Chapter Text
A healer lives for the people.
Syn had heard it almost everyday since her powers had come in and it had become clear she would not only be a healer, but a powerful one. Once she'd learned to control her magic and weird it efficiently, the saying had become frustratingly true. Her life was not her own. She was told where to go, who to heal, when to eat and rest. Every moment was scheduled or observed. She had guards with her no matter where she went. She was the strongest healer of a generation and the line for using her powers was long.
Maybe all magic users felt this way. Pulled hither and yon by obligations and duties. Her brother, who controlled fire and thrived on the battle field, never seemed to mind his responsibilities. And the other noble girls of her station had their lives planned out before they came of age. At least Syn was in no danger of being married off. She wasn't from an important enough lineage to give to one of the higher lords but her powers were too important to be wasted on the lower nobles of her class. And so she hung suspended between the two, a beautiful bauble in a crystal cage, taken out when needed and hidden away again when not.
Today she was headed to the palace with her brother and two of his soldiers. A man-at-arms for the prince had been injured and mundane healing had only stabilized him. If he hoped to heal enough to fight again, Syn would need to help. Her brother, Boe, knew and liked the man, so had argued to escort her personally. While she might occasionally envy Boe his relative freedoms, she loved her brother and would have done this for him regardless of the king's wishes. They had spent most of their lives ensuring the other's happiness.
Asgard’s palace was big and gold and intimidating. They built them that way on purpose. “I’ll never get why they like living in here,” Boe commented.
Syn glanced up at the high ceiling as they walked through the main hall towards the infirmary. "It always feels so cold," she agreed. Their father's house was large, but their mother had decorated it to feel like a home. The palace sometimes felt like a prison.
In one of the infirmary’s private rooms, there was a cluster of people around the wounded man’s bed. Including the prince, who greeted her brother warmly. Syn could see a woman leaning on the far wall in elaborate silver armor, arms crossed over her chest, watching.
A Valkyrie, waiting to see if the man would die. Syn saw plenty of them, and learned long ago others could not see her. She never really understood why. She did understand why seeing Syn made the Valkyrie roll her eyes and sigh—the Valkyries likely all knew at this point that it meant they’d come all this way for nothing.
She hoped no one noticed the apologetic shrug she tossed the woman's way before stepping up to the sick bed.
The warrior was fair haired, with a sharp edged goatee and three large wounds in his chest. He was one of Prince Thor's men-at-arms, and had a reputation with the noble girls that even Syn had heard of. If she didn't manage to save him there would be a lot of weeping maids wearing veils and lining up to ride his boat to Valhalla.
Gathering her magic in her hands she placed them on his chest and pushed gold light into his body. It traced along his veins and nerves, closing ruptures and growing new flesh. The bright spark of his life flickered and flared and she deliberately wrapped some magic around it, fanning it to a bright flame as she closed up the last of his wounds.
"Does he want a scar?" she asked the gathered onlookers. Some warriors were very particular about their scars, seeing them as badges of honor. Others wanted them gone, as if to pretend they'd never taken a blow.
“Probably,” muttered one, who didn’t look like he ever smiled much.
“What kind of scars do women like?” asked another, who seemed polar opposite—jolly and rotund with an enormous beard. He turned to someone beside him and said, “You’re mostly a woman, what do you think?”
Since she was decked out in dirt and blood spattered heavy armor like the men, Syn hadn’t realized there was another woman in the room besides herself and the Valkyrie. Though she did know there was one among the prince’s warriors. Syn’s mother muttered about it sometimes.
“I think he’s too pretty for scars, if you must know.”
Privately, Syn agreed with her. Plus, the girls she knew would likely be put off at the three large scars on his chest. She push just a little more into him, smoothing the tissue out into smooth skin, save for a small crescent near his left pectoral. "I left him something to tell a story about.”
“Thank you,” Prince Thor said, sounding very sincere. “Very much.”
"You're welcome," she replied, aiming to sound equally sincere. She liked Thor, from the few interactions she'd had with him. He seemed genuine and friendly and clearly loved his men, which was more than she could say for his father, the king. Boe thought well of him, as well, and he was usually a good judge of character.
Her only complaint, if she had to find one, was that, like his house, Thor always seemed big and imposing. She supposed some women found it attractive. (Some men, too. Boe certainly never lacked for company.) But to her Thor just felt overwhelming and stifling. Like wearing a heavy cloak on a hot, sunny day.
Boe took her arm as she stepped away from the bed. "Are you all right?" he murmured, voice pitched low so the others wouldn't hear. Healing was draining and with mortal wounds she often found herself lightheaded.
She glanced to the wall the Valkyrie had been leaning on and found it empty. "I'm all right," she told her brother. "But I need some air.”
Boe rubbed her back a little, and then pointed. “I believe the gardens are right through there.”
She nodded and Thor gestured at the hallway. "Take all the time you need,"
Waving Boe's hand off, she headed for the hallway, following out onto a shaded lanai that lead down to the garden path.
The Queen's gardens were supposed to have one of every flower in the realms. Looking around, Syn believed it. Wishing she had her clippers with her, she plucked a few blooms, hoping she might be able to use them to add to her own garden.
She felt an odd hum of magic nearby. It felt a bit like a pull, and she moved closer to it almost unconsciously.
Her feet took her down a path lined with thorny bushed dotted with deep purple blossoms and blood red fruit. Magic hummed through her chest, vibrating her bones. It felt familiar and utterly foreign at the same time. It was stronger than any magic she'd felt, save her own. Even Boe's flame didn't hum this loud.
She took another step and instead of meeting packed dirt her foot met air and she was falling.
It was pitch dark and she fell and fell, long enough she was sure the impact at the end might kill her. Instead she landed, in a rather inglorious heap, on green grass in the middle of a garden. It looked to be the same garden, but not quite. As if all of it were somehow slightly askew.
She stood carefully, wiping futilely at a grass stain on her gown. She was still holding the little nosegay of flowers she'd picked, which were now withered and dead. She opened her hand, letting them fall to the ground, where they turned black and rotted.
A chill of concern traced her spine, as if a sliver of ice had been dropped down her back. This was most definitely not the Asgardian royal gardens.
With little other option, she started to retrace her steps in this strange, off kilter version of the garden, hoping there might be some sort of off kilter palace at the end of it.
She could see the shapes of the building as she came out of the trees, only instead of gold and white marble it was black and green. Someone stepped into her path, startling her. It was the Valkyrie. “What are you doing here?”
Syn jumped a little. In all the times she'd seen them, none of them had ever talked to her. "I. . . don't know. I was walking in the garden and there was this thrum of magic. And then I fell.”
The Valkyrie tilted her head. “You’re not dead.”
"I should hope not." She pressed a hand to her chest, just in case, and was reassured to feel the gentle thump of her heart under he palm, as well as the shimmering spark of her magic beneath it.
“Well then…I suppose we should go see the boss. Come with me,” the Valkyrie said, turned and walking towards the palace.
Syn followed her, hustling a little to keep up with her. "I'm Syn, by the way.”
The other woman laughed. “Yes, I know who you are.” She glanced over her shoulder, and added, “I am Brunnhilde.”
So apparently they could hear what was going on, even if no one could see them. "I feel I should apologize, I suppose. For wasting your time. You know." She gestured vaguely upwards.
“It annoys all of us,” Brunnhilde replied. “Because once you come, we might as well go. But in the end, we’re in the same business, aren’t we? We end people’s suffering.”
That was a nice way of looking at it. The handful of times she'd been unable to save someone she had - with the family or patient's permission - eased them on to the end. They had always looked peaceful when they went. "I always thought it was kind that they had someone to meet them on the other side. A guide. It would be very frightening to be alone.”
“No one is ever alone. There are times not everyone gets a personal escort—large mass dyings can exceed our capacity and we bring them in groups—but no one has to independently “follow the light” or whatever it is humans think.”
They had reached the palace and Brunnhilde led her up a short flight of stairs and into a shadowed hallway. "I always wondered why I could see you when no one else could. I tried to tell my brother about it once, when I was young, and I ended up in bed for a week everyone fearing I'd caught a fever and was hallucinating.”
“We are as visible as anyone else, just hidden by an illusion when we come for people. You seem to see through it.” She pushed open a pair of heavy doors. “I assumed it was your family’s curse. Interesting your brother can’t see us. He’s been on enough battlefields we’d have been very noticeable.”
The curse. Syn tried not to wrinkle her nose at the mention. Her family carried a truth curse, something passed down generations, long since twisted behind its original purpose. She couldn't lie, nor could anyone lie when touching her. And she could see through the lies of others, including illusions. Her brother bore the same curse, so it was odd he'd never noticed the Valkyrie lurking around.
"Maybe he never really looked," she offered.
“Observation is not everyone’s strength,” she replied, leaning Syn down a long, wide hallway. It looked just like the palace on Asgard, just in different colors.
She'd been in the palace enough to recognize where they were headed. "You're taking me to the throne room."
Brunnhilde glanced back at her. "Like I said. We have to see the boss."
They reached a set of towering doors, jet black and shot with green and gold veining, that slowly opened to admit them. It was a long room with a high ceiling, and as they walked Syn could see at the far end of was the throne. Upon it sat the Lord of the Underworld himself.
She had seen Prince Loki once before he had been sent here to rule. It had been her court presentation. She'd just barely been of age - younger than most of the girls that season - but with her powers it had been important to get her into society as quickly as possible. He had stood next to his mother's throne, a gloomy shadow in stark contrast to his golden brother. He had barely looked at her, or any of the other girls and had danced with no one. A few seasons later he had taken up the mantle of Lord of the Underworld and had not been to a social event since.
Currently he was studying her like a particularly interesting bug he had never seen before. "What's this?" he asked, clearly talking to Brunnhilde.
"A live one," she replied. "This is the healer we've all told you about. She said she fell through the garden portal.”
“Well, that needs reinforcement.” He sat up and leaned forward. “I honestly pictured a white-haired crone. You didn’t tell me she was so pretty, Brun.”
“Some of us are professionals, Loki.”
It was fortunate Syn was used to people discussing her as if she wasn't in the room or she might have been insulted by this. As it was she was a bit surprised at the tone the Valkyrie used to speak with him. Loki did not seem like a man who tolerated sass. "I apologize for the intrusion, your Lordship." Or should it be your highness? He was still a prince, wasn't he? "I sensed magic and found myself following it. I had no idea it would cause me to intrude on your realm.”
He gave her an assessing look. “You should not have been able to.”
That was a bit unsettling. Unconsciously, she pressed a hand to her chest and was again reassured at the thump of her heart. "It was an accident," was all she could think to say.
“Mmm. Well, until I ascertain what happened, you will remain here. If anyone finds out there’s a back door into the underworld from Asgard there will be chaos.”
"But - I'm needed in Asgard." The protest didn't have a lot of force to it. It was the truth, or else she couldn't say it, but if she was honest with herself she didn't want to go back. Not right away. Maybe she was trading a golden cage for a black one, but at least here everyone was already dead. No one would drag her out of the house insisting she had to heal this person or that. She could rest a bit, gather her strength. Maybe they'd realize they could live without her for a day or two.
“Asgard will survive, I assure you,” Loki said dismissively. He turned and looked at a somewhat menacing looking man standing in the corner. He had a red beard, was dressed all in black and clearly armed to the teeth. “Take her to the guest wing and find her a room.”
The man pushed off the wall and walked over to her, eyeing her warily as if concerned she might try to run or fight. "Come along, lass."
She supposed she could fight. Or run. But it was pointless, as she didn't know how to get home. So she just nodded and moved to fall in step with him.
“Don’t worry,” he said as they walked. “It’s not a euphemism for dungeon. We have perfectly normal guest rooms.”
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm Syn.”
“Colm,” he said with an incline of his head. “Not much use for a healer down here, you may find yourself bored.”
"That's all right," she replied. "I can usually find a way to entertain myself.”
“The library here is bigger than the one upstairs, if that’s your sort of thing.”
It took her a moment to realize "upstairs" meant Asgard. Its library was enormous, with more books than she could read in even her long lifetime. "It is.”
“Well then, there you go.” They went up a flight of stairs. “It’s in the same place.”
"Thank you." If this place mirror Asgard exactly that would simplify things. There was a sewing room that the queen sometimes held teas. Perhaps it would have the same sort of supplies in it. it had been a long time since she'd had the opportunity to sit and embroider properly.
He stopped in front of a door and opened it for her, to reveal a nicely appointed bedroom and sitting room. “Everything you need should be in here. There’s call button on the nightstand if you want food or anything else brought up. You can wander, but don’t leave the grounds.”
It certainly wasn't a dungeon. She nodded to him, stepping into the room. "I understand.”
Colm paused a moment, then said, “We’ll get you home soon enough.”
Syn stifled a sigh, because he was clearly trying to be kind, and summoned a smile. "It's all right," she told him, catching the door to close it. "One cage is as good as another.”
He gave a single nod, and then let himself out.
*
"You're kind of an ass, you know that?"
Loki sighed and looked ceiling-ward. One of these days he needed to get assistants who were actually scared of him. Father's staff never talked to him like this. "What did I do now?" he asked, not looking up from the reports he was going over.
"Until I ascertain what happened, you will remain here," Colm said in a haughty, high class accent that sounded nothing like Loki at all.
"Asgard will survive, I assure you," Brun added in a slightly better impression. "There were nicer ways to break that, I think.”
“I am not taking advice on tact from either of you,” he said.
"She's young," Colm said. "And she's alive and she's scared. You didn't have to play ominous Lord of the Dead with her.”
Loki rolled his eyes.“Would you have preferred we all hold hands and sing a song together?”
Brun snorted. "The fact you think those are the only two options makes me reiterate, you're kind of an ass."
"Reassurance," Colm said. "Assuring her she was a guest and not a prisoner. I know they teach you princes some sort of manners up above.”
“The joy of ruling my own realm is I don’t have to use them.” It annoyed him that he now felt bad. She had looked scared. And, as he’d said, very pretty.
"You didn't even ask her name," Colm said pointedly.
All of Odin's bluster and yelling and this man barely a century older than him managed to scold him in six words. Loki scowled at him. “Remind me again why I don’t fire you?”
"I'm invaluable," he retorted, voice dry as sand.
“I assumed it was the leather fetish,” Brun said.
Loki ignored that. “I will invite her to dinner,” he said. “And not be an ass.”
"Don't strain yourself.”
“Surely you both have better things to do,” he replied, because they did both work for him. “Go do them.”
They both left without another word, thank the gods for small mercies, leaving him to his reports and vague sense of guilt. He was not, generally speaking, good with people. There was a reason he was down here with the dead and other malcontents. He was not used to having to consider other people's feelings. Especially pretty girls with big green eyes.
He spent the afternoon in the garden inspecting the soft spot and trying to figure out how she got through. Feeling restless, he went up to his library afterwards in search of distraction.
The library was large and well appointed, with several excellent nooks furnished with comfortable armchairs for reading. It was a shame, really, that he was mostly the only one who used it. So he was surprised and a little taken aback when he came around a shelf on the second floor balcony and found his living visitor curled in one of said armchairs, a bare foot dangling over the arm and a large stack of books beside it.
“You’ve certainly made yourself at home,” he said.
She jumped, dropping the book she was reading, and scrambled gracelessly to her feet. "Colm said it was all right if I came and looked.”
Loki waved a hand. “It is, it is. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Relief rounded her shoulders and she bent briefly to pick up the book she'd dropped. "Your library is the largest I've seen," she said. "I don't often have time to just read.”
“I steal a lot of books,” he told her.
Her brow furrowed. "From who?”
“Sometimes my father. Sometimes libraries on Midgard. No one really notices.” He shrugged. “I figure the place where people spend eternity should have a lot of books.”
She looked around briefly, giving him a nice view of her profile and the graceful curve of her neck. "It's certainly how I'd like to spend my afterlife," she murmured, mostly to herself, he thought. She looked back to him. "Were you looking for a book?”
“That is why I come down here.” He regarded her a moment. “Are you frightened?”
The question clearly took her aback. So much so she said, "Yes," without seeming to think about it. Her mouth twisted a bit after she spoke, as if she wished she could take it back.
“Of me in particular?”
This question she considered carefully. "Mostly of the situation I find myself in," she said finally. Then added. "But you aren't helping.”
He admired her nerve. “I’ve been told I’m an ass.”
The moment she should have assured him he wasn't passed in silence. "I don't know that i've had enough contact with you to make a ruling," she said.
For some reason that made him smile. “Well I appreciate the benefit of the doubt, though I expect I’ll disappoint you.”
She considered him a moment. "You aren't anything like your brother." He could tell from her tone she considered this a positive, probably the first to do so in his life.
“Unsurprising as we are not actually blood relations.”
That was new information to her, he could see the confusion and surprise cross her face. The woman had no guile at all. "I suppose I missed that bit of gossip.”
“It’s not well known.” He actually had no idea why he felt compelled to tell her about it. “But I am adopted. Odin doesn’t spread it around lest it draw concerns about succession. I am the spare should my brother not have any children.”
Something like grief crossed her features, which he didn't understand. "Seems unlikely. He's a very popular man.”
“I suppose he’ll find some poor girl at some point, who won’t care he’s in love with someone else.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing a bit. "The woman warrior?”
“Has the gossip reached your neck of the woods?” Loki turned and looked up at the wall of books. “Odin thought she distracted him, so he arranged a husband for her in hopes it would solve the problem.” He glanced at her. “Meddling rarely helps anything, but oh how he loves to do it.”
"I don't know Odin," she said, glancing at the wall as well. "But I've been to balls and I've seen the brunette woman Thor stares at. People let their guard down when they think no one is looking. And no one pays me much attention.”
“Odin turned what would probably have been a passing youthful fancy into a tragic love story. Now everyone’s miserable.” He gestured to encompass his domain. “Might as well stay down here where the only misery is for those who deserve it.”
"Were you miserable?" she asked. "When you were above?”
“I didn’t think so when I was up there.”
She nodded slowly. "Sometimes we don't realize what we feel until we get a glimpse of something else.”
He studied her face, and the shadows in her eyes. He’d thought she was very young, when he’d first seen her. Now he wasn’t so sure. “Were you?” he asked. “Miserable?”
She sighed softly. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I didn't think so. But lately. . . I've started thinking how little of my life is my own.”
Now she truly had his interest. “Too many duties and obligations?”
"A healer's life is for the people." Her tone was a mocking sing song. "My power gives my family status they didn't have before. So I spend my days healing people that can afford it, or offer my family favors. I'm too valuable to marry off, not that anyone wants to anyway. I'm a pretty, powerful relic that sits on a shelf until needed and is promptly returned when her usefulness is done.”
“That…sounds pretty miserable to me.”
She wrinkled her nose, mouth quirking up on one side in a crooked smile. "When I explain it like that it does, doesn't it?”
“Living life as nothing but an object is a thing I do to punish people.”
"It's an effective one, I assure you." She sighed again and looked down at her hands. "I spent the last hour reading in peace, knowing no one would interrupt me. What kind of person comes to the Underworld and finds it a vacation?”
Loki grinned. “My kind of person.”
She looked back at him in surprise and he saw pink flush across her cheeks. Before he could analyze what that might mean, she lowered her gaze again and gave him a little curtsey. "My name is Syn, my lord.”
“I am Loki,” he replied, wondering if he should feel guilty about enjoying the view down her bodice he was currently getting. He liked watching her curtsey. “Welcome to the Underworld.”
When she straightened, she gave him a smile that was brilliant and beautiful. "Thank you.”
She intrigued him quite a lot. “You may make yourself at home as long as you wish.”
"I imagine that means I will be spending quite a bit of time in the library.”