Flightless (LokixReader)

Chapter Thirty-One

(Loki's Pov)

His magic rushed back, refilling his reserves with no time to lose. His breath strengthened with the presence of the energy, relief washing over the prince as he realized what she gave back.

But the witchling didn't only return his own. Among the woven tapestries of his magic, a thread of her own remained. Which, given Y/N had never reversed the spell herself, Loki found no fault in a clumsy first try. The 'thread' could barely even count as a piece, more akin to a drop from the oceans of her vast power. The loss wouldn't affect even the most beginner magician, let alone one as strong as Y/N.

Nor would it affect Loki the slightest bit, besides allowing him to inspect her signature—the details and sources of her magic, including some history even of herself—more intimately than he could have ever dreamed of. This small lingering of her magic acted as a breadcrumb trail for Loki to follow: any secret event involved with the livelihood of her magic now laid bare in its rawest form. He could feel her magic as if it were his own, and he was right.

She wasn't human.

This was not a magic stolen from other realms nor other beings: the magics that the most magically inclined mortals tended to wield. No, it stemmed from within her.

He didn't know what she was, but the prince could feel how the age of her magic transcended the years he lived, and well into that of the Allfather. But not as the magic he knew today, not as the magic that he learned. Centuries and centuries ago, the magicians of Asgard learned to control magic in cohesive, spell form. They learned to attach raw, near-unusable energies into objects, imbue the intentions into words, and create a far more concrete form of developing magics.

This? Her power?

It existed in its most archaic form, beyond any definition of magic today. It existed in its separated parts: like the ingredients to any magic-concoction that Loki knew to use. But it didn't stop there; these ingredients attached themselves into her person. She wasn't wielding any forces of her surroundings or calling upon powers of the realms. It came from her.

No wonder she had had issues controlling it. Just this small taste of the great magic she held... He had known this mysterious not-mortal was strong, yes. But this would overpower any magician on Asgard. Just a fraction would overwhelm their reserves, unsettling their connection and severing the wielder's attachment to magic. Let alone, despite how by all means she appeared human, the ethnicity of her magic suggested otherwise.

It came from Asgard.

Asgardian, aged through ages of the past, powerful, and terrified not by him, but by something associated with him.

Loki didn't want it to be true. If this quest... Norns, how it choked his heartstrings to just think of her identity as an option. He must have understood her signature wrong, somehow. Y/N wasn't destructive, violent, greedy, or with sights to destroy Asgard. She wasn't a beast.

She couldn't be.

Loki said nothing of his thoughts, of the linger, nor of her magic that night. Sleep called their names in sweet whispers, and he found himself doubting the idea. She cared about him; she made sure that he was truly alright, and that they would be alright. What beast would do that? The prince, even as their conversation started to fade into incoherent mumbles, made a decision in his mind. It cemented itself more and more completely between each dip of consciousness as the battle to stay awake continued; a promise forming in the deepest hollows of his heart.

No more pushing for the truth. No more questions. No more tempting fate.

She was right.

It'd be worse if he knew for sure.

*

In... A body tangled in his arms shifted, tugging Loki from the serenity his mind created. Out... A hazy eye cracked open, a sudden smile tugging at his lips when he remembered what events led to this morning. A calmness had taken the reins of the girl's features over the night. She no longer fretted over his magic, their actions, or apologies that he had heard too many times. No, her breaths guided a soft, sleepful surrender to rest upon her features. In... Her body pressed into his arms, heavier with every long, warm breath.

Loki reviewed his memories, quickly becoming caught up on the same thoughts as the night before. He could sense lies: whether they be white, dirty, or even only half-truths. But last night? Not one thing she said hurt him the way a lie would. Neither did she speak in any of her bothersome puzzles, either.

She cared about him more genuinely than anyone has since... Well, Loki could only remember that it's been awhile.

This... Them, everything that happened last night now fostered a privilege. When Loki looked down at her face, despite how her hair fought to hide it, he found himself attempting feebly to memorize her features. To remember this privilege, of seeing such a moment, and a privilege to mean something in her life. They were in no means courting, but... Norns, Loki found himself wishing so.

He swept a stray piece of hair from her cheek, fingers lingering somewhere near her ear. Her expression started to stir, and the prince removed his hand. "Good morning."

Y/N's eyes squinted open, realizing after a moment just how close their bodies entangled themselves overnight. "Morning," She refused to meet his gaze until she lifted herself from his arms. She made a place for herself against his headboard, fighting the weight that now weighed down her eyelids, slowly losing the battle.

Loki lifted his chin in a habit of intrigue when presented with curious things, "Tired?"

"Something like that." Abandoning the battle between sleep and sight, Y/N rubbed her hands quickly for warmth, the motion waking her further. Reminding Loki that not everyone lived as Jotuns in disguise.

He summoned a blanket.

The witchling laughed from the sudden covering, searching her way from beneath the giant cover. "You didn't have to do that."

"Would you rather I let you freeze?" Loki fought and lost to the smirk that came as he was caught deeper and deeper in her spell, every playful glare and amused shake of the head from his mischief only amplifying the effect.

"No, I suppose I wouldn't." Her eyes met his own, beginning to decipher what he knew was now impossible to hide. She smiled, "Thank you, Loki."

The ever-so carefully kept emotions didn't dare impose upon her, yet still managed to leave a sliver of truth for her to see. Just to show how deeply her enchantments managed to reach within him. "Of course."

And perhaps it lay bare his hopes as well: that somehow she felt the same.