Chapter Text
“This is all wrong.” Thor jutted out his bottom lip as he stared in the mirror, pushing upwards against the tip of his nose. “Why are my nostrils so wide?”
“The entire nose is wider, not just the nostrils.” Loki swatted Thor’s hands away from his face. “Stop fiddling with it, the magic hasn’t set yet.”
Thor huffed, pressing his face as close to the mirror as he could without touching it. They’d hidden themselves in one of their small offices to complete the masking spells before the banquet began, but Thor was being so terribly picky.
“Mother and Father will call for us in a moment. If Mother catches even a hint of magic on us, she’ll know we’re planning something and the whole night will be ruined before it begins.” Loki crossed his arms and perched on the edge of the desk—the desk he and Thor had been working at all afternoon, eyes going dry and grainy and they reviewed stack after stack of dossiers on the more prominent visiting delegates, learning names, homeworlds, resources of interest on those homeworlds, et cetera. If he had to learn one more tedious piece of trivia, he would forget how to be charming for their guests. He’d made the mistake of saying as such to Mother when she came to check on them earlier in the afternoon and earned a scowl that would have been more at home on Odin’s face.
Thor squinted, ignoring him completely. “What did you do to my eyes?”
“Barely anything. They merely arch downward at the corners now. And your brow is a bit lower and more prominent. And I added in a few crow’s feet. Also, your eyes are brown.”
“Yes, I can see all of that. I just don’t understand why you had to make me—” Thor jabbed a finger against the bridge of his nose, gasping when the entire thing folded to the side as if it were no more than clay. “Brother! Fix it!”
Loki rolled his eyes, swatting Thor’s hands away again and pushing him away from the mirror before setting to work adjusting the nose by hand. “I told you to stop fiddling with it. And I did explain that the goal of tonight is to be unidentifiable, which means less noticeable, which means less… conventionally symmetrical.”
“You didn’t say you would make us less handsome.”
“That is precisely what I said.”
Thor glared, voice petulant and nasally as Loki pinched his nostrils closed for a moment to realign the folded septum. “I look so common.”
“That is very much the point, brother. Even with Lofn lurking in the shadows ready to whittle away our futures, there are far too many wedding-hungry royals skittering through the halls. Even if they hear that the princes are betrothed, do you think that will stop them from chasing after, say, a duke? A viscount? A damn tax-collector, if they’re attractive enough and have a few royal connections.”
Thor lowered his gaze and Loki winced. He hadn’t meant to let so much venom needle its way into his voice, and he was irritated with his lack of composure. He hadn't expected his impending betrothal to bother him quite so much. It didn’t matter if the match was made by Lofn or if he was merely plucked out of the crowd by a delegate looking to forge a stronger bond with Asgard—in the end, he was being married off for his usefulness to the realm, not chosen for who he really was. It was a strange thing—an unwelcome thing—to be lonely in the face of a lifelong partnership. To be the Chosen Prince without a choice.
Loki sighed, reining in his anger, his impatience. None of this was Thor’s fault, and he did not deserve Loki’s ire. “The point is, there are more unwanted eyes on us than ever, and we cannot afford to draw attention to ourselves until we’re a safe distance away. If we look too… well, too much of anything, someone may try to rope us into a dry conversation or a treaty or some nonsense.”
Thor raised an eyebrow, seeming pleased with the change in topic. He was no more interested in the expectations of the night than Loki was. “Then why do you look like that?”
Loki glanced at himself in the mirror. Dark ashen-blonde curls framed a sharp, vulpine face, his own eyes a carefully selected shade of hazel that mixed in some of his own natural green with the nut-brown he’d chosen for Thor. The rugged bit of scruff he’d given himself had been an afterthought, but now, seeing the way the lighter hair grazed the slashes of his cheekbones, he decided he quite liked the look. He was handsomely distinguished, which was most certainly a departure from his usual devilishly handsome aesthetic.
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”
“You didn’t even change your nose!”
“I did! Look, I added a scar just here on the left side.”
“That’s barely a blemish, and you still look like a prince!”
Loki scoffed. “I wouldn’t say a prince. More like an incredibly dashing pirate.”
“Loki!”
“All right, all right. You know, we really don’t have time for this.”
“If you have time to argue, you have time to fix it.”
Loki chuckled dryly and finished molding Thor’s nose, adding a small bump in the bridge that indicated a break at some point in the past. It added a certain gravitas to his brother’s face. Then, he flicked Thor thrice on the forehead, each flick enacting a small change in the mask: the brow raised, the nostrils returned to a normal size (he had made them rather large for a bit of fun, but alas, he’d been called out), and a bit more symmetry was restored. Finally, Loki knocked Thor on the top of the head, and then his brother had the same ashen hair as Loki, albeit a shade darker, styled shorter, and without the curl. That signature belonged to Loki, thank you very much.
Thor rubbed his forehead with another pout, but when he looked in the mirror this time, he was pleased. “Better! This is much more rugged and less…”
“Common?”
Thor grinned sheepishly, then frowned again, gesturing at Loki’s face. “You’re still too… you. Do the—” He tapped his own forehead. “Make us look more similar. You said this would work better if we still played ourselves off as brothers.”
Ah. That he had. They’d agreed on a simple backstory—brothers working in the palace stables, a position that would indicate they were physically strong and from a family that had decent palace connections should anything go wrong tonight. Not that it would, but Loki had learned that it was best to be prepared, just in case.
Loki sighed, allowing Thor this victory. “Fine. I will be less myself.” This, Loki decided, was far better than admitting Thor was right. With a snap of his fingers (which earned him a sputtering objection from his brother), he lost some of the sharp angles in his face, taking on some of the fuller aspects he’d sculpted for Thor. He kept the scruff and the faint scar on his nose, which looked much like Thor’s nose but without the break. “There. Satisfied?”
Thor grinned, poking Loki in the cheek just as the magic began to set.
“Thor!”
“Now I’m satisfied.”
There was no more time for correction, however, as the knock came at the door. They both snapped to attention, Loki muttering a quick incantation to shift them back into their true faces just as the door swung open.
To their utter relief, a lone attendant offered them a bow. “The King and Queen are ready for you, your Highnesses.”
They followed the attendant out into the hall as Loki leaned in to whisper, “An hour to get through the welcome speech and the first round of introductions?”
Thor nodded. “Give or take. I’ll meet you at the window overlooking Mother’s garden.”
Anticipation fizzed in Loki’s chest, and he had his first taste of joy in days. The evening was young, the banquet starting before the sun had fully set. One hour of obligation and then the night was theirs to explore. They would make it a celebration for the ages. All they had to do now was avoid Lofn for that first hour, and they would be free.
As they rounded from one hallway into another, Thor clapped his palm against Loki’s chest, bringing them both to an abrupt halt. “Shit. Is that Lofn?”
“Shit.”
Sure enough, the old crone had parked herself between Odin and Fridda, each dressed in their golden finery for the evening. Lofn was dressed in simple robes, nary a hair out of place or a line of her decorative runes smudged. Just as Loki thought they might duck down an adjacent hallway out of sight, Frigga glanced in their direction, pinning them with a bright smile.
“Ah, here they are. Lofn, I am delighted to introduce our sons, Thor and Loki—Asgard’s next king and royal adviser. We’re so grateful you could come all this way to meet them. They’re eager to discuss the matters of the evening.”
“Ha!” Lofn arched a wry look over her shoulder, scanning Thor and Loki from foot to crown and back again. “No need for such empty flatteries, my dear. If they could tie me in the threads and leave me locked in a cupboard tonight, they would.”
Odin and Frigga both paled, horrified silence snapping across the hallway like a whip as they stared accusational daggers at Thor and Loki. At their horror, and at the twin gaping of the princes, Lofn tossed her head back and laughed, shuffling from Frigga to stand between Thor and Loki, slipping one arm into the crook of each of their elbows.
“The offense is minimal,” Lofn said. “Though you should thank me for my timely intervention, boys. Your beloveds are as stubborn as you are. Knots, I tell you! So many needless knots!”
A small entourage of palace coordinators approached with a bow, indicating that it was time for the king and queen to address the crowd. Odin and Frigga looked to their sons, no doubt hoping to dissuade them from disobedience once more.
“I have them,” Lofn soothed, patting the princes on the biceps. “You attend to your duties, your majesties. I’ll send them in after you in just a moment.”
Frigga and Odin glanced at each other, but they seemed to trust Lofn’s authority. With small, pointed smiles—a silent warning that Loki and Thor were to behave, no doubt—they made their way into the banquet hall, leaving the princes alone with the woman who had the power to strip them of their last freedoms.
Lofn caught their attention as she turned her palms upward, showing the princes a strange series of burns on her fingertips. She peered up at Loki, now wholly unamused. “You’re lucky I know the dye for influenza, child, or you would be bored out of your wits for the next year.”
The next year?
Loki stiffened against her touch as a cat did when water dripped on its back. She meant to bind him soon, then. Gods, how was this moving so quickly, before he could get out ahead of it? He needed to get away from the witch and out into the night, where he had control of his own destiny.
“You already know?” Thor asked, bewildered. “We thought you would at least need to talk to the patrons, conduct interviews—”
Lofn rolled her eyes, looking entirely put-upon. “The Fates spun the entanglement of your threads ages ago. I was merely called upon to ensure a timely braiding. The question that remains now is how much do you want to know before you enter that room?”
This was preposterous. Loki tried to catch Thor’s gaze, to communicate to him that they should act disinterested and get on with the evening. But Lofn, it seemed, had other plans. “Would it interest you, future king, to know you have a chance at a love match?”
It pained Loki to see the light spark in Thor’s eyes, a curious band of hope as golden as his hair. The fool—he still didn’t understand. It was all a ploy. It had to be.
“A chance.” Loki scoffed. “You’re toying with his emotions.”
Lofn froze him in a hard stare, pouring every ounce of silent scolding into her glare before looking back to his brother.
“I would need to speak with the guests tonight for a more accurately detailed assessment, that is true enough. But I know your love match is here this night, though there is yet a chance you will overlook her. You have certain expectations of a future bride that your future bride does not adhere to.”
Thor’s brow furrowed. “Is she… dangerous?”
There was a mischievous glint in Lofn’s eyes, one that caught Thor’s attention like a hook in a fish’s cheek.
Loki rolled his eyes.
“She is unlike what you imagine a bride to be. That is why you will fall for her so completely. Love so rarely takes the shape we expect of it, after all, and yet you seek it out so hungrily. You are a true romantic at heart, future king. Your heart shall be rewarded for its faith, I promise you this.”
She craned her withered face to look at Loki, and he did nothing to conceal the cold sneer creeping across his face.
She returned the look, exaggerating it greatly. “There is nothing I can tell you that you will not rebel against. Shall I send you off into the night to fend for yourself, doubtful prince?”
Thor looked properly horrified, reaching over with his free hand to poke Loki’s shoulder. “Be nice, brother,” he chided. “Lofn, do not mind Loki’s scowl. Please, tell him something of what he can expect from his match.”
“Thor,” Loki growled, but he found he was unnerved by the patient smile on the witch’s face. “I already told you, we are not all afforded love matches. I’m sure whatever spouse I am to be saddled with is a perfectly suitable specimen, but I have no intention of going out of my way to find them. After all, Lofn, you have already put in such hard work arranging our threads—why not let them weave as they are meant to?”
Thor poked him again, an embarrassed flush coloring his cheeks. “Please pardon my brother,” he said. “He does not share my hopes of a happy future marriage.”
“Nor did you mere moments ago, you oaf,” Loki said irritably. “But suddenly a strange old woman dangles the idea of a love match in front of you and you’re ready to race off to the altar?”
“I only mean we should be open to the possibility,” Thor argued back.
“Oh hush, future king. The prince has a point, just as he has a rather dour view of his own future. It is a pity, to see someone so young resigned to a life of masks. But I am aware of the purpose of masks, you know. I have worn them myself. Come here, petulant prince.” With an absurd strength, the old witch lunged up and grabbed Loki by the ear, dragging him down to her level. He squawked out a protest, only to have her slap a withered hand over his mouth as she whispered furiously.
“You like your privacy, boy. You want to be able to hide in case you are wrong. Well, you are wrong in this, but I will protect your fragile ego from the hopes and cares of your brother—your match is also here this night, and you can no more escape her than you can the gravity that anchors you to the ground. Look for eyes like the sea—in them, you will lose yourself, and you will not even be aware enough to stop it.”
She released him then, sending him staggering backward as if he’d been shoved. Thor reached to steady him, looking between Lofn and Loki with concern.
“Loki, what… Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he said, voice cold as he straightened his clothes. “I’m fine, brother. Lofn has just helpfully told me who to avoid tonight.”
She tilted her head. “Have I?”
Loki’s lips twisted into a slash of a smile. “My match has eyes like the sea. Eyes in which I will lose myself, apparently. I have no intention of losing myself to anyone, this night or any other. Let us see how many blue-eyed beauties I can avoid, shall we?”
Lofn gave him an odd smile, one that had Loki doubting whether his victory was as secure as he thought. “So sure of yourself, aren’t you, boy?”
“I am sure I will have nothing to do with whatever political match you think you’ve made for me. Damn you, and damn the sea.”
Her smile only widened, her amusement taking all of Loki’s puffed-up ire and knocking it aside. “You have made a great many assumptions about what I’m here for, petulant prince. Such a smart young man, so wrong in so many ways.” She shuffled past them then, patting Loki’s arm with alarming gentleness, making him flinch. “You’re lucky she’s a self-possessed woman. And you’re lucky I’ve already seen the look on your face on your wedding day. I don’t allow such insolence without the promise of being able to say I told you so.” She chuckled to herself, heading into the banquet hall. “Lovely, dark, and deep,” she sang to herself in an odd tune. “So lovely, dark, and deep.”
The princes stared after her as she immediately hooked left towards a buffet table, nimbly filling a plate before Frigga and Odin had concluded their welcome speech.
Thor sighed, clapping Loki on the shoulder. “Must you always be so… argumentative?”
Loki crossed his arms, eyeing the crowd suspiciously. “Yes.”
Thor patted him again, though Loki was all too aware of a certain eagerness that had crept into his brother’s gaze, and it deflated something inside his chest. It was bad enough that they were being paired off without their input or consent. It stung worse now, knowing that Thor’s interest had been piqued. That he would acquiesce to his prescribed future that much more readily, leaving Loki to fight the tide of matrimony on his own.
It relieved him somewhat when Thor finally met his gaze once more, smiling his overwide, troublesome smile. “An hour,” Thor said, “and then we’ll sneak out through the Mother's garden.”
“You still wish to go?”
Thor grinned. “Of course I do. This is our adventure, after all. If my love match is here tonight, she will be here tomorrow, as well. Besides, I expect my match to be a royal—it is more than likely now that I’ll meet my future queen outside the palace.”
That got Loki to smile. “As you wish, brother.”
Perhaps it was for the best—Thor could find his match outside the palace walls while Loki avoided his. All he had to do now was stay away from any women with blue eyes for the next hour.
Damn the sea, he thought again as he and Thor were summoned into the room. He waded into the crowd with no intention of losing himself to anyone, this night or any other.
It would not occur to him until much later that night—falling asleep with a warm pair of arms around him, a soft voice lulling him to sleep—that no one goes to the sea expecting to drown. Ah, but by the time the thought occurs to him, he will already have been pulled under, his heart already won.
Across the room, Lofn chuckles to herself, shaking her head fondly at the foolishness of the soon-to-be-besotted prince.