She had first caught his eye when they were children. The daughter of Lady Frigga's maid, Weth could often be found seething in the obscure corridors of the Allfather's palace. She was notorious for her fiery temper; any perceived injustice sending her into a silent rage. She would tear tapestries or destroy her own dolls when angered, earning her a harsh scolding at least twice a week. She was quite a striking young girl, with wild, jet-black curls that extended past her shoulders, ivory skin, and irises that could only be described as golden. Her deceptively delicate features often took the members of Asgard's court by surprise; it was hard for them to fathom that such a sweet-faced little girl could behave so horribly. Of course, Loki did not mind her temper; he found it enthralling.
They first met in the servants' quarters within the palace, on a day that Loki decided to explore his vast home. He stumbled upon her in a small hallway, sitting in a corner with her brow scrunched in a fierce frown. Her eyes scalded him as she glanced upward. Though her face clearly depicted her fury, Loki was awestruck by her unusual beauty. Only a boy of eight years, he was unable to formulate a sentence with the exact poetry of his attraction, and butchered his first words to her.
"You look… different." He stuttered. She shrieked and attempted to throw the nearest blunt object at him. "Not bad different!" He hurried to correct himself. She halted her movement, eyes boring into his.
"Are you the Prince?" She questioned. He nodded. He had never been referred to as the Prince; he relished her omission of Thor. She backed away slowly.
"What are you doing?" His eyebrow rose as he asked. She cast her eyes downward as she responded.
"I am not supposed to talk to the Princes."
"Why?" He continued his interrogation. Eyes still downcast, she replied.
"I am a maid's daughter." She did not say this humbly, but with palpable resentment. Loki cocked his head to the side, taking in the details of her face. Suddenly, a nearby door burst open, and the girl scampered down the hallway. A servant bustled into the hallway, yelping in surprise at the sight of Loki. He recognized the servant as one of his mother's maids.
"Oh my! Prince Loki, what are you doing in the servants' quarters?" Loki simply shrugged in response. The woman huffed before storming down the hall, a ripped tapestry in hand. "Weth?!" She hollered. Loki deduced that the woman was calling the girl's name.
"Weth," Loki said to himself. Loki stumbled upon her several more times throughout their childhood, each encounter piquing his interest further. Each exchange was brief and forbidden, which encouraged him to pursue it further. They eventually began calling each other by their first names only—no 'Prince', or 'Miss.'
Their teen years would yield even more interactions. As Weth aged, she became even more beautiful—at least to Loki. Her pale skin and ferocity generally did not attract the young men of Asgard. Loki found a similar reality in his case; the young women of Asgard wanted big, tan men, and although he was tall, he was unusually thin. His pale skin and sharp features stood out in a crowd, turning women away. Though he always found Weth beautiful, he did not develop a sexual attraction to her until the age of fourteen. When she developed breasts—large ones for her age—Loki could not resist any opportunity to see her. Even if they did not speak, he would watch her from afar, slack-jawed. The first time he pleasured himself, he thought only of her. She invaded his dreams, tempting him as he slept, and leaving him quite a mess in the morning. He never told anyone of his infatuation; it was far too intimate for anyone else to know.
He heard of her antics through other sources, smiling as servants complained about the havoc she wreaked. As she aged, she focused her rage on those around her. She tormented her peers with verbal—and on a few occasions, physical—assault. Loki had heard about the time that she slapped another teenage girl across the face; the girl had been mocking her appearance. Loki fumed as he heard this tale. He hated anyone who dared insult Weth's beauty. He fantasized about running away with her; Loki tired of Odin's favoritism towards Thor, and he knew that Weth did not enjoy her treatment in the palace.
Their encounters grew awkward during this period. Though he was called Silvertongue, Loki nearly always found a way to garble a sentence. He decided to impress her with his new skills in magic, which always made her smile. He loved her smile. Her soft lips would curve upwards innocently, but her eyes betrayed her inner roguishness. They were well matched, and were developing a sturdy friendship.
In the latter years of their teens, the two saw each other less frequently. Loki, now nineteen, had gained some muscle, lessening the severity of his lean frame. Overall, he had grown more handsome. His black hair grew towards his ears, and the measly patch of hair on his chest increased. He also noticed an increase in a lower region, making him quite a sizable specimen. Though less sexually frustrated than in his early teenage years, he still dreamed of Weth every other night. However, the dreams became noticeably more carnal in nature. With her perfect hourglass figure, Loki had a difficult time keeping his eyes on her face as they spoke. One instance stood out in particular.
Loki had intended to take a bath after spending the entire morning on horseback. He made his way to the palace bath house, grabbing a towel as he did so. The door was ajar, so he naturally assumed that the room was vacant. He had never been more wrong. He stepped inside, taking note of the steam, before his eyes landed on the woman in the water. She was softly singing to herself as she rinsed her hair. She must not have noticed the intruder, because she continued bathing, undisturbed. Loki froze in his tracks, his mouth wide open, as his eyes roved over her naked body. He felt his manhood engorge as he watched her breasts, completely exposed. It was then that her eyes fell on Loki, agape and with a massive erection. She ducked in the water to conceal her body, her eyes wide with shock. Loki couldn't even stammer out an explanation; he simply dropped the towel and ran. He reached his chambers in a matter of minutes, locking the door behind him before leaning against it. He could not erase the image in his head, and knew it would torture him until his dying day.