Home (LokixReader pt. 13)

“What is it?” you asked, timidly touching the gleaming cloth. It was the exact colour of gold, lighter than air though it looked rich and heavy, and flowed like water.

“Sunsilk,” Loki smiled, holding the gown out for you to examine. He had told you it was an Asgardian court gown, quite in style, and perfect for the triumphal return of a princess. “The clothmakers of Asgard weave the sunlight into the richest fabric in the Nine Realms. I brought it with me when I came to Midgard to find you. Do you like it?”

You stroked the fabric, awed by the way it shimmered and fairly glowed with light, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Nor shall you anywhere else,” he said casually, “sunsilk can only be woven on Asgard. Once you are queen, you shall wear no other fabric but the finest in the Nine Realms. Sunsilk, starsteel, seasatin, moonvelvet, only the finest for the queen of Asgard.”

You took the gown from him and held it in your arms, marvelling at the flowing grace of the fabric. Without a pause, you turned away from him, and pulled your shirt off, desperate to feel the buttery sunsilk against your skin. You pulled your jeans down, kicking them off and held the dress out, realising that with the deep sleeveless keyhole neckline, the straps of your bra would be left bare along with your shoulders. Almost immediately, you felt Loki’s cool fingers brush against your shoulder blades, unhooking your bra and pulling it away, dropping it to the side. You gasped slightly, pulling your arms in instinctively to cover your breasts. Then, you forgot the fact that his hands were rubbing your shoulders when you felt the sunsilk against your bare skin. Loki’s arms slid around you, pulling the gown over your head.

The golden chain holding the neckline together was cold on your skin as it settled around your neck and the full skirt swirled down from your hips. The keyhole of the neckline plunged past your navel, flashing the skin of your stomach. The sunsilk against your skin was like nothing you had ever felt before. Smooth, silky, lighter than air, flowing like water. The only weight to the gown was the golden brooch at your throat, as for the rest, only the soft brush of the folds of the skirts reminded you that you had any cloth on your body. You fingered the golden cloth that covered your chest and a click of his fingers conjured a mirror before you. His hands combed through your hair, some of it falling over your shoulder, framing your face prettily.

He leaned in close to you, his face next to yours, and locked eyes with you in the mirror. “You look almost a princess.”

“Almost?” you smiled teasingly, dazzled by the rich gown. His lips quirked into a smile and his hand slid across your hips, drawing a sash of sunsilk the colour of copper around your waist. He pulled you closer against him to secure the sash with a glittering brooch. The sash was slung loosely around your hips and the ends fluttered perfectly to your ankles. He drew a circlet, braided gold set with flashing rubies, from nowhere and placed it delicately on your head, then turned you around to face him.

“You look like you,” you said quietly, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I thought you were going to be wearing a glamour.”

“And I will,” he said his thumb stroking your cheekbone as his eyes examined you before returning to rest on your face, “But not yet.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your eyes narrowing slightly, “I thought you were going to come with me, I thought you said you weren't going to leave my side—”

“Once you are queen,” he finished sharply, “This first part you have to do yourself.”

You opened your mouth, about to snap a retort, anger flashing in your eyes but he placed a cool, slender finger to your lips and shushed you slightly, “I have faith in you. You can do this. Don’t worry. I will not leave you alone for long. I will see you soon.”

“How will I know it is you?” you asked, fingers gripping his lithe shoulders, “If you wear a glamour?”

“You will know,” he said, ducking his head slightly to touch his forehead intimately to yours, “by my eyes. The only thing glamours cannot change are the eyes. What do the mortals say?”

“The eyes are the windows to the soul,” you whispered, smiling slightly and he chuckled.

“Exactly. Now, are you ready?”

“How will I know what to say?” you asked, frightened.

“You’ll know,” he said, “You took acting classes, yes? Consider this as an exercise in improvisation. Besides, you are an Asgardian by blood. Once you return home, you will feel it. And the words will come.”

You nodded and he stepped away, the magic crackling around his outstretched fingers. The energy danced across the room to swirl around you, encasing your body and blowing around you, catching your hair and pulling at the sunsilk skirts. The room around you blurred into nothing but tendrils of colour and the last clear thing you saw was his glittering green eyes. Then, dizzied by the spinning colours, you closed your eyes, only opening them when you heard a gasp of astonishment. Your eyes slid open and you beheld Asgard for the first time. You saw a long room, with a high, vaulted ceiling, and walls of gleaming gold which reflected the fires burning in the firepits. You saw gold-cloaked soldiers with spears pointed at you and a group of armoured warriors gathered around a long table spread with maps, staring at you.

“Who are you?” a blond man in green demanded, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, his mouth, surrounded by a goatee twisting into a frown, even as his eyes roved over your body in lewd interest.

“How did you get past the guards?” a rotund man with a wild auburn beard asked incredulously.

Slightly disoriented, it took you a moment for the words to process, and you looked around, drinking in the first sight of your home. You could feel it singing in your blood, home home home home home, could feel the city welcome back its daughter, and you inhaled the scents you thought you had forgotten but suddenly remembered as though you had been there yesterday. You felt a slight tingle and looked down at your hand to see the golden glow of the magical city spread across your skin like an iridescent sheen.

“Who are you?” the green-cloaked man asked again, louder, and your gaze twitched to him, you head snapping up from your examination of your hand. Your eyes roved over the gathered warriors, sharp and piercing, and you straightened, drawing yourself up impressively.

You announced your name in a voice that rang across the hall and, with a small smirk copied marvellously from Loki, said, “Daughter of Odin.”