Chapter Text
Mother took to wrapping her daughter's thin wrists in a worn cotton scarf to hide the heavy metal chains from sight. While Father stood in front of them both, ready to bargain—not to save his daughter's life, but to save face in front of the Allfather.
Dagny sharply accused her daughter of not washing the blood from underneath her fingernails, though they knew Idona had not been given a basin to wash in since the incident.
"Disgraceful!" She hissed before wetting her thumb with her spit and wiping at the cut on Idona's lip. Idona flinched, but she couldn't physically pull away. There was no way out of this. Not now. Not after what she had done.
Dagny grabbed Idona's jaw and forced her to turn her head so she could clean the smudge on her daughter's cheek. A smudge that turned out to be a bruise.
"Absolutely disgraceful."
Idona bit back tears. It wasn't from shame—she wasn't ashamed of what she did—but from the harshness in which her Mother yanked her back and forth to polish her; like a silver spoon being presented as some offering.
It wasn't far from the truth.
"Stop meddling," Ivar's voice cut like an ax. It echoed in the otherwise empty throne room. Dagny paid him no mind. But she finished with her fussing by tucking hair behind Idona's ear. It wasn't kind. Not in the way a mother would fix her daughter's hair. The way a mother should.
Finally, they were led further into the throne room. That's when Idona's eyes found the Allfather—Odin—seated on his throne. Not in a way that was fatherly, not in the way Idona always imagined he would look, but in a way that made him appear like a judge. She realized in that very moment that this was a sentencing. Whether she would be given mercy or not, that was the ultimate question.
The guards that brought them forward left their side the nearer they came to the throne. Odin watched them steadily with his one eye. His silver hair reminded Idona of the blade of a sword, and the ice of a Jotunheim storm. His stare just as harsh.
Idona let her eyes float downward immediately, this time to flicker over to the gorgeous woman in a silk, deep violet gown with silver and gold trim. She wore her blonde hair like a crown, and the faintest hint of sympathy on her face. Idona found herself breathing a little easier at the sight of it.
Before Dagny or Ivar could open their mouths, Odin spoke.
"Why cover her chains? Do you feel chastened for the actions your own daughter has committed?"
His voice was almost soothing. Perhaps it was the fact that he spoke to her parents and not to her directly that made Idona's shoulders relax. Her neck felt tight. But she wouldn't dare stretch in view of the Allfather. For a moment she let her eyes jump back up to the woman in violet—Frigga—and it both surprised and chilled her to realize the Queen of Asgard was looking right at her.
"Idona alone bears the weight of her disgrace," Ivar said. "Your Highness—our shame lies only in sharing her blood."
Idona felt the bite in Father's tone, but she was numb to it. She had heard it all before. Somehow that day it felt worse. To know she had only been saved from execution in order for her parents to gain favor with the gods.
Frigga began to glide closer, her hands clasped calmly in front of her. "She does not appear as dangerous as the stories tell," Frigga mused aloud. She spoke with a certain softness that paralleled the gentle rustle of her gown. A sound so out of place among those who both hated and disapproved of Idona.
Ivar, who had stepped aside in a gesture of begrudging respect, gave a small bow of his head to acknowledge the Queen; stepping further from Idona to give Frigga a clearer view of the young woman before her.
At Idona's side, Dagny stood stiff, eyes narrowed, calculating whether or not Frigga said what she had as a question or a mere statement.
"She was poisoned—blinded by her own rage," Dagny commented.
Ivar stepped in. "She was not raised to be insolent. She's tainted this bloodline's honor."
Frigga's eyes flickered from Ivar's to Dagny's, not moving an inch, as if she couldn't be bothered to turn for either of them.
"I'll be damned if I let it go any further than what it's become," Dagny finished, her tone low and careful.
Idona swallowed, her lips were dry and cracked but she was used to it. Used to the inability to use her own words to fight for her case. Against her own flesh and blood. With a slow intake of breath, Idona chose not to be silent anymore. She had gone to the extremes to take her life back, she couldn't just stop there. But when her lips parted to speak—someone else did instead.
"I expected to find a dragon!"
All eyes turned to the figure emerging from the shadow of a column. Dressed in a deep green and black detailed tunic, his hair smoothed back and cropped short just below his ears—a smirk curled at his lips and would drive any number of people insane.
"With fire and brimstone in her eyes," he finished. He wandered closer, hands clasped behind his back. His sharp green eyes observed the woman in chains before Odin and Frigga. Her raven dark hair tightly twisted in a braid settled along her spine—unkempt, like she had spent many a night desperate for sleep. Her skin looked like white porcelain—a doll on display. He eyed the scarf meant to hide the chains that weighed her wrists and caused her shoulders to droop. Then his gaze traveled upward to her face. He saw the bruise, he saw the cut at her lip, and he saw her eyes—for the briefest of moments.
Idona had spared a seconds glance his way, then retreated from his prolonging stare. It frustrated her deeply to be interrupted in the moment she herself wanted to speak to the Allfather. Cut off and dragged back to her pit of placidity—whether content or not.
Would she ever have the chance to speak for herself?
"This does not concern you, Loki," Odin said, his fingers curling into the armrests of his throne. "I suggest you leave us to these proceedings at once."
Loki didn't stop. Oh no, he was far too intrigued by this mortal, dressed in peasants clothes and presented as some sort of offering on her parents behalf. Loki's eyes found the father's, and narrowed. Scrutinizing—a wistful smirk still plastered on his face. He enjoyed the sight of a mere mortal man, squirming under his eye.
"Do you find it as amusing as I do?"
Ivar resisted the urge to glare at him. What about this was amusing to him? He blinked a couple of times before saying: "I beg your pardon?"
Loki chuckled, starting to circle the three mortals, like a predator approaching his prey. "Amusing," he repeated. "You speak as if you're here only to preserve the reputation of your lineage—"
"Loki," Frigga tried to interrupt, her voice steady and calm. "Let us tend to this matter."
"—yet you stand there like you don't believe the damage can be reversed."
"Loki," his mother warned again.
"How dare you suggest—" Idona's father tried.
Loki tilted his head to the side—grinning. "I don't suggest a thing," he said, his eyes roaming back over to Idona. She held her head high, but never once making eye contact with anyone.
"I'm stating a fact," Loki continued. He stepped around Ivar, his curiosity controlling each stride. "Attempting to disguise a murderess—" he grabbed the cotton scarf hiding Idona's chains, and took it away with a flourish "—though the walls themselves know the crimes she's committed."
Idona froze.
Loki stood like a giant over her frail figure. "Are you ashamed of your actions?"
Idona almost looked at him. Almost. She was taken aback…
He asked her a question. And though she didn't want to meet his gaze, she started once again to open her mouth.
"Of course she's ashamed!" Dagny cut in, sharp toned, teetering on desperation. So much so that Loki started to chuckle. "The wretch is here to beg for mercy she does not deserve!"
"Madam," said Frigga, standing beside Loki. "Raising your voice will not hasten these proceedings."
Ivar clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. His blood boiled, and without another thought he stepped forward, closing the distance between he and Frigga. Daring to get into the face of the Queen of Asgard.
"We are desperate to wipe her misdeeds off our hands!" Ivar shouted, jabbing a shaking finger into Frigga's face. But the Queen lifted her chin, meeting the daring man's glare head on, ever composed. "Do you not see the monster she's become?"
"Fool," Loki growled, sliding between his mother and Ivar like a stone wall. A storm of green in his eyes. "Have you not dug your grave deep enough already?"
"You have no say here!" Shouted Ivar.
"I want it taken care of!" Dagny snapped.
Suddenly, Odin's voice cut in over the chaos that echoed against the throne room walls. "Young lady."
Silence settled over them all. Heads turned slowly towards the Allfather—no longer sitting on the throne, but standing. Speaking directly to Idona. Idona—her strength to remain on her feet wavering—finally lifted her eyes to Odin.
"Young lady, have you anything to say in your own defense?"
Idona paused. She waited for her mother to jump in and answer for her. Or her father to say something in favor of mending his reputation. Neither spoke. But all eyes were trained on her. It made her even more uneasy. What if she said the wrong thing? Would she be executed? Would this be her final opportunity to speak for herself? Could they all sense she truly bared no shame for what she did?
All the blood drained from her face. She felt ill. Yet she inhaled evenly and opened her mouth for a third time.
"I—" a lump in her throat cut her off instead. She swallowed three times before she could continue. "My lord, I'm afraid…" her voice came out barely louder than a whisper.
"Why, my child?" asked Frigga.
Idona swallowed again, lifting her head higher, rolling her shoulders back as she made the choice to commit. Yes she had killed him. And she didn't care.
"I'm afraid I cannot deny my actions. I have no worth in my parents eyes." Idona didn't look at anyone—not her mother, not her father—except for Odin. "And I believe they have no right to use me as a token for the mending of their bloodline. If I am executed they cleanse the palette. They achieve the honor and status they desire.
If I had the right—the ability to choose for my own sentencing—I would beg to live in servitude to you. That way they still live in shame of their own flesh and blood, and my life is spared."
Off to the side, Loki's eyes twinkled. There was something about the way she held herself that made him more curious for his own good. Curious for why she committed such a heinous crime and how she was able to hold her head high and her shoulders square.
Idona watched as Frigga walked up the steps to the throne, to her king. She started to whisper with him, and Idona felt her gut clench. Like someone had plunged their hand into her midsection, grabbed hold of her stomach and squeezed. She was certain this would be her last day alive. Breathing.
She focused her attention on the metal around each of her bony wrists. How it cut and rubbed against her skin, and rattled if she moved even a fraction of an inch. The scarf her mother had tied around them was gone, tossed aside by Loki. The only one in the room—besides Idona herself—who wasn't ashamed for her. As if he desired to know…
After moment after moment of sheer tension. The desperate wonder for what would happen next built and built within each of them. Each knew there were two choices from which Odin would choose.
Execution.
Or servitude.
Idona's parents begged for her to be penalized and given death. While she begged for a sliver of mercy. But not for her parents. They deserved no mercy. Not from her, not from the Allfather.
She stood there, feeling like the floor would give way beneath her feet. Wanting the Bifrost to swallow her whole. And if not her, then her parents. They didn't even deserve that title.
Odin spoke first.
"Idona—daughter or Ivar and Dagny," he began. Slow. Steady. Idona wished he would sentence her quicker. Get to the end so she could let go of this breath she held onto.
"From this moment forward you will be known to all as Idona—betrothed of Loki, Son of Odin, Prince of Asgard."
Loki's head snapped to the side.
Idona's heart nearly stopped.
"What?"
They spoke in unison. Shock rooted them both to the floor. Idona's already drained face lost what little color it had left, while beside her, Loki's lunged filled with a breath so deep, she could hear it and she wondered what went through his mind in that split second.
Mother and Father were in hysterics. Ivar shouting at the Allfather for the "unfairness" of his decision. Dagny grabbed Idona's arm and threw her to the ground in front of them, screaming. Idona hit the floor hard, already feeling bruises form beneath her skin at her shoulder, her elbow. A hard knot under her hairline from where her head met the ground.
"You harpy!" Dagny screeched. "I should have drowned you the moment I birthed your carrion ass!"
"Control yourself woman!" Odin's voice boomed.
Murderous rage filled Ivar's vision. His blood boiling in his veins. He wasn't about to let Odin make the choice of whether this bitch who wore his skin, live to see the sunset.
He lunged at his own daughter, hands ready to strangle her. He straddled the young girl, who was unable to defend herself, and was still stunned from having been tossed to the floor like a used, dirty rag.
In Ivar's moment of pure rage, Idona saw what she must've looked like when she committed her murder. She saw the red hatred in her own father's eyes. Her hands came up to try and protect herself, but her chained wrists gave her little to no defense. Ivar's hands grappled for purchase around her scrawny neck.
Idona saw spots almost immediately—the oxygen stole from her lungs. Not just from the pressure on her throat, but from the sheer force at which her head was spinning. All at once she had been named betrothed to a prince, and almost killed by the hands that conceived her.
"ENOUGH!" Shouted Odin. But Ivar was so lost that he didn't hear.
Dagny did nothing to save her daughter. No… she was for her husband's actions. She was gleefully clapping her hands, yelling through rage filled tears to make him kill Idona.
Loki—though still stunned himself—leapt into action the second Ivar throttled Idona. Dagny was on Loki's arm trying to stop him from saving who was now his betrothed.
Frigga rushed down the stairs behind Odin's hurried steps. She had seen mortals do idiotic things before. But this was among the worst of them all.
Loki wrenched Ivar off of Idona and threw him to the floor a good five feet away from them, tossing Dagny off his arm in the same throw. He caged Idona under his body, unknowingly. He glared daggers at Ivar and Dagny all while Idona caught her breath beneath him, gasping and choking on air.
Odin barked at them all to stop. In fact…he went further than that. "You would slay your daughter in my sight?" He stormed over to where Ivar tried to get back onto his feet.
"Allfather," Dagny tried, despair in her voice while she wobbled on her shaky legs. "Please, I beg of you."
"SILENCE!" Odin's staff hit the floor and echoed like thunder in the empty hall. "By my word, your name is now struck from the halls of Asgard! Your line is cut off! You house is fallen!"
Dagny clutched at her own throat as if she too had been throttled, nearly choked to death and was now desperate for breath. Ivar began to hyperventilate, kneeling on the cold marble floor before Odin.
Guards hurried forward at Frigga's beckoning. Ivar and Dagny were grabbed by the arms and forced to their feet, starting the long drag out of the throne room.
"NO! PLEASE!" they screamed. Begging for their honor to be spared.
"Father," Loki said, but his voice was lost in the next sentence out of Odin's mouth.
"Your daughter is now of Asgard! Protected by its throne, bound to the name of Loki. You shall never hear her name spoken again. She bears a new name in the eyes of the Norns—etched in the roots of Yggdrasil! And you shall not know of it for the rest of your cursed lives!"
"Father… I think you're making a—"
Odin gave Loki a sharp glare, silencing his own son. Frigga nodded lightly, assuring Loki this was final. This was for the good of them all, and entirely out of Loki's control. Whether he argued or not.
Tears streamed down Idona's cheeks as she lied there beneath Loki. She didn't attempt to watch as the guards hoisted her mother and father out of the room kicking and hollering. All Idona saw was the jaw of Loki—her betrothed—who watched Odin as his father continued to denounce Ivar and Dagny.
"You shall never set foot in Asgard again! And if you do, I will strike you where you stand! Your very breath will not disgrace this realm again."
The doors slammed shut. Cutting the strings that once attached Idona to her parents. Severing the ties that once weighed her to the bottom of the ocean of their disdain. Idona's body relaxed on the floor. Releasing every bit of tension that had been locked inside her for years. She hadn't realized it until Loki glanced down at her. He was quick to remove himself from atop her.
"What have you done?"
Odin finally turned to his son. But said nothing.
Frigga bent at the knee to bring Idona into a sitting position. The motion made Idona dizzy. But the touch of someone who wanted to help her was welcome in the aftermath of what had just occurred. Her breath was quick, and her heart pounded against her ribs. What had occurred? It all happened so fast it all seemed a blur in her mind. She couldn't convince herself to even attempt to remember anything. She didn't want to save the memory. It wasn't worth keeping.
The Queen brushed dark hair off of Idona's forehead and smiled at the young woman. "You are free, child. Breathe easy. You've done well."
Odin stepped around Loki, dismissing his son's query. Loki rolled his eyes to the ceiling before shutting them and pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief.
"Father—" Loki said, but again, was interrupted.
"You will no longer be known as Idona," Odin's voice came down several octaves since the denouncing of her parent's bloodline, and took on a kinder tone to match Frigga's gentle touch. "From this moment forward you shall be called Ylva. For I see your strength. You're a wolf with no pack, and that strengthens you."
Ylva. A name she felt unworthy of. Yet… she accepted without contest. She heard the name and knew it severed her from her past life. It was relief she felt settling in her bones, her chest. Her head throbbed from the impact of being thrown. Fresh, hot tears, flooded her eyes, no longer lit from the fear that once flickered within her. A deep sensation of relief that rushed through her veins.
Frigga smiled gently at Idona. "Dry your eyes now, dear," she said, cupping her cheek.
Idona flinched. A small gasp escaped her lips. She couldn't remember when she had started crying, only that the tears hadn't stopped flowing since.
Loki's fist clenched at his side, his jaw tightening as he watched his mother guide his newly betrothed to her feet, though unsteady.
"Father, I don't understand," Loki once again started to grasp for answers, but was cut off.
Odin turned sharply, glaring at him with his single eye. A look that silenced Loki swiftly—but not fully. His brow furrowed in vexation.
Idona was left on the cold marbled floor—Ylva was the one who stood. Each of them saw it. Felt it.
"I don't understand why you would—"
"Enough, boy!" Odin roared, causing Ylva's shoulders to hunch, curling away from his deafening volume.
"I have made my decree!" He stepped closer to Loki—who held his ground, eyes burning with barely controlled defiance—and lowered his voice. "Do not speak again until your mother has secured your bride in her chambers."
Loki's jaw ticked, his eyes flickering past Odin's shoulder to Frigga who started to guide Ylva down the aisle toward the doors at the end. Frigga's hands hovered, one at her back and the other near Ylva's still chained wrist. Loki watched the hem of her stained dress drag behind her with each careful step. He took in the way her braid hung limp, snarled and frizzy. He knew deep down this would be the last time she appeared to him in such a disheveled state. The next would be when the dirt was washed from her pale skin, and dressed in the Aesir's finest gowns.
He was terribly desperate to understand why. Why would his father choose to arrange a marriage between him and this mortal woman? Was this punishment? And if so, why Loki? Out of the two sons of Odin, was he chosen just because he was there when the decision was made?
As he watched, Ylva turned at the last moment, meeting his gaze over her shoulder with something one might call indifference, but Loki saw a glimmer—if only—of amity.
The doors shut with a solid thud. Sealing him in with with his father. And finally, Loki took his chance.
"Explain to me what you've done!" Loki's voice echoed against each wall. "Why?"
"Why?" Odin repeated harshly. "Because you have to ask, Loki!"
Loki's eyes narrowed further, inhaling deeply through his nose to fight the urge to speak over his father.
Odin continued. "You lack the foresight to understand the decision that's been made."
Loki's mouth fell open. "The decision that's been made was done so without consulting either party! I have the right to know the answer to my question!"
"I know somewhere in your cold chest that you already know the answer."
Odin turned, his staff pounding the floor. The ultimate answer to Loki's why.
The chambers Ylva was shown to was enormous. The walls were a pristine, soft golden color, etched with the ancient spiraled art of the gods. A balcony overlooked Asgard, but Idona—Ylva knew it wasn't a view she would ever be able to see for what it truly was. Never looked at through her eyes; it didn't matter which name she beheld.
In the center of the room was a bed larger than she had ever known before. Adorned with down pillows and quilts that looked like they were spun from pure gold. Canopied with sheer, veil-like curtains that glittered in the setting sun.
The ceiling was painted in muted reds and yellows, browns and blues. Images of eagles, paintings of foxes, lions and wolves. Rain and snow. A scenery one might stare at for hours before falling into dreams alive with such creatures above head.
While she stared at the room before her, Ylva felt the chains come off her wrists. A guard had removed them as swiftly as they had been put on.
Frigga dismissed the guard and came to stand beside Ylva. Her hands were clasped in front of her, but not firm, not in an expectant way, just as calm and ethereal as she always had been.
"How are you feeling, my child?"
Ylva realized her cracked lips had been parted in awe for some time. She licked them quick and closed her mouth.
"You don't need to answer," Frigga said, her hand coming up to rest on Ylva's shoulder, but she paused before she touched the young woman. "I understand how overwhelmed you must be. I promise you that feeling will fade."
Ylva's eyes flickered down. Then up again to meet Frigga's gaze. What she found when she did was a look she hadn't seen once before. The look of a mother's.
It was warmer than she expected. A feeling that spread throughout her body starting from her chest, and reaching her toes. She felt tears burn her eyes. And though she tried to hold them in, she broke. She choked on sobs, her knees wobbled like she were a wooden puppet on strings. She collapsed to the floor in a heap. Back on the floor again, this time in the company of no one but Frigga and Idona—the woman of her past staring her down from the wood carved mirror.
Frigga followed her to the floor. This time she braced Ylva, placing her hand on her shoulder. The touch made Ylva's sobs worsen into moans of despair. But not for the life she left behind—for the future. Her future. A future paved for her walk along, beside Loki—Prince of Asgard.
Frigga knew. The turmoil Ylva now felt would have her—like the chains she was released from—until she herself would come to accept it. And instead of consoling her, Frigga took to explaining how Ylva would live now that she was of Asgard.
"You will have handmaidens," she said over Ylva's sobs. "They will be at your beck and call. They will help you wash, and dress. You will be fed generously, so eat well, my child." Frigga brushed a stray lock of hair out of Ylva's eyes, then touched her chin and tilted her face up. "You may not forget where you've come from, but know in time you will know your place among Asgard."
With Ylva still sobbing, her tears forming a puddle beneath her, Frigga beckoned over two handmaidens who were to be Ylva's. The girls gently took Ylva by the arms and guided her to the washroom.
Ylva stood at the basin, watching as they carefully scrubbed the blood from under her nails. Ylva watched through blurred vision as his blood tinted the water that putrid red color. She saw the bruises that those chains caused her wrists, and the rust they left behind.
Before she knew it she had been bathed thoroughly and dressed in a simple, yet elegant nightgown. Her bare feet once covered in dirt, padded slowly across the floor to the vanity where she sat as her handmaidens undid her long dark braid. They began to untangle the mess of knots and twists, combing through each strand while Ylva watched in the reflection.
Ylva tilted her head from one side to the other. Even her face was clean. Her bruise looked more prominent without the guise of dirt. Her lip more swollen without the dribble of blood in the corner of her mouth.
She held her hands up. Slowly turning them to look at her nails; the crevasses which were devoid of the blood that had stained each one a mere thirty minutes ago.
"Ylva," she spoke to the mirror.
"Ylva," she said more firmly.
It sounded so wrong coming from her own lips. She wondered how it would have sounded coming from her parents. She tensed immediately at the thought. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking their image from her mind. She had left them behind with Idona.
To stop the thoughts from springing up again, she imagined Frigga saying the name in her soft, comforting tone. The almost fatherly voice of Odin… and maybe, for a moment, she heard Prince Loki speak it. A chill ran through her, but she brushed it off like it were a spider crawling up her arm.
The chill transformed into a soft, warm feeling; the touch of the brush being combed through her long black hair calmed every thought within her. She'd never experience such a sensation. The gentlest massage that made her scalp and neck tingle with sweet relaxation.
She pressed her now moisturized lips together, feeling the smoothed skin as a balm to her racing thoughts. "Ylva…" she whispered, her eyes closing while she let her new name ring tenderly throughout the chambers she now called her own.
A name she wished—on each and every star outside her balcony—would become her own... Though for now it felt so foreign, she was no longer Idona—daughter of Ivar and Dagny. No longer Idona—the murderess.
She was Ylva—she-wolf—betrothed of Loki—the trickster god.
Ylva—daughter of Asgard.