Cleave | Loki x Reader

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▪︎ glorious purpose ▪︎

1522 A.D. / 3811 Y.o.N.

Asgard

Y/n

The day I first came face to face with my destiny remains forever etched in my mind; every second of it remembered eternally. A prophecy does that to you, I suppose.

It was the Midgardian year of 1522.
Clear as day I can still recall waking to the sound of my handmaiden Revna entering my chambers at dawn. She was bringing me breakfast to enjoy in bed – an old Vanir custom performed each new month on the seventh break of dawn.
The first faint rays of sunlight were softly caressing my cheeks as Revna's gentle hands stroked my wild mane of hair into place.
She was smiling down at me. A bright, gentle smile. And once more, I felt that ease washing over me from knowing that I wouldn't be alone on this upcoming journey of mine. She would be there with me.
I also remember how Revna had then starting to fill me in on the various plans already laid out for me for after breakfast – including ones such as taking a bath and preparing myself so that my attendants may start with getting me dressed for this unsettlingly special day... Yes, I wouldn't get to dress myself. My mother was very strict on such things.

Upon returning to my chambers I was greeted by a voluminous ceremonial kyrtill spread across my already made bed. Intrigued but hesitant, I scanned the faces of my attendants for an explanation.
At that time, I was but a mere three hundred years old – roughly the equivalent of a nine-year-old in Midgardian terms – and never before had I worn such pompous garments. But before I was able to inquire what the occasion for such lavish display could possibly be, Revna had gently taken my small hand in hers and guided me to the privacy the room divider granted us.

'You are going to meet the All-Father today, lítið snjókorn,' she said while she made to rid me of my silly violet-coloured nightwear. Half of her dark chocolate hair was braided back, with one particular lock shaped into something that resembled an arrow snaking itself around her head, its end magically fixed at her temple.

'If that is so, I wish to have my hair arranged just like yours. Will that be realisable for today, Revna?'
'You learn that you will meet Odin himself today, and the first thing that comes to that pretty little mind of yours, is how you wish to have your hair arranged?' Her voice held a chuckle within, a familiar sound that always succeeded at making me feel at home.
'And now all she does is gaze at me with those bewitching little doe eyes! Norns, what extraordinary creation you have placed in our midst indeed! You truly are one of a kind, my lítið!'
'Odin is the All-Father, no? Therefore, he is family – at least in a way he is, right? And isn't meeting family though a joyous but yet all the same a rather... ordinary occasion?' I had asked her then. Revna merely gave a curt nod, likely trying to puzzle together where I was heading with this.
'Then tell me, why should I feel any different than before, silly?'
I grinned up at her, and she gave my nose a tiny boop with her index finger, shaking her head in genuine amusement. 'And yet you still wish for your hair to be like mine. Which is anything but an ordinary technique, Y/n/n.'
'My hair ought to be a proper match to that kyrtill I must wear, ought it not?'
'It's neither considered a traditional Vanir nor Æsir hairstyle. Especially nor for an encounter with the All-Father. It is worn in battle by my people – the Ljósálfar! If one were to seek a matching hair for a kyrtill such as yours, this is far from what one would covet, my lítið.'
'It might fail to be a match in one's eyes but it most certainly is in mine, Revna. And I believe it to be just so in yours, too,' I retorted, settled on my decision. I knew she saw the mischief gleaming in my gaze as well as in my insidious grin.
Sighing in defeat, she took a chair and pushed me gently onto it by my shoulders. A cocky smile of victory spread on my face as she began to braid that single silver lock of hair around my head. Born with it, I'd always been oddly proud of my icy white lock of hair nestled in between all that black.
Naturally, I was delighted then to see it displayed that way. But most of all, I felt giddy about getting to honour Revna's people by sporting this special hairstyle.
Back then, I couldn't have known that, just like the Ljósálfar, I was indeed about to march onto a battleground.