Echoes in Time

I've got this friend....

"Well, dont you look.... hungover!"  he crowed from behind equally welcome but infintely more stylish sunglasses.

"Shhhh, please, Grant, no need to shout!" Elli winced and held up a defensive hand. She seated her own dark glasses more firmly on her nose and took several deep breaths, making her cough almost instantly. 

Grant laughed and looked at Simon. "You exaggerated Si. She doesn't look half dead at all.... she looks like she's been dead for the last several hundred years!" The two of them dissolved into hysterics as Elli tried not to cry and laugh at the same time.

"Ok, you catty pair, what do you recommend to make me feel more human? After all, YOU'RE the experts at 'the morning after'." She raised an eyebrow and smirked. Hungover, she may be, about to roll over and submit to their teasing? Never!

"Oooh, check you with your little sharp teeth!" Simon remarked good naturedly. "Well, if mademoiselle is up to it, I find a walk in the fresh air, followed by coffee followed by a good hard shag always does the trick for me!"

"SIMON!" Elli exclaimed, and Grant howled with laughter. He never loved him as much as when he was rudely sarcastic.  "I am NOT 'shagging'
ANYONE as you so delicately put it!"
She was only half as outraged as she sounded and twice as disappointed that she probably would never get the chance to try.

"And THAT my darling Elifligr, is JUST the problem!" Simon flounced off towards the front door of their hotel.  "Are you two coming? We have places to be and Vikings to do!"

Grant and Elli shrugged as they looked at each other. How did they put up with him? They knew exactly.  He had a mind like a sewer and a heart of gold. Perfect.

Loki stretched in the warm sunlight. The bed, as always these days, was comfortable but empty. He loved summer mornings. It reminded him of home. Of Asgard and his mother and riding through the forest at dawn.

Of hunting with his pet Hawk Sigrid, of racing his black mare Vind across the Rainbow Bridge.  Of arriving laughing and breathless in time to meet Thor as he came back from some latest hairbrained scheme on Vanaheim, or Nilfheim, or even Svartalfheim. 

Now, he felt the familiar pang.  Never again would he do any of that. Not simply because he was effectively self exiled by his own actions, but also because soon, far too soon, Asgard would no longer exist. Well, not the physical realm.  As was often said, Asgard was not a place.... it was a people.

People for now, that hated him. 

He shook his head and looked at his bedside clock.  Shitting Bilgesnipes look at the time! He'd arranged to meet Fandral at the cafe at 11. Hear all about last night's escapades. 

He'd received a text - fortunately, both he and Fandral were more tech-savvy than his dumb but well-meaning brother. All it had said was ' MEET AT CAFE ON DAD's STREET. LAST NIGHT WAS ... WELL, YOU'LL SEE.  11AM. DON'T BE LATE. F.

Loki jumped out of bed and, for once, relied on his magic.  He hadn't used it in so very long. Somehow, 21st century Norway didn't quite seem the appropriate time or place.   This morning, however, he had little choice.

As he stood in front of the full-length mirror, he watched as a fitted grey V-necked tshirt crept its way across his torso, revealling just a hint of the dark hair adorning his lithe but defined chest.  Black skinny jeans enveloped his thighs and rear, black leather biker boots adding a couple of inches to his already impressive 6'2" frame.

Hair braided as always -  it seemed the ladies liked it, if only to unbraid it - his face was clean shaven.  Grabbing his favoured black leather jacket, he'd conjured a permanent version years ago, he headed out.

Closing the door of his flat, he snapped his fingers.  Inside, in the empty house, his bed made itself, his bathroom cleaned itself.  Flowers, the delicate kind his mother had liked, appeared in vases. 

If only he had someone to show them to.  Of only he had Elli.

He sighed. Would he ever find peace? Would he ever find her.  His mother, although well intentioned, had clearly been wrong.  He had lost the love of his life forever. She wasnt waiting for him. Anywhere.

It hadnt been for the lack of looking  either. He had searched throughout the ages. It had been to no avail. 

Now he'd all but given up hope. At least Fandral seemed to be having fun. That playwright from 1590 had fallen hook line and sinker for him.

Even written a play about the pair of them. At the time, he wished he'd thought of somewhere more exotic as a backstory, but when Will had asked, Verona had popped into his head. 

Now, though, almost 400 years later, "Two Gentlemen of Verona" seemed a decent enough title.  He wondered if they'd inspired any other titles.  Maybe he'd go back and ask him one day. Secretly, he really hoped so. And not that boy Romeo.  Oh no.  Someone much more interesting. Macbeth perhaps?

His musings were cut short when the taxi he'd booked arrived, and it was time to go. 

He had a plan. Meet Fandral, hear all about last night, feel like shit all over again. Find solace in the arms of a pretty but unfulfilling girl.

"Oh Elli I still love you. Please, come back to me my love?" He pressed the small runestone he wore on a leather lace round his muscular neck, to his lips. Eyes closed in prayer, he waited. For a sign.

As always, none came.

Loki sighed. It had been too long.  He'd been tempted over the years to go back, for a final kiss.  A last hug.  Tempted but hadn't.

His mother had said his life lay in the future.  But when, he wondered, would the 'future' turn into 'now'?

As he left the house for the short journey to meet his friend, he recalled the latest occasion when he had truly been reminded of the meaning of eternal.... and that he was destined to be alone.

It only took a matter of seconds to teleport along the pedestrianised street to a nearby alley.  Walking took up time and energy.

He laughed to himself.  Time. He had plenty of time.

He approached the little teashop with a resigned smile and the air of the long suffering sidekick. 

Fandral's famous chatup lines had only grown cheesier over the years, but for all that? No less successful.
Never knowingly sleeping alone, he'd been a serial lover. 

Now, he opened the door to the shop and went to walk inside.

His heart stopped. No, it couldn't be... could it? No, it definitely WAS her... or was it?

"Get a grip Laufeyson" he muttered to himself as he stood in the doorway. 

He turned and went to walk back out. He couldn't face it.  Not today. It was the anniversary of Elli's passing.

Burned into his brain, he kept it his secret. Mourning her in his own way, even Fandral had no idea.

Too late, he was spotted. A shout of hello tethered him to the moment and the shop.

Taking a deep breath, he walked in.  As he did so, a familiar voice to his left called out.

"Loki! There you are! Come on over! We have company!" Fandral waved at him enthusiastically.

Loki nodded and took a breath.  Walking over, he pinned a smile to his  face.  "Morning! Sorry, I'm a little......"

As he looked around, the words died in his throat.  His mouth hung open and his pulse raced.  It just couldn't be. Up close, there was no doubt. The eyes. Her eyes.

"Loki " Fandral's voice cut through the  fog in his mind. "These are the new friends I told you about. Simon, Grant and this... this is...."

"Elli" Loki breathed. "Elli Amundsen...."