The Unthinkable Offering (A Loki FanFic)

Prologue

How many times had he dreamt of this, laying on that small cot thousands of nights in a row? Dreaming of having someone beside him. Being able to reach out and feel softness, to feel warmth. How many nights had he laid there longing to touch and be touched in return? Longing for someone to talk to and to listen to. Longing for someone to call his own. Wishing for someone who could love him despite what he is or what he has done.

How cruel it was to keep him isolated. Caged. To have one's freedoms, one's choices stripped away was one thing. To be kept completely solitary was another. Cruel was too weak a word for what was done to him.

But, how much crueler was this? To have something he craved for so long, so close, but not being able to reach out for it. For her. The child. No. This was much bleaker.

Loki turned his eyes towards her again. Her soft angelic face, smooth as porcelain, was bathed in moonlight from the tall windows of their bedchamber. Her long eyelashes were fanning the tops of her cheeks as she slept. Her full lips were slightly parted as she took slow steady breaths. So innocent. So pure. He would not be the one to taint her. He would not contaminate her with his seed. 

No, absolutely not.

He dared not let his gaze drift lower than her face. He knew what he would see: a woman's body. While he was locked away from the world she had grown up. She had come of age. Her body had changed, but her eyes were still the same. And when he looked into her eyes, he only saw the child that he had known before he fell from the Bifrost.

She was sleeping on her side facing him. She always slept facing him. One hand tucked under her cheek the other outstretched towards him. 

An offer. 

An invitation. One that he would not accept. 

Her left hand lay on the bed between them. His ring on her finger.

Damn you, Odin. Damn you to Hel. She deserved better than this. She deserved a real husband. Someone closer to her own age. Someone good. Someone Asgardian. Or Vanir. Or even bloody Midgardian! Not a monster. Not a beast.

A fresh wave of frustration washed over him, and he turned his eyes back to the ceiling again. He had to remain calm. None of this was her fault. Even though she stupidly agreed to marry him. She was a child. Easily manipulated by the King to accept. Pressured into compliance for his own gains. She had no idea what she was truly agreeing to. She thought she was marrying the same person she remembered from her childhood. The one who entertained her and her sisters with seidr. The one who would listen to her run-on stories. The one she used to pick dandelions for. The one who thought he was a son of Odin.

But he was no longer that person. How could he be? That person was not real. That person never existed. That person was a fiction made up by Odin.

Loki Odinson.

He scoffed to himself as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there for a moment, thinking about the predicament he found himself in as he stared at the intricate golden cuff around his right ankle. He should have just been left to rot beneath the palace. It would have been kinder than this. He had not truly regained his freedom. Only his cell had changed. Trapped in these chambers. And now with a hostage. He would not give in to Odin's demand. He would not produce an heir. Not with her. Not with anyone.

He walked out of the bedroom, poured himself a drink and held the cool crystal to his forehead. He needed air. Stepping out onto the balcony, he took in the sight laid out before him. The golden city. Sleepy and dark. Night insects trilling, calling out for a mate. A cool breeze providing him with a bit of calm. He went centuries without fresh air. He would never take these small comforts for granted again.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He relished the feel of the cool air filling his lungs and the light breeze moving his hair.

And then he heard her as she came through the doors behind him.

"You should be asleep." He scolded her without turning to face her.

"You should be as well." Her voice small, afraid to anger him.

"Go back to bed." He sighed as he walked further out onto the balcony.

"Will you come too?"

"No."

"Oh."

She made no move to go back inside.

Loki sighed again and walked further away from her to rest his hands on the stone railing.

Irritation prickled him as he heard her bare feet shuffle cross the stone tiles to stand beside him. He did not look at her, but he could see from his peripheral vision that she had not donned a robe. She was standing out there in the thin nightgown she usually slept in.

"I told you to go back to bed."

"I thought I might join you for a little while."

"Do you wish to fall ill?"

"No."

"You are not dressed for the night air."

"I am fine. Really. I rather enjoy the coolness on my skin."

Loki froze. His posture stiffened and he clenched his hands into fists.

"I do not want your company. Go back to bed."

She muttered a quiet apology and quickly retreated inside.

Her skin.

Her warm skin.

His cool hands skimming her warm, soft skin. How dare she bring that image into his mind. He flexed his hands, trying to banish the phantom feeling of warmth his imagination had brought to his fingertips.

Monster.

He could never let himself forget who he truly was. A wolf in sheep's clothing. The monster parents tell their children about at night.

He never should have bartered for his freedom. He should have remembered Odin's deals only benefit himself.