Chapter Text
Marry or be executed. They didn’t say it, but they didn’t exactly have to, did they?
An order - sorry, 'request' - like this from Odin Allfather spoke for itself. There were reasons for his decisions, even if he never explained them. You may not be royalty, but you knew the games. You watched quietly from the side as a child; attending all the festivals, witnessing the wars, filtering through the small town gossip. When the King wanted something done, it was done. The costs? Whatever was needed. Evidently, this time, it was you.
Sighing, you let the letter slip through your fingers to the mahogany desk below. You lost track of how many times you had read it, searching for an answer that wasn’t there. Searching for a loophole, a catch, anything to get you off the hook and back home. Resigned, you turned to stare dramatically out your new room’s window.
It was beautiful, you had to admit. There was nowhere else you had ever seen a view so vastly tranquil. Ironic, that you could only see it from a place as distressing as your new home. It was almost as if it knew it was meant to soothe the pain it knew the palace caused. Your heart ached as you numbly flipped a quill through your fingers with practiced ease, allowing your gaze to wander in silence.
Determined to salvage what happiness you could of your situation, you forced yourself to find things you could enjoy right then. Staring out the window with renewed will, you gave into the old habit and began to list.
The setting sun and its dusky orange glow that cascaded around turrets and walls, spilling like ichor over every roof in the distant town past the palace gates.
Far off ocean tides, shining an iridescent blue, cutting into the sprawling land and bracing beneath the cliffs of rocky mountains.
Lush, grassy knolls rolling across the entire scene, waving carelessly, broken up only by cobbled town roads and candle lit markets.
Your heart lightened a bit and your face warmed into a smile. It could be worse, you thought. It’s a truly beautiful city, bustling with life even so close to the evening.
A knock at your door broke through your reverie and the quill in your hand snapped in half.
Damn.
“Come in,” you called shakily, releasing the quill from your tense grasp.
Turning towards the entrance, you watched with bated breath as one of the large doors was pushed open. Who was visiting you so late in the evening? Surely it wasn’t a royal, you thought, you were to meet them at the feast later that night. Mild panic began to take hold of your throat.
You weren’t ready yet.
A dainty hand reached around to push the door more firmly and you breathed in relief as a petite young woman in an apron stepped inside.
“My Lady?” Her gentle voice floated over to you and you relaxed further.
It wasn’t your betrothed or his family, it was the chambermaid. Thank the gods.
“Please, come in,” you repeated, wanting her to feel comfortable. You did your best to smile warmly at her when she turned back to you after closing the door.
She was rather pretty, in a soft way, which perfectly matched her voice. She walked with a quiet grace and held in her hands a woven basket full of a variety of items. Your stomach turned slightly, she had come to prepare you.
It’s not her fault, you reminded yourself.
She crossed the room to the vanity and set the basket down carefully, turning to you with her head bowed.
“I have been given orders to be your personal maid, my lady. I hope that is alright,” she was trying not to fidget with her apron while speaking.
She was clearly very anxious and you wondered if they did anything to scare her. It made you feel surprisingly protective, you doubted that she had chosen this life either. You cleared your throat and caught her eye when she looked up nervously.
“Of course it is,” you told her calmly, “What is all of that for?” You gestured to the basket, hoping a distraction would help her.
Her eyes lit up at your approval and she started flitting about the bottles and fussing with the ribbons as she explained. You stood slowly and moved to sit on the edge of the bed to listen.
“These are to help ready you for tonight’s feast, my lady,” she bounced a little on her toes, much like a fairy, you noted with a smile.
“You know,” you said, “you can call me whatever you like.” You paused before musing quietly, “I have done nothing to earn such a formal title.”
Her eyes widened at that and she began fidgeting again.
“I’m not so sure that - I mean to say, I don’t think - My lady, I -” She stuttered until you raised a hand to interrupt her causing her to freeze.
“It’s alright, if it is easier for you to use the title, then that’s okay.” You reassured her. “I imagine I will adjust eventually.” You finished.
Her shoulders relaxed and she stopped twisting her apron, a small smile on her face once again.
“Thank you, my lady.”
“No problem,” you replied. “What is your name?”
“My name is Emryn.” She went back to organizing her supplies, setting the now empty basket out of the way on a neighboring table.
As you watched her work, you realized she enjoyed this part. You still weren’t sure if she chose to be a maid or if she even wanted to be here, but it was clear she found happiness in her work. A few moments later, she beckoned you over. Knots formed in your stomach as you moved to the chair she offered.
A glance in the vanity mirror told you all you needed to know about how you really felt, distractions or not. Your eyes were slightly puffy from crying all night and raw from rubbing them furiously in denial that morning. The bags underneath them were darker than the night sky that was slowly creeping over Asgard’s mountaintops. Pale streaks left tracks of dried tears on your cheeks.
It shouldn’t have surprised you to see it, but somehow it made it more real. Your stomach tightened again and you clenched your teeth so as not to lose your lunch from earlier in the day.
How long would your fragile peace last?
“My lady,” Emryn said quietly, obviously sensing your growing distress, “I hope it is not too forward of me, but do not be self conscious. I heard the prince talking to the others about how beautiful you are. These creams will help balance your complexion to its natural state, I doubt you’ll need much more enhancement once it’s done!” She finished cheerily.
You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her you weren’t worried about that. That it wasn’t your pride or conceit twisting your gut, but the anxiety of forced marriage. It wasn’t her fault, you repeat to yourself. She probably had no idea that arranged marriages weren’t common where you were from. This was normal for her. So you forced a tired smile on your face and pushed through the nerves.
“Thank you, Emryn. I’m honored that the prince said such kind things.”
Though it was forced, you got it out without throwing up.
It’s the little victories.