A Legend of Mischief (Loki Fanfiction)

Chapter 13

"I've left this place too long," Nyneve muttered as she stepped into the cabin, brushing a cobweb out of the way. "Nearly four months is way too long. Gives the local wildlife an opportunity to move in where they don't need to be."

Caliburn gave a hum at her hip.

"Oh, shut it."

Taking off her leather jacket, Nyneve rolled up the sleeves of her grey shirt, Caliburn gently bumping her hip as she walked to the cabinet where she kept cleaning supplies. She could have used magic to clean the place, but her grandfather had shown her the benefits of doing things with one's own hands. So, she got to work, clearing out the dust and cobwebs which had accumulated.

When she was finished, she stood in the middle of the main room, looking over her work.

Grandfather would have been proud.

"I don't know why you continue to maintain this place."

At the familiar deep voice, one that haunted her nightmares, Nyneve froze, her smile fading. She almost couldn't bear to turn around. Caliburn hummed, low and threateningly. The sword had as little fondness for the person as Nyneve did.

"Bedwyr." The name was bitter on her tongue.

"Come now. The least you can do is call me Father, as you should. We are still family after all." Just the sound of his voice brought back memories. Memories Nyneve didn't want to relive.

"I left the family. And not even when hell freezes over will I be coming back." Nyneve finally turned to face him, anger giving her some strength. "You made it perfectly obvious none of you want me there anymore."

"Then why have you not rid yourself of the family name? You still belong with us. And you know it."

"I kept the name to honor my ancestor," Nyneve retorted. "Not like you, who have disgraced both names you bear."

He stood in the open doorway, his lithe frame taking up less space than the intimidating aura he carried with him everywhere. All the looks of a knight, like the name he bore, but without a shred of chivalry. Those eyes of his that she hated so much, a shade darker blue than her own. His auburn hair glinted in the sunlight drifting through the door. How glad Nyneve was that she had inherited her grandfather's nearly black brown hair instead.

Nyneve knew people had likened her eyes to the elegant light of the moon. Some had said her father's eyes were like the ocean.

Cold and merciless.

How fitting that description was now as she stared at him. Odin may have disgusted her, but this man was one Nyneve abhorred.

Nyneve involuntarily stepped back as he came further into the cabin. How weak it made her feel that she could not stand her ground against him. Her jaw clenched, hands fisted at her sides. A flash of panic went through her as she felt her magic fluctuate, reacting to her deep fear and anger.

No! Not in Grandfather's cabin!

Viciously, she clamped down on her magic. Never would she let him cause her to lose control of her power. It was part of what he wanted. Another excuse to declare her unworthy.

A disgrace.

The spirits did not have such reservations, however. Those of the winds swirled through the branches of the trees around the cabin. Nyneve could see ghostly sky spirits prowling outside the cabin in the form of wolves, lips pulled back from their fangs in silent snarls.

If only he knew... The family has forgotten some of the old ways, the spirits of this realm. The bond they forge with those who gain their favor.