Archive of Our Own ^beta

The great hall of Asgard glowed like a forge at full heat, every surface alive with gold, firelight, and the kind of laughter that shook banners from the rafters. Music thundered from a corner where a group of warriors attempted to harmonize—and failed spectacularly—while servers wove through the crowd carrying trays of jeweled goblets and dishes Gwen couldn’t name. The air smelled of spiced mead, roasting game, and some floral incense that made her palms tingle with unfamiliar magic.

Gwen hovered at the edge of the festivities, trying to look like she belonged while her Midgardian body did its best impression of a space heater in a blast furnace. Everyone else seemed immune to the temperature—Asgardians ran hot—but she felt the cold drafting in from the open balcony doors like it was hunting her specifically. And of course, that was when Loki appeared at her side, entirely too elegant for someone who was clearly not affected by the chill at all.

Loki, the God of Mischief, sauntered forward with an easy smile and a goblet of wine, which he pressed into Gwen's hand. He looked like the night itself in his fine green tunic and black cape, the gold of his ceremonial armor catching the candlelight every time he moved. The smile he wore seemed genuine, but Gwen knew better than to assume anything with Loki was completely sincere. He stepped closer so that his mouth was near her ear.

"You look a little out of place," he observed, his breath warm against her hair. "Like a flower out of season." He took a sip of his goblet, his green eyes watching the crowd. "You know what we do with flowers like that?"

"I am a little out of place." Gwen, tall by Midgardian standards, was dwarfed by all the towering walls of muscle that are the Asgardians. They all seemed perfectly fine drinking and feasting and chatting away while the cold air blew through the room. She tried to look unaffected by the chill but couldn't help the shiver that went through her. "What do you do with out of place flowers, Loki?"

Loki's smile widened as he saw the shiver run through her, and something wicked gleamed in his eyes. "Oh, we pluck them, of course," he purred. He stepped even closer to Gwen, their shoulders nearly touching as he leaned in to speak again, his voice barely audible under the music and laughter. "Flowers that bloom out of season are the first to be snipped, after all. They don't suit the garden."

She rolled her eyes. Of course. "No, well... unfortunately for your garden, I am sticking around."

Thor had invited Gwen to Asgard for some festival she still couldn’t pronounce. She sipped the goblet of wine that Loki had brought her. The spiced alcohol warmed her a little, and Gwen wondered if it would be poor etiquette to stand in the middle of a group of Asgardians just to use their body heat.

Loki's smile shifted into a smirk as Gwen's eye-roll failed to faze him. He seemed to take it as some kind of challenge. "Stubborn and willful," he said in a voice almost tinged with approval. "Yes, that suits you."

The music changed tempo, and a cheer rose from the revelers. Some kind of Asgardian dance, apparently. Loki caught Gwen's wrist and pulled her gently into the center of the room. "Dance with me."

Gwen was surprised by his request–no, not a request, more like a demand–as he pulled her out to the dancing area. Her eyes went wide. "Loki, I don't know this dance."

Loki's grip tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he wasn't letting go. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Neither do I," he admitted, his voice low and conspiratorial. "But I'm excellent at pretending."

With that, he spun her into the fray, his movements fluid and confident, as if he'd choreographed the entire thing himself. The Asgardians around them cheered, clearly delighted by the sight of their prince dancing with the Midgardian outsider.

Loki's hand settled at the small of Gwen's back, guiding her effortlessly through the unfamiliar steps. "Just follow my lead," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "And try not to step on my toes."

Gwen tried her best to keep up with Loki and not bump into the other dancers. He was surprisingly light on his feet, and she looked like a baby deer just learning to walk.

"Was your goal to embarrass me into leaving?" She laughed.

Loki's laugh was rich and delighted, his fingers tightening just slightly around hers as he guided her through another turn. "Embarrass you?" He arched a brow, his grin sharpening. "Oh, no, darling. If I wanted you gone, I'd have pushed you off the Bifrost by now."

He spun her again, this time pulling her close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, the faint scent of leather and something spiced clinging to his clothes. "No," he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I just wanted to see if you'd let me lead."

The music swelled around them, and Loki's smirk softened into something almost genuine. "And look at you—already improving."

Gwen relaxed slightly against him as she felt his warmth.

"Instead of being pushed off the Bifrost, I get a dance lesson. Lucky me," she answered with a smirk of her own.

Loki chuckled, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path up her spine before settling at the base of her neck with just enough pressure to make her shiver. "Oh, don't mistake this for kindness," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "I'm simply keeping you close so I can decide how to push you off later."

His grin was all teeth, but there was something playful in the way his thumb stroked the nape of her neck, like he was enjoying the game far too much to end it just yet. The music swirled around them, and Loki spun her again, this time dipping her low enough that her hair nearly brushed the floor.

"See?" he purred, pulling her back up with effortless grace. "You're almost Asgardian now."

"Almost."

As the song came to an end, Gwen and Loki slowed their steps, and she felt the chilly air blow against her again. She glanced around. How could the Asgardians stand to have bare arms in this cold?

Loki followed her gaze, taking in the way she shivered against the cold. His smirk sharpened as he noticed the goosebumps on her skin, and he moved closer to her, his body blocking some of the draft.

"Cold, little flower?"

He didn't wait for her to answer before he shrugged off his cape, draping the heavy fabric around her shoulders. "Can't have you wilting now."

Gwen didn't protest as his cape settled over her, instantly warming her up.
"Thank you. You aren't going to be cold now, are you?" She sounded almost concerned.

Loki almost laughed at her concern. Him, cold? He, the God of Mischief, freezing from a lack of a cape? The thought was ludicrous.

And yet, there was something endearing about the way the little Midgardian worried after him, eyes wide and soft. He shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly.

"I'll manage," he assured her, as if the thought of being anything less than perfectly comfortable was beneath him. "My constitution is…sturdier than yours, little flower."

"Hmm, I suppose so." She watched him closely, half-expecting the cape to turn into a snake or sprout teeth. But she found no hint of deception in his eyes this time. "I'll be sure to return it before I go."

Loki's smirk softened slightly into something almost genuine. "Keep it," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Consider it a souvenir." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And proof that you survived an evening with the God of Mischief."

Then, with a flourish, he stepped back, bowing dramatically. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe Thor is attempting to arm-wrestle a Frost Giant, and I must witness the inevitable disaster."

With that, he vanished into the crowd, leaving Gwen wrapped in his cape and, perhaps, with more questions than answers.

Gwen chuckled softly to herself as she watched him leave. Dancing with Loki wasn't unpleasant, and he was surprisingly thoughtful. After a moment's contemplation, she set off in the other direction in search of more of that spiced wine.

She spotted a table full of pitchers of wine and mead and standing beside it, a couple of ruggedly handsome warriors.

Why not talk to them? She thought to herself. It was a party, after all, and she could have a good time with a warrior.

As Gwen approached the table, the pair of warriors noticed her, glancing her way with curious gazes. They were both tall, broad-shouldered and built like they could fight a dozen Frost Giants each.

One of them, a blonde with deep tan skin and a smirk that said he wasn't afraid of anything, raised an eyebrow as she approached. He eyed her curiously, his gaze lingering on the cape draped over her shoulders.

"Well, well," he said in a voice that was deep and slightly raspy. "Aren't you a pretty little thing?"

"Oh, thank you," Gwen greeted them with a coy smile. "Is this where a lady can get a drink or is all of this for you?" She waved her hand, gesturing to the table.

The blonde warrior grinned, pouring her a fresh goblet of spiced wine with a flourish. "For you, my lady," he said, handing it over with a wink. "Anything for a guest of the royal family."

His companion, a dark-haired warrior with a scar running down his cheek, leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Especially one wrapped in Loki's cape," he added, his tone laced with amusement.

The blonde chuckled. "Did he steal your cloak and replace it with his? Or is this some new trick?"

They noticed the cloak? She was surprised.

"It's no trick. He let me wear it." She took a sip of the wine while she looked at them curiously. She wanted to flirt with them, so why are they bringing up Loki? She tried to get back on track with a friendly smile. "I don't run as warm as you Asgardians, and these dresses are lovely but a little thin."

The dark-haired warrior chuckled at her comment, his gaze flickering over her dress. It was a simple but elegant garment, and they both could see now how it left her exposed to the cold.

"A little thin, indeed," he agreed with a smirk. "But I suppose Loki's cape more than makes up for it."

The blonde one with the tan skin nodded, eyeing the cape with a knowing look. "Aye, and it suits you well. A little too well, some might say."

She tilted her head, still not quite understanding them. No matter. She would just try again, a little less subtly next time.

"Well, you two look very strong." She said as she made it very obvious she was appreciating their bared muscular arms and broad shoulders. "I bet you would have no problem arm-wrestling a frost giant or carrying maidens out of burning houses."

The blonde warrior grinned, flexing his arms playfully, but then his gaze flicked back to Loki's cape draped over Gwen's shoulders. His smirk faltered slightly.

"Ah, well," he said, clearing his throat. "I wouldn't want to... overstep."

His dark-haired companion nodded quickly, suddenly very interested in his drink. "Yes. Overstep. That would be... unwise."

They exchanged glances, then the blonde gave Gwen a polite, if slightly nervous, bow. "Enjoy the wine, my lady."

And just like that, they both melted back into the crowd, leaving Gwen standing there, confused and slightly frustrated.

What in the Nine Realms was that about?

Gwen looked down at herself. Her clothes were fine, she's pretty sure she didn't have anything in her teeth, and she smells like vanilla and flowers...and a hint of Loki, thanks to his cloak.

Why did they look at his cape like it was a warning sign? It’s just a cloak… right?

Laughter drifted over from the group standing around the fireplace. Maybe she could speak with some of them, she thought. Perhaps she could make friends here besides Thor and Loki.

Gwen approached confidently and joined the group, taking them in. A couple of pretty but tough-looking shieldmaidens, a few warriors, and some noblemen were swapping stories. The shieldmaiden with the intricately braided red hair, gave her a quick smile that Gwen returned.

Gwen decided to take her chances with the cute redhead. Just because those two warriors ran off didn’t mean she couldn’t try again.

"Hello, I'm Guinevere, but you can call me Gwen. Your hair is gorgeous."

The shieldmaiden smiled warmly at the compliment, reaching up to touch one of her intricate braids. "Thank you, Gwen," she said, her voice rich and warm. "Took me half the morning to get them just right. I’m Brynja"

One of the warriors beside her, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard, grinned. "And the other half complaining about it," he teased, earning a playful shove from Brynja.

Gwen laughed, relaxing into the easy banter. This was more like it. No weird tension, no sudden retreats, just good company.

"Oh, are you two together?" Gwen asked Brynja as she watched their easy teasing.

"No, just good friends." The man answered. He extended his hand to Gwen. "Gunnar."

"Pleasure." Gwen smiled, looking between the two of them.

Brynja nudged Gunnar, who smiled at Gwen. "We've known each other a long time," he explained. "Practically grew up together."

Brynja rolled her eyes fondly. "And now I have to put up with him."

Gunnar feigned a wounded expression. "Oh, really? And here I thought you enjoyed my company."

"When you aren't snoring, perhaps," Brynja shot back, grinning.

Gwen grinned at Brynja and Gunnar. The last two warriors left in such a hurry when she tried to talk to them that Gwen was a little rattled. She never had trouble turning on the charm and flirting when she wanted to.

She took a sip of her wine and decided to be a little bolder this time, partly to prove to herself that her flirting wasn't broken and partly because Brynja and Gunnar were damn attractive.

"Oh, so you two are just old friends who sleep together? I wouldn't mind a friend or two like that."

Brynja chortled at Gwen's bold comment, while Gunnar nearly spurted out his drink. He regained his composure, looking at Gwen with a mixture of amazement and amusement.

"You're certainly not shy," he observed, a lopsided smile on his face. He glanced over at Brynja, who was trying to suppress her laughter.

"Not in the least," the shieldmaiden agreed, her eyes sparkling with approval. "I like this one, Gunnar."

Gunnar let out a huff of air between his teeth, still slightly flustered. "You like any pretty lady."

Gwen shrugged. "Blame the wine." She winked and took a long sip from her cup.

She felt a bit of relief that she got their attention. Maybe the Asgardians needed obvious come-ons and not the soft, subtle flirtations she was used to.

She was there as Thor's guest but not his date, so she was free to have some fun, right?

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Are you kidding?" Gunnar asked, his eyes roaming over Gwen's face and figure. "You're bloody beautiful."

Brynja nodded in agreement, her gaze roaming over Gwen with open appreciation. "Gunnar's right. Pretty doesn't cover it. You're lovely, Gwen."

Gunnar hummed in agreement, his gaze lingering on her figure as he leaned a little closer. "And that cape of yours is doing wonders," he said, winking. "Loki has good taste."

"I suppose he does." Gwen touched the cloak lightly as she responded. "It is quite nice."

What was with this cloak?

"Well … hypothetically … if I took it off to warm up by the fire, you two wouldn’t let me freeze, would you?" She looked between the two of them again. Gwen would never be this obvious usually, but between the wine and her earlier strikeout, she was not going to play it safe.

Brynja grinned, clearly enjoying Gwen's boldness, but then her gaze flickered to the cape again. She hesitated, exchanging a quick glance with Gunnar.

Gunnar cleared his throat, suddenly looking like he'd just remembered an urgent appointment. "Ah—well—"

Brynja patted Gwen's shoulder sympathetically. "You're very tempting, darling," she said, her voice tinged with regret. "But I think Loki might have something to say about that."

Gunnar nodded rapidly. "Yes. Something. Probably involving knives."

And with that, they both disappeared into the crowd, leaving Gwen standing there, cape still draped over her shoulders, entirely baffled. She gave them very clear signals. What did any of this have to do with Loki or his stupid cloak?

The sound of cheering interrupted her thoughts.

Loki was watching Thor's arm wrestling match. She could talk to him, give him back his cloak and be done with all this—whatever this was. She'd rather be cold if it meant people didn't run away from her.

Gwen made her way toward Loki, weaving through the crowd. He watched Thor arm-wrestling, looking as amused and carefree as if he weren't currently driving Gwen insane.

As she reached him, he turned, that infuriating smirk spreading across his face as he saw her approaching. "Ah, there you are," he said, his eyes flickering to the cape draped over her shoulders. "Enjoying my cloak, are we?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I appreciate the gesture of letting me borrow it, but...did you curse it or something?" She took it off and held it out to him. Instantly, a shiver went through her again.

Loki raised an eyebrow, his smirk shifting into one of amusement. "A curse? Oh, I wish I had thought of that. But no, my dear, it's just a simple bit of fabric."

He reached out to take the cape from her, his fingers accidentally brushing her arm in the process. A flicker of...something flashed across his face before it was replaced by that familiar smirk.

"Still cold, little flower?" he teased.

"Freezing. What is wrong with this place?!" She yanked the cape out of his hands and put it back on with a huff. Her choices seemed to be to freeze or to be a lonely social outcast.

Loki laughed as Gwen snatched the cape back. "Oh, now you want it?" he teased, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "After accusing me of cursing it?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, Gwen—what exactly happened that made you so eager to return it?"

His smirk deepened, as if he already knew the answer and was thoroughly enjoying her frustration.

"Everyone I talk to is practically running away from me. They comment on this cloak and then suddenly have somewhere much more interesting to be." She crossed her arms, practically pouting.

Loki chuckled again, clearly amused by her frustration. "And you believe it's the cloak that's causing this... interesting reaction?"

He stepped a little closer, his eyes roving over her, taking her in with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He reached out and gently tugged the fabric of the cape, pulling it a bit tighter around her shoulders.

"Perhaps you're simply overwhelming them," he said lightly. "After all, not everyone can handle your... charms, little flower."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm sure that's it."

As Gwen turned to go, she ran face first into a column of leather wrapped muscle.

Thor.

"Enjoying the party, Lady Guinevere?" He looked down at her with an amused smile.

"It's lovely, Thor. Thank you. It's even better thanks to your brother." She loved Thor as a close friend. They always got along, but now she can't keep the sarcasm out of her voice, even for him.

Before Thor could respond, Gwen stormed off.

Thor blinked, watching Gwen stomp away—then turned to Loki with a raised eyebrow. "Brother," he said slowly, "why is Gwen wearing your cloak?"

Loki, still smirking, shrugged. "Because she was cold."

Thor's expression shifted into something between exasperation and amusement. "Loki," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "you do realize what that means in Asgardian custom, don't you?"

Loki froze.

Then slowly his smirk faded into something resembling horror.

"...Oh."

Thor sighed. "Yes, oh."

Loki groaned, rubbing his temples. "I forgot."

Thor just let out a deep and booming laugh as Loki groaned again, watching Gwen disappear into the crowd.

Gwen stomped over to a bench in the corner and took a seat. She tried to recall the earlier part of the night to see where everything had gone wrong.

She had a couple of drinks. Good.

She chatted with a few people. They all seemed fine with her. Good.

She got colder as the night went on, so Loki gave her his cloak. Fine.

She was very clear with Brynja and Gunnar, and they couldn't wait to get away from her. The same thing happened with the two warriors at the drink table. Not good at all.

A flash of red hair in the crowd caught Gwen's eye. She could just ask Brynja why she ran off.
Gwen got up from the bench quickly to catch up with her.

Gwen managed to intercept Brynja near one of the towering golden pillars, grabbing her arm gently. The shield maiden turned, her expression shifting from surprise to amusement when she saw Gwen.

"Ah," Brynja said, grinning. "You again."

Gwen didn't waste time. "Why did you and Gunnar run off like I had some kind of plague?" she demanded. "And don't say it's because of this." She gestured sharply at Loki's cloak.

Brynja blinked, then burst out laughing. "Ohhh, you don't know?"

Gwen scowled. "Know what?"

Brynja wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. "Oh, sweetheart. If you’re wearing a warrior’s cloak, you’re claimed. But wearing a prince’s cloak?” She whistled. “That means you’re spoken for—publicly. Bold of him.”

Gwen's jaw dropped.

Brynja patted her shoulder sympathetically. "So unless you want Loki stabbing someone in the ribs tonight, no warrior in their right mind would dare flirt with you while you're wrapped in his colors."

Gwen stared at her, horrified.

Brynja just grinned. "Have fun explaining that to him."

And with that, she sauntered off, leaving Gwen standing there—cloak and all—completely gobsmacked.

Damnit, Loki.

Gwen looked back to where she had seen Loki last, but he was not there. She searched the room for him. She would give back his cloak and be done with this once and for all. Did he know that wearing his cloak signified she was with him? Was it some sort of joke?

Gwen wove back through the crowd, searching for Loki. Unfortunately, every warrior she passed gave her a wide berth, all carefully keeping their hands to themselves.

The whispers around her were not so restrained.

"That's Loki's cloak."

"She must be his new lover."

"He gave her the prince's cloak. They must be serious."

The whispers, combined with the wide-eyed gazes, were making Gwen's skin crawl. She felt like a walking target, marked out as taken by the God of Mischief.

"Thor!" Gwen shouted as she caught sight of his familiar blond hair. "Where is your brother? I owe him a cloak, and he owes me an explanation."

Thor turned, his booming laughter cutting through the chatter as Gwen stormed up to him. "Ah, Lady Guinevere!" he said, grinning broadly. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

He gestured toward the balcony doors, where Loki was currently leaning against the railing, looking out over Asgard's glittering skyline, his posture far too casual for someone who had just accidentally claimed a Midgardian in front of the entire court.

Thor clapped Gwen on the shoulder—gently, for him—and nudged her in Loki's direction. "Go on," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think you two have much to discuss."

Then, with a final chuckle, he strode off, leaving Gwen standing there with no choice but to confront the God of Mischief himself.

Gwen steadied herself with a deep breath before stepping out onto the balcony.

"Loki. Did you know what this meant?" She grabbed the cloak but didn't take it off; it was too cold outside.

Loki turned slowly, his smirk already in place, but it faltered slightly when he saw Gwen's expression.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms.

"Did I know?" he repeated, his voice smooth but edged with something Gwen couldn't quite place. "That in Asgardian custom, a prince draping his cloak over a woman is tantamount to a public declaration of courtship?"

He paused just long enough to let the weight of that sink in before adding, with a tilt of his head:

"...Possibly."

Gwen gaped at him.

Loki's smirk returned, though it was softer now, almost sheepish. "In my defense," he said lightly, "I did forget."

Gwen stared at him.

Loki sighed, rubbing his temple. "It's been centuries since I last attended one of these tedious feasts. The finer points of Asgardian courting rituals may have... slipped my mind."

Gwen's grip on the cloak tightened. "Slipped your mind?"

Loki had the decency to look mildly chastised, though the glint in his eyes suggested he wasn't entirely sorry. "Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?"

Gwen opened her mouth, then closed it.

Loki chuckled, pushing off the railing to step closer. "Ah. I see the answer is no."

Gwen exhaled sharply, torn between frustration and the absurdity of it all. "So what now?" she demanded. "Am I just... stuck with this thing?"

Loki's gaze dropped to the cloak, lingering for a moment before meeting her eyes again. His voice was softer now, almost thoughtful.

"Only if you want to be."

And for once, the God of Mischief didn't look like he was lying.

Gwen stopped and watched him for a moment. Finally, she felt calm enough to speak again.
"What does that mean? You want...?"

Loki hesitated before stepping closer. The night air was cold, but Gwen barely noticed, her focus entirely on the way Loki's expression shifted, the usual mischief giving way to something quieter. More uncertain.

"It means," he said slowly, "that the choice is yours." His fingers brushed the edge of the cloak, his touch feather-light. "You can return it, and no one will think twice about it by morning." A pause. "Or..."

His smirk returned, but it was different this time—softer, almost hopeful. "...You could keep it. And see where that leads."

Gwen's breath caught.

Loki leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "So, little flower... what do you want?"

And for once, the trickster wasn't playing games. He was waiting for her answer.

Her heart thumped in her chest. What did she want? She wanted a night of carefree fun, and where better to have that than at a party in Asgard? She wanted to drink and flirt and see what happened.

A smile grows on her face. She didn't need a night with some Asgardian warrior or with Brynja and Gunnar. She got what she wanted, even if at first it seemed Loki had ruined it.
She stepped closer to Loki and lowered her voice. "I want to keep your cloak for a little longer."

Loki's grin widened, delighted and triumphant, as Gwen stepped closer. "Oh?" he purred, his fingers trailing up the cloak's fabric to brush against her collarbone. "And here I thought you were desperate to be rid of it."

His other hand lifted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with surprising gentleness. "But if you're keeping it..." He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "...Then I suppose I'll have to keep you."

Before Gwen could respond, the balcony doors slammed open with such force that she jumped. She turned to see Thor, flanked by half the court, all staring at them with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and (in Thor's case) absolute glee.

Loki groaned, dropping his forehead against Gwen's shoulder. "Brother," he growled, "I swear to the Norns—"

Thor just beamed, raising his tankard. "TO LOKI AND HIS BRIDE!"

The hall erupted into cheers.

Gwen buried her face in Loki's chest, torn between laughter and despair.

Loki sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist. "...We're leaving."

And with a flash of green light, they vanished, leaving only the echo of Gwen's laughter behind.