle, almost imperceptible in the midst of all the preparations for Thor's coming of age.

The noisiest and most bustling time, involving everyone in one duty or another, but nevertheless filled with sweet anticipation. And pure awe. The coming of age day of Asgard's Crown Prince was to be a truly solemn occasion, attracting all sorts of guests from Yggdrasil — at least from that part of it that was allowed to come — and so the air of the capital quickly filled itself with a buzz like a disturbed beehive. Every peasant, every merchant, servant, ambassador — all were immersed in creating the perfect celebration for their beloved Prince Thor.

For this very reason Loki, who had barely had a moment of solitude and peace in recent weeks, was quite surprised that he could discern this strange call at all.

It wasn't even exactly a call. More like... a whisper. As if someone was standing stealthily behind him, trying to attract his attention without giving themselves away. But the whisper was indistinct and muffled, floating on the intermittent waves of wild seidr, and no matter how hard Loki tried, it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. In the end, Loki decided to brush it off and chalked it up to an unusual auditory illusion, which could well have arisen from some awkward novice mage playing around with a topic he didn't fully understand and control.

Frigga considered his assumption probable and advised him to strengthen his mental block, pinpointing his susceptibility to outside seidr. He did so; the whisper soon ceased. The theory about the inexperienced mage seemed to have been confirmed, and Loki could have forgotten about the incident, if the next day he hadn't smelled... a new scent.

Instinctively, he first checked his skin, his clothes, his belongings, the oils that the servants brought to his private bathroom. It would be a real nightmare if his usual aroma suddenly changed on the eve of the feast, no matter how. Loki was careful about his royal image. People could think whatever they wanted about his pranks and burning words, but it was important to him to remain a prince in their eyes. Even with a veil of vanity. Having carefully checked everything in his chambers, making sure of his own cleanliness and not finding the source of the smell, Loki went out into the corridor. His nostrils flared from the rush of fresh air. But no. Incomprehensible notes of musk and ... forest — pine — were still distinguishable. He couldn't say that they were foul, but it was completely unlike anything Loki had ever smelled. Not a single flower in Fensalir, not a single season in Asgard, not Frigga's perfume, not Thor's sweaty carcass, not any of the dishes in their dining hall smelled like this.

Loki personally verified the latter during dinner. The table was habitually laid out with the royal family's favorite dishes, tasted so thoroughly over the centuries that Loki could guess which of the head chefs was cooking and decorating it that day. Imagine his surprise when even the delicious aroma of salmon fillet in sweet sauce was roughly interrupted by a mysterious odor.

His fingers squeezed his nose, massaging the mucous membrane. Then they let go. Nothing had changed.

He glanced back at the frozen guards at the far end of the hall, followed the scurrying servants. Their behavior and appearance seemed normal; it was difficult to suspect any of them of a stinking prank. And it was unlikely that they would stoop to such a thing without fearing for their posts.

A short, attention-grabbing cough was heard. Loki instinctively straightened up, meeting the Allfather's sidelong glance.

"Everything alright, Loki?"

"Yes," he blurted out, picking at his plate of fish. All that was left of the impeccably cut salmon now was a mushy mess. "Are we trying out new incense for the feast?"

"What made you suspect that?"

"Well... Don't you think the palace smells strange today?"

Frigga raised an eyebrow in surprise, but sniffed along with her husband. Thor only snorted loudly, chewing a fatty piece of meat:

“If this is another one of your complaints about me, brother, then I hasten to disappoint you: the contests have already been passed, and my training today did not take place, because I was at a fitting at the tailor’s.”

“Your sweaty stench is unmistakable,” Loki quipped. “I mean…” He turned his head only to meet the puzzled faces of his parents. “Never mind. I apologize for bringing this up during a meal.”

His mother’s hand gently touched his shoulder: “Perhaps you did not strengthen the block quite correctly? The suppression of one sense could have led to the exacerbation of another. I can…”

He put his fork aside in embarrassment, having lost the last drop of appetite.

“No! I did everything correctly. And it’s not a heightened sense of smell, but a specific smell that haunts me."

His parents looked at each other again, as if they were having a silent dialogue not intended for their sons to hear. Or rather a particular son. Loki thought he caught a hint of worry in his father's single eye, and it made him tense even more. It wasn't every day that one noticed something like that.

"I think you should go see Lady Eir, Loki," the Allfather said in a deep voice. "There is a possibility for another reason of this sudden change in perception. It would be best to rule it out."

"What is it?"

The Allfather hesitated, fidgeting in the chair and forcing his next words out.

"Some boys… mature differently. That is all I'll say for now."

Across from him, Thor burst out laughing, and Loki decided not to pursue the conversation any further to avoid more awkward questions. He nodded obediently to respect the Allfather and ignored the rest of the dinner. When it was finished, he retired to his chambers, where he remained without leaving for several more days. Loki, succumbing to his own pride, tried other balancing spells, but they did not give the desired result. He tried to return the block to its original state before the intervention: the whispers did not return, but the strange smell still lingered, although not as obvious as on the first day. He even thought that it acquired more pleasant notes, became softer. Be that as it may, the inability to completely get rid of such an absurd problem was like a splinter, and Loki knew that its root had not yet rotted away. The body was simply beginning to get used to a new component of the environment. And, once accustomed to it, identifying and subsequently getting rid of the source would become difficult enough tasks.

And so now Loki's feet were already at the threshold of the Healing Wing. Visiting Lady Eir for reasons other than curiosity or training was always a last resort for him. It was one thing to be in the wards of his own free will as an observer and student, and quite another to be a patient.

The visit turned out to be short. So short that Loki felt uneasy.

Lady Eir found nothing amiss, assuring him that his sense of smell was normal, and noting only a slight dryness of the mucous membranes, for which she prescribed nasal drops. For any other patient this news would have brought relief, but for Loki it was a signal that the problem layed elsewhere, something they could not yet understand or define. With a mixture of alarm and annoyance, he could have sworn that as he left the Wing he saw the Head Healer handing an envelope with the royal seal to a messenger. A letter for the Allfather.

"Of course she would have informed him of the examination results," Loki thought, reassuring himself. "The last thing needed was for the Second Prince to fall ill on the eve before the feast. Bad image."

Disappointed, he trudged to his chambers and, not wanting such an outcome, followed Lady Eir's instructions, pouring the healing liquid into his nose. Over time, it overpowered the musky aroma enough that Loki, fortunately, could once again focus on his own affairs and duties. Perhaps this olfactory anomaly was indeed just a temporary halting in his receptors. In any case, he could think about it some other time.

***

The days rushed forward, and Loki did not immediately realize that the long-awaited date had finally come.

Guests began to arrive in Asgard, and the bustle multiplied tenfold. High nobility, diplomats, representatives of trading houses or outstanding personas — Loki had to greet almost everyone who was above the middle class. He tried to suppress any dark urges for mischief, hiding behind a rehearsed hospitable smile and a ceremonial suit with a long cloak, but he quickly discovered that this tired him out to the point of madness. The celebrations — various fairs, entertainment evenings and competitions — were about to last a week and end on the seventh day with a great feast, followed by the blessing of the Norns themselves, on Thor's actual birthday. If it weren't for the Allfather, who was directing almost every aspect of this event, and for the mother, who was eager to introduce her sons to as many important guests as possible, Loki would probably have fled to library's farthest corner, just to get away from the stuffiness of the halls and the roar of the crowd.

But alas, that would be scandalous, and he had already promised his mother to behave diligently, so he endured and tried to find any distraction without falling flat on his face. Talking to seidrmadrs so rare in Asgard here, eating sweet grapes there — little things that helped him. However, the atmosphere gradually became too loud, too overwhelming and, finally, simply too boring. The second prince's irritation began to grow like yeast dough. In fact, Loki had never seen the Great Meal Hall so lively. From the elevated podium where the royal family and close nobles sat, a wild sea of heads opened up. Thor mentioned in passing that the Hall had last been bursting with people hundreds of years ago, celebrating the end of the war with the Frost Giants and the immediate addition to the royal family. Loki, of course, did not remember this, although he bitterly doubted that without a military victory his birth alone was worthy of an honor of such proportions.

At some point, towards the end of the evening, Loki found nothing better to do than to appraise the guests and imagine who, for what, and how he would make fun of. The bald, pot-bellied businessman who had raised the prices of his goods to heights that even the prince thought were crazy? The upstart mage whose only talent was to be born into a diplomat's family? Or…

Her...

Loki's eyes widened, noticing a dark figure amidst the crowd.

The notes of musk and pine again tickled his receptors.

The stranger girl gracefully glided between the bodies and, it seemed, somehow miraculously managed not to touch anyone in the dense flow, drawing intricate patterns along her route. Only after a few moments did Loki realize that she was dancing. Alone, to the drawn-out trill of bards. With each movement, she threw down a challenge to the entire Hall, which no one even suspected.

Loki could not tear his eyes away from her. He could not stir his constricted heart when the distance between them shortened, and her features became slightly more defined.

For he saw himself in them.

The same jet-black hair, only falling in waves to her waist — a color that even the most pure-blooded dark-skinned Vanir did not have; the same thin, almost transparent skin with a scattering of veins, because of which Loki involuntarily recalled the numerous nagging of those around him in his own direction over the past centuries. An appearance that was unusual for the Aesir was what always stood out in Loki against the rest of Asgard's citizens, and now he could not help but be amazed at how much the stranger fit into the crowd despite this. It felt like not a single soul in the Hall even noticed her, that no one wrinkled their faces, did not shy away, as if afraid of catching an infection.

It seemed like she wasn't even there in the first place.

But then the girl suddenly spun around, and as if to challenge this assumption, her azure eyes fixed directly on Loki. He jerked in his chair in surprise, inhaled convulsively, embarrassed, when a playful smile flashed across her young face, scarlet lips slightly bitten by teeth. It was a blatant public flirtation with the prince, which only one specific person predictably found funny: Thor, sitting opposite, grinned conspiratorially, for which Loki kicked him in the boot under the table. In response to the commotion, their mother narrowed her eyes, displeased, although she said nothing being too involved in a conversation with important ambassadors.

A moment of hesitation cost Loki the loss of girl in the raging sea of people.

She never showed up again.

After the official part, Loki tried to forget about the chance meeting, convincing himself that it meant nothing. He did not want to fan his hopes and burn himself on its coals later. However, getting the image of the black-haired lady out of his head turned out to be more difficult than he thought. Something persistently drew him to her — a connection that defied any explanation. This definitely fell into the category of oddities, because usually Loki, unlike his brother, paid little attention to any kind of relationship, especially romantic ones. Thor often joked that Loki was simply not yet grown enough to awaken the right feelings, that it would come with time and with the right lady. Whether it was that very carnal attraction or love, Loki, alas, was not sure or simply did not know. And, in truth, he was afraid to find out: his previous, almost childish, experience with Amora could hardly be called inspiring. But the mystery of the guest and their external similarity awakened a primal curiosity in him.

Without closing his eyes, he tossed and turned in bed almost the entire night.

***

On the second day, the festivities moved to the gardens, which Loki considered a blessing. The fresh air and lush greenery made them not only less formal, but also more pleasant for the soul. The single thing that bothered him was fatigue from lack of sleep.

As a prince, Loki's duties included participating in certain activities and showing due interest in the visitors. At first, he did this without much difficulty, easily fighting off drowsiness, and could even find some pleasure in silly contests and listening to fresh songs from foreign skalds — they were funny enough to entertain him and give him some new ideas for future pranks. Perhaps the strong, throat-tearing wine, that everyone for some reason tried to treat him to as if he had never tasted a drop, played a  role. The Vanir were especially persistent in this and, probably, if it weren’t for Frigga, who extricated him from such “traditions”, he would have already overindulged and certainly disgraced himself.

All this was frankly quickly exhausting, and Loki kept asking his mother for permission to sit quietly on a bench in the far end of the garden. She did not refuse, although she hesitated when answering and constantly asked him not to linger, like Loki were the center and supporting column of the celebration, which, of course, was not true — this role belonged to the real hero of the occasion, the birthday boy Thor, and he took full advantage of it. Nothing would have collapsed if Loki had disappeared from the guests' field of vision for a while, but after the recent misunderstanding coupled with the visit to Lady Eir, Frigga had become... overly vigilant. Half attributing excessive care to a natural maternal instinct, he nevertheless found it burdensome, and the time of each of his breaks, as if in counterbalance to his mother's pressure, inexorably increased by a minute or two.

It soon became dark. The street lights came on.

The party was entering the dancing phase, which Loki had absolutely no intention of entering, and so he decided to find a comfortable retreat in one of his favorite places — the Central Fountain in the gardens. There was no screaming from the square, no colorful banners and shiny outfits burning his eyes out. The water flowing over the sculpture complemented the coolness of the summer twilight and calmed with its unobtrusive murmur.

He was almost overcome by sleep when he felt someone's presence.

By the smell that suddenly enveloped him.

Light musk and pine needles.

Without the need to guess he knew: she was somewhere nearby. He looked around, not seeing anyone. He jumped to his feet, sniffed the air more closely, circling the fountain like an animal. Then, finally realizing the wildness of his behavior, Loki straightened up, returning to his presentable appearance.

A sudden laugh busted behind him. High and teasing.

The shadow of a stranger flashed through the golden gates of the garden, and Loki, not thinking, rushed after her along the path.

Here and there a shadow emerged from hiding, luring him further and further from the fountain, until Loki found himself at a maze of high hedges. It was a popular place for young couples at court, allowing them to disappear from society for a while and enjoy each other's company. Amora had once wanted to bring Loki here, but those plans were never meant to come true, and so his heart fluttered in anticipation as the stranger half-turned from around the corner. In the dim light of the street lanterns and in combination with her cream-colored dress, her skin seemed even paler. Loki's throat tightened before hesitantly calling out to her:

"Hello?"

She smiled silently, giving him a narrowed look from under her silky locks, and then, inviting with finger, she swerved into the next turn. Then into another. And into another.

Loki had nothing to do but obey in this small game, even though winning was problematic — the nimble stranger did not make a sound, did not stop to wait for him, and was so unpredictable that several times he had to cut a path through the foliage of the hedge. Doing this, he felt like a criminal towards the royal gardeners, but excitement and curiosity overshadowed his shame. Her scent, again with force acting on the receptors, drove him forward, into the depths of the labyrinth.

At some point, out of breath, he still fell behind a little and lost sight of the hem of her dress. The stranger did not return for him, even when he began frantically calling her. The smell became weaker and weaker; the walls of the labyrinth, in which he was already entangled, seemed to change places every few minutes.

"Hey! Come back!" - he shouted into the void. There was no answer.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and he couldn't regain his composure, despite the fact that he had several different ways to get out of the damned garden monument. He could use magic, or, in the end, follow Thor's example and go straight through the labyrinth, sacrificing his clothes and bushes' integrity. Yet... he continued to spin, imagining the fence of stone.

An inexplicable panic was almost overtaking him when he heard a familiar voice: "Loki?"

He turned, frozen. His mother was standing in one of the corridors, wringing her hands in a nervous gesture.

"Darling, what are you doing here?"

He did not know what to say; he could not gather his thoughts together even to spit out some half-baked lie.

"I... I'm sorry. I... was out walking. Didn't notice you coming at all."

He was still shaking, despite his attempts to stop it. That hadn't escaped his mother's eyes, so Frigga carefully closed the distance between them until her hands touched him.

"I've been calling you almost from the very entrance. Didn't you hear?"

"From the entrance?"

"Yes," she frowned as he looked around. His vision finally cleared, allowing him to assess the situation around him. The labyrinth stretched for a couple of yards. Judging by the old oak landmark, they were close to the center. "Loki, are you feeling okay? If you are unwell, please don't be disingenuous. Neither I nor your father will forbid you from having a necessary rest. We will settle everything with the guests."

He shuddered.

"Oh, don't bother. It's nothing," he turned in the direction the stranger was hurrying, hoping that she would give him some kind of farewell sign, but the place was empty. Her scent had almost disappeared, giving way to ordinary summer freshness. "Just... I didn't get enough sleep, I suppose."

"Hm," Frigga's hand gently moved to his back, pushing him towards the road back to the fountain. She decided not to point out the sweaty fabric under her fingers, although she found it alarming. As a Jotun, Loki barely ever sweated. "Come on. The festival is almost over, and I think nothing bad will happen if we retire early."

He nodded, accepting the pressure of his mother's hand.

***

Next time the feeling of someone's presence woke him up in the middle of the night before the Great Feast. It was the last night of wild celebrations, after which the Coming of Age ceremony itself was expected, with blessings and gifts — from the Allfather first of all. And although no specific artifact was publicly announced that would be inherited by Thor, everyone already guessed, or rather knew, that the only gift option was Mjolnir. Thor already had several centuries to learn how to wield it safely, and therefore now all that remained was to formalize the right of ownership, with pomp and strong mead.

An important day, in a word, before which Loki had not slept for almost a whole week. And this affected him so much that he was forced to walk under glamour. He managed to deceive most of the ignorant guests, but, of course, there were those sensitive to magic who quickly became suspicious, constantly glancing at him and trying to see through the illusion. Two people succeeded in this: his parents. One disapproving remark from his father was enough to keep a low profile and not attract unnecessary attention to himself during public meetings. The sight of a half-asleep second prince, barely able to stand on his feet from the weight of his own eyelids, could hardly be called desirable for a royal family representative.

Lying in bed again, he couldn't close his eyes even to the lulling trill of insects. The only remedy that even slightly helped to relax the body was Lady Eir's tincture. Tart and viscous, however. Completely tired of tossing and turning, Loki once again grabbed the bottle like a life buoy. He could endure a few minutes of bad taste for the sake of an hour or two of rest.

It was then that his eyes noticed an anomaly in the darkness of his chambers.

Her.

He twitched.

The stranger looked back at him with an expression of absolute carelessness and power over the moment. Sitting on the floor, at the opposite end of the wide bed, she did not care at all about covering her nakedness with anything other than hanging hair. From her pose, Loki understood that she enjoyed her impudence and did not intend to correct the look. But Loki would be a true hypocrite if he admitted that this shameless act had no effect on him.

She chuckled at her small victory and stood up, turning around.

Her hair was clearly not long enough to cover all her intimate parts, and her swaying gait showed them off in all their glory. Loki had to pull the blanket higher and bring his legs together in a fight against the excitement that was rolling in — he was not entirely sure how to behave in such situations, but he supposed that on his male side it was not worth being too obvious. Thor said that this scared off some ladies. Loki decided to trust his brother's unsuccessful experience, because he simply did not see any other options.

Meanwhile, the stranger girl reached the balcony, inviting Loki to her. He obeyed without any doubt. His bare feet stepped onto the stonework. Everything around him suddenly fell silent: neither the cries of the night revelers, nor the march of the guards, nor the violent crickets from the gardens below could be heard. Loki thought that everyone had probably already gone to bed. The risk of witnesses seemed minimal.

“I… Um…” Loki hesitated. Over the past week, he had rehearsed many lines for him to say if the chance arose, but now, in this moment of spontaneous intimacy, all his prepared compliments disappeared somewhere. The fog that had settled over his consciousness irritated him. “You are very… Sorry, I am usually much more eloquent, but I guess the lack of sleep and your… Ahem. I mean… May I know your name?”

Cold fingers touched his neck. A shadow of approval crossed the girl's face as he pressed himself against her. The scent of pine forest that emanated from her skin captured him at the first breath. Loki tried with all his might to suppress the body's trembling. His eyelids drooped, and he gave himself up to the mercy of the moment.

"Bo-da..." the guest whispered, languidly stretching out each syllable.

Loki inhaled convulsively, as if he had learned the innermost secret of the universe. There was an unfamiliar accent in her pronunciation — not as rough as that of the Vanir, but not ornate and hoarse like that of the elves. Loki found it intriguing and carefully repeated, tasting the exotic name on his own tongue:

"Boda."

The girl hummed contentedly, caressing his cheeks and closing the distance between them until Loki felt her breath on his blushed skin.

Her full lips touched his.

Loki leaned forward, expecting more.

Wanting more.

His seidr bubbled and flowed through his veins to accompany his physical arousal, which at first frightened him, however, not a second or two later did any magical explosion occur. Instead... something had connected with him. Foreign threads. Her seidr threads, which lay like a balm on top and restrained the awakened power.

Loki did not have time to comprehend what had happened, because the next moment there was a knock on the door, tearing him out of oblivion.

When his eyes opened, there was a gaping void before him. Boda had disappeared, leaving behind only a single pitch feather on the floor, and if such powerful seidr really was flowing in her blood, then the trick had obviously worked. It was hard to believe that Loki had managed to meet another shapeshifting mage — such a rare and not very recognized by society ability reduced the chances to almost zero.

Perhaps their meeting was indeed sent by the Norns themselves, Loki thought. A sacred bond.

What really surprised him was the dawn sky. Loki could have sworn that his and Boda's closeness could not have lasted more than ten minutes, and before that the sky was filled with stars.

How long had they been standing on the balcony?

"Loki?" came from behind the door, in time with the impatient knocking. "Hey, are you still asleep?"

Thor.

Loki glanced at his watch and was taken aback: he should already be washed, combed, and ready to don his ceremonial armor. The squires and tailors were probably halfway to his chambers. He hurriedly pulled on his underwear and ran to the door. The Crown Prince, standing on the other side of the threshold in full festive attire, raised his eyebrows in confusion at the sight of his half-naked brother.

“You…” Thor faltered, unable to remember the last time Loki had neglected his punctuality. “What’s with you?”

“Overslept,” Loki blurted out. “Do you need something?”

“I suppose only to remind you of what day it is today.”

“I remember perfectly well what day it is,” Loki rolled his eyes, but the next moment he softened and forced a weak smile. On his pale, bruised face, it looked out of place. "Happy birthday, brother."

Thor just shook his head, not offended, but rather somewhat concerned.

"Then why aren't you collected?"

"It's in progress."

"You've been taking Lady Eir's medicine, haven't you?"

"Thor, please. I will deal with my own problems myself," he stepped forward in an attempt to push the intruder out, but Thor did not give in, blocking the entire entrance. "Isn't there someone waiting for you now? Father, lords? I am sure that before the Ceremony, many want to be the first in line for congratulations, while my debt has already been paid."

The Thunderer glanced furtively into the distance of his brother's chambers: except for the rumpled bed, the blanket thrown onto the floor and the open doors of the balcony, the room looked neat as usual. But then something flashed across his face. An understanding, causing several different emotions to wrestle. His gaze shifted suspiciously at Loki. After a minute of silence, Thor crossed his arms over his chest, but still decided not to bring up the topic of careless connections for now. Their quarrels could wait.

"Well, then. I advise you to hurry if you still want to snatch a few pastries from the banquet hall," he said. "And... a little brotherly advice: please make sure you wash yourself thoroughly down there."

Swallowing a lump of tension, Loki nodded politely as his brother uncertainly walk away.

***

The Ceremony went exactly as everyone expected: pompous, loud, and proud. And while Loki didn't understand the need to stretch out every important date in Asgard for weeks, he was, to his own surprise, even able to truly enjoy the final feast. He managed to get ready in time and hold out for the entire formal part without arousing any suspicion that his eyes hadn't closed for the night. Thor might have glanced at him strangely from time to time, but his parents seemed quite pleased, and that was all Loki needed to relax. He drank wine, ate sweets, watched performances, even did something he had involuntarily limited himself to for many years — danced. Without embarrassment or preludes. His mother encouraged him, satisfied with the positive change in her son's mood and unaware of what had caused it. Loki indeed felt as if everything was changing. As if the world no longer mattered as much as it once did; as if his every action was no longer his own, and so he could joke and dance without consequences. His brain insistently pounded at the back of his mind, telling him that it was false sense, but his heart responded differently. He no longer thought about the many lords and the need to make useful connections before the opportunity was lost. He no longer feared tarnishing his reputation if he uttered a harsher remark out his mouth. And he no longer looked back at Thor's friends, worried they would shower him with yet another portion of criticism.

He simply lived in the moment. Waiting for Boda.

She never showed up at the final feast, but for some reason Loki just knew that their paths would cross again.

Time passed. First mere days, then months. The guests had long since departed; the bustle had died down, and Asgard had quickly become its most routine, eventless version of itself, so easy to forget between feasts. Loki, who had previously treasured the quiet of ordinary days, suddenly hated them. The anticipation was no longer inspiring: instead, it had transformed into an exhausting faith that brought waves of tension with each passing hour. Never before had he felt so lousy. So powerless. So dependent. He had thought that a more uninhibited, extravagant behavior like of Boda might have attracted her in a way, but Loki had been proven wrong — it brought nothing but shameful reprimands from the Allfather and broken trust. It had gotten to the point where his father had started imposing restrictions: a ban on leaving the capital, a ban on leaving the palace after sunset, a mandatory, pointless weekly check-up with Lady Eir, where he was forbidden to interact with other healers…

At first, Loki was simply confused: the ridiculous control ran counter to any previous restrictions he had endured as punishments before. He had told no one about Boda, and he did not understand why his parents had been so opposed to his desire to attract a girl lately. Even though his own coming of age was still several centuries away, he was certainly not a little boy anymore, and being attracted to girls at his age was not something out of touch with reality. Thor had started courting and showing off much earlier, Loki recalled, so the idea that his brother might have blabbed seemed treacherously mean, almost pointless. Although it was possible that an affair with a witch actually layed beyond the limits of what the Allfather had permitted. Loki thought about it, and each time he came to the conclusion that he just didn't care.

What had passed between him and Boda was special, and he had no intention of losing that harmony. He wanted to be near Boda. He craved her touch, her scent, her whisper in his ears. He craved his seidr singing in unison with hers. Always.

Sometimes he felt like he was going crazy, but he preferred to conveniently blame it on his youthful inexperience, without trying to figure out the reason for his obsession. After all, he had heard many stories in which young people behaved much stranger. The first time is always extremely impressionable.

He continued to look for Boda's silhouette around every corner of Asgard, and soon found out that his surroundings had changed: wherever he went within the permitted boundaries, instead of her, he ran into a royal guard, or familiar courtiers of his father, stealthily spying on him.

The house instantly lost its comfort, turning into a fortress not for the prince, but for the prisoner.

His father, caught after a meeting with his advisers, almost predictably chose the tactic of silence behind the bricked wall. No matter how much Loki protested, no matter how he tried to find out the reason for the change, the answer was the same:

“It’s to protect you.”

Odin’s face acquired an impassive mask, as if he was talking not to his son, but to a foreign provocateur. This further inflamed Loki’s anger.

“From what?!” he roared. “For weeks on end, I can’t even take a bath in peace without the sidelong glances of your henchmen at the door of my chambers or the guards on the neighboring roof tops — oh, yes, I've noticed them too! Not to mention walking to the bookstore without feeling someone stepping on my heels. What could you possibly protect me from like that?”'

Odin hesitated, his whole appearance indicated that the Allfather wanted to end this conversation as quickly as possible: "From what — I hope — you will never get to know."

Loki snorted skeptically.

"I don't see you guarding Thor in the same way, if the threat is so significant."

"There is no danger for Thor."

"Oh, of course there isn't! After all, he now has Mjolnir — a mighty magic wand."

"That's not the point."

"Then why me?" he pressed, blocking his father from exiting the office. "What did I do so wrong again, to deserve all this surveillance without the right to privacy?"

"This is... for your own good, for your safety, Loki. Trust me," Odin grabbed his shoulders, turning the last sentence into a final point in the argument. "You don't have to understand that. Be patient, and it will all be over soon."

Loki wanted to shout at the whole palace about the injustice, wanted to clash with his father in another verbal skirmish — and he probably would have done so, if not for the calm whisper in his head, calling to extinguish the raging fire. Boda did not appreciate the fuss. So Loki moved away, not responding to his father's encouraging touches. He thought that he had long ago become accustomed to his father's constant evasions, but the vagueness of the situation tugged at some very dark, taut threads deep in his soul. Threads, the vibration of which pierced him through and through like a lightning strike.

Complaining to his mother also led to nothing: the Allfather's orders were rarely questioned even by the Allmother. The tension grew and soon made Loki absent-minded, forgetful — his thoughts revolved only around the need to get rid of the all-consuming control, to break free from his father's grip straight into Boda's arms.

That same evening, the Allfather sent einherjar into the nearby forests. For the sake of "preventive patrolling of the capital's outskirts", as it was officially announced. Loki knew that this was a lie, a cover for some special task of the Allfather, and he could only watch helplessly from the height of his balcony as the armored ranks of warriors disappeared into the edge of the forest, reminding of themselves by flickering lights in the bald patches. Without any explanation, Loki was seized by anxiety that did not let go of him until the warriors returned: their campaign had been fruitless. And while Loki breathed a sigh of relief, nervous whispering could be heard from the neighboring royal chambers.

***

Boda finally showed up a week later, when the patrols had gone too far to pay attention to the areas they had already checked up and down. An insistent croaking from the street announced her arrival, bringing Loki back to reality even from a deep medicinal sleep.

Jumping out of bed, Loki padded barefoot to the balcony, where a pitch raven had mischievously settled on the balustrade.

"Boda!" he greeted confidently, not doubting that a skilled witch was hiding behind the bird's guise.

She flapped her wings and jumped to a ledge closer. The musky scent, dulled by the time of separation, exploded in Loki's mind again like pine fireworks. He had no idea how much he missed it, and, while he could, he tried to savor each deep, intoxicating inhale. He felt hot. Like a drowning man, he reached out his hand to the raven. The bird jumped back and flew to the roof below, then to another, and then to the arch of the passage to the outer wing of the palace, as if beckoning him to follow. And Loki obediently followed, not paying attention to the stiff bodies of the guards somewhere behind, on the periphery of his half-asleep vision.

His feet brought him to the edge of the city. Boda was already waiting for him there, on the hill — just as alluring and breathtaking, in a revealing snow-white night gown that barely hid her nakedness, in contrast to which her loose black hair looked like upturned trees. She smiled playfully and swayed her hips, retreating into the forest. With each step, her silhouette became increasingly difficult to discern against the background of darkness.

Loki hesitated, glancing uncertainly over his shoulder toward the palace. His heart skipped a beat, struggling with a vague melancholy. He only had time to remember the warmth of his mother's embrace before obeying the sweet call:

"Come."

His feet began to move forward again, rustling fallen leaves and breaking dry branches under them.

Boda was now next to him, walking in the same pace as him. Her hands brushed over his body freely and without any fear, either checking his integrity or calming him down. However, Loki was content with them in any case, melting into bliss and feeling how someone else's seidr enveloped every cell of his body. Tenderly and a little insistently.

They stopped at a ravine, next to a cliff. Boda deftly slid down to the crevice, pulling the prince along with her. It was a secluded enough place for little adult... antics, Loki decided, though not as cozy as the sofas of his chambers. Perhaps he should have offered Boda an alternative, but she was so determined that any suggestion was drowned before it could even begin to form.

Once inside the cave, Boda snapped her fingers, forming a pair of magical lanterns. Loki sucked in a sharp breath of the damp air, which quickly became filled with the witch's scent.

"I..."

"Shh," Boda hissed, clinging to him.

Her hands almost lovingly glided over his forearms, stomach, neck, running through his silky hair, slightly disheveled from nap. Loki felt a fleeting chill, which gave way to pure pleasure that he could not compare to anything. He reached for the debt — a kiss, rudely interrupted last time. Boda giggled against his lips, playing along; Loki found her ringing laughter... arousing.

In a moment of bliss, he lowered his eyelids and did not notice at all how their eyeballs turned red, how their skin shifted to blue, revealing ornate marks. His mind clouded over, releasing all the levers of control over his numb body. A strange pressure appeared around his head. In protest, an inarticulate moan escaped from his mouth, causing fear to arise inside the chest. Something was wrong, he thought.

But it was too late to react in time.

Boda grabbed Loki's head with a rough, practiced motion, piercing the skull with her icy claws.

A vile, squelching sound echoed through the cave.

The night swallowed it up, as did the dull thud of his body hitting the stone.

***

When the youngest prince failed to appear in the dining hall for breakfast the following morning, a cloud of alarm immediately gathered in the palace, marking the beginning of several years of desperate searching.

After every inch of Asgard had been combed, an expansion of the zone was required. By then, both the nature of Loki and the possible cause of his disappearance had been publicly announced, all in order to have the highest chance of rescue, which seemed to be fading with each passing day. Watching the thousands of concerned people, the hundreds of volunteers ready to make their way through even the wildest thickets in search of a jotun, the Allfather could hardly withstand the onslaught of regret that he had not revealed the truth earlier. Perhaps extra attention or the simple interest of random passers-by could have saved his son from the company of dubious characters; perhaps there would have been a witness that night who could have pointed the way; perhaps Loki himself would have been more cautious. Perhaps, Odin thought, that night might have turned out very differently if more people than just a handful of trusted confidants had known about the danger.

He had to constantly remind himself of regret's poisonous nature, and endlessly mend alone the core of a king to not allow itself to be completely broken by the weight of grief and guilt. He could hardly bear to see his wife, who had withdrawn into herself and had already cried out all her tears, and he hardly knew how to support his heir, who wandered between campaigns and dreary evenings in drinking pubs. What he could do, as a king and as a father, was to throw all his remaining divine powers into searching for his youngest son.

Odin was far from naive, and yet age plunged him into a state of denial, in which, however, he had company. Deep down, beneath a thick layer of justification, he knew where the search might lead now, years later, and so he both waited and feared its end. But life in ignorance, life in doubt and guesswork, was worse than any outcome. And Aesir, even the old ones, lived long.

They needed an epilogue.

And one day, thanks to the tip and the agreements they had made, they got it in Jotunheim.

Bifrost sank into the frozen ground, and the Allfather's party followed the Jotun scout into the wilds of the Iron Forest. There, hidden behind high snowdrifts, stood an old, lopsided hut, unkempt but clearly lived in. Someone's footprints came from the half-open front door, ending abruptly a few meters away, which caused a lump of fear and irritation in Odin.

He clenched his jaws, ordering Thor to keep watch outside before entering the shelter himself with a pair of einherjar. Inside, there was a fresh mess, the smell of herbs and incense still lingered, and the dust had not yet settled: it was obvious that the owner had left the hut in a hurry quite recently, but this was only second on the Allfather's list of worries.

They began to carefully examine the room, noticing the smallest details that formed a gloomy picture of witchcraft: broken bottles on rotten floorboards, burlap with brown-red stains, salt scattered in unnatural quantities, torn sheets of runic writing and drawings of animals... Looking closely, Odin seemed to discern wolves in the scribbles, but the depicted schemes still needed to be analyzed more carefully in order to understand their exact purpose.

"Milord," the einherjar called out. His finger pointed to an open journal, where a piece of blue leather was sewn to the page — relatively fresh, still soft skin of a young jotun.

The Allfather swallowed the lump in his throat and carefully turned the pages back, catching sight of another piece, an older one, above which someone's name was written in crooked runes. Too long of a name. He turned the pages further with disgust, until he came across something odd.

On one of the pages, next to the withered, faded skin, was a short tuft of black hair.

Like a special trophy.

“Gods…” Odin whispered, shaking as the realization sank in. The four runes stared back at him indifferently. “Keep searching! There must be more here!”

Thor rushed inside at the noise, starting a string of painful questions:

“This is it, right?! Was that bitch here? Loki? Do we know where to go next? Yes?”

Odin roughly pushed his son out of the hut and took a moment to recollect himself in the freezing air. Thor fell silent at the blank expression on his father’s face, collapsing onto the snow. He no longer wanted answers.

Few minutes later, Jotun scout almost fell through the floor, stepping on a mud-covered hatch. There, down in the putrid basement, among the mountains of junk, on one of the racks' shelf filled with large jotun skulls, they found a small one, disfigured by several holes.

A long cry of the queen rolled over the Asgard's royal palace as new tears flowed like a river.

The search for the youngest prince was over.

Neither the Allfather, nor Thor, nor anyone from the searching party, however, noticed a pack of wolves, watching them from a distant hill, almost merged with the cursed forest's murk. The beasts have witnessed intruders' every step before leaving their native territory for good.

Only the last wolf lingered a bit, green eyes staring in confusion at the old man. Then, he heard a whistle of his mistress and vanished like the rest of his kin.