The Benevolent Warrior (Fandral Fanfiction #1)

[9] Lover's Lot

Flashback Chapter
The Battle of Vanaheim had been victorious in Asgard's favour. The Marauders had been defeated shamefully leading to the glorious celebrations that  had followed in the city.
Thor, Sif and Volstagg had sat around the bar,  drinking mead and recounting battle stories.
"It would have been wiser to have taken down the big guy first," Volstagg had guffawed with a full mouth.
Sif had rolled her eyes,  "Honestly, Volstagg. I've seen enough of the stag entrails from your mouth to last me a thousand more years."
Thor had laughed then. "Lady Sif,  you must hardly be surprised, seeing as Volstagg is one of our oldest friends!"
"Besides, Fandral had already said that next time we should start with the big one," she added smartly.
Volstagg piped up again,  dribbling tidbits of stewed meat from his mouth. "Would have been smarter of the Marauders to not trust a Kronan to lead them to defeat!"
Thor, suddenly aware of a notable absence (or perhaps two absences), turned in his seat.
"Speaking of Fandral, where is he and his fine lady?"
***
Fandral had strode down the hall toward his chamber,  where Ashildyr had promised to wait for him just after the feast had dwindled. He did not intend to be late. Battle had made silence of their otherwise spoken affections.
He turned the corner to see the door ajar ans immediately,  he reached for Fimbuldraugr. He felt his stomach flip.

She was standing in the doorway in a pair of arms that looked strikingly familiar. She was occupied with lavishing a man with kisses, letting him hold her. Fury boiled inside him and a sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Ashildyr?"
In an instant the two broke apart. Ashildyr screamed and looked from her husband to the man she had kissed. Even Fandral was disturbed,  for the man she had kissed was in fact,  himself. But how was that possible?
A laugh echoed around them,  taunted them mercilessly. The image of the Fandral in the doorway, the one Ashildyr had kissed,  dissolved into a feint outline of another figure.
"Loki?" Fandral cursed,  lunging forward. Instead of finding Loki's throat, he found the floor. He landed on his face,  humiliated. He looked up through his matted hair at Ashildyr.

If looks could kill.

"Fandral," she started as he pushed himself up and smoothed down his tunic. He made no reply. Instead he walked back the way he came. She followed him,  tugging at his arm.
"Fandral, wait! I can explain."
He whipped around so fast and jumped away. She brought her hands to her chest, suddenly full of fear.
"Can you?" he spat back. "How could you not know the difference between me and some...some projection?"
She bit back the urge to cry. He'd get no such satisfaction. "Fandral,  I... I didn't know it was him. I don't know how he could have even-"
"He's the God of Mischief, Hildyr. It's what he does. He's a trickster!"
She shook her head,  "But why would he-"
"For the sheer enjoyment of tearing others apart! To spite me,  to spite all of us!"
She saw that his fingers still traced the filigrees on Fimbuldraugr and she shivered. She stepped back.
"Fandral,  you're scaring me."
His eyes searched hers. He scoffed. "You're not even... You're not even sorry, are you?"
She blinked, dumbfounded. "What?"
He moved past her. Without a single word.
"Fandral!" a scream tore through her throat. "Please!"
He turned on his heel to face her. "After all we've been through today, after accepting the prospect that either of us could have died....this was not what I had counted on; my own wife mistaking the God of Mischief for her husband!!"
Still she stared at Fimbuldraugr.
He followed her gaze. "You... You thought I would use this...? Against you?" The pain in his voice was so real. Both of them knew it. He sighed,  almost disappointed. "Hildyr,"
She laughed, feigning offence. "No,  of course not!"
He nodded, summing it all up. Great. This was so great. It took everything he had not to let his walls down in front of her. He didn't want her to see how badly it hurt him, how humiliated he felt that even she didn't know the difference between the real him and a mere projection.

He gave her the satisfaction of one tear. And he vowed it would be one of the last he would shed for her.