Of Gods and Memories (LokixFemaleReader) [COMPLETED]

22

I swim up from the depth of memory slowly, gasping for something real to hold onto like it's air and I'm drowning. The first thing I notice is the light. It's dim and has a slightly violet tinge as it streams through a window to my left, casting a glow over a fluffy looking rug and a dark wood bedside table. On the table is an old-fashioned lamp, one that uses a candle instead of electricity and under it is a stack of two books, both covered in dust.

Everything is quiet. Completely still but for the occasional faint snatch of conversation drifting through the window and the evening chirps of birds. I roll onto my back, staring up at green silk drapes overhead, and realise that I'm in an elaborate four-poster bed with silk curtains and everything, golden tassels hanging ready to fasten them.

"Shit," I mumble, sitting up and looking around the room in further detail. Aside from the bed, the rug and the bedside table, the only furnishings is a window seat and a cupboard on one wall, both made from the same dark wood. Everything is green, gold, or wood in here, apart from the sheets which are purest white. The whole place smells like dust a little, especially the bed.

I get up, walking carefully over to a doorway in the wall and poking my head around it. Again, everything is green, gold, and dark wood in here. It's a living room with two chairs and a coffee table, an oddly contrasting bean-bag in one corner and a great abundance of pillows and blankets heaped over it with string lights fixed to the wall. It looks like the perfect place to curl up and read, and with a start I realise that's exactly what it is. It must have been something I saw on Midgard and brought here. In fact, the more I look around, the more I see random pieces of decor from Earth, all through different eras. An enamel toaster sitting in the corner, a section of the wall covered in cut-outs from a magazine, a stop sign next to the toaster as well as a vinyl record, and some of the blankets look to be straight out of the 70s. 

Again, all the memories come flooding back at once and I have to steady myself on the doorway to keep from stumbling. I know that through the next doorway is a complete bathroom, all black tile and gold fixings with one strangely out of place shower next to a very old sink and a claw-footed bath tub. I know that if I look out the window I can see the gardens below, no doubt filled with white roses and other fragrant flowers. I know that if I open the cupboard in the bedroom I'll find a mixture of Loki's green and gold and black leather outfits and my own scavenged Midgardian things shoved haphazardly together.

"Ah," I jump at the voice, spinning to see a servant in the doorway smiling at me. "You're awake," he continues, and I realise it's Loki.

"What the hell happened?" I ask, looking around.

"You passed out," he informs me, "and I carried you into the bedroom."

"Fuck," I mutter.

"Are you alright?" he takes one of my hands in his, searching my face.

"Yeah," I say, "can you like... change back? Feels weird when you're not you."

"No," he smiles, "what if someone came in here?"

"You're dead," I point out.

"Thor will have told father about New York," he counters, "everyone probably knows I'm alive by now."

"Please?" I do my best puppy-eyes face, and he rolls his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making you feel sorry for me so you do what I want."

With a flash of green and a sigh, Loki stands back in his normal form before me. He raises his eyebrows, as if waiting for me to say something.

"Perfect," I grin, then glace down at myself to check if I'm changed back too. I am, which is a relief. It felt remarkably uncomfortable to look down and see another person. "What do we do now?"

"Whatever we want, I suppose," Loki shrugs.

"Oh yeah! Nobody knows we're here, we've got the whole fucking palace to fuck up."

"We'll have to be careful," Loki frowns, "people could still discover us."

"I don't think anyone's coming in here," I frown, "doesn't look like they have in ages."

"Someone's going to investigate as soon as they hear you."

"Hear me...?" I frown again, then realise why he's smirking so hard. "Fuck you, Loki."

"Well that would undoubtedly lead to us being discovered," he says.

"Can you just change me back for a minute?" I ask, "I wanna go down to the kitchens and see if all my stuff's where I left it."

It is. Everything under the boiler where I used to go to sleep when I wasn't in Loki's rooms for whatever reason is still perfectly in order. The scrappy old pillows and ragged blanket are as messy as always, the half-melted candles still stuck to the floor and "walls" and the bits and pieces of treasure I keep are still here. I trail my finger over a brooch of my mothers, a little knife, a box full of pretty rocks and piece of glass and a bundle of things from Midgard like electric wires, a pair of earphones and an old CD. I crawl back out of the little space, making my way quickly back to Loki's rooms.

I take every step on autopilot. Everyone I pass I feel like I'm about to be discovered and thrown into the prisons, but I force a smile at them and hope that I don't look too out of place.

I make it back to Loki's safely, glancing carefully around before slipping inside. People would think it's weird if a servant was seen going into a previously-thought-dead prince's rooms at night.

Said prince is sitting in his bed reading when I go into the bedroom. It's one of the books from the bedside table, and as I stand in the doorway he licks a finger and turns the page, completely oblivious to me.

I take off my clothes and go over to the cupboard, finding a pair of pyjamas and slipping them on. I notice that Loki's already changed, so I slide down beside him in the bed and rest my head on his lap.

"Wacha reading?" I ask softly.

"The Scarlet Letter," he answers vaguely, "you can see the cover from where you are."

"I can't see from here," I mutter, and he just shrugs. We stay like that for a few minutes, before he closes the book and places it back on the table.

"Is it any good?" I ask, peering up into his face.

"I like it," he thinks for a moment, "it's got themes which appeal to me."

"Hmm?"

"Sin and guilt, personal and public truth, wisdom through suffering, nature of evil, revenge and retribution..." he trails off, catching my smile. "What?"

"Nothing," I move my head off his lap and pat the pillow beside me. "You gonna sleep sitting up?"

"No," he shuffles down beside me, "I'm sleeping right here where I can see you."

"You'll have your eyes closed," I sigh.

"Only when I'm asleep."

"I don't know if that's romantic or creepy."

"I wasn't trying to do either."

"Go to sleep," I mumble tiredly, stifling a huge yawn.

"Ok," he whispers, gently kissing my cheek, "goodnight darling."