FicWad

He is no poet, despite having a nature of fire, though some part of him dimly remembers words set down on paper and recited to one who smiled and nodded, leaning on him comfortably as they walked in a dappled glen-it is a false memory, like so many others.

He does not bother to ask the Norns, for though they know the past and the future, they will not reveal their secrets until the appointed time - which is any time but the present. What they have told him has come to pass, but never quite in the way that he envisaged.

As he stands looking out the window with a crumpled letter in his hand, watching the twilight deepen into night, only Yamino hears him murmur, "Her voice was ever soft, gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman,", and wonders who Loki-sama is speaking of.