Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

35 | Frigga's Spell

Upon reaching his chambers, Loki shut himself inside while Y/N carried on running to where she knew a royal guard was usually stationed. The guard appeared somewhat startled as Y/N came to a panting halt in front of her, her face wet and salty from sweat and tears. Y/N threw a bunch of words at her golden helmet---'urgent' and 'Loki', and 'Frigga'--- and the guard sprinted away, surprisingly swift in her heavy armour.

Y/N had run the length of the relics room, the entire palace; she had no energy left as she turned back in the direction of Loki's rooms, but she forced herself into a jog all the same.

She found Loki in his lounge, perched on the edge of a sofa, pale and hollow as empty bones, his narrow bottom lip caught tight between his teeth. Y/N wanted to kiss it free, pepper his too-pale skin with affection and affirmations; but knew he'd just push her protectively away.

"Frigga will know what to do," she assured, but the words were all breath; they had no weight to them.

Loki twisted his mouth into a reassuring smile.

-- ❈ --

It was decided that Y/N would listen from Loki's study while his mother assessed him. If Frigga found the curse to be a bad one, Loki would call Y/N forth so she too could be seen to.

Although, both Y/N and her prince doubted she would need to be. Y/N could not feel any change within her. Granted, nor could Loki---besides beinf exceedingly rattled---but he had turned blue and Y/N had not. Whatever it was, Loki had gotten the worst of it.

A knock at the door startled them both, and Y/N hid as her prince left to let in his mother.

Stowed safely in the study, Y/N kept the door ajar and tucked herself close to the narrow gap. She couldn't hear Loki's footfalls as he returned, but she could hear his hurried words, and the soft pad of Frigga's satin slippers.

Y/N felt her skin prickle at her proximity.

You don't have to see Frigga to know she's a queen. You can feel it, her grace swamping the room, almost choking it. How do her handmaidens manage to speak in her presence? To ask her which shawl she would like to wear today, or how she would like them to fashion her waist-length hair? Y/N is sure that, should she ever come face to face with Her Majesty Frigga, she wouldn't be able to say anything at all.

Loki doesn't seem to have this problem. Y/N could hear him spinning a vague lie as they neared the lounge---about how a book he'd been reading spiked a sudden wave of curiosity for one of his father's treasures, and he'd gone down to the relics room for a closer look. However, Y/N knew he was being truly sincere when he apologised profusely for touching what had been forbidden.

He must have fallen onto the settee, because Frigga's gown rustled quietly as she lowered herself next to her son. Like Y/N, she probably tried to touch him, only to have him shrink away.

"...Is it bad magic?" Loki asked.

Frigga is so calm.

Had she not just heard what had happened?

She has not spoken yet; does she have nothing to say?

Is she in grief or just thinking?

Is she doing what Y/N's own mother would do when she misbehaved as a child; give her the silent treatment? Only replying with vague nods and uninterested hums until Y/N begged for redemption and her attention?

"No, it's not bad magic," Frigga said, her voice low and quiet. She did not sound angry, and yet something grey and wan is laced in with her mother's love. "What you touched was the Casket Of Ancient Winters."