What Might Have Been

Chapter VIII

The subject couldn’t be avoided anymore: 

He had the hots for his sister. 

His adopted mortal sibling was, officially, tormenting Loki’s dreams in all the good ways. Or bad. (Perspective, it is all about perspective.) Loki raked a hand through his hair, messing it up but he didn’t care. Ever since the tavern incident, Fate was slipping all these incidents his way like Viagra. 

Jane falling overboard when Thor took her out on Asgard’s lake; a layer of paint couldn’t have hugged her body any closer. It was no longer winter but Jane shivered the whole way down the hall. Loki knew just how he wanted to warm her up, paused at the sudden thought and marched straight into his room, cranked up the water to ice cold and sat there for fifteen minutes. The next involved involved walking in on Jane wearing nothing but a high-thigh short robe. (He had knocked!) Jane told him he could come in and he did. She had her back to him and was working the knots out of her hair, showing off an ivory smooth neck. Then she dropped the brush and bent down to get it… He exited the same door he just entered, ignoring her cries asking where he was going and what had he wanted anyway. He found himself taking another shower. 

So Fate was either being terribly good to him or terribly unkind. Loki did not appreciate being turned into an Aesir prune so, no, Fate was not being all that kind. Truly, if only this dilemma could be solved by finding female affection from one of the many court ladies that assembled for all the ceremonies and festivities at the castle. They proved to be a short term solution. Afterwards he wanted, no, needed, the affection of his other half. The half of him who kept dark thoughts away from his mind and helped bridge the gap between his brother and he; the other half who never stopped marveling over his magic tricks; the other half that made him complete in so many ways.    

At night he cursed Frigga, Queen of Asgard, mother to he and Thor, for bringing in this mortal minx. Come day he praised his mother for wisdom as he and Jane exchanged witticisms and laughed and enjoyed pure happiness over her company as they played another game of chess or Go or one of many things to which she introduced him. The idea of a mortal introducing him to things even he in all his years hasn’t seen or tried was scorn worthy until barely two decades ago. Another mere eye blink and so much had changed. 

This change terrified Loki. 

He knew how to deal with Thor, he knew how to deal with Odin and his mother and the inhabitants of all the realms; just not this one little mortal. Loki’s frustration manifested into anger and left the city limits on the back of his wolf. Destruction of trees and rocks and whatever innocents had the bad luck to be nearby did not quite soothe him but it was an outlet and he took it. Fenrir watched his master with uncertain eyes. Magic scarred the land in all the wrong places; ancient trees getting uprooted and thrown about yards away; Loki pounded his hands against the rock for the basic feel of crushing something.  

Master was quiet now, breathing heavily, yes, but no longer letting loose rage and destruction. Fenrir crept slowly, on his belly, the the burnt out crater of which Loki knelt at the center. He didn’t react at first, his master focused on regulating his breathing, controlling his rage. How long had it been since his master blew off steam. He was so good at bottling things up, storing all the bad things away. Maybe that wasn’t such a good thing; maybe Master had only stored up the hate, the grudges, the bad things until they grew too heavy to bear. Fenrir whined, low and uncertain, but this time Loki leaned against his muzzle for support. 

“Fenrir, you and I have lived nearly two thousand years. How did we not see this coming?”

Fenrir wanted to snort; oh, he saw this coming alright. Maybe not the rage and drama bit, but he totally saw this coming. Fenrir focused on an image of lil’ Mistress coupled with a question and propelled it towards his master. Loki sighed.