The Origin of Fear

Chapter 14

The forest was dense. Not as dense as his own, of course, but Loki could tell by a cursory glance at height of the trees and the width of their trunks that this wood was hundreds, perhaps thousands of years old. It was quiet between the trees; the wind breezed through the lowest branches easily and slowly, as if it were an old friend passing through the wildflowers that coated the forest floor to say hello. As Loki walked through the foliage, alone, his head bent and his arms folded across his chest, the wind flitted around him, blowing his dark hair in front of his face. Loki growled as he pushed it back, running his fingers through the nonexistent tangles with a shaking hand. 

He was far removed from the rest of them, and far removed from her. He was relieved that Fandral had called for a recess, because he wasn’t sure how long he would have stayed in that tent, glaring at Fera with as much venom as she returned to him. 

Loki dragged his hands down his face, exhaling heavily. He had known the truth of the reason this war was started, but he’d also realized that telling her would have broken her already breaking heart. And now, she despised him for it She had made that perfectly clear; the truth he had neglected to tell her had hurt her more than he could have ever possibly guessed. He had lost her trust. He had lost the companionship that had been delicately growing into something greater than mere friendship. He had lost her. 

He ran his fingers through his hair again, this time pulling on the ends. He wouldn’t apologize. He couldn’t. It was beneath him. He had already apologized to her for hurting her before, when he had manipulated Thor into dueling her shortly after trying to poison her. But what she didn't understand was that he hadn’t committed either betrayal out of spite or malevolence. When he tricked Thor into dueling her, he wanted her to see who she could be, that she didn’t have to hide who she was for the benefit of others. And this time, he had only wanted to protect her from knowledge that could hurt her. He had done it for her. For her own good.  

For her own good. The words resounded in his mind like distant echoes, though instead of growing further away they seemed to get louder and louder until they were practically screaming at him. An image of Fera standing across from him in the tent, her eyes dark, angry, and betrayed, danced before him. 

You do not know me better than I know myself.

She was right, and he had been so busy trying to protect her that he had forgotten that she never needed his protection before, and had more than survived without him. She knew the horrors of war; of course she could have handled the knowledge. But even if she couldn’t, Loki owed it to her to tell her everything he knew, and to not treat her as if he knew her better than she did. Because he didn’t. Perhaps he would, one day, but that time had certainly not yet come. 

“Shit,” Loki murmured under his breath. The wind picked up once more, blowing his hair in front of his eyes, and he angrily pushed it back again. Suddenly, the hairs rose on the back of his neck, and he had the distinct feeling of someone watching him. He turned to see his pursuer; just as he did so, however, he saw a flash of a shadow, heard a crack of a twig, and the feeling was gone. He frowned and took a step forward, ready to follow the shadow into the depths of the forest. Just then, however, he heard a scream coming from the camp. He whipped his head toward the source of the sound, then turned back toward the shadow, but it was long gone. Still frowning, he took off in a jog back toward the camp, weaving his way between the rows upon rows of huts until he reached the center. 

Thor was there, as were Sif and the Warriors Three. They formed a semicircle around entrance of the small hut they had been in, and Silvë was being carried out on a crudely-made stretcher by two of his guards. Old women and young children stood around, watching in horror as their young King was brought into a healing tent.