Excelsior: Loki

Chapter 6

Katja allowed for Loki to lead the way as the two travelled down the numerous halls and foyers. Katja had counted at least twenty different corridors, and that was only upstairs. They walked hand in hand but neither said a word. Loki looked down at their hands and shivered, grimacing where his ring once was. He wondered why his enchantment had backfired, there was no warning before the spell.

They entered the dining room, Ingenbjorn already seated beside Katja's designated spot, which was to the left from the head of the table. As the heavy door creaked on its hinges from years of no use, the younger sister looked up, and once she saw Katja, she immediately jumped out of her seat and flung herself at her sister.

"Oh Katja, I feared for your life! When you passed out, I thought you had died! And how did your eye appear again?" Katja wanted to answer, but she also wanted to eat, so she dragged her sister back to the table where a ridiculous amount of food had been laid out.

Roasted bird of some sort surrounded by juicy vegetables, a stew with practically every bean imaginable, a thousand and one meat pies, and pudding on fire! Dagrun kept bringing out more trolleys, each with more food than the last. Casseroles, fresh bread, pasta, and odd coloured drinks. Katja's mouth was drooling, but her eyes were watering; she had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. This much food could feed her family for the rest of their lives, yet they were going to eat is all in one night.

Katja began to cry, never had someone given her so much, Ingenbjorn was the same as well, both so incredibly overjoyed to have been given this much to eat. Loki hadn't noticed because he was telling Dagrun so make his tea hotter, but Dagrun noticed Ingenbjorn's tears and nudged her master, running off to fix his tea.

Loki did not understand why the sisters were crying, but instead found it childish, especially since Katja was a thousand years old. He found their crying petty. He tossed his handkerchief onto Katja's empty plate and leaned back onto his chair. Like the rest of the house, the dining set was gold and luscious, the reflections of the diners visible on its surface. The chairs were plush and elegant, the trims and feet were decorated with gold flowers and leaves. Loki's "throne" resembled Yggdrasil, the shape being a large tree with nine branches that was easily the tallest thing in the room. Loki remembered his burning desire to sit in the seat when he was younger when his father sat there. Now, he despised it, as he does with anything associated with Odin, but worse because he did not earn the throne, he didn't get the same respect when he sat there, it was cast aside with him, unwanted, dejected, now, he sat there to spite Odin and his mother and anyone who ever said they loved him. Now, he knew better. Now, the god of lies knew he was lied to his entire life. 

Katja and Ingenbjorn had calmed down, realizing how bad their crying made them look. They must be considered especially poor now. Katja hardly noticed the forest green handkerchief that matched her dress until she turned her attention to the table and admired it. Gold thread was embroidered along the edges and a very subtle L. O. was written in beautiful script in one of the corners. She blushed, recognizing that she was staring at Loki's handkerchief and handed it back to him. He smiled and took it from her hand, his unnatural coolness just barely lingering around Katja's hand when she pulled away. 

"Thank you, but we must explain our tears, for it was the concoction of multiple occurrences that sparked us into such joy. Never have we been treated with such hospitality and have had an abundance of food such as this presented before us. I have also never experienced such medical care as this. We must ask, how did you manage to return my eye? My father had stabbed it out and it is impossible for you to have not only to know where I lived but to return in the days that I was asleep." Katja rambled on, her curiosity almost vibrating off her, Loki simply nodding occasionally, never interrupting for that is not what a gentleman does, and mother raised no ruffians.