Loki and the Witchling

Chapter 39

 The applause from the kiss died down and Frigga removed the cord from your hands. Loki took your hand again in escort and the two of you led the procession to the feast in your honor. By the two of you, you really meant Loki, since you still didn't know your way around the palace.

The feast was huge. You and Loki had your own table right in the middle of everything. He told you what each of the dishes were when they were served to you and you spent the entire meal in jovial conversation about the latest books you had been reading. It felt normal, despite the atmosphere and the fact that you had just been through a betrothal ceremony in a strange land.

The second the meal was over the dancing and drinking began. You had already had more of the Asgardian mead than you probably should have, it was so delicious and there had been so many toasts in your honor.

Odin was among the first to depart after a final congratulations to the two of you. You heard the hitch in his voice. He was still displeased with Loki for some reason, though you couldn't understand why. Especially in this case, Loki was literally doing the thing he was supposed to and agreeing to marry you for the Asgardian politics.

"Shall we dance?" Loki asked after Odin had left. Frigga was still there, watching her children and the court from the sidelines. She was the one who smirked and made a gesture to the musicians when Loki stood and offered you a hand to escort you to the dance floor.

You heard the familiar first notes of For the Dancing and the Dreaming and thanked all the gods yet again that Thor had made you learn the steps. Especially when you and Loki were the only two who walked out onto the dance floor for it. The introduction was played again while you took your positions. You saw Thor on the sideline taking pictures on your phone. You smiled up at Loki with love in your eyes and your heart as you took the position for the dance. His pose and expression mirrored yours. The dance and singing started and the crowd listened to Loki's voice, mesmerized by his singing and graceful dancing. You heard the gasps when you sang the response. No one had been expecting you to know the words, having been raised on Midgard. You caught a glimpse of Frigga as you twirled in the steps of the dance with Loki. She was so overjoyed by the pair of you.

She actually came out on the floor to the pair of you when the dance had ended. "That dance was lovely, darlings." Loki smiled warmly and hugged her, kissing her hair.

"Thank you, Mother," he replied as he let her go. "For everything." She reached up and touched his cheek fondly. No more words were needed between them.

Frigga left much later that evening after a final goodbye to her sons. You actually got her to stand with them so you could take a picture of the three of them. You had to show her the picture on your phone and she was delighted to see the Midgardian technology.

You danced that night with not only Loki, and Thor, but other members of the court who claimed you for a dance. Unfortunately, they also claimed that they needed to provide you with a drink. Loki saved you from as many as he could, reminding them you were raised on Midgard, but he couldn't save you from everything. You had a higher tolerance than a human or you would've been down for the count early in the evening. As it was, it seemed the goal of the evening was to get both you and Loki as drunk as possible. At least that seemed like the game. Especially when the liquor that had gotten nicknamed Excelsior came out. Even Thor tried to protest that, but cups of the stuff were forced into your and Loki's hands. You knew it was a stupid decision, but you were already tipsy enough not to care. You touched your glass to Loki's. He grinned at your silliness, tapped your glass with his and you both downed the clear liquor which didn't have a taste you could identify, but somehow tasted like the warmth of a campfire and the light of a summer's afternoon.

After a final dance, Loki finally took pity on you. "I think you have had enough excitement, witchling," he told you when you swayed one too many times during the final dance. You were pleasantly warm and very, very drunk.

The crowd cheered when Loki lifted you off of your feet and over his shoulder despite your shriek of protest. The court had succeeded in their game and propriety was apparently to be damned.

"Loki, I'm fine. You can put me down," you protested, squirming to try to get him to set you down, or at least carrying you more comfortably.

"You are no such thing," he replied firmly. He waved to Thor, who saluted Loki back with his mug of ale.

"What happened to propriety?" you asked him grumpily, accepting your fate since you couldn't think clearly enough to come up with a way out of it.

"No longer a concern," he replied pleasantly. You'd have to ask him why when you were more coherent. "If you don't try to stab me, I will carry you more comfortably." That sounded like a good idea. "Also, kindly do not try to use magic. The results under that much alcohol are not pleasant, and Mother will be displeased if the family wing gets blown up again." You giggled at that image. He shifted you so you were cradled in his arms instead of draped over his shoulder. You wisely did not stab him for insisting on carrying you, even though you were perfectly capable of walking yourself. The world spinning had no relevance on the fact that you could walk on your own. None whatsoever.

Loki took you to his suite instead of yours. "Loki, my room's over there," you gestured across the hall.

"Yes, very wise, darling, however, this suite is mine. You are in no shape to be on your own." You didn't have an argument for that. He set you on your feet next to his bed.

"Why aren't you drunk?" you whined at him. You were very mature while drunk. Not at all silly or extra cuddly. Not at all.

"Because I am a thousand years older than you and have been drinking that stuff all of my life. It takes more than a glass of the Excelsior and a few cups of mead to take me out, in case you've forgotten," he explained patiently as he turned you to help you out of your dress. You remembered that you were supposed to protest, but couldn't remember why. His hands were gentle and soon the dress was sliding down your body. "Don't fear, witchling," he bid you softly when it got through your drunk brain that you were naked in front of him. He helped you pull one his tunics over your head to wear as pajamas, perfect gentleman that he was he would never take advantage, and you were in no shape to consent to anything more than a goodnight kiss. You were confused why he didn't just use magic to change both of your clothes, but realized he was probably tipsier than he wanted to admit, and was keeping his own advice of not mixing magic and alcohol.

It seemed an instant later that you were tucked into his bed. He joined you a moment later and let you lay your head on his chest so you could fall asleep listening to his heartbeat.