Chapter Text
He does not love her for her beauty.
He loves her for her determination, her smile,
and because she sings a song only he can understand.
She doesn’t love him for his looks.
She loves him for his strength, how he looks at her,
and because he speaks directly to her heart and soul.
I stand on our balcony, looking out over the remains of the battle. The invasion was well planned and brutal, but not a match for our army, especially with Loki to lead it. It had lasted a few days and had been a vicious encounter, as I had seen from my assigned post in the medical wing, helping the wounded. There were many casualties on both sides, and some of our best warriors had fallen; the loss of life and the damage done to those who had survived was terrible. A tear runs down my cheek as I gaze out over the ravaged township; I hate war.
My ears prick up at the sound of weary footsteps approaching, then Loki stumbles into our chambers and leans against the wall, kicking the door shut, too exhausted to move further into the room. I am already halfway to him but I slow and put a hand over my mouth as I take in his appearance. Blood mixes with dirt and ash, smearing his handsome face in grime. His hair is matted and stiff, plastered to his head with sweat. The golden helmet clangs on the stone floor as it falls from trembling fingers. As I draw nearer his eyes flick up, bloodshot from smoke and exhaustion; his expression is blank, cold and distant. Closed. I take his face between my palms and stare deep in his eyes, but I find nothing. His mask is securely in place.
“Hey,” I whisper, “I’m here, it’s okay. You can let go now.” He stares into my eyes for a long moment, shallow breathing getting more and more erratic, then twists away from me with an imperious sneer.
“Do not turn your back on me, Trickster,” I snap. He turns, eyebrows drawn together in surprise; I run my finger between them, smoothing the crease, giving him a soft smile. "I know it's an old habit, never letting anyone see what you really feel, but we agreed to change that, didn’t we?" I stroke my fingers along his jaw. “Only the coldest of hearts could endure what you have over the last few days and not be affected, and I know your heart, Loki, and it is not cold, despite what you like to claim.” He leans into my touch now, eyes glistening but still distant. “Tears are not a sign of weakness, they show that you are in pain. They show that you care, and I know that you care about the people with whom you have fought side-by-side, those you have seen injured or killed. Please don't hide your true feelings from me. Please."
His facade cracks open with a ragged sigh and tears well in his beautiful green eyes and flow down his cheeks, carving tracks through the grime.
“I'm here for you, my love, come to me," I murmur and he steps into my embrace. I pull him into me, not caring about the filth, holding him as sobs silently shake him. He wraps his arms around me so tight I can barely draw breath, his armour cold and unforgiving against my body; I sway us slowly side to side, one arm around his waist, the other hand stroking his hair. He keeps his face buried in my shoulder, tears soaking into my dress as I murmur sweet nothings in his ear. When he calms, I lift his head and look deep into his eyes. He gives me a small, abashed smile and tries to look away. I pull him back to face me.
“What did I just tell you,” I half scold him.
“I’m sorry," His voice is husky. He sighs and cups my hand where it rests against his cheek. "How am I worthy of one such as you, my love?"
I answer the same way I always do: “By being yourself.” I stretch up and kiss him, tasting sweat and dirt and blood. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up. Don't use your magic; let me take care of you tonight, okay?" He nods and I smile brightly. "I'll get the bath running…"
When I return, he is standing exactly as I'd left him, swaying slightly. I undo the straps that hold his breastplate to the backplate, standing on tiptoes to lift the heavy metal and leather combination over his head, then I unbuckle the rest of the protective pieces from his arms and legs. Leaving it all in a pile, I take his hand and pull him gently toward the bathroom, where I push him down to sit on the edge of the tub so I can work off his boots. The cut of the dress and my position at his feet gives him an excellent view of my cleavage; I catch him watching me with hooded eyes, an appreciative smile playing on his lips and I feel a wash of pride. When I pull his shirt up and over his head I draw in a soft gasp at the state of his body, covered as it is with busies.
“Dear gods…” I trace the discoloured outline of the breastplate that has been impressed into the skin of his shoulder, where he has obviously taken a hard hit. “If this is what you look like with the armour, I don’t want to imagine the state you’d be in without it." I try to make my voice light and teasing but he sees through to my real concern, taking my hand and squeezing it before bringing it to his lips, not taking his eyes off my face.
“I’ll be fine, love. It looks worse than it is, I assure you. I just need a little time. Do not fret.”
I smile and give him a peck on the cheek. "I know, but I do it anyway. Now get up so I can take these off," I twitch my fingers at his pants, then see his expression and huff in mock outrage, “And wipe that look off your face, mister!” He continues to smirk at me as I unlace his leather pants, a hand on my shoulder for balance as he steps out of them, revealing even more bruises and abrasions littering his legs. By now the bath is full and I turn off the taps.
“In the middle, sit,” I say as I pull my dress off and toss it aside. He gives me an enquiring look but does as he’s told, settling down with a sigh into the hot water. I get in behind him, making sure the soap and sponges are within my reach before sitting down and pulling him into my lap. His head rests on my shoulder, my knees on either side of his waist. I press a kiss to his temple and his eyes close as I clean his face of dirt and blood. He moans softly when I wash his hair, taking my time and being methodical and gentle, combing my fingers through the raven locks and clearing away the worst of the knots and filth. I run a rough, soapy sponge all over him, scrubbing at the more resilient grime until the water around us is murky. I reach down and pull out the plug, turn on the taps and rinse away the reminder of the battle, then put the plug back in. We sit together as the tub refills, my arms around his chest, him resting against me, head on my shoulder, breath caressing my ear. I add some scented oils to the water and soon we are surrounded by the light aroma of springtime. When we are submerged, I go over him again with a soft wash-cloth, then start to gently caress his face and run my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, neck and shoulders before moving down his arms. His breathing slows and I think he may be drifting into sleep, but occasionally a sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve found a particularly sore spot. I take his large, long-fingered hands and knead them, rubbing away the tension and stress. As the water around us begins to get too tepid for comfort, I press my lips to his cheek.
“Time to get out, my darling,” I whisper, kissing him softly again when a small frown forms on his peaceful face. "I know you don't want to move, but it's getting cold and the bed will feel so much better now, hmm?" He mumbles something about being fine where he is but opens his eyes anyway. I smile down at him and trace my fingers along his jawline.
“Come on now; a soft bed and a warm woman are awaiting you,” I croon, then chuckle at his expression and continue, “Or is it a warm bed and a soft woman?”
“Either way, I’ll take it.” He whispers with a reverential look. My heart swells and I kiss him slowly, letting all my love for him flow through me and into the kiss. We get out and I wrap myself in a towel, then dry him off.
We forgo the bed and curl up in front of the fire in a nest of furs, blankets and pillows. He lays behind me, his knees fitting into the back of mine; his left arm under my neck, my head on a pillow; his other arm drapes over my ribs and slides between my breasts, his hand resting over my heart. He kisses the top of my head and whispers, "Thank you."
“What for, love?”
He takes a deep breath, “For putting up with me, for being here, doing all this, taking care of me…”
I twist toward him. In the firelight, his eyes glow as he looks down at me.
"Oh, Loki," I kiss his lips softly, “You are more than welcome, and it was my pleasure. I love you.” I kiss him again, and this time he takes over, kissing me with such a slow, deep passion that I think I might melt. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Beloved,” he whispers, breath brushing my lips, “My reason, my light when all else is dark, the one truth that remains pure in this ravaged heart. My angel, I love you.”
Tears well at his heartfelt words and I place my hand over his on my cheek. “What did I ever do to deserve you, my prince?”
He smiles and kisses me again. “You were being yourself.”
I chuckle and snuggle back against him, interlacing my fingers with his over my heart. “Go to sleep, Trickster. I’ll be here when you wake.”
A sigh ruffles my hair and his breathing slows. I bask in the warmth of the fire in front and Loki behind me, the reassuring feel of his arms around me, his torso moving against my back as we breathe in sync. Before long, I too drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.