[Fic] Missing
Nov. 17th, 2006 01:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Missing
Fandom: Mythology/Arcana
Characters: Loki, the Warrior (Sharan)
Word Count: 1,028
Rating: PG
Summary: Loki and Sharan fic, not that any names got into it. A reunion. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
analise's prompt.
"He's not going to last, you know."
She didn't have to look around to know who had managed to get through the soldiers at the front entrance, the spies around the back. Or who was talking to her in that voice that was amused and irritated all at once. It had been several years since she'd heard it last. She wondered if he had kept track.
"Why do you say that?" Her hands didn't stop moving over the wet clay, smoothing it out, another meaningless vase in a long series of meaningless vases. It kept her hands occupied.
"He's not clever enough. Not quick enough. Someone's going to take advantage of that boy…" He paused halfway across the room, moving towards her. "Oh, wait. That's you."
Still she didn't turn around. "Did you want something?"
"Just thought I'd stop by and pay a visit."
His voice was nonchalant and she couldn't see the expression on his face but she was certain it was equally blank. He wouldn't let her know that anything was bothering him. Not yet, at any rate.
Now she did turn around to look at him. Sure enough, no expression, and he had moved back to lean against one of the pillars at the edge of the atrium, hands folded behind his back. As though nothing in the world was wrong. But something had driven him back to her, or reminded him of her, and she wasn't entirely sure she didn't want to know what it was.
"You don't ever just stop by and pay a visit," she said after a moment to look at him. "Even when there's no reason behind it there's always something that made you think…"
Of me, she would have said. And his eyes widened a little, he leaned off the pillar just a finger's width to hear her ask that, but she didn't. Something had gone wrong with one of his plans somewhere, and he had come back here to recover. If he was waiting that intently for her to say that he thought of her, for her to want him to think of her, something had gone wrong.
She looked back down at the vase that had collapsed back into a shapeless lump of wet clay. There wasn't anything more to be done with it today, not when her concentration was going to be constantly interrupted by his fretting at the edges of her atrium.
"Give me a moment," she murmured, wrapping it back up in a soft cloth and rinsing her hands in a bowl.
His fingers curled around hers after a moment, distorted by the water. Covered by the clouds of clay as their movement stirred up the sediment when she started to pull her hands away and was met with resistance. Well, a little dirt on her hands was the least of her worries. She slipped her fingers into his and pulled their hands out of the water to look up at him.
"What makes you say he's not going to last?" she asked again. It had something to do, she thought, with whatever had put that look in his eyes.
"They never do. And then they blame you for it. It's our fault if they die, if they get broken, if something bad happens. If something good happens, it's their doing."
He'd been talking to the All-Father again, she realized. Or, no, not talking to him, because if he'd been talking to him there would be scars and scrapes and he'd be angrier. But there had been something. She knew there had been something, and when she dried her hands on the towel and accidentally on purpose kicked the pottery table so that there was a loud sound and he jerked, she knew it had been bad.
Whatever else they had been to each other, and as variable as he could be in ways that infuriated her and made her realize that they couldn't last, they had still shared something. She wasn't willing to give that up.
Her fingers curled into his again and held on tight in response to his grip, harder for the space of time that she'd dried her hands.
"Will you tell me what happened?"
He shook his head. A little calmer, at least.
"All right."
She led him down the hall and towards her suite of rooms, ignoring the looks from the staff and slaves. It wasn't any of their business, and she would hardly be the first woman of the shadow of power to entertain a man while her husband was away. And if they believed that that was what she was doing…
Well, then she had probably done her work very well, if they thought that she was a woman living in the shadow of her husband's power and using him to achieve position and comfort in her life. This man, this work here was important, what she was leading him on to do. Not in the ways they thought. But this man, or creature in a man's shape, whom she was leading by the hand. He was even more important than that.
She tugged him into her room and down to the bed, sitting down on the bed because he wasn't up for much more than that yet. If he wasn't teasing her about being in her bedroom again after so long, he wasn't up for what followed. She rubbed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, trying for something like warmth in her hands which had so recently been in cold water. The warmth she wanted to instill in him would take longer.
His hands came up to her elbows, but his movements were still automatic and distracted. She leaned into his arms, into him, tucking her head to his shoulder and tracing the line of his jaw that had changed so little in the few decades since they'd parted ways for good. Less time than that since they'd seen each other.
"I miss you," he said after several moments, and it wasn't until he said that that she realized his arms had closed tight around her.
She sighed. "I miss you, too."
Fandom: Mythology/Arcana
Characters: Loki, the Warrior (Sharan)
Word Count: 1,028
Rating: PG
Summary: Loki and Sharan fic, not that any names got into it. A reunion. Written for
analise's prompt."He's not going to last, you know."
She didn't have to look around to know who had managed to get through the soldiers at the front entrance, the spies around the back. Or who was talking to her in that voice that was amused and irritated all at once. It had been several years since she'd heard it last. She wondered if he had kept track.
"Why do you say that?" Her hands didn't stop moving over the wet clay, smoothing it out, another meaningless vase in a long series of meaningless vases. It kept her hands occupied.
"He's not clever enough. Not quick enough. Someone's going to take advantage of that boy…" He paused halfway across the room, moving towards her. "Oh, wait. That's you."
Still she didn't turn around. "Did you want something?"
"Just thought I'd stop by and pay a visit."
His voice was nonchalant and she couldn't see the expression on his face but she was certain it was equally blank. He wouldn't let her know that anything was bothering him. Not yet, at any rate.
Now she did turn around to look at him. Sure enough, no expression, and he had moved back to lean against one of the pillars at the edge of the atrium, hands folded behind his back. As though nothing in the world was wrong. But something had driven him back to her, or reminded him of her, and she wasn't entirely sure she didn't want to know what it was.
"You don't ever just stop by and pay a visit," she said after a moment to look at him. "Even when there's no reason behind it there's always something that made you think…"
Of me, she would have said. And his eyes widened a little, he leaned off the pillar just a finger's width to hear her ask that, but she didn't. Something had gone wrong with one of his plans somewhere, and he had come back here to recover. If he was waiting that intently for her to say that he thought of her, for her to want him to think of her, something had gone wrong.
She looked back down at the vase that had collapsed back into a shapeless lump of wet clay. There wasn't anything more to be done with it today, not when her concentration was going to be constantly interrupted by his fretting at the edges of her atrium.
"Give me a moment," she murmured, wrapping it back up in a soft cloth and rinsing her hands in a bowl.
His fingers curled around hers after a moment, distorted by the water. Covered by the clouds of clay as their movement stirred up the sediment when she started to pull her hands away and was met with resistance. Well, a little dirt on her hands was the least of her worries. She slipped her fingers into his and pulled their hands out of the water to look up at him.
"What makes you say he's not going to last?" she asked again. It had something to do, she thought, with whatever had put that look in his eyes.
"They never do. And then they blame you for it. It's our fault if they die, if they get broken, if something bad happens. If something good happens, it's their doing."
He'd been talking to the All-Father again, she realized. Or, no, not talking to him, because if he'd been talking to him there would be scars and scrapes and he'd be angrier. But there had been something. She knew there had been something, and when she dried her hands on the towel and accidentally on purpose kicked the pottery table so that there was a loud sound and he jerked, she knew it had been bad.
Whatever else they had been to each other, and as variable as he could be in ways that infuriated her and made her realize that they couldn't last, they had still shared something. She wasn't willing to give that up.
Her fingers curled into his again and held on tight in response to his grip, harder for the space of time that she'd dried her hands.
"Will you tell me what happened?"
He shook his head. A little calmer, at least.
"All right."
She led him down the hall and towards her suite of rooms, ignoring the looks from the staff and slaves. It wasn't any of their business, and she would hardly be the first woman of the shadow of power to entertain a man while her husband was away. And if they believed that that was what she was doing…
Well, then she had probably done her work very well, if they thought that she was a woman living in the shadow of her husband's power and using him to achieve position and comfort in her life. This man, this work here was important, what she was leading him on to do. Not in the ways they thought. But this man, or creature in a man's shape, whom she was leading by the hand. He was even more important than that.
She tugged him into her room and down to the bed, sitting down on the bed because he wasn't up for much more than that yet. If he wasn't teasing her about being in her bedroom again after so long, he wasn't up for what followed. She rubbed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, trying for something like warmth in her hands which had so recently been in cold water. The warmth she wanted to instill in him would take longer.
His hands came up to her elbows, but his movements were still automatic and distracted. She leaned into his arms, into him, tucking her head to his shoulder and tracing the line of his jaw that had changed so little in the few decades since they'd parted ways for good. Less time than that since they'd seen each other.
"I miss you," he said after several moments, and it wasn't until he said that that she realized his arms had closed tight around her.
She sighed. "I miss you, too."