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FIC: "Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home" 10/? (Avengers Loki/Thor NC-17 Non-Con, Infanticide, Miscarriage)
Continued from Chapter 9 of "Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home"
For Notes, Warnings, Ratings, and Disclaimers, please see the masterpost.
Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home (10/?)
Loki's second return to Asgard was not dissimilar to the first. They arrived in the evening, on the remains of the Rainbow Bridge, and once again the Warriors Three were there to greet their King and comrade. This time, however, Loki was sure to kneel at once, not wishing to test the boundaries of lenience Thor had granted him on Midgard. Or perhaps he wished to make a point. Either reason was sufficient.
The greetings faltered for a moment, Fandral and Volstagg turning toward him as if about to ask him what he thought he was doing. But they recovered themselves quickly, and Thor's welcome continued as if Loki were not even there.
As before, the Warriors had provided no mount for him, so Loki walked beside Thor's saddle. But he felt strong and sure now, the miles as nothing to his new-recovered body. Even the soft chime of the crystals at his wrists and ankles and throat could not entirely dim the sheer pleasure of being able to stride along easily on his own feet, clear-headed for the first time in weeks.
He followed Thor and the others into the palace, and almost immediately felt the burden of his servitude fall on his shoulders again. Midgard had been a reprieve, but it was now over. Hogun, Thor's proxy in his absence, had called for a welcome feast as soon he had learned of Thor's return, and Loki felt every muscle in his back tense as he realized what that meant for him.
Thor, naturally, was delighted. "Well done, Hogun!" he said, thumping his friend on the shoulder, and then giving embraces to Volstagg and Fandral as well. "It has been too long since I sat down to a meal worthy of the name! The delights of Midgard are many, but they cannot hold a feast that compares to those of the halls of Asgard."
"It only waits for your presence to make it complete," Hogun said, the barest of smiles betraying his pleasure at Thor's happiness. "When you and the Lady Sif have made ready from your journey, all will be waiting."
"You need not encourage me any further," Sif said, and turned to Thor, putting her fist to her shoulder. "With your leave, my King."
"Gladly, Lady Sif. You have earned a place of honor at my table." Thor grinned at her, then gestured to Loki. "Come. Let us prepare ourselves."
Loki followed Thor back to his rooms, and helped him get ready. It was the first time Loki had been called upon to play valet, but it was it not difficult. As with so many other things, he had aided Thor with his armor and buckles and boots many times before in battle. It was, therefore, not such a great trial to divest him of his travel gear and then help him into the gleaming armor reserved for feasts and battle.
Or it would not have been, had Thor not stopped him once Loki had put his tunic away, taking up his hands and pulling them close to his bared chest. "Are you well enough for this?" he asked. "You did not seem tired from the journey, but I feel I must ask."
Loki was sorely tempted to take up the excuse, say he was still feeling sick and weary, but even as he considered the lie he discarded it. As with everything else, it was best to get it over with, display himself for the court once and for all. A welcome celebration was as good a time as any, when everyone would be merry and prone to generosity of feeling. Besides, if he were to beg illness as an excuse, Thor might feel it necessary to consult with his Midgard friends again. That was something to be avoided at all costs.
So, Loki only smiled at him, and shook his head. "You are kind to ask, Thor. But I am quite well."
Thor smiled in return. "Good." Then he unexpectedly leaned in and kissed him.
Loki stopped himself from flinching, barely, but could not suppress the startled jerk of his hands in Thor's. He covered his reflex to pull away by spreading his fingers over the smooth skin of Thor's chest, but it was a long moment before he could make himself return the kiss.
When Thor drew back, he was flushed, his breath coming deep and fast. "It has been too long," he said, his voice husky with want. "I refrained on Midgard, because I knew there was no privacy in your cell. But I have missed you greatly, Loki." His hand came up to curve around Loki's face. "I look forward to sharing my bed with you again tonight."
"Then you had best get on with getting dressed," Loki told him. Anything to make Thor step back, and stop touching him. "The sooner you arrive at your feast, the sooner you can leave it."
"You are always wise." Thor kissed him again, thankfully just a short peck on his lips, and let him go.
When Thor was dressed, Loki changed into the best of the tunics and breeches that had been left for him, a new set that had been dyed black with thin silver braid around the hem of the tunic. The dark fabric made a strange contrast to the bright jeweled bands around his wrists and ankles, and especially set off the one around his throat. He scowled into the mirror as he washed up, disliking the pretty flash of the crystals at his neck and arms. It was tempting to try to smash them against the marble, see if the delicate gems were as fragile as they seemed, but he knew from experience that the tesseract crystals were much harder than marble or bone, and that the gamma crystals were unlikely to be any weaker.
But the gems reminded him of the powers that had been returned, and Loki cast a quick glance over his shoulder, to satisfy himself that Thor was still occupied in the bedchamber. With a deep breath, he returned to the mirror and concentrated, hardly daring to hope.
His form rippled in the glass, the familiar liquid sensation of the shift flowing out from his belly to his fingers and toes. Within moments, his own face stared back at him again, but with the softer jaw and higher planes of his favored female shape. His hair remained cropped--he would have to investigate that--and his neck was thicker where the necklace blocked his powers. But his exploring hands ran over familiar swell of breasts and hips, to the firm mound between his legs that had replaced his cock. Another shift, and he was in another body, nearly identical to his male Aesir form, but with that slim opening remaining behind just his balls.
Loki touched himself there, sliding his hand along the hidden folds to push the tip of his finger inside, teasing and testing. He had sorely wished for this form, or at least this part of it, the first time Thor had taken him. He would still have to prepare himself with oil--this part of him would not feel any more roused by Thor's attentions than his cock had been--but this opening would at least stretch more easily to accommodate Thor inside him. It was also Loki's experience that certain men found his ability to alter his sex unbearably arousing. With any luck, Thor would be such a man and could be sated all the more quickly. He would have to wait for tonight, and see what he could manage.
For now, there was merely the whole of the Aesir court to face.
-----
Loki left Thor's rooms well ahead of the king himself, knowing from his own days as a page that he would be expected to make sure that all was in readiness at the High Table before Thor arrived, and to have ample wine and mead at hand for the first round of toasts. It was surprising, really, how well being a prince prepared one for life as a slave.
As he had hoped, many of the court were already seated in the Great Hall, and he only encountered other servants and slaves on his way there, most of them too busy with their own errands to pay him any mind. He saw one or two curious second glances at the jewelry he wore, but most of those expressions faded into understanding once they looked close enough to see his face. Loki wasn't sure if they guessed the truth, that these baubles were a new way of binding his magic, or if they merely did not question Thor's desire to decorate his bed-slave. In either case, no-one seemed inclined to stop him and ask.
Loki's first stop was at the pantry behind the feast hall, where the kitchen servants brought up new dishes for those serving at the feast to carry out to the waiting Aesir. Most of the food was already in the hall, but there was a table set aside for those dishes reserved for the High Table, and the King. Loki picked up a tray from the stack by the wall, and began putting what he knew were several of Thor's favorites on it, tasting each one as he added it to the array.
He was steeling himself to eat one of the platter of mushrooms stuffed with sweetened cheese--a delicacy which Thor particularly favored and which Loki had always found rather foul--when the bite was struck from his hand. It would have been followed by a blow to Loki's face, but he turned and flung up his own arm by reflex, blocking the hand before it landed. He remembered himself after that, letting his hands drop to his sides, but by then Kalfr--for it was indeed he--was in full cry.
"How dare you!" the master was shouting. "Eating the food from the King's own plate, as if your filthy hands were fit to touch it!"
This was certainly an encounter he'd not expected to have so soon. Loki had no intention of giving Kalfr any excuse to have him beaten again, but neither did he have any intention of groveling before him. Fortunately, this was not a difficult situation to explain. He had to clamp his jaw tight on a sneer as he bowed, but when Loki straightened up again he knew his expression was perfectly blank and composed.
"I beg your pardon, master. But you realize that it is my duty to taste my master's food," Loki told Kalfr, mindful to keep his gaze low, fixing instead on a dollop of sauce that had fallen on Kalfr's tunic. "Surely you would not assign anyone more valuable than a slave to the task?"
It was deeply satisfying to peer up under his lashes to watch the emotions, and consternation, play across Kalfr's face. "The King has never employed a food taster," Kalfr finally retorted.
"I was not aware," Loki said, not sure this time if he was successful in concealing his surprise, and determining that he would have words with Thor about that. Later. "But in my time, the King's personal slave has always tasted his food. That--" Loki let a tiny smile spread across his face. "--is how it is done."
He could see from Kalfr's face that the barb had not fully hit, that the buttery master did not remember his own words to Loki those weeks ago. But it had stung. Kalfr narrowed his eyes. "The King has always trusted those who prepare his food."
"And that trust is well-earned," Loki replied. "But I am not the King, merely his slave, and it is not my place to question the traditions of my service." He bowed to Kalfr again. "With your permission, the King will be arriving soon. I do not wish to cast doubt on the worth of your office by being late to the table with his food."
Kalfr cuffed him across the face, which was no more or less than Loki expected. It wasn't that hard a blow, was clearly meant more to humiliate him than leave any lasting mark, but Loki contrived to angle his face so that his lip split on his own teeth. He smiled at Kalfr's hastily concealed dismay as he used the hem of his tunic to blot at the blood. "Good evening to you, Master Kalfr," he said, and turned to finish preparing Thor's tray.
His exchange with Kalfr had, in fact, made him late, so Loki tested his long-forgotten skill of hoisting a laden tray in one hand while carrying four pitchers of spirits in the other. He was pleased to discover that the latter was rather easier than it had been when he was a youth, his larger hands now more suited to the task. And if the tray concealed the greater part of his face as he entered the hall, that was all the better.
Of the many things that Loki had considered during the long hours in his Midgard cell, one of them had been how he should present himself when it came time to serve Thor at the High Table. He would be under the watchful gaze of the entire court, hostile minds prepared to catalog every lapse, every flaw. Almost any mein he assumed would be presumed to be a trick of some sort, one that could be twisted somehow to his advantage. For a time, flush with his renewed health, he had been sorely tempted to play to that, become the trickster, the jester, and let loose his sharp wit to show that he was still Loki Silvertongue.
But he had soon realized that doing so would be foolish. He was being punished, after all, and it was in his own best interests to appear to be miserable. They would expect him to chafe at his lowly status, to seethe and scowl at his wounded pride. While he would not give them so much as that, in the scant hours before his service had been cut short by Kalfr's beating, Loki had tested the worth of displaying servility and humility. He found it suited his purposes very well.
As it happened, the tray was slim concealment, at best, as he entered the hall. The court knew he would be there, and when to expect him, and even the steady stream of other slaves to and from the High Table would not disguise his height or the--relative--quality of the clothing he wore. Loki was therefore prepared for the little tricks sent his way, the benches pushed suddenly backward, the flagons sloshed in his path. These had also been part of his service as a youth, though with rather less malice intended. The blatant leg thrust between his in an effort to trip him, that was something no-one would have dared with a young prince.
But Loki was pleased to disappoint the would-be obstacle. Freed from the horrible weakness of the old chains, the tray and pitchers were as nothing in his hands, and he skipped from the attempt to fell him with one deliberately awkward hop. He was careful to turn to offer a bow to the lord in question afterward, well aware who could easily be blamed for the near-miss. There was no hope of avoiding notice, after all. He might as well create the attention on his own terms. "My apologies, Lord Radi," he said.
Radi's round face, already flushed with drink, grew even redder as he realized that every face in the hall was now turning to look at him, and not for the reason he'd intended. "Clumsy fool," he muttered, after a pause. He turned his back on Loki, and Loki went on his way.
The hall had grown rather quieter after that exchange, and Loki could feel the gazes of the other Aesir on him as he crossed behind the High Table. He had to clamp his jaw to keep his face neutral, and fixed his own gaze on the spot in front of Thor's seat in order to avoid glaring around at the entire hall and shouting at them to stop gawking. Surely they had better things to do than to gape at one mere Prince-turned-slave?
The High Table, thankfully, was nearly empty. The Warriors Three and Sif occupied the seats to the left and right of Thor, and various advisors and functionaries and friends filled the remaining places. They would arrive soon, so as to be present before the King made his entrance, but most of them would be gathered now in small groups, either having last-minute private discussions on court business that would not wait until after the feast, or simply sharing a cup or a plate with friends before the noise and pomp.
Nearly all of them had been Loki's friends, too, at one time, and he had shared those gatherings more than once. He was doing his best to try not to recall that.
He laid out the dishes in front of Thor's chair, and stowed a pitcher each of wine and mead beneath the table for later. He left Thor's mead-cup empty, to be filled first by whoever the King chose to give that honor, but he placed a large wine-bowl to hand to carry out later, for the King and his companions to wet their throats before the feast.
"Loki."
Loki had been keeping his head down, concentrating on his duties so he wouldn't have to pay attention to the looks from the floor of the hall. His concentration had apparently made him miss at least one arrival, for the voice that called his name was one he recognized, from someone he would have noted had she been there before. He raised his head to look, and saw the Lady Sigyn, the royal herbalist, taking her seat several chairs down from Thor's left. She raised her goblet when he looked her way, and said, "Some wine."
"Of course, my lady," Loki said, after a pause, and stepped down to pick up one of the several pitchers already set out. His hand was steady as he filled her cup, but his stomach was cold. Sigyn was part of the royal household now, with her own duties and titles, but before that she had been one of the many children of the lower nobility who came and went from the palace. Only she had come rather more often, and had frequently been Loki's companion in his studies as he learned from the scholars and healers and sorcerers. He had numbered her among his close friends. Yet now she slipped very easily into the role of master over him. But then she spoke again, her voice pitched low to be unheard under the noise of the crowd.
"I am pleased to see you well again," Sigyn murmured, fussing with her hair so that the motion of her lips would not be easily seen from the lower tables. "I tended you after Kalfr's beating," she explained, in answer to the questioning look Loki dared to send her. "I protested that the King took you from the healing hall too soon, so I am happy you've recovered."
That surprised him again. Sigyn often worked in the healing halls, where slave and noble alike were entitled to be cared for, but it would be almost unheard of for someone of her status to be called to personally attend to a slave. Either she had done it as a favor to Thor, or as a favor to her old friendship with Loki. Either way, Loki found himself warmed by her concern. "I am quite well now, my lady," Loki said to her, bowing as he handed her the cup.
"Good." She gave him a small smile, then her hands, which had never in her life so much as spilled a drop of medicine, fumbled the cup, sending it tumbling to the floor. "Oh!"
"Please, forgive my clumsiness," Loki said dryly, and bent to mop at the spill, wondering what she thought she was doing. As soon as he bent down below the table, her hand had darted out, neat as a thief's, and a slim packet slipped into the neck of his tunic, sliding down inside the cloth to rest at his belt. In front of the whole court, by all the worlds. He quickly tucked the edge of the parcel into his belt, to make sure it stayed put, then resumed cleaning up the spill. Loki then retrieved Sigyn's fallen cup, stole a replacement from the next seat down, and re-filled it with more wine. "Your wine, my lady," he said.
"Thank you, Loki," she answered. Then she added, softly, with a gesture to his split lip, "Take care."
By the time Loki returned to Thor's place, the High Table was filling up. To avoid any more calls for his services, Loki took the wine bowl and a full ewer and made his way to the royal entrance to wait for Thor. As he expected, he did not have to wait long. Thor fell upon the wine with an exuberant cry, and saw that the bowl was shared among all his friends before he finished off the dregs himself.
"Thank you, Loki," he said. Thor frowned, though, as he handed the empty bowl back to Loki, his gaze narrowing as he focused on Loki's mouth, and Loki suppressed a smile. Kalfr was going to regret that, whether he knew it or not. But Thor went on, making no other sign that he'd noticed. "There's no better way to begin a feast than with a draught of cool wine."
"Or to end it, or drink through it," Fandral observed, watching Volstagg guzzle a second bowl with a slightly alarmed expression.
"This is true!" Thor said, and waved his arm. "So let us delay not a moment longer. Lady Sif." He gestured next to him, and Sif stepped up to walk beside him in the place of honor, a pleased smile on her face. The others fell in behind, and Loki trailed last of all.
The first round of toasts kept Loki busy. Thor had granted Sif the favor of pouring the first cups, but after that Loki was occupied re-filling Thor's goblets and occasionally the Lady Sif's, when the servants responsible for her and Fandral were called elsewhere. When the eating began in earnest, Loki went off to the buttery next to the feast-hall pantry for more drink, taking the two emptied pitchers with him and picking up another two on his way to the butts of wine and mead and ale. Thor alone could drink his way through four pitchers of mead in a single feast without much ill effect, and if Loki was to attend to Sif and the Warriors Three as well, he would need to be prepared.
There was something of a rush in the pantry and the buttery, the other slaves and servants taking the same opportunity as Loki to fetch more food and drinks for their own tables. Loki was not particularly eager to return to the hall, and the searching gaze of the court, so he allowed two of the slaves from the lower tables to sidle ahead of him in the line for the butts. Not only would it delay his own journey, he was also resolved to continue his efforts to make acquaintances among the other servants. In this, he was at least partly successful. One of the slaves scowled suspiciously at him, but the other gave him a curt nod, shifting his full tray of empty pitchers to his other hip.
"Thank you," he said. "They'll be expecting us back, and it's a fair step down to the bottom of the hall."
"As if he'd know where the bottom of the hall is," his companion said to him, frowning again at Loki. "And you're not to talk to him, remember?"
Loki raised a brow. "I see my reputation has preceded me. How shocking." He dipped his head to her. "As it happens, I know very well where the bottom of the hall is, Heidr."
She stiffened, clearly startled--and unhappy--that he knew her name. "I don't recall that I was ever made known to you," she said after a moment, clearly torn between her desire not to speak to him and her curiosity.
"You would not," Loki said. "But I have heard your name called for a time or two, while I sat at the bottom of the hall among the players and singers to hear their tales."
"And did you hear mine?" the young man asked, grinning.
"Alas, I did not."
"Ah, well. I'm Dyri."
Loki nodded to him. "Loki," he said. "Though I imagine that courtesy is unneeded."
Dyri snorted. "We were warned against you, in the kitchen. And also told to look for you." He grinned at Loki again, showing his stained and crooked teeth, several missing from the left side of his mouth. Loki guessed that he had lost them from a hard blow to his jaw, and indeed now that he looked he could see the faint scars around Dyri's mouth where his other teeth had wounded him. But the damage didn't seem to have repressed his spirit much, and Loki found himself quirking a small smile in return.
"Allow me to speculate. Kalfr wishes you to avoid me. Am I correct?"
"You are. But Ragnve seems to like you. She said you had a head on your shoulders, and not your nose in the air."
"Hm. That sounds like high praise."
"It is." Dyri lowered his voice. "And everyone knows Kalfr has his hand in the honey-jar, and that he'll use any excuse to whip the new slaves. Make them think twice about crossing him." He looked at Heidr. "No-one really believes you were fool enough to lose a tally-piece your first day."
Heidr's flush told Loki that she had, in fact, believed it, but the tight line of her jaw seemed to be easing. "And Kalfr will have you whipped if you keep with that talk, Dyri," was all she said, though. "Mind your tongue."
"So who will be heeded?" Loki asked curiously. "Kalfr or Ragnve?"
"That depends," Dyri said. "Most people want to stay on the good side of Ragnve, but it's Kalfr they're afraid of."
"You don't appear to be."
Dyri shrugged. "Kalfr's not here," he said blithely. "And neither is anyone who's going to carry tales to him." He glanced pointedly at Heidr, who rolled her eyes.
"You trust too much," she said, looking around them. "And you shouldn't trust him." She looked up at Loki. "Your smile and your silver tongue won't get you far here, Loki Liesmith."
"Nor will making enemies of my new fellows," Loki said to her. "I am not a fool, Heidr. Most of the nobles in that hall would have liked to see me killed or banished. I must live here now. I would rather live among friends."
She sniffed, and turned away. "We shall have to see about that."
Their turn at the butts came next, and Loki helped Heidr and Dyri with their trays and pitchers as they filled them with ale. Mead and wine were supposed to be reserved for the higher tables, but Dyri threw him a wink as he slid a pitcher brimming with reddish liquid in among the vessels of lighter brown.
"Five more coins for my freedom-price," he said cheerfully, then his expression sobered as he all-too-clearly realized that there would be no such bargain for Loki. But he didn't apologize, which would have been even worse. Instead, he merely hefted the full tray into his arms, and made sure the Heidr had her own readied. "Thank you, Loki," he said. "Good luck."
"Good luck to you as well." And Loki was surprised to find that he meant it.
His own few pitchers took little time to fill. In a short time, he was headed back to the High Table, the tray balanced easily on his shoulder. But Loki did not go in right away. He paused instead just inside the curtain that separated him from the hall, looking out through the gap at the tables beyond and steeling himself for what came next.
His duties, menial as they were, had at least kept him preoccupied during the first part of the feast. But now he would have little to do, and would be expected instead to wait in attendance on Thor. He could see the small mat laid out next to Thor's seat, where he would kneel while awaiting his master's commands.
But he had already done this. He had knelt for the Vanir, and for his old friends. He had even knelt before this court before, chained and naked. This was only another display, another proof of his subjugation. It would be a mere novelty this time, a curiosity the next, and then nothing of note at all.
Gripping the tray tight, he pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. As he'd thought, there were empty cups to be filled, and dishes to be fetched from the far ends of the table. But once that was done, Loki did not allow himself the luxury of another delay. He quietly settled himself on his knees on the woven mat, steeling himself for the hours of boredom that would follow. There would be no talk of politics or palace gossip to ease the tedium of the endless toasts and boasting, no coaxing of secrets or information to make the time spent worthwhile. No flirting. Or flyting. Loki began to wonder if anyone would notice if he dozed off. They would, he realized, bitterly, only when their cups ran empty or their plates needed filling. Until then, he would be nothing.
But even that was preferable to what was going to come after the feast.
-----
(TBC)
For Notes, Warnings, Ratings, and Disclaimers, please see the masterpost.
Let Thy Sword Bring Us Home (10/?)
Loki's second return to Asgard was not dissimilar to the first. They arrived in the evening, on the remains of the Rainbow Bridge, and once again the Warriors Three were there to greet their King and comrade. This time, however, Loki was sure to kneel at once, not wishing to test the boundaries of lenience Thor had granted him on Midgard. Or perhaps he wished to make a point. Either reason was sufficient.
The greetings faltered for a moment, Fandral and Volstagg turning toward him as if about to ask him what he thought he was doing. But they recovered themselves quickly, and Thor's welcome continued as if Loki were not even there.
As before, the Warriors had provided no mount for him, so Loki walked beside Thor's saddle. But he felt strong and sure now, the miles as nothing to his new-recovered body. Even the soft chime of the crystals at his wrists and ankles and throat could not entirely dim the sheer pleasure of being able to stride along easily on his own feet, clear-headed for the first time in weeks.
He followed Thor and the others into the palace, and almost immediately felt the burden of his servitude fall on his shoulders again. Midgard had been a reprieve, but it was now over. Hogun, Thor's proxy in his absence, had called for a welcome feast as soon he had learned of Thor's return, and Loki felt every muscle in his back tense as he realized what that meant for him.
Thor, naturally, was delighted. "Well done, Hogun!" he said, thumping his friend on the shoulder, and then giving embraces to Volstagg and Fandral as well. "It has been too long since I sat down to a meal worthy of the name! The delights of Midgard are many, but they cannot hold a feast that compares to those of the halls of Asgard."
"It only waits for your presence to make it complete," Hogun said, the barest of smiles betraying his pleasure at Thor's happiness. "When you and the Lady Sif have made ready from your journey, all will be waiting."
"You need not encourage me any further," Sif said, and turned to Thor, putting her fist to her shoulder. "With your leave, my King."
"Gladly, Lady Sif. You have earned a place of honor at my table." Thor grinned at her, then gestured to Loki. "Come. Let us prepare ourselves."
Loki followed Thor back to his rooms, and helped him get ready. It was the first time Loki had been called upon to play valet, but it was it not difficult. As with so many other things, he had aided Thor with his armor and buckles and boots many times before in battle. It was, therefore, not such a great trial to divest him of his travel gear and then help him into the gleaming armor reserved for feasts and battle.
Or it would not have been, had Thor not stopped him once Loki had put his tunic away, taking up his hands and pulling them close to his bared chest. "Are you well enough for this?" he asked. "You did not seem tired from the journey, but I feel I must ask."
Loki was sorely tempted to take up the excuse, say he was still feeling sick and weary, but even as he considered the lie he discarded it. As with everything else, it was best to get it over with, display himself for the court once and for all. A welcome celebration was as good a time as any, when everyone would be merry and prone to generosity of feeling. Besides, if he were to beg illness as an excuse, Thor might feel it necessary to consult with his Midgard friends again. That was something to be avoided at all costs.
So, Loki only smiled at him, and shook his head. "You are kind to ask, Thor. But I am quite well."
Thor smiled in return. "Good." Then he unexpectedly leaned in and kissed him.
Loki stopped himself from flinching, barely, but could not suppress the startled jerk of his hands in Thor's. He covered his reflex to pull away by spreading his fingers over the smooth skin of Thor's chest, but it was a long moment before he could make himself return the kiss.
When Thor drew back, he was flushed, his breath coming deep and fast. "It has been too long," he said, his voice husky with want. "I refrained on Midgard, because I knew there was no privacy in your cell. But I have missed you greatly, Loki." His hand came up to curve around Loki's face. "I look forward to sharing my bed with you again tonight."
"Then you had best get on with getting dressed," Loki told him. Anything to make Thor step back, and stop touching him. "The sooner you arrive at your feast, the sooner you can leave it."
"You are always wise." Thor kissed him again, thankfully just a short peck on his lips, and let him go.
When Thor was dressed, Loki changed into the best of the tunics and breeches that had been left for him, a new set that had been dyed black with thin silver braid around the hem of the tunic. The dark fabric made a strange contrast to the bright jeweled bands around his wrists and ankles, and especially set off the one around his throat. He scowled into the mirror as he washed up, disliking the pretty flash of the crystals at his neck and arms. It was tempting to try to smash them against the marble, see if the delicate gems were as fragile as they seemed, but he knew from experience that the tesseract crystals were much harder than marble or bone, and that the gamma crystals were unlikely to be any weaker.
But the gems reminded him of the powers that had been returned, and Loki cast a quick glance over his shoulder, to satisfy himself that Thor was still occupied in the bedchamber. With a deep breath, he returned to the mirror and concentrated, hardly daring to hope.
His form rippled in the glass, the familiar liquid sensation of the shift flowing out from his belly to his fingers and toes. Within moments, his own face stared back at him again, but with the softer jaw and higher planes of his favored female shape. His hair remained cropped--he would have to investigate that--and his neck was thicker where the necklace blocked his powers. But his exploring hands ran over familiar swell of breasts and hips, to the firm mound between his legs that had replaced his cock. Another shift, and he was in another body, nearly identical to his male Aesir form, but with that slim opening remaining behind just his balls.
Loki touched himself there, sliding his hand along the hidden folds to push the tip of his finger inside, teasing and testing. He had sorely wished for this form, or at least this part of it, the first time Thor had taken him. He would still have to prepare himself with oil--this part of him would not feel any more roused by Thor's attentions than his cock had been--but this opening would at least stretch more easily to accommodate Thor inside him. It was also Loki's experience that certain men found his ability to alter his sex unbearably arousing. With any luck, Thor would be such a man and could be sated all the more quickly. He would have to wait for tonight, and see what he could manage.
For now, there was merely the whole of the Aesir court to face.
-----
Loki left Thor's rooms well ahead of the king himself, knowing from his own days as a page that he would be expected to make sure that all was in readiness at the High Table before Thor arrived, and to have ample wine and mead at hand for the first round of toasts. It was surprising, really, how well being a prince prepared one for life as a slave.
As he had hoped, many of the court were already seated in the Great Hall, and he only encountered other servants and slaves on his way there, most of them too busy with their own errands to pay him any mind. He saw one or two curious second glances at the jewelry he wore, but most of those expressions faded into understanding once they looked close enough to see his face. Loki wasn't sure if they guessed the truth, that these baubles were a new way of binding his magic, or if they merely did not question Thor's desire to decorate his bed-slave. In either case, no-one seemed inclined to stop him and ask.
Loki's first stop was at the pantry behind the feast hall, where the kitchen servants brought up new dishes for those serving at the feast to carry out to the waiting Aesir. Most of the food was already in the hall, but there was a table set aside for those dishes reserved for the High Table, and the King. Loki picked up a tray from the stack by the wall, and began putting what he knew were several of Thor's favorites on it, tasting each one as he added it to the array.
He was steeling himself to eat one of the platter of mushrooms stuffed with sweetened cheese--a delicacy which Thor particularly favored and which Loki had always found rather foul--when the bite was struck from his hand. It would have been followed by a blow to Loki's face, but he turned and flung up his own arm by reflex, blocking the hand before it landed. He remembered himself after that, letting his hands drop to his sides, but by then Kalfr--for it was indeed he--was in full cry.
"How dare you!" the master was shouting. "Eating the food from the King's own plate, as if your filthy hands were fit to touch it!"
This was certainly an encounter he'd not expected to have so soon. Loki had no intention of giving Kalfr any excuse to have him beaten again, but neither did he have any intention of groveling before him. Fortunately, this was not a difficult situation to explain. He had to clamp his jaw tight on a sneer as he bowed, but when Loki straightened up again he knew his expression was perfectly blank and composed.
"I beg your pardon, master. But you realize that it is my duty to taste my master's food," Loki told Kalfr, mindful to keep his gaze low, fixing instead on a dollop of sauce that had fallen on Kalfr's tunic. "Surely you would not assign anyone more valuable than a slave to the task?"
It was deeply satisfying to peer up under his lashes to watch the emotions, and consternation, play across Kalfr's face. "The King has never employed a food taster," Kalfr finally retorted.
"I was not aware," Loki said, not sure this time if he was successful in concealing his surprise, and determining that he would have words with Thor about that. Later. "But in my time, the King's personal slave has always tasted his food. That--" Loki let a tiny smile spread across his face. "--is how it is done."
He could see from Kalfr's face that the barb had not fully hit, that the buttery master did not remember his own words to Loki those weeks ago. But it had stung. Kalfr narrowed his eyes. "The King has always trusted those who prepare his food."
"And that trust is well-earned," Loki replied. "But I am not the King, merely his slave, and it is not my place to question the traditions of my service." He bowed to Kalfr again. "With your permission, the King will be arriving soon. I do not wish to cast doubt on the worth of your office by being late to the table with his food."
Kalfr cuffed him across the face, which was no more or less than Loki expected. It wasn't that hard a blow, was clearly meant more to humiliate him than leave any lasting mark, but Loki contrived to angle his face so that his lip split on his own teeth. He smiled at Kalfr's hastily concealed dismay as he used the hem of his tunic to blot at the blood. "Good evening to you, Master Kalfr," he said, and turned to finish preparing Thor's tray.
His exchange with Kalfr had, in fact, made him late, so Loki tested his long-forgotten skill of hoisting a laden tray in one hand while carrying four pitchers of spirits in the other. He was pleased to discover that the latter was rather easier than it had been when he was a youth, his larger hands now more suited to the task. And if the tray concealed the greater part of his face as he entered the hall, that was all the better.
Of the many things that Loki had considered during the long hours in his Midgard cell, one of them had been how he should present himself when it came time to serve Thor at the High Table. He would be under the watchful gaze of the entire court, hostile minds prepared to catalog every lapse, every flaw. Almost any mein he assumed would be presumed to be a trick of some sort, one that could be twisted somehow to his advantage. For a time, flush with his renewed health, he had been sorely tempted to play to that, become the trickster, the jester, and let loose his sharp wit to show that he was still Loki Silvertongue.
But he had soon realized that doing so would be foolish. He was being punished, after all, and it was in his own best interests to appear to be miserable. They would expect him to chafe at his lowly status, to seethe and scowl at his wounded pride. While he would not give them so much as that, in the scant hours before his service had been cut short by Kalfr's beating, Loki had tested the worth of displaying servility and humility. He found it suited his purposes very well.
As it happened, the tray was slim concealment, at best, as he entered the hall. The court knew he would be there, and when to expect him, and even the steady stream of other slaves to and from the High Table would not disguise his height or the--relative--quality of the clothing he wore. Loki was therefore prepared for the little tricks sent his way, the benches pushed suddenly backward, the flagons sloshed in his path. These had also been part of his service as a youth, though with rather less malice intended. The blatant leg thrust between his in an effort to trip him, that was something no-one would have dared with a young prince.
But Loki was pleased to disappoint the would-be obstacle. Freed from the horrible weakness of the old chains, the tray and pitchers were as nothing in his hands, and he skipped from the attempt to fell him with one deliberately awkward hop. He was careful to turn to offer a bow to the lord in question afterward, well aware who could easily be blamed for the near-miss. There was no hope of avoiding notice, after all. He might as well create the attention on his own terms. "My apologies, Lord Radi," he said.
Radi's round face, already flushed with drink, grew even redder as he realized that every face in the hall was now turning to look at him, and not for the reason he'd intended. "Clumsy fool," he muttered, after a pause. He turned his back on Loki, and Loki went on his way.
The hall had grown rather quieter after that exchange, and Loki could feel the gazes of the other Aesir on him as he crossed behind the High Table. He had to clamp his jaw to keep his face neutral, and fixed his own gaze on the spot in front of Thor's seat in order to avoid glaring around at the entire hall and shouting at them to stop gawking. Surely they had better things to do than to gape at one mere Prince-turned-slave?
The High Table, thankfully, was nearly empty. The Warriors Three and Sif occupied the seats to the left and right of Thor, and various advisors and functionaries and friends filled the remaining places. They would arrive soon, so as to be present before the King made his entrance, but most of them would be gathered now in small groups, either having last-minute private discussions on court business that would not wait until after the feast, or simply sharing a cup or a plate with friends before the noise and pomp.
Nearly all of them had been Loki's friends, too, at one time, and he had shared those gatherings more than once. He was doing his best to try not to recall that.
He laid out the dishes in front of Thor's chair, and stowed a pitcher each of wine and mead beneath the table for later. He left Thor's mead-cup empty, to be filled first by whoever the King chose to give that honor, but he placed a large wine-bowl to hand to carry out later, for the King and his companions to wet their throats before the feast.
"Loki."
Loki had been keeping his head down, concentrating on his duties so he wouldn't have to pay attention to the looks from the floor of the hall. His concentration had apparently made him miss at least one arrival, for the voice that called his name was one he recognized, from someone he would have noted had she been there before. He raised his head to look, and saw the Lady Sigyn, the royal herbalist, taking her seat several chairs down from Thor's left. She raised her goblet when he looked her way, and said, "Some wine."
"Of course, my lady," Loki said, after a pause, and stepped down to pick up one of the several pitchers already set out. His hand was steady as he filled her cup, but his stomach was cold. Sigyn was part of the royal household now, with her own duties and titles, but before that she had been one of the many children of the lower nobility who came and went from the palace. Only she had come rather more often, and had frequently been Loki's companion in his studies as he learned from the scholars and healers and sorcerers. He had numbered her among his close friends. Yet now she slipped very easily into the role of master over him. But then she spoke again, her voice pitched low to be unheard under the noise of the crowd.
"I am pleased to see you well again," Sigyn murmured, fussing with her hair so that the motion of her lips would not be easily seen from the lower tables. "I tended you after Kalfr's beating," she explained, in answer to the questioning look Loki dared to send her. "I protested that the King took you from the healing hall too soon, so I am happy you've recovered."
That surprised him again. Sigyn often worked in the healing halls, where slave and noble alike were entitled to be cared for, but it would be almost unheard of for someone of her status to be called to personally attend to a slave. Either she had done it as a favor to Thor, or as a favor to her old friendship with Loki. Either way, Loki found himself warmed by her concern. "I am quite well now, my lady," Loki said to her, bowing as he handed her the cup.
"Good." She gave him a small smile, then her hands, which had never in her life so much as spilled a drop of medicine, fumbled the cup, sending it tumbling to the floor. "Oh!"
"Please, forgive my clumsiness," Loki said dryly, and bent to mop at the spill, wondering what she thought she was doing. As soon as he bent down below the table, her hand had darted out, neat as a thief's, and a slim packet slipped into the neck of his tunic, sliding down inside the cloth to rest at his belt. In front of the whole court, by all the worlds. He quickly tucked the edge of the parcel into his belt, to make sure it stayed put, then resumed cleaning up the spill. Loki then retrieved Sigyn's fallen cup, stole a replacement from the next seat down, and re-filled it with more wine. "Your wine, my lady," he said.
"Thank you, Loki," she answered. Then she added, softly, with a gesture to his split lip, "Take care."
By the time Loki returned to Thor's place, the High Table was filling up. To avoid any more calls for his services, Loki took the wine bowl and a full ewer and made his way to the royal entrance to wait for Thor. As he expected, he did not have to wait long. Thor fell upon the wine with an exuberant cry, and saw that the bowl was shared among all his friends before he finished off the dregs himself.
"Thank you, Loki," he said. Thor frowned, though, as he handed the empty bowl back to Loki, his gaze narrowing as he focused on Loki's mouth, and Loki suppressed a smile. Kalfr was going to regret that, whether he knew it or not. But Thor went on, making no other sign that he'd noticed. "There's no better way to begin a feast than with a draught of cool wine."
"Or to end it, or drink through it," Fandral observed, watching Volstagg guzzle a second bowl with a slightly alarmed expression.
"This is true!" Thor said, and waved his arm. "So let us delay not a moment longer. Lady Sif." He gestured next to him, and Sif stepped up to walk beside him in the place of honor, a pleased smile on her face. The others fell in behind, and Loki trailed last of all.
The first round of toasts kept Loki busy. Thor had granted Sif the favor of pouring the first cups, but after that Loki was occupied re-filling Thor's goblets and occasionally the Lady Sif's, when the servants responsible for her and Fandral were called elsewhere. When the eating began in earnest, Loki went off to the buttery next to the feast-hall pantry for more drink, taking the two emptied pitchers with him and picking up another two on his way to the butts of wine and mead and ale. Thor alone could drink his way through four pitchers of mead in a single feast without much ill effect, and if Loki was to attend to Sif and the Warriors Three as well, he would need to be prepared.
There was something of a rush in the pantry and the buttery, the other slaves and servants taking the same opportunity as Loki to fetch more food and drinks for their own tables. Loki was not particularly eager to return to the hall, and the searching gaze of the court, so he allowed two of the slaves from the lower tables to sidle ahead of him in the line for the butts. Not only would it delay his own journey, he was also resolved to continue his efforts to make acquaintances among the other servants. In this, he was at least partly successful. One of the slaves scowled suspiciously at him, but the other gave him a curt nod, shifting his full tray of empty pitchers to his other hip.
"Thank you," he said. "They'll be expecting us back, and it's a fair step down to the bottom of the hall."
"As if he'd know where the bottom of the hall is," his companion said to him, frowning again at Loki. "And you're not to talk to him, remember?"
Loki raised a brow. "I see my reputation has preceded me. How shocking." He dipped his head to her. "As it happens, I know very well where the bottom of the hall is, Heidr."
She stiffened, clearly startled--and unhappy--that he knew her name. "I don't recall that I was ever made known to you," she said after a moment, clearly torn between her desire not to speak to him and her curiosity.
"You would not," Loki said. "But I have heard your name called for a time or two, while I sat at the bottom of the hall among the players and singers to hear their tales."
"And did you hear mine?" the young man asked, grinning.
"Alas, I did not."
"Ah, well. I'm Dyri."
Loki nodded to him. "Loki," he said. "Though I imagine that courtesy is unneeded."
Dyri snorted. "We were warned against you, in the kitchen. And also told to look for you." He grinned at Loki again, showing his stained and crooked teeth, several missing from the left side of his mouth. Loki guessed that he had lost them from a hard blow to his jaw, and indeed now that he looked he could see the faint scars around Dyri's mouth where his other teeth had wounded him. But the damage didn't seem to have repressed his spirit much, and Loki found himself quirking a small smile in return.
"Allow me to speculate. Kalfr wishes you to avoid me. Am I correct?"
"You are. But Ragnve seems to like you. She said you had a head on your shoulders, and not your nose in the air."
"Hm. That sounds like high praise."
"It is." Dyri lowered his voice. "And everyone knows Kalfr has his hand in the honey-jar, and that he'll use any excuse to whip the new slaves. Make them think twice about crossing him." He looked at Heidr. "No-one really believes you were fool enough to lose a tally-piece your first day."
Heidr's flush told Loki that she had, in fact, believed it, but the tight line of her jaw seemed to be easing. "And Kalfr will have you whipped if you keep with that talk, Dyri," was all she said, though. "Mind your tongue."
"So who will be heeded?" Loki asked curiously. "Kalfr or Ragnve?"
"That depends," Dyri said. "Most people want to stay on the good side of Ragnve, but it's Kalfr they're afraid of."
"You don't appear to be."
Dyri shrugged. "Kalfr's not here," he said blithely. "And neither is anyone who's going to carry tales to him." He glanced pointedly at Heidr, who rolled her eyes.
"You trust too much," she said, looking around them. "And you shouldn't trust him." She looked up at Loki. "Your smile and your silver tongue won't get you far here, Loki Liesmith."
"Nor will making enemies of my new fellows," Loki said to her. "I am not a fool, Heidr. Most of the nobles in that hall would have liked to see me killed or banished. I must live here now. I would rather live among friends."
She sniffed, and turned away. "We shall have to see about that."
Their turn at the butts came next, and Loki helped Heidr and Dyri with their trays and pitchers as they filled them with ale. Mead and wine were supposed to be reserved for the higher tables, but Dyri threw him a wink as he slid a pitcher brimming with reddish liquid in among the vessels of lighter brown.
"Five more coins for my freedom-price," he said cheerfully, then his expression sobered as he all-too-clearly realized that there would be no such bargain for Loki. But he didn't apologize, which would have been even worse. Instead, he merely hefted the full tray into his arms, and made sure the Heidr had her own readied. "Thank you, Loki," he said. "Good luck."
"Good luck to you as well." And Loki was surprised to find that he meant it.
His own few pitchers took little time to fill. In a short time, he was headed back to the High Table, the tray balanced easily on his shoulder. But Loki did not go in right away. He paused instead just inside the curtain that separated him from the hall, looking out through the gap at the tables beyond and steeling himself for what came next.
His duties, menial as they were, had at least kept him preoccupied during the first part of the feast. But now he would have little to do, and would be expected instead to wait in attendance on Thor. He could see the small mat laid out next to Thor's seat, where he would kneel while awaiting his master's commands.
But he had already done this. He had knelt for the Vanir, and for his old friends. He had even knelt before this court before, chained and naked. This was only another display, another proof of his subjugation. It would be a mere novelty this time, a curiosity the next, and then nothing of note at all.
Gripping the tray tight, he pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. As he'd thought, there were empty cups to be filled, and dishes to be fetched from the far ends of the table. But once that was done, Loki did not allow himself the luxury of another delay. He quietly settled himself on his knees on the woven mat, steeling himself for the hours of boredom that would follow. There would be no talk of politics or palace gossip to ease the tedium of the endless toasts and boasting, no coaxing of secrets or information to make the time spent worthwhile. No flirting. Or flyting. Loki began to wonder if anyone would notice if he dozed off. They would, he realized, bitterly, only when their cups ran empty or their plates needed filling. Until then, he would be nothing.
But even that was preferable to what was going to come after the feast.
-----
(TBC)