𝟏-𝟖𝟎𝟎-𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒.

≫ LEAD AND PILLOWS ≪

warnings: so angsty. feelin all the feels today

author's note: this one is for a friend i fell out of touch with. sorry i disappeared; i never forgot this oneshot you wanted<3

word count: 1,374

requested by: 

≫≪

His fingers danced across your skin that night. A forbidden love, kept secluded by the high walls of flowers in the palace gardens; only the moon was to witness the moment shared with the prince. Anyone else there would have scorned you for such an occurrence. Your name would be forever cursed from the hallowed grounds of Asgard and your soul would be ostracized without the tiniest, shining glimpse of mercy.

Being with Loki was an act of disgrace. It was treason. It was evil— it made you hideous and disheveled and an attention seeking whore. But it didn't matter. You only cared about Loki's visions of you. The love you held for each other was immaculate and it singlehandedly scorned any reprimanding of your character. It was oh, so perfectly simple to love Loki, but it was oh, so perfectly wrong.

Thor was the reason it was wrong. He was your betrothed, but you hated the idea of being with him. It wasn't that he was a bad man— of course not. He was a gentleman you had grown up with him. He was just a friend. However, it would hurt you both if you went against the wishes of the king. This arranged marriage was for the good of Asgard, whatever the hell that meant. Thor, too, didn't want this, but he was in a tight spot. There was nothing either of you could do. He knew how much you hated the engagement, but he never spoke up about it.

Late into starry Asgardian nights after you and Loki escaped to the palace gardens, you'd creep back into your bed chambers, only to be stopped by Thor in the corridors along your way. The leaves in your matted hair and ruffles in your court dress gave everything away. He would sigh knowingly, and stare into your eyes. His features danced with a million questions, practically countless as grains of sand on ivory beaches. Thor never meant to get in the way of your happiness, nor that of his brother, but you were impossibly perfect. For the position, for the commitment, for the childbirth of male heirs to the throne. It still pained him to drag you down into the hell of becoming Asgardian royalty by his side.

Nevertheless, he persisted in painstaking matter with the plans to wed. Every time you glanced at Loki longingly in court, Thor felt his heart clench, a thousand minuscule thorns tearing at the flesh. You could tell Loki was getting antsy, too. The nights of passion you shared, no matter how wonderful, began to lack something. His jealously was growing like an unwelcome weed in the garden of your relationship.

He had always been a tad cold-hearted, but, frankly, you didn't mind it. The way he snapped at you every now and then was almost romantic, because you knew there was no real venom behind his words. But, now, he'd make underhanded comments about the smallest things, leaving you confused and hurt. You had never cared what others thought of your relationship with Loki, but his negative words were painful. 

As time progressed, the situation became more and more hopeless. Loki stopped speaking to you. Thor couldn't look you in the eyes. When he had the courage to steal glances, could you feel the shame radiating from him. You had lost both of your best friends through the wishes of a putrid, self-serving, half-witted old king. And there was nothing you could do about it.

Today was a week from the wedding. There was to be a ball tonight, a celebratory event that was tradition in Asgard. Handmaidens fitted you with the most elaborate of gowns, laced with gold and vermillion, designed to show off your assets. Shimmering sapphire jewelry dripped over every spare inch of skin like rich, red blood. You looked every bit a queen in the lush attire, but still knew you would feel more comfortable wrapped in Loki's icy-sweet embrace. In another room, somewhere deep in the palace, he and Thor would be getting ready as well. It was against tradition for you to dare see either of the princes before the ball. You would just have to wait.

"Handmaidens," you called, offering them a tight smile as they attempted to put on your shoes. "I believe I may do the rest on my own?"

They gave each other hesitant glances before one was inaudibly threatened to speak up against your wishes. Their glares forced her forward. 

"Madam?" The voice of their chosen sacrifice was barely above a whisper. Her eyes were focused on her shoes. "Perhaps it would be best if we continued—"

"Nonsense. I will do it myself. Thank you for your assistance."

The girls surrendered at your words and picked up their skirts, hurrying out of the room. A deep sigh passed your lips, and you flopped down on a velvet couch nearby.

"Well, my dear, those are quite the dramatics. I don't suppose it's because you're marrying the wrong boy, is it?"

A voice resonating through the room gave you incentive to stand up as quickly as possible. In a flurry of skirts and petticoats, your high heels aggressively found their footing.

"Your highness," you said, trying to regain the regality you lost by fighting for your way up off the couch. "I— ahem—it's, uh, nice to see you?"

Frigga chuckled under her breath, walking over to you. She was so much more graceful than you could ever be— this woman seemed to glide across the marble flooring. Her feet never made a single sound as she moved, and neither did the many layers of her ethereal skirts. She carefully sat beside you. 

Every last detail of her was perfect. Radiant. 

"You didn't answer my question," she mused, smoothing her gown with soft, pale hands. 

You raised your head slowly. You thought meeting her eyes would be torture, but instead it was like dipping into a cool, icy pool. A single gaze and you were shocked you awake.

"Loki."

A deep sigh pulled her chest forward, then caved it again. Her body was a set of strings, delicate and taut. You could see stress picking her shoulders up, tugging on the wrinkles around her eyes. And then she began to glimmer green. 

Sitting beside you now was Loki. Your lover, your soul. 

You stood up quickly. 

"Really? You'd parade as your own mother because you're too afraid to speak to me yourself?" You accused, wrapping your arms around your body tightly. The room was suddenly worlds smaller. 

Loki sighed again, although this time it was deeper. It sounded like him, not a puppet version of Frigga. "I am not afraid of a conversation."

"Ah, of course not. You just believe lies sound prettier through her teeth rather than yours." 

"How do you expect me to speak as myself? When you refuse to hear me?" Loki grated out. His silver tongue was not working. It was turning to lead in his mouth, pressing heavy and ruining what he needed to tell you. 

You tried to keep your voice steady, but you felt as if rich, thick velvet was filling your throat. "Your words have always held weight with me. They are not the problem. It is you."

"Please, Y/N. You cannot do this."

"No! You cannot do this! Don't you understand, Loki? You are the sun, and I am the planets. Everything I have ever done revolves around you. But I am forced to marry your brother for the good of Asgard. Our ways must change." 

Tears were streaming down your cheeks now, ruining your perfect makeup, etching dark canyons into your skin. Loki rushed forward to hold you, hopelessly trying to wipe away your emotions. You pushed his hands away from your face.

He was shaking. All over, everywhere, like it was killing him not to touch you. 

"I love you." For once, Loki's words were pillows. They were soft, feathery, perfect. You were falling into them, collapsing under the weight of everything you wanted and could not have. 

"Leave," you whispered. 

Loki opened his mouth. He could not speak. The lead was spreading from his tongue into the rest of his body. He turned away. 

≫≪

"what cannot be said will be wept."

- sappho