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loki_of_sassgaard) wrote2012-10-23 10:27 pm
loki_of_sassgaard) wrote2012-10-23 10:27 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Those Who Hunt Monsters (ch 5)
Those Who Hunt Monsters (38,700 words - about 10k this chapter) by 
Zeta_Tauri
Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Thor (2011), Thor (Comics), Norse Mythology
Rating: Mature
Warning: implicit underage, underage drinking
Relationships: Fandral/Loki, Loki/Other(s), Sif/Thor
Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Fandral (Marvel), Hogun (Marvel), Volstagg (Marvel), Sif (Marvel), Odin (Marvel), Viðar (Norse Mythology)
Summary: When Odin finds the abandoned Jötun boy in the temple, he has a choice. AU in which Odin is honest, Thor and Loki both know the secret of Loki's heritage, and everything changes while staying the same.
Notes: Depending on how the next bit divides up, there's only one more chapter (maybe two; we'll see) left. After that, this series is going to tackle Captain America and springboard into the rest of the cinematic universe from there.
Chapter 5 on AO3/Read from the beginning | Chapter 5 on FFN/Read from the beginning
The more Loki practised, the more he read, the easier and more naturally even the most draining Álfar magic became. If running along secret servants’ corridors cut quick paths across the palace, the long-forgotten magic of Svartálfheimr and the Dökkálfar cut right through them and opened doors even the most discreet servants couldn’t have dreamed of, wherever Loki needed them.
Loki quickly tired with startling servants and guards by appearing and disappearing without warning. Even retreating to the various stores he kept scattered around the outer reaches of the realm grew boring before long. What Loki needed was a challenge.
As soon as he realised where he should go, Loki wasted no time in getting there. He thought of bitter ale, bearskin rugs, giant elk, and flimsy trees covered in snow. He focused on the image from his memory, which he would not admit to being clouded with time until much later. Bending Yggdrasil’s boughs to his whim required him to know where he intended to be. As a young boy, he hardly knew where Odin had taken him — not that hazy memories were enough to stop him. He told Yggdrasil where he should be, and an instant later the darkness of his chambers was replaced with the harsh light of day and the stench of horses and too many people in too small a space. It was a far bigger leap than he’d ever made before, and Loki hardly had a moment to second-guess himself before his entire body rebelled at the strain. Doubling over, Loki caught hold of the nearest wall and was sick on his own shoes. Nearby, he heard someone laughing, but before he was able to right himself, whoever had been laughing was already gone, lost in the crowd around him.
Loki wiped the sides of his mouth on his hand as he looked round his surroundings. The bustle that surrounded him was not the small Midgardian village he remembered from boyhood. It was the middle of a city, and for an infuriating moment, Loki took it for the lowest depths of the city of Asgard.
But looking around, Loki quickly realised he was anywhere but Asgard. Everything from the shapes of the buildings to the very fabrics the people wore was different from Asgard.
Still shaky from stretching himself too far with this new magic, Loki brushed his hair from his eyes and resolved to find out where in the Nine Realms he had found himself. He didn’t have to wander long before finding a large building with towering spires that could only be a temple of some sort. Inside, Loki was immediately taken in by the architecture. It was unlike anything he had seen on Asgard, with high ceilings and sweeping arches, all in stone. The walls were lined with brightly-coloured glass that after a few moments of study, Loki realised were conveying stories with the images formed in the intricate patterns of colours and lines.
There were a few people in the large hall, but they seemed content to ignore Loki as he slowly and reverently made his way down the aisle. But while the glass imagery was impressive, it still told Loki nothing of his location. The stories and myths could be interpreted any number of ways and belong to any number of races.
As soon as he found a secluded space, he slipped into the shadows around him to more easily search the temple for any written sagas that might shed light to the question of which realm Loki had stumbled upon.
He soon found a small side-chamber with sparse furnishings. On a small desk in the corner, however, there was a leather-bound book. Loki immediately seized upon it, flipping through the first pages until finding this realm’s particular origin-beliefs. As it was, the very first verse contained everything Loki needed to know. In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram. Even in the realms neighbouring Yggdrasil, only one race attributed all of creation to a single deity. It was the same realm that had abandoned its original name and called itself instead after the very ground upon which its men walked — Terra. Earth. Midgard.
It would seem his aim was not so badly off after all. It also meant it was somewhere he should not have been. The realisation of the consequences struck him only then, and he knew his father would not be so forgiving for this trespass. Casting a wary eye sky-ward, Loki hoped Heimdall had not been charged with keeping watch on this realm. He especially hoped that Heimdall hadn’t seen his spectacular inability to retain his composure after his journey.
He knew that his risk of being caught was far greater if he went by his own name in this realm. If Heimdall heard someone using the name of an Asgardian prince in a place where no Asgardian was meant to be, Loki’s holiday would be over sooner than he intended. Knowing little else about Midgard, aside from the humans’ tendency to so fiercely follow their god, Loki flipped through their sagas until finding a human name to suit him. Just over halfway through, one name did finally call to him. He tested it on his tongue and smiled to himself, ready to see what mischief he could find for himself in this forbidden realm. Loki shut the book and returned it to its place before making a hasty retreat from the temple and back out to the street.
Now that he knew he was on Midgard, he was able to appreciate how much the land had changed since his last visit. But the more he looked around, inspecting the buildings and the people walking the street, the more he was prepared to admit that his aim had been off after all. Something about the air itself didn’t feel right. More than just the stuffiness of atmosphere that comes from crowded cities, the whole feeling seemed muted. There might have been magic in this ground once, but it left long ago — gone for far longer than the eight years between Loki’s visits.
This was Midgard, but not the place Loki had seen as a boy.
He took a moment to assure himself that at least this meant he wouldn’t have to run from any elk after all.
“You there. Boy!”
Loki was startled out of his thoughts by two men swiftly approaching him. His first instinct was to run, but he hadn’t done anything that they would have seen, so he stood his ground instead, remaining watchful for any sign that he should flee.
The men reached him, the taller of the two at once moving his hands to Loki’s hair, which hung loosely at his shoulders.
“He’s perfect,” he said to his companion. “We wouldn’t even have to put a wig on him.
Loki began to doubt his decision to stand his ground.
“We’ll let Will decide,” the other said, nudging the first away from Loki’s hair.
“Decide what?” Loki asked. He pulled away from both of them and watched them in case they approached again.
“Can you read?” the second man asked.
Loki regarded them carefully, noticing the way his question was dodged. “Yes,” he said slowly.
“Then how does seven shillings a week sound?” the first asked.
Before Loki could answer either way, or even find out what a shilling was, he was quickly ushered down the street by the strange men.
“What’s your name, lad?” the shorter of the two asked as they rounded a corner.
“Lucam,” Loki answered. “Od…son.” He realised after he started speaking that he shouldn’t tell these people his patronymic, but by then it was too late to backtrack gracefully.
“I’m Thomas Cooper,” the man said. “My excitable companion is John Leicester. Have you ever acted before, Luke?”
Loki shook his head, focusing more on their strange names than what he was asked.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” John said. “Or you won’t, and we’ll just find another replacement.”
Loki understood the words they were saying, but none of them made sense in context. He knew he should sneak away and find somewhere else to be, but he was far too curious to walk away, and what fun was there in travelling to a forbidden realm if he couldn’t mess things up just a little bit?
“Very well,” he said, deciding to simply go with whatever happened and return to Asgard should anything prove too much to handle. “I shall give it my best and hope to not be replaced.”
His new companions laughed in a way he didn’t entirely understand, but it sounded almost ominous. Neither of them said anything else though, until leading Loki through large doors to a round courtyard surrounded by rows of high seats. In the centre, several more men stood on a raised platform, studying sheafs of parchment.
“Oi! Will!” John shouted. “We found Ophelia!”
One of the men jumped down from the platform and strode purposefully over to them, his gaze fixed on Loki.
“We found him just wandering,” Thomas said. “He says he’s never acted before, but at least he can read.”
The man called Will took Loki by the chin to study his face. “You got all your teeth?” he asked.
Loki cast a glance over to Thomas and John before venturing a cautious, “Yes.”
Will’s fingers went to Loki’s hair, making him wonder what fascination humans had with it. It was just on the bearable side of disgusting, as far as he was concerned, but then, many of the humans didn’t seem much better off with theirs. At least Loki kept his brushed.
“We wouldn’t even have to put a wig on you,” Will said.
“That’s what I said,” John said. “He looks the part, at least.”
“What is the meaning of all this?” Loki asked finally. “Why would you want to put me in a wig?”
John smiled widely and clapped Loki on the back. “Luke Olson, meet Mr William Shakespeare,” he said. “The greatest man there ever was.”
Will rolled his eyes almost sarcastically, and Loki wondered how that was meant to explain anything. Before he could ask further, Will handed him a sheaf of parchment and guided him over to the direction of the raised platform in the centre of the ring.
“Stand there,” he said, pointing. “Never mind the blocking for now. We’ll just see what you can do. Laertes! Act one, scene three!”
Thomas jumped up onto the platform with Loki and immediately began speaking in a way that was even more incomprehensible than Loki had already been subjected to. Eventually, he paused and gave Loki an expectant look.
“That’s you, Mr Olson,” Will said from the ground. “You’re reading for Ophelia.”
“Oh,” Loki said dumbly. He looked down at the page to find his place.
“Do you doubt that?” he read stiffly, not sure how it was meant to follow any of the nonsense Thomas had said.
Again, Thomas began speaking. He barely looked at the page in his hand, reciting the words as though he were thinking them up right then and there. More than that, he seemed to behave as though he were speaking to Loki directly, running a tender hand down the side of Loki’s face before holding him close. If not for being so involved in trying to keep up with what was written down on his own pages, Loki would have struck him for being so forward. But there was also the fact that Thomas’ behaviour seemed perfectly natural to everyone else. Clearly, Loki was missing some vital context, and he dared not question it lest he give himself away as not belonging on Midgard. As far as he could tell, judging by everyone else’s behaviour and reactions to what was happening, this was a perfectly normal thing to happen. If anything, protesting it would have seemed unusual and out of place. Despite everything he’d been taught and raised to believe suitable behaviour for a man, he simply let it happen to see where it went.
When Thomas paused again, Loki this time too his queue. “No more but so?” he read aloud, this time not even fully understanding his own words.
This time when Thomas spoke, he carried on and on, still only occasionally glancing at the pages in his hand. Thrice, Loki lost his place whilst trying to read along. It occurred to him that this might be some form of spell work, meant to conjure or summon some ancient evil. If this is what Midgard was truly up to, he knew he should tell his father. But not before he saw the result of these actions.
Finally, Thomas stopped and it was Loki’s turn again.
“I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,” he started, wondering how much of this nonsense he was expected to read. “As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother. Do not, as some—what? This makes no sense. What am I reading?”
He looked helplessly down to Will, ignoring the annoyed groans from those around him. Even Will gave an air of exasperation as he stepped up onto the platform with Loki.
“Poetry, boy,” he said. “It makes perfect sense if one reads it well. ‘But, good my brother, do not as some ungracious pastors do, show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; whiles like a puff’d and reckless libertine, himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, and recks not his own rede’.”
Loki blinked at him and looked back down at the page. Reading the verse again, he thought he might have seen the meaning in the words.
“That’s a great deal of speech just to tell someone not to be a hypocrite,” he said.
Will chuckled lightly. “But where’s the beauty in that?” he asked. “A man’s character can be judged by the words he speaks. If a man wants to listen to a dullard speak, he can stay at home to do so. Here, we give him poetry and drama.”
Loki read back over the page, fighting his mind’s natural inclination to make sense of the words. He remembered struggling with Nornir sagas written in similar verse. Herða explained it as having to do with how the Alltongue finds meaning in words; finding not the meanings of the words, but the ideas behind them, making metaphor a jumble of ideas and images.
Determined not to fail at something so seemingly simple, Loki turned back to Will.
“I can learn to do this,” he said confidently. “Allow me to observe your men so I know what it is I am meant to be doing. One does not expect a novice to master any art overnight. These men have plainly mastered what is certainly a very fine art indeed.”
After a few moments’ consideration, Will nodded. “Very well,” he said, motioning to the ground. “Observe. Everyone else, from the top. Let us show Mr Olson what it is we do.”
Will took Loki’s pages from him and waved everyone else out of the way. Loki sat on the ground in front of the platform and watched as the men spoke strange Midgardian poetry to one another. In all their actions, there was a story, though. One of deception and deceit and a murderous coup carried out in secret. The words were not meaningless, but meant as a dialogue to the saga that wasn’t told or sung, but rather performed.
“Tell me about this slain king,” Loki said when Thomas sat beside him. “What else did he do, before he was murdered?”
Thomas turned a confused gaze to him. “Which king?” he asked.
“This one,” Loki said, pointing up at Will as he portrayed the ghost of King Hamlet.
Thomas laughed quietly. “Tis but a fiction, boy,” he said. “A figment of Will’s own imagination.”
“It’s a lie, you mean,” Loki said.
He thought about the embellishments added by warriors after they returned from a quest. But even underneath the falsehoods were truth. To embellish upon nothing was inconceivable.
“Not at all,” Thomas said, contrary to Loki’s expectations. “Fiction is the world’s greatest truth. Truths are often misrepresented or withheld in the interest of avoiding slander. Frame that truth as fiction, and a man can say whatever he wants.”
“We don’t have that distinction where I’m from,” Loki said before he could stop himself.
“And where’s that?” Thomas asked. “I thought you looked a bit lost when we found you.”
Loki knew he couldn’t tell him the truth of his home, and he didn’t know enough of the realm’s geography to lie. The only thing he could think to do was put Thomas’ words to the test.
“A kingdom far to the north of this place,” he said. “The stories we are told are all true, told by those who have lived them, or else passed down by those who remember the words.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for an Icelandic,” Thomas said. “You are a long way from home.”
Loki shrugged, letting him gather his own conclusions. There might have been something to this fiction thing after all.
***
Thor found Loki in one of the courtyards, and was so overjoyed at the sight he barely registered the way Loki seemed to be talking to himself.
“Brother, where have you been?” Thor called out as he rushed to Loki’s side. “You have been gone for weeks!”
Loki looked up at him, surprised at Thor’s outburst.
“Have I?” he asked. “Time is supposed to pass more quickly there. My absence shouldn’t have been more than a day or two.”
“Weeks,” Thor repeated. “Mother has been beside herself with worry. Not even Heimdall could…”
Thor trailed off awkwardly, but he didn’t have to finish that thought for Loki to know where it was going. Heimdall could find anyone, so long as they lived.
Unless they shrouded themselves in magic.
It had not occurred to Loki how it might seem for Heimdall to be unable to find him. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be away for so long. Time moved more quickly on Midgard. Everyone knew that, just as they knew it moved more slowly on Jötunheimr. A few weeks on Midgard should have only been several days on Asgard, at the absolute most. The week off he and his fellow actors were given as a break between their performances was supposed to be enough time for Loki to return home for a bath and maybe a meal or two. He’d had the bath and was waiting for dinner, but now he wondered if he shouldn’t return to Midgard to make sure he wasn’t late.
But no. That seemed to be the opposite of what happened. Weeks spent on Midgard were weeks absent from Asgard. Why had no-one ever noticed that? Or if they had, why had it never been recorded?
“Loki, where have you been?” Thor asked. His eyes fell to the pages in Loki’s hands and his frown deepened. “And what is this? I heard you speaking as I approached.”
He reached for it, and after only the briefest hesitation, Loki let him take it.
“It’s what I’ve been doing,” he said. “Be careful with it, please. I intend to keep it when I’m done.”
Thor tried to make sense of the scribbles on the pages, but his talent with other languages, even with the Alltongue’s aid, was little.
“Why keep it?” Thor asked. “It looks to be nonsense.”
Loki shrugged. “It is a bit,” he agreed. “But I enjoy it. And none will even remember these words in a few years. Someone should keep it so those in the future know it happened at all.”
Thor levelled a sceptical gaze at him. “And what are you doing with it now?” he asked, handing back the pages.
Loki smiled devilishly and shifted in a way to make him stand as though his body was not his. He held himself as though everything about him had suddenly become weighted differently. Though Thor wanted to ignore it — pretend he hadn’t seen it at all — he thought Loki held himself almost as if he were a woman.
“I am making sure it is committed to memory,” Loki said.
He turned away from Thor long enough to whip his hair about, and when he turned back around, it was with a look of urgency and wide-eyed terror. Thor stood ready and glared over Loki’s shoulder to see what might have frightened him so badly, but he saw nothing. So focused was he on the distance behind Loki that he nearly jumped when Loki pressed himself against Thor like a cowering maiden. This, even Thor couldn’t ignore.
“He took me by the wrist and he held me hard,” Loki said with a voice that was barely his own. He reached for Thor’s hands, his own trembling faintly. “Then goes he to the length of all his arm; and, with his other hand thus o'er his brow—” Loki demonstrated the position as he spoke, backing Thor against the wall several paces behind him “—he falls to such perusal of my face as he would draw it.”
“Who?” demanded Thor. “Loki, of whom do you speak?”
Loki dropped to his knees and turned his head up to look pleadingly at Thor, scrabbling at his tunic like a man drowning.
“Long stay’d he so,” Loki continued, ignoring Thor’s questions, gabbling as though in fear that someone might hear him. “At last, a little shaking of mine arm and thrice his head was waving up and down, he raised a sigh so piteous and profound as it did seem to shatter all his bulk and end his being.”
He sobbed with lady-like hitches and turned glittering eyes back to his brother.
“Loki, stop this and tell me what you mean by this!” Thor pushed Loki to the grounds and took a step back from him. For all Loki’s insistence that he could take care of himself and needed no-one’s help to do so, it seemed odd that he would suddenly play the victim.
At once, the fear on Loki’s face was replaced with a smug grin, he leapt up, and bowed deeply at the waist.
“Loki, I will not ask again,” Thor threatened, irritated at his brother’s duplicity. “This latest show tries my patience, brother.”
“Too much, do you think?” Loki asked, standing up straight and as himself once more. “Will keeps saying to play it up, but I think you might be right. It does seem a bit much.”
Thor glared at Loki, his jaw clenched tight. “Tell me what you play at with this,” he demanded.
“Ah. You asked again,” Loki said playfully.
“Loki,” Thor said, his voice taking on the dark quality it often did when he failed to get his way.
“Just that, brother,” Loki said finally with a mocking smile. He pushed his hair back behind his ears and out of the way of his face. “I merely play. Nothing more.”
“This is not play,” Thor said. “This is deception. Speak clearly with me.”
Loki made a show of considering this, not even feeling the slightest bit guilty at riling up his brother with his unwillingness to cooperate. For once, he had found something at which he could win against Thor.
“All right,” he said. “The truth is I have been to Midgard. There, I am paid handsomely to learn and perform the part of a woman before hundreds of witnesses.”
“You debase yourself and dishonour our family?” Thor asked. “For trinkets? Why?”
“Oh, no,” Loki said. “For far more than just trinkets. It is forbidden for women to do the things I do. If one wishes to see a woman on the stage, he must watch a man and pretend he sees a woman.”
Thor gaped at Loki, not wanting to believe his words.
“Father was right to forbid travel to that realm,” he said. “The humans are all sick of mind, and now you have fallen victim to their sickness as well.”
“At least I am compensated for it,” he said, shrugging dramatically.
With a sneer, Thor turned away from Loki and stomped off. As he went, Loki wondered if he might have pushed it just a little too far with his brother.
***
Loki stood on the bridge, watching the fish swim lazily in the muddy water below. Behind him, Sif and Fandral exchanged boasts of their past deeds, a childish mockery of the warriors who would compare quests in the dining hall. Loki tried desperately to block it all out. He had only invited Fandral and Hogun to come with them because Thor had asked Sif along. If he was going to bring someone on their private rides, Loki would double Thor’s contribution. He expected the spiteful action to make him feel better about Sif being there at all. Now, he just regretted it. Hogun and Fandral both seemed to already prefer Thor’s company to Loki’s, and Sif was just as insufferable as ever.
“I thought you would be with your other friends today,” Sif said suddenly, breaking Loki from his thoughts.
“No, it’s not the same without Will,” Loki said mournfully.
He had been saddened by the loss of his friend, but Will — as well as the rest of them — was human. Dying was just another thing they did. But now seeing Sif become self-conscious over her words was almost enough to bring a smug grin to Loki’s face.
In truth, even before Will’s passing, the humans had begun to notice that Loki wasn’t ageing properly. It was only a matter of time before someone accused him of witchcraft or some other nonsense.
“What about you?” Loki asked. “Don’t you have sewing lessons to attend today?”
Sif glowered at him. “Shut up, No-oneson,” she spat.
“Why are you such a shrew?” Loki demanded.
Sif raised her arm as if to strike him, but Fandral was upon her before she could swing, staying her hand.
“Hey, now,” he said calmingly. “Let’s not have any of that.”
She rounded on him, pulling herself from his grip. “Keep your hands off me unless you want to lose them, son of argr.”
Fandral’s eyes darkened as all jest faded fast from his demeanour. “That sounds like a challenge to me,” he said.
Before he could reach for her again, Sif aimed a high kick at his stomach. He jumped away just as Thor and Hogun stepped in to pull them apart, putting Hogun in the path of Sif’s anger. Her foot landed on his hip, pushing him back and into the low rail of the bridge.
Already bored with the display of rage and machismo, Loki turned back to watch the fish some more, but they had retreated back to the depths, far from view. Sighing tiredly, Loki leaned against the rail and wished everyone would just shut up. For a brief moment, he even considered trying to magically gag them, but he might have found himself in even more trouble than it was worth, so he dismissed the idea.
The entire bridge lurched with the force of several bodies slamming into the rail, and Loki spun round to push the offender away. Instead, Hogun’s elbow caught him in the nose, blinding him with pain for a few moments. Before he could recover, Sif and Fandral both slammed into him again. The rail behind him cracked loudly as it gave way, taking Loki with it to the water below.
“Loki!” Thor and Fandral both called out. The two of them tried to get to the edge of the bridge to peer over, but Thor pushed Fandral out of the way to get the best view.
The others stopped their squabble as well, peering wide-eyed at where Loki stood only moments before. Staring at the water below, Thor steeled himself as he prepared to jump in after his brother.
“Thor, no!” Sif protested, holding him back by the arm.
“He needs help,” Thor said.
Fandral bit his lip, looking between the two of them. “She’s right,” he said regretfully. “How will you help him? You can swim no better than he can.”
“He can at least turn himself to a fish,” Sif reasoned. “He’s a sorcerer. That’s what they do.”
“Sorcerer in training, technically,” Fandral said, ignoring the glares from Thor and Sif both.
Despite his glaring, Thor knew they were right though. If he jumped in after Loki, it would only make two people to rescue.
While they all argued, Hogun ran back to where the horses were tied and took a length of rope from where it hung on Fandral’s tack. Not even sure that it would be long enough, he rushed back to the bridge and shoved one end of the rope into Thor’s hands. Before anyone could even ask what he was doing, Hogun jumped off the bridge with the other end, falling beneath the water as the other three shouted his name.
The river was deeper than he thought it would be, with thick mud kicked up from heavy spring rains. He could barely see a few inches in front of him, but it would have to be enough.
Unlike the others, he was not born of Asgard. He may have benefited from her many gifts of health and life, but he wasn’t weighed down by dense bones or compact muscle. Like everyone in his native village, he’d learned to swim as a boy, and now he pressed that advantage to dive deeper into the river, reaching out for the feel of linen and skin against his fingers.
He swam deeper, letting the current take him downstream and praying to whichever gods or fates that still listened that he hadn’t somehow passed Loki in the muck. Finally, when he was about to go back up for air, he felt something causing the water to roil to his left. He reached out, feeling a frantic hand grabbing for anything it could find. Hogun took it, pulling Loki close to him and holding him tight, despite his panicked thrashing. Not risking the time to tie the rope to him, Hogun gave it a sharp tug and wrapped what he could around his forearm. At once, he could feel the rope being pulled from above and began kicking, trying to help the others pull him and Loki to the surface.
In his arms, Loki still thrashed, but for the time being Hogun took this as a good sign. So long as he still moved, he still had air in his lungs. Asgardians were tough creatures — the Jötnar even more so — but Hogun suspected they were still capable of drowning.
As his own lungs began to burn from a lack of air, Hogun could see the sparkle of sunlight on the surface. He let out the breath he’d been holding to ease the fire in his chest and kicked harder to reach the surface. Finally, light flooded his vision and he hoisted Loki up to get his face out of the water; no small feat with Loki’s weight pressing him down beneath the water.
“Get to the bank!” Hogun called up to Thor.
Thor nodded and ran the length of the bridge, holding the rope aloft to keep it from dragging against the rail. Once on the bank, he pulled Hogun and Loki to land and cast the rope aside. He pulled Loki into a tight hug, ignoring his coughs and sputters as he cleared the water from his lungs. Neither of them even seemed to notice the way Sif glared at them, or Fandral bouncing impatiently a few feet away.
“I would not have liked to explain to father what happened if we failed to retrieve you,” Thor said.
Loki said nothing, staring blankly at the water in front of him.
“You shall be honoured for this,” Thor said to Hogun, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have done my family a great service and all of Asgard shall know it.”
“There was no need for a rescue,” Sif said. “He could have just as easily turned himself into a fish and swam far away from us.”
“When have you ever seen me turn myself into a fish, you stupid cow?” Loki demanded, turning to her.
“What sort of sorcerer are you that you can’t?” Sif demanded back.
“Enough!” Thor shouted. “I am weary of this feud between you. Loki is my brother and—”
Sif snorted, cutting him off.
Casting a hard glare to her, Thor pulled a dagger from his belt and without hesitation, slid the blade across his palm, drawing a long, straight cut that bled freely.
“Loki, give me your hand,” he said, not taking his eyes off Sif.
Loki hesitated for only a moment before giving Thor his right hand, seeing plainly where this was going. Any other time, he might have protested it, but he was too exhausted to put on a show. He barely flinched as Thor dragged the blade across his open palm before taking Loki’s hand in his own.
“With this action, we share blood,” Thor said. “There is none here who can deny now that Loki is my brother.”
He continued to glare at Sif, watching her reaction.
“No, I cannot deny it,” Sif said bitterly.
“Good,” Thor said, taking his hand from Loki’s. “Then you know that a strike against him is a strike against me.”
Sif only nodded and looked away. Looking at the cut on his hand, Loki wanted to be sick. This was exactly the sort of grudging respect he had wished to avoid.
***
All of Asgard had indeed heard of Hogun’s deed, and how Odin’s founding son needed rescue in the first place. Never mind that anyone else in his place would have needed rescue as well. With Loki, it was simply more proof that he didn’t belong on Asgard in the first place; that he was so weak, he needed saving by a human boy.
He didn’t blame Hogun for it. If anything, he owed Hogun a debt. But he still tasted the bitter resentment toward the entire realm as he sat in the dining hall, watching everyone chatter mindlessly and occasionally throw a glance his way.
Loki focused especially on Sif, dressed now as the maiden she was supposed to be, in a golden gown to match her hair. She could fill two roles and be praised for it. In the palace, she was a maiden. Outside, a warrior. Why should Loki be shamed for his magic if Sif was not shamed for taking up a sword?
He realised that he hated her, and always had. From the first time she insulted Jötunheimr in his presence, even before knowing the truth of Loki’s heritage, he hated her.
If she was going to question his abilities as a sorcerer, perhaps she would like a private demonstration of his skill.
Set out at even intervals along the table were vases with various flowers from the gardens. Loki picked out a blue one, and with his table knife, cut the stem short and put it in his mouth briefly to suck on the freshly cut end. Quietly muttering a series of incantations, he wet his fingers with his tongue and played them over the petals, weaving layer after layer of magic into the plant. Wash day was three days away and by then, the flower would be long forgotten. The curse that Loki put into it, however, would sill be strong, waiting until the first touch of water to release itself.
Satisfied with his work, Loki stood and walked slowly up to Sif, hesitating as she spoke with several other girls her age. She was bored with their conversation, but court manners required certain behaviours from her.
When she saw Loki approach, she tried to decide which conversation she wanted to have least.
“What do you want?” she demanded finally, not quite caring about court manners enough to address a prince properly.
“Only peace,” Loki said, turning the flower over in his fingers in a display of nervousness. “Thor did our speaking for us. I thought you might want to speak for yourself.”
Sif looked back to her companions and nodded, sending them away.
“What is that in your hand?” she asked, taking control of the conversation.
“Oh,” Loki said, looking down at the flower. “A peace-offering. I know it should be something more personal, but I feared you might not accept it if it was something of my own.”
Sif thought about this offering for long enough for Loki to look away and bit the end of this thumb, apparently second-guessing himself.
“Yes, all right,” she said finally.
“May I?” he asked, holding up the flower.
“Very well,” Sif said.
She tilted her head, allowing Loki to slide the short stem of the flower into the hair above her ear. He moved her hair to hold it in place, giving it an uncertain smile.
“There,” he said. “And now, I think it would be best if we agreed to avoid one another’s presence.”
Sif nodded. “Agreed,” she said. “But know that it is only an agreement I make for Thor.”
Loki nodded. “Understood,” he said. He then bowed lightly to her. “My lady.”
He turned quickly to walk away before she saw the grin he could no longer hide.
***
Few people in Asgard could be said to be truly Æsir. It was a misnomer; an idea that existed in name only. There were no more Æsir on Asgard than there were Dökkálfar on Svartálfheimr. But where one had been wiped out by an ancient war, the other faded into history through diplomacy and treaties. Odin himself was half-Jötun. Frigga had strong lines of Álfar and Vanir in her line. But save those few with Nornir or human blood, there still existed universal traits amongst those on Asgard. Most notably, the more Aryan traits of blond hair and blue eyes. Loki’s dark hair had always set him apart, and when his secret got out, few seemed truly shocked to hear it. After all, what sort of Æsir prince is born with dark hair?
The shriek of horror and anger was heard through the palace, in part due to a slight magical boost. Loki was still in bed when he heard it and grinned widely at the satisfaction of a job well done. He had not seen Sif in three days, and just to further cement his cover, he rolled out of bed and bolted down to the doors of his chambers. Not even bothering to dress or apply his glamour, he opened the door and peered out at the guard assigned to his chambers.
“What was that?” Loki asked, looking for all the world as though he’d just been roused from sleep.
The guard looked down at him, jumping slightly at the sight before him.
“I don’t know, my prince,” he said, turning his gaze away. “Shall I find out?”
Loki considered the offer for a long moment. “No,” he said finally. “I’m sure the whole palace will know before breakfast is done. I can find out for myself. Thank you.”
He closed the door and returned to his bedchamber to dress.
While he usually made a habit of sleeping through breakfast, he knew that the dining hall was unusually full that morning. Every noble in the palace, and even some of the serving classes milled about, speculating upon the scream that echoed through Asgard’s golden halls that morning. Thor found Loki by one of the long tables, picking over a stack of bread rolls.
“What are you doing here so early?” Thor asked.
“Gossip,” Loki answered cheerily. “What have you heard?”
Thor frowned at him. “Loki.”
Loki shrugged. “I was woken from my slumber, as I’m sure were many others. Are you not curious to know why?”
“Well, yes,” Thor admitted. “But it is not our place to spread gossip like—”
“Like what?” Loki prompted.
“Like women,” Thor said.
Loki hummed thoughtfully. “Would you say the same thing to Sif?” he asked, looking around as though hoping to spot her in the crowd.
“No,” Thor said, looking around as well. “She is a woman.”
“She’s also a warrior,” Loki pointed out. “Surely a person can’t be both. Isn’t that how it is? Either one or the other?”
Thor didn’t have an answer for him, so Loki smiled triumphantly and took a bite of his roll.
“Where is she, anyway?” Loki asked. “I thought she’d be down here, not gossipping with the rest of us.”
“I do not know,” Thor realised aloud. “Surely, she must have heard that banshee wail as well.”
Loki’s face went serious as he raised his eyebrows pointedly.
“You don’t think?” Thor asked.
“I think plenty,” Loki said. “But, no. I have not implied anything.”
Loki watched the seeds of worry sprout in Thor, and again had to stop himself from laughing as his brother turned and sprinted from the dining hall.
***
Loki had not counted on Týr still being terrifying. He may have been too old to cower beneath his mother’s skirts, but that didn’t stop Loki from putting himself behind Odin.
The curse had worked wonderfully. As soon as water soaked Sif’s hair, all the golden colour drained from it, leaving behind locks as black as a raven’s wing. It was a maliciously beautiful sight.
It was also forbidden magic, and Loki’s future well-being depended upon his being able to deflect his guilt.
“My son was in his bed,” Odin said calmly, in stark contrast to Týr’s rage. “The guard outside his door confirms it. And the guard outside your door says no-one entered your chambers who should not have.”
“They’re lying,” Týr insisted. “He did this, that little goblin. I know it was him.”
“Týr Hymirson,” Odin said sternly, loud enough for his voice to echo off the walls of the throne room. “This is not the first time you have falsely accused my son of crimes against your family. Do so again, and they will be your last words spoken in this realm.”
Týr paled and took half a step back. “Yes, Allfather,” he said.
Without another word, he took Sif, her face still red from crying, and led her through the large doors to the promenade.
“Loki,” Odin said, not turning to look down at him. “Be honest with me.”
Loki shook his head. “I have not been near her for days,” he said, knowing it to be truth, but not the one Odin was after. “We agreed to avoid one another’s presence, and have both held to that agreement until just now.”
Odin regarded him with suspicion, but nodded all the same. “Very well,” he said. “I would suggest you continue to honour that agreement.”
“Yes, Father,” Loki said.
“Good.” Odin turned away and began walking toward the door to the north hall. “I believe you have lessons this morning.”
“Yes, Father,” Loki repeated. He didn’t wait to be dismissed before darting from the throne room, feeling as though he had dodged death itself.
***
Viðar ran as fast as his legs could carry him as he rounded a corner to a corridor that even then he knew he was not supposed to be down. Against the wall in front of him stood a large, golden pot with a large, sprawling fern, and wasting no time he ducked behind it.
Moments later, Loki’s even footsteps rounded the corner, stopping less than a meter from the fern. Hands planted firmly on his hips, Loki looked round the corridor and hummed to himself.
“I think I have lost my brother,” he declared casually to the corridor. “Mother will be most upset, but I think Baldur will enjoy being the youngest once more.”
Loki didn’t expect any sort of nervous giggle from the precocious toddler he’d liberated from the nursery, but he didn’t need one to know where Viðar hid. The swaying of the fern more than gave him away.
“Maybe I should lose him as well,” Loki continued. “Then I can be youngest once again.”
“Loki, what trouble are you causing today?” Odin asked suddenly from behind him.
Loki spun round quickly, startled at his father’s ability to sneak up on him so.
“No trouble at all, Father,” Loki said innocently, taking a step back toward the fern.
Odin narrowed his gaze at Loki, no longer even certain how to interpret his words. To feel this distrust toward his own son left a heavy feeling, sorrowful in his chest, but he refused to show it. Especially around Loki.
“There is a matter I wish to speak with you about,” he said.
“Yes,” Loki said. “I would like to speak with you as well, but today is wash day and Viðar has not yet had his bath.”
He spun quickly and snatched up Viðar from behind the fern. This time, he expected at least an indignant squeal from Viðar, but still nothing came. Not taking the time to dwell on it, Loki rushed down the corridor with Viðar slung over his shoulder. He had a good idea what Odin wished to speak with him about, and wanted nothing to do with that conversation for as long as possible.
Loki let himself into Frigga’s washroom, Viðar struggling to free himself from Loki’s grip.
“Loki,” Frigga said to the sound of the door opening. “Your father was looking for you.”
“Yes, he found me,” Loki said. “And I found this!”
He pulled Viðar from his shoulder and held him out for Frigga, ignoring the way he squirmed to get away.
“Ah, yes. Someone else who wasn’t where he was supposed to be.” Frigga took her youngest from Loki and held him on her hip with one arm. Viðar stopped struggling at once.
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Frigga asked.
“Not a thing,” Loki said. “Who else went missing today?”
Frigga looked at him dubiously, and Loki knew that he was in for more trouble than he’d realised. Maybe if he left quickly, he could outrun Odin again.
“I’ll let you get to work then,” he said easily. “Try not to let him get you too wet.”
“He’s no worse than you were at this age,” Frigga said, letting more of her weariness show than she’d meant to.
Loki cringed dramatically and stepped backward out the door. As soon as he turned round to sneak off somewhere to hide, he found Odin blocking his path.
“Perhaps now we can talk,” Odin said sternly.
“Yes,” Loki agreed, putting on a false smile. “Let’s.”
“I’ve spoken with Týr today,” Odin said, cornering Loki against the door. The mere mention of Týr tended to have Loki running in the opposite direction, and Odin wasn’t about to give him the chance to do so.
“Oh?” Loki asked. “What crime is he accusing me of today?”
“He tells me you have not attended training for several months,” Odin said. He wasn’t doing anything to raise his voice, but his calm, quiet anger made Loki’s blood turn to ice.
“Ah,” Loki said. Suddenly, sneaking off to the library didn’t seem the best plan. He regretted not going somewhere beyond the palace. Like Nidavelir.
“Do you deny these claims?” Odin asked.
“Not at all, Father,” Loki said, not even daring to think what might happen if he got caught up in a string of lies regarding this. Even more, he feared what might happen if Odin knew the truth.
“There’s nothing to deny,” Loki continued, gathering up his wits. “Volstagg leads training in the evenings. I find I prefer it to working in the heat of the day.”
“Volstagg?” Odin asked. “I was not aware he led anything beyond the hunt.”
Odin thought he knew of everything that happened in his kingdom. Perhaps he had become too focused on the relationships with the other realms if he no longer knew what transpired within his own court. It was little wonder that Loki was able to cause so much trouble lately.
“He does think of things other than food when it suits him to,” Loki said. He tried to edge along the wall, but Odin stepped to remain right in front of him.
“You have become very talented with words,” Odin said gravely. “I only wish it has not been at the expense of your other studies.”
Before Loki could twist the truth into another lie, Odin dismissed him and moved to enter Frigga’s chambers. Loki remained where he stood, feeling he had been let off rather lightly, and wondering when the true punishment would come.
***
“Loki! Pay attention!”
Volstagg stood at the edge of the ring, despairing at the prince’s complete lack of skill with a weapon.
Loki had been training with Volstagg for almost three months, and had not left Týr’s training a day before, but that was only half the truth. Attendance and participation were not the same thing, and given Loki’s apparent willingness to learn, Volstagg was willing to bet that his lack of participation had not been through any fault of his own.
“Loki!” he shouted again, but it was too late.
In a single swing, Hogun disarmed Loki of his practise sword and struck him in the ribs with his own. A long stream of red trailed out from Loki’s side as he fell to the ground, long limbs sprawled out awkwardly. If it had been the first time Volstagg had seen the display, he would have panicked. As indeed he did the first time Loki used the flash of a red silk scarf and the low light of twilight to aid in his dramatics. As it was, Volstagg dragged his hand down his face and stomped over to where the prince lay in the sand.
“I’m done,” Loki declared, staring blankly up at the sky.
“Get up,” Volstagg said. “You are not just going to lie there in the dust.”
“He got me. I’m dead,” Loki said.
“There is no honour in this defeat,” Volstagg said.
“There is no honour in being defeated every time I step foot in the ring,” Loki complained.
Volstagg sighed tiredly. Loki’s lack of skill annoyed him. His inconsistent attitude toward training annoyed him. Most of all, the fact that Loki was right annoyed him. He had yet to best even a single opponent in all the time Volstagg had been training him. He hadn’t even come close.
“Sit up at least,” Volstagg said. “I don’t like talking to a corpse.”
Loki complied, and Volstagg lowered his bulk to meet Loki in the eye.
“How much have you trained with a sword?” he asked quietly, so the others wouldn’t overhear him.
Loki looked away, not wanting to admit that most of his time spent with a sword had been spent learning how to use one on stage.
“Right,” Volstagg said, picking up on part of what was being left unsaid. “Have you trained with anything else?”
“A bow,” Loki said. “Knives as well.”
Volstagg nodded. “I think that’s something we can work with,” he said. “Now get up. Your father’s watching.”
Loki looked around wildly as he got to his feet. Sure enough, Odin stood at the far end of the ring, watching everything in a stony silence. Leaving Loki to sort himself out, Volstagg approached the Allfather, saluting as he drew near.
“Volstagg,” Odin said with a nod. “What is this you have here?”
Dropping his salute, Volstagg turned to look at the small band of teens he’d collected over the years.
“Just taking in Týr’s cast-offs,” he said without thinking.
Odin glanced at him, but said nothing on the matter. Instead, he pointed out to the group on the other side of the ring, where they had already forgotten their lessons and had begun kicking around the leather ball Loki often brought to training.
“That tall boy,” Odin said. “I believe I’ve seen him before.”
“Fandral?” asked Volstagg. “He and your son seem very close. They’re often disappearing together after training.”
“Yes, about Loki,” Odin said.
He stopped a long moment to watch the antics from across the ring, unable to tell what was going on beyond a mess being made from all the dust being kicked up along with the ball. It made Odin wonder when he’d last seen Loki playing with children his own age, rather than fighting with them or temporarily kidnapping Viðar. So much of his cheer lately seemed to either be false or at the expense of others. He almost hadn’t the heart to discipline him for neglecting his training for so long, if it meant Loki could be truly happy for just a while longer.
He said nothing while he contemplated the state of his own family, and Volstagg waited patiently for him to start speaking again.
“Loki tells me he has been training with you for several months now,” Odin said finally.
“He has, yes,” Volstagg said. “But he’s very far behind.”
Somehow, Odin wasn’t surprised to hear this.
“How far?” he asked.
Volstagg sighed, not wanting to be the one to deliver the news. “Years, maybe,” he said. “He knows how to hold a sword, but you give him one, and he hardly knows what to do with it.”
What Volstagg said seemed to contradict Týr’s complaint, and not favourably. If anything, it cast even more uncertainty on the situation.
“Weapons training starts at thirteen,” Odin said.
“It does,” Volstagg agreed, but he didn’t want to volunteer any more information than he had to.
“Midwinter was Loki’s sixteenth nameday.”
“Was it really?” Volstagg asked, knowing that Odin could see right past what he was trying to do. He knew full well how old all four of Odin’s sons were. All of Asgard did.
“Tell me, Volstagg,” Odin said. “How can he be so far behind when Týr tells me he’s only been neglecting training recently?”
Volstagg licked his lips and tugged awkwardly at the end of his beard. “I dare say you already know the answer to that,” he said.
Odin said nothing, only staring at Volstagg patiently.
“Týr’s done this before,” Volstagg said finally. “I have trained a few boys he neglected until they grew tired of sitting at the sides. Alv there was one of them.” He pointed to a large boy who even from the distance seemed to have more fat than muscle on him. “Your son is very stubborn to have kept attending for so long. The only reason he stopped was because Fandral brought him here one evening. I think he was afraid of what might happen if he took Týr’s hint.”
Odin nodded. Indeed, Týr had neglected to make any mention of his own fault in Loki’s training.
“And what of the hunt?” Odin asked.
“I still plan on taking him,” Volstagg said. “He’s sixteen; he can’t stay behind. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise he’ll be successful.”
“Very well,” Odin said, resigned to the knowledge that the fates had already apparently decided that Loki was always to be kept to the sides of everything. Not for the first time, Odin wondered if his choice in keeping him had been the right one. He wondered if maybe Loki would have been better off if raised far outside the palace by another family.
“I would like to be kept aware of his progress.”
“Yes, Allfather,” Volstagg said.
Again, Odin nodded before turning to walk away, deciding to let Loki have his time with the few friends he had. There was no reason to deprive him of that when the only fault had not been his own.
Once Odin was far enough away, Volstagg let out a deep breath and willed himself to keep standing. Midsummer’s day was barely more than a month away, and he hadn’t the first idea how he was supposed to prepare Loki for his first hunt in that time.
End notes:
In the comics, Loki apparently weighed something like 550 pounds, all crammed into a rail-thin 6'4" body. The rest of the Æsir were all similarly-built, so I figure they're all a bit like Stitch — really dense for their size.
Wash day and Loki were very closely linked, with Loki at one point being the god of hearth and leisure. Saturday is Loki's day, and the day was set aside for doing the washing, bathing, and occasionally just being a bit lazy.
Also, Viðar was known as Odin's silent son. He knew all sorts of secrets because he could be trusted not to tell anyone.
Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Thor (2011), Thor (Comics), Norse Mythology
Rating: Mature
Warning: implicit underage, underage drinking
Relationships: Fandral/Loki, Loki/Other(s), Sif/Thor
Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Fandral (Marvel), Hogun (Marvel), Volstagg (Marvel), Sif (Marvel), Odin (Marvel), Viðar (Norse Mythology)
Summary: When Odin finds the abandoned Jötun boy in the temple, he has a choice. AU in which Odin is honest, Thor and Loki both know the secret of Loki's heritage, and everything changes while staying the same.
Notes: Depending on how the next bit divides up, there's only one more chapter (maybe two; we'll see) left. After that, this series is going to tackle Captain America and springboard into the rest of the cinematic universe from there.
Chapter 5 on AO3/Read from the beginning | Chapter 5 on FFN/Read from the beginning
The more Loki practised, the more he read, the easier and more naturally even the most draining Álfar magic became. If running along secret servants’ corridors cut quick paths across the palace, the long-forgotten magic of Svartálfheimr and the Dökkálfar cut right through them and opened doors even the most discreet servants couldn’t have dreamed of, wherever Loki needed them.
Loki quickly tired with startling servants and guards by appearing and disappearing without warning. Even retreating to the various stores he kept scattered around the outer reaches of the realm grew boring before long. What Loki needed was a challenge.
As soon as he realised where he should go, Loki wasted no time in getting there. He thought of bitter ale, bearskin rugs, giant elk, and flimsy trees covered in snow. He focused on the image from his memory, which he would not admit to being clouded with time until much later. Bending Yggdrasil’s boughs to his whim required him to know where he intended to be. As a young boy, he hardly knew where Odin had taken him — not that hazy memories were enough to stop him. He told Yggdrasil where he should be, and an instant later the darkness of his chambers was replaced with the harsh light of day and the stench of horses and too many people in too small a space. It was a far bigger leap than he’d ever made before, and Loki hardly had a moment to second-guess himself before his entire body rebelled at the strain. Doubling over, Loki caught hold of the nearest wall and was sick on his own shoes. Nearby, he heard someone laughing, but before he was able to right himself, whoever had been laughing was already gone, lost in the crowd around him.
Loki wiped the sides of his mouth on his hand as he looked round his surroundings. The bustle that surrounded him was not the small Midgardian village he remembered from boyhood. It was the middle of a city, and for an infuriating moment, Loki took it for the lowest depths of the city of Asgard.
But looking around, Loki quickly realised he was anywhere but Asgard. Everything from the shapes of the buildings to the very fabrics the people wore was different from Asgard.
Still shaky from stretching himself too far with this new magic, Loki brushed his hair from his eyes and resolved to find out where in the Nine Realms he had found himself. He didn’t have to wander long before finding a large building with towering spires that could only be a temple of some sort. Inside, Loki was immediately taken in by the architecture. It was unlike anything he had seen on Asgard, with high ceilings and sweeping arches, all in stone. The walls were lined with brightly-coloured glass that after a few moments of study, Loki realised were conveying stories with the images formed in the intricate patterns of colours and lines.
There were a few people in the large hall, but they seemed content to ignore Loki as he slowly and reverently made his way down the aisle. But while the glass imagery was impressive, it still told Loki nothing of his location. The stories and myths could be interpreted any number of ways and belong to any number of races.
As soon as he found a secluded space, he slipped into the shadows around him to more easily search the temple for any written sagas that might shed light to the question of which realm Loki had stumbled upon.
He soon found a small side-chamber with sparse furnishings. On a small desk in the corner, however, there was a leather-bound book. Loki immediately seized upon it, flipping through the first pages until finding this realm’s particular origin-beliefs. As it was, the very first verse contained everything Loki needed to know. In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram. Even in the realms neighbouring Yggdrasil, only one race attributed all of creation to a single deity. It was the same realm that had abandoned its original name and called itself instead after the very ground upon which its men walked — Terra. Earth. Midgard.
It would seem his aim was not so badly off after all. It also meant it was somewhere he should not have been. The realisation of the consequences struck him only then, and he knew his father would not be so forgiving for this trespass. Casting a wary eye sky-ward, Loki hoped Heimdall had not been charged with keeping watch on this realm. He especially hoped that Heimdall hadn’t seen his spectacular inability to retain his composure after his journey.
He knew that his risk of being caught was far greater if he went by his own name in this realm. If Heimdall heard someone using the name of an Asgardian prince in a place where no Asgardian was meant to be, Loki’s holiday would be over sooner than he intended. Knowing little else about Midgard, aside from the humans’ tendency to so fiercely follow their god, Loki flipped through their sagas until finding a human name to suit him. Just over halfway through, one name did finally call to him. He tested it on his tongue and smiled to himself, ready to see what mischief he could find for himself in this forbidden realm. Loki shut the book and returned it to its place before making a hasty retreat from the temple and back out to the street.
Now that he knew he was on Midgard, he was able to appreciate how much the land had changed since his last visit. But the more he looked around, inspecting the buildings and the people walking the street, the more he was prepared to admit that his aim had been off after all. Something about the air itself didn’t feel right. More than just the stuffiness of atmosphere that comes from crowded cities, the whole feeling seemed muted. There might have been magic in this ground once, but it left long ago — gone for far longer than the eight years between Loki’s visits.
This was Midgard, but not the place Loki had seen as a boy.
He took a moment to assure himself that at least this meant he wouldn’t have to run from any elk after all.
“You there. Boy!”
Loki was startled out of his thoughts by two men swiftly approaching him. His first instinct was to run, but he hadn’t done anything that they would have seen, so he stood his ground instead, remaining watchful for any sign that he should flee.
The men reached him, the taller of the two at once moving his hands to Loki’s hair, which hung loosely at his shoulders.
“He’s perfect,” he said to his companion. “We wouldn’t even have to put a wig on him.
Loki began to doubt his decision to stand his ground.
“We’ll let Will decide,” the other said, nudging the first away from Loki’s hair.
“Decide what?” Loki asked. He pulled away from both of them and watched them in case they approached again.
“Can you read?” the second man asked.
Loki regarded them carefully, noticing the way his question was dodged. “Yes,” he said slowly.
“Then how does seven shillings a week sound?” the first asked.
Before Loki could answer either way, or even find out what a shilling was, he was quickly ushered down the street by the strange men.
“What’s your name, lad?” the shorter of the two asked as they rounded a corner.
“Lucam,” Loki answered. “Od…son.” He realised after he started speaking that he shouldn’t tell these people his patronymic, but by then it was too late to backtrack gracefully.
“I’m Thomas Cooper,” the man said. “My excitable companion is John Leicester. Have you ever acted before, Luke?”
Loki shook his head, focusing more on their strange names than what he was asked.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” John said. “Or you won’t, and we’ll just find another replacement.”
Loki understood the words they were saying, but none of them made sense in context. He knew he should sneak away and find somewhere else to be, but he was far too curious to walk away, and what fun was there in travelling to a forbidden realm if he couldn’t mess things up just a little bit?
“Very well,” he said, deciding to simply go with whatever happened and return to Asgard should anything prove too much to handle. “I shall give it my best and hope to not be replaced.”
His new companions laughed in a way he didn’t entirely understand, but it sounded almost ominous. Neither of them said anything else though, until leading Loki through large doors to a round courtyard surrounded by rows of high seats. In the centre, several more men stood on a raised platform, studying sheafs of parchment.
“Oi! Will!” John shouted. “We found Ophelia!”
One of the men jumped down from the platform and strode purposefully over to them, his gaze fixed on Loki.
“We found him just wandering,” Thomas said. “He says he’s never acted before, but at least he can read.”
The man called Will took Loki by the chin to study his face. “You got all your teeth?” he asked.
Loki cast a glance over to Thomas and John before venturing a cautious, “Yes.”
Will’s fingers went to Loki’s hair, making him wonder what fascination humans had with it. It was just on the bearable side of disgusting, as far as he was concerned, but then, many of the humans didn’t seem much better off with theirs. At least Loki kept his brushed.
“We wouldn’t even have to put a wig on you,” Will said.
“That’s what I said,” John said. “He looks the part, at least.”
“What is the meaning of all this?” Loki asked finally. “Why would you want to put me in a wig?”
John smiled widely and clapped Loki on the back. “Luke Olson, meet Mr William Shakespeare,” he said. “The greatest man there ever was.”
Will rolled his eyes almost sarcastically, and Loki wondered how that was meant to explain anything. Before he could ask further, Will handed him a sheaf of parchment and guided him over to the direction of the raised platform in the centre of the ring.
“Stand there,” he said, pointing. “Never mind the blocking for now. We’ll just see what you can do. Laertes! Act one, scene three!”
Thomas jumped up onto the platform with Loki and immediately began speaking in a way that was even more incomprehensible than Loki had already been subjected to. Eventually, he paused and gave Loki an expectant look.
“That’s you, Mr Olson,” Will said from the ground. “You’re reading for Ophelia.”
“Oh,” Loki said dumbly. He looked down at the page to find his place.
“Do you doubt that?” he read stiffly, not sure how it was meant to follow any of the nonsense Thomas had said.
Again, Thomas began speaking. He barely looked at the page in his hand, reciting the words as though he were thinking them up right then and there. More than that, he seemed to behave as though he were speaking to Loki directly, running a tender hand down the side of Loki’s face before holding him close. If not for being so involved in trying to keep up with what was written down on his own pages, Loki would have struck him for being so forward. But there was also the fact that Thomas’ behaviour seemed perfectly natural to everyone else. Clearly, Loki was missing some vital context, and he dared not question it lest he give himself away as not belonging on Midgard. As far as he could tell, judging by everyone else’s behaviour and reactions to what was happening, this was a perfectly normal thing to happen. If anything, protesting it would have seemed unusual and out of place. Despite everything he’d been taught and raised to believe suitable behaviour for a man, he simply let it happen to see where it went.
When Thomas paused again, Loki this time too his queue. “No more but so?” he read aloud, this time not even fully understanding his own words.
This time when Thomas spoke, he carried on and on, still only occasionally glancing at the pages in his hand. Thrice, Loki lost his place whilst trying to read along. It occurred to him that this might be some form of spell work, meant to conjure or summon some ancient evil. If this is what Midgard was truly up to, he knew he should tell his father. But not before he saw the result of these actions.
Finally, Thomas stopped and it was Loki’s turn again.
“I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,” he started, wondering how much of this nonsense he was expected to read. “As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother. Do not, as some—what? This makes no sense. What am I reading?”
He looked helplessly down to Will, ignoring the annoyed groans from those around him. Even Will gave an air of exasperation as he stepped up onto the platform with Loki.
“Poetry, boy,” he said. “It makes perfect sense if one reads it well. ‘But, good my brother, do not as some ungracious pastors do, show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; whiles like a puff’d and reckless libertine, himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, and recks not his own rede’.”
Loki blinked at him and looked back down at the page. Reading the verse again, he thought he might have seen the meaning in the words.
“That’s a great deal of speech just to tell someone not to be a hypocrite,” he said.
Will chuckled lightly. “But where’s the beauty in that?” he asked. “A man’s character can be judged by the words he speaks. If a man wants to listen to a dullard speak, he can stay at home to do so. Here, we give him poetry and drama.”
Loki read back over the page, fighting his mind’s natural inclination to make sense of the words. He remembered struggling with Nornir sagas written in similar verse. Herða explained it as having to do with how the Alltongue finds meaning in words; finding not the meanings of the words, but the ideas behind them, making metaphor a jumble of ideas and images.
Determined not to fail at something so seemingly simple, Loki turned back to Will.
“I can learn to do this,” he said confidently. “Allow me to observe your men so I know what it is I am meant to be doing. One does not expect a novice to master any art overnight. These men have plainly mastered what is certainly a very fine art indeed.”
After a few moments’ consideration, Will nodded. “Very well,” he said, motioning to the ground. “Observe. Everyone else, from the top. Let us show Mr Olson what it is we do.”
Will took Loki’s pages from him and waved everyone else out of the way. Loki sat on the ground in front of the platform and watched as the men spoke strange Midgardian poetry to one another. In all their actions, there was a story, though. One of deception and deceit and a murderous coup carried out in secret. The words were not meaningless, but meant as a dialogue to the saga that wasn’t told or sung, but rather performed.
“Tell me about this slain king,” Loki said when Thomas sat beside him. “What else did he do, before he was murdered?”
Thomas turned a confused gaze to him. “Which king?” he asked.
“This one,” Loki said, pointing up at Will as he portrayed the ghost of King Hamlet.
Thomas laughed quietly. “Tis but a fiction, boy,” he said. “A figment of Will’s own imagination.”
“It’s a lie, you mean,” Loki said.
He thought about the embellishments added by warriors after they returned from a quest. But even underneath the falsehoods were truth. To embellish upon nothing was inconceivable.
“Not at all,” Thomas said, contrary to Loki’s expectations. “Fiction is the world’s greatest truth. Truths are often misrepresented or withheld in the interest of avoiding slander. Frame that truth as fiction, and a man can say whatever he wants.”
“We don’t have that distinction where I’m from,” Loki said before he could stop himself.
“And where’s that?” Thomas asked. “I thought you looked a bit lost when we found you.”
Loki knew he couldn’t tell him the truth of his home, and he didn’t know enough of the realm’s geography to lie. The only thing he could think to do was put Thomas’ words to the test.
“A kingdom far to the north of this place,” he said. “The stories we are told are all true, told by those who have lived them, or else passed down by those who remember the words.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for an Icelandic,” Thomas said. “You are a long way from home.”
Loki shrugged, letting him gather his own conclusions. There might have been something to this fiction thing after all.
***
Thor found Loki in one of the courtyards, and was so overjoyed at the sight he barely registered the way Loki seemed to be talking to himself.
“Brother, where have you been?” Thor called out as he rushed to Loki’s side. “You have been gone for weeks!”
Loki looked up at him, surprised at Thor’s outburst.
“Have I?” he asked. “Time is supposed to pass more quickly there. My absence shouldn’t have been more than a day or two.”
“Weeks,” Thor repeated. “Mother has been beside herself with worry. Not even Heimdall could…”
Thor trailed off awkwardly, but he didn’t have to finish that thought for Loki to know where it was going. Heimdall could find anyone, so long as they lived.
Unless they shrouded themselves in magic.
It had not occurred to Loki how it might seem for Heimdall to be unable to find him. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be away for so long. Time moved more quickly on Midgard. Everyone knew that, just as they knew it moved more slowly on Jötunheimr. A few weeks on Midgard should have only been several days on Asgard, at the absolute most. The week off he and his fellow actors were given as a break between their performances was supposed to be enough time for Loki to return home for a bath and maybe a meal or two. He’d had the bath and was waiting for dinner, but now he wondered if he shouldn’t return to Midgard to make sure he wasn’t late.
But no. That seemed to be the opposite of what happened. Weeks spent on Midgard were weeks absent from Asgard. Why had no-one ever noticed that? Or if they had, why had it never been recorded?
“Loki, where have you been?” Thor asked. His eyes fell to the pages in Loki’s hands and his frown deepened. “And what is this? I heard you speaking as I approached.”
He reached for it, and after only the briefest hesitation, Loki let him take it.
“It’s what I’ve been doing,” he said. “Be careful with it, please. I intend to keep it when I’m done.”
Thor tried to make sense of the scribbles on the pages, but his talent with other languages, even with the Alltongue’s aid, was little.
“Why keep it?” Thor asked. “It looks to be nonsense.”
Loki shrugged. “It is a bit,” he agreed. “But I enjoy it. And none will even remember these words in a few years. Someone should keep it so those in the future know it happened at all.”
Thor levelled a sceptical gaze at him. “And what are you doing with it now?” he asked, handing back the pages.
Loki smiled devilishly and shifted in a way to make him stand as though his body was not his. He held himself as though everything about him had suddenly become weighted differently. Though Thor wanted to ignore it — pretend he hadn’t seen it at all — he thought Loki held himself almost as if he were a woman.
“I am making sure it is committed to memory,” Loki said.
He turned away from Thor long enough to whip his hair about, and when he turned back around, it was with a look of urgency and wide-eyed terror. Thor stood ready and glared over Loki’s shoulder to see what might have frightened him so badly, but he saw nothing. So focused was he on the distance behind Loki that he nearly jumped when Loki pressed himself against Thor like a cowering maiden. This, even Thor couldn’t ignore.
“He took me by the wrist and he held me hard,” Loki said with a voice that was barely his own. He reached for Thor’s hands, his own trembling faintly. “Then goes he to the length of all his arm; and, with his other hand thus o'er his brow—” Loki demonstrated the position as he spoke, backing Thor against the wall several paces behind him “—he falls to such perusal of my face as he would draw it.”
“Who?” demanded Thor. “Loki, of whom do you speak?”
Loki dropped to his knees and turned his head up to look pleadingly at Thor, scrabbling at his tunic like a man drowning.
“Long stay’d he so,” Loki continued, ignoring Thor’s questions, gabbling as though in fear that someone might hear him. “At last, a little shaking of mine arm and thrice his head was waving up and down, he raised a sigh so piteous and profound as it did seem to shatter all his bulk and end his being.”
He sobbed with lady-like hitches and turned glittering eyes back to his brother.
“Loki, stop this and tell me what you mean by this!” Thor pushed Loki to the grounds and took a step back from him. For all Loki’s insistence that he could take care of himself and needed no-one’s help to do so, it seemed odd that he would suddenly play the victim.
At once, the fear on Loki’s face was replaced with a smug grin, he leapt up, and bowed deeply at the waist.
“Loki, I will not ask again,” Thor threatened, irritated at his brother’s duplicity. “This latest show tries my patience, brother.”
“Too much, do you think?” Loki asked, standing up straight and as himself once more. “Will keeps saying to play it up, but I think you might be right. It does seem a bit much.”
Thor glared at Loki, his jaw clenched tight. “Tell me what you play at with this,” he demanded.
“Ah. You asked again,” Loki said playfully.
“Loki,” Thor said, his voice taking on the dark quality it often did when he failed to get his way.
“Just that, brother,” Loki said finally with a mocking smile. He pushed his hair back behind his ears and out of the way of his face. “I merely play. Nothing more.”
“This is not play,” Thor said. “This is deception. Speak clearly with me.”
Loki made a show of considering this, not even feeling the slightest bit guilty at riling up his brother with his unwillingness to cooperate. For once, he had found something at which he could win against Thor.
“All right,” he said. “The truth is I have been to Midgard. There, I am paid handsomely to learn and perform the part of a woman before hundreds of witnesses.”
“You debase yourself and dishonour our family?” Thor asked. “For trinkets? Why?”
“Oh, no,” Loki said. “For far more than just trinkets. It is forbidden for women to do the things I do. If one wishes to see a woman on the stage, he must watch a man and pretend he sees a woman.”
Thor gaped at Loki, not wanting to believe his words.
“Father was right to forbid travel to that realm,” he said. “The humans are all sick of mind, and now you have fallen victim to their sickness as well.”
“At least I am compensated for it,” he said, shrugging dramatically.
With a sneer, Thor turned away from Loki and stomped off. As he went, Loki wondered if he might have pushed it just a little too far with his brother.
***
Loki stood on the bridge, watching the fish swim lazily in the muddy water below. Behind him, Sif and Fandral exchanged boasts of their past deeds, a childish mockery of the warriors who would compare quests in the dining hall. Loki tried desperately to block it all out. He had only invited Fandral and Hogun to come with them because Thor had asked Sif along. If he was going to bring someone on their private rides, Loki would double Thor’s contribution. He expected the spiteful action to make him feel better about Sif being there at all. Now, he just regretted it. Hogun and Fandral both seemed to already prefer Thor’s company to Loki’s, and Sif was just as insufferable as ever.
“I thought you would be with your other friends today,” Sif said suddenly, breaking Loki from his thoughts.
“No, it’s not the same without Will,” Loki said mournfully.
He had been saddened by the loss of his friend, but Will — as well as the rest of them — was human. Dying was just another thing they did. But now seeing Sif become self-conscious over her words was almost enough to bring a smug grin to Loki’s face.
In truth, even before Will’s passing, the humans had begun to notice that Loki wasn’t ageing properly. It was only a matter of time before someone accused him of witchcraft or some other nonsense.
“What about you?” Loki asked. “Don’t you have sewing lessons to attend today?”
Sif glowered at him. “Shut up, No-oneson,” she spat.
“Why are you such a shrew?” Loki demanded.
Sif raised her arm as if to strike him, but Fandral was upon her before she could swing, staying her hand.
“Hey, now,” he said calmingly. “Let’s not have any of that.”
She rounded on him, pulling herself from his grip. “Keep your hands off me unless you want to lose them, son of argr.”
Fandral’s eyes darkened as all jest faded fast from his demeanour. “That sounds like a challenge to me,” he said.
Before he could reach for her again, Sif aimed a high kick at his stomach. He jumped away just as Thor and Hogun stepped in to pull them apart, putting Hogun in the path of Sif’s anger. Her foot landed on his hip, pushing him back and into the low rail of the bridge.
Already bored with the display of rage and machismo, Loki turned back to watch the fish some more, but they had retreated back to the depths, far from view. Sighing tiredly, Loki leaned against the rail and wished everyone would just shut up. For a brief moment, he even considered trying to magically gag them, but he might have found himself in even more trouble than it was worth, so he dismissed the idea.
The entire bridge lurched with the force of several bodies slamming into the rail, and Loki spun round to push the offender away. Instead, Hogun’s elbow caught him in the nose, blinding him with pain for a few moments. Before he could recover, Sif and Fandral both slammed into him again. The rail behind him cracked loudly as it gave way, taking Loki with it to the water below.
“Loki!” Thor and Fandral both called out. The two of them tried to get to the edge of the bridge to peer over, but Thor pushed Fandral out of the way to get the best view.
The others stopped their squabble as well, peering wide-eyed at where Loki stood only moments before. Staring at the water below, Thor steeled himself as he prepared to jump in after his brother.
“Thor, no!” Sif protested, holding him back by the arm.
“He needs help,” Thor said.
Fandral bit his lip, looking between the two of them. “She’s right,” he said regretfully. “How will you help him? You can swim no better than he can.”
“He can at least turn himself to a fish,” Sif reasoned. “He’s a sorcerer. That’s what they do.”
“Sorcerer in training, technically,” Fandral said, ignoring the glares from Thor and Sif both.
Despite his glaring, Thor knew they were right though. If he jumped in after Loki, it would only make two people to rescue.
While they all argued, Hogun ran back to where the horses were tied and took a length of rope from where it hung on Fandral’s tack. Not even sure that it would be long enough, he rushed back to the bridge and shoved one end of the rope into Thor’s hands. Before anyone could even ask what he was doing, Hogun jumped off the bridge with the other end, falling beneath the water as the other three shouted his name.
The river was deeper than he thought it would be, with thick mud kicked up from heavy spring rains. He could barely see a few inches in front of him, but it would have to be enough.
Unlike the others, he was not born of Asgard. He may have benefited from her many gifts of health and life, but he wasn’t weighed down by dense bones or compact muscle. Like everyone in his native village, he’d learned to swim as a boy, and now he pressed that advantage to dive deeper into the river, reaching out for the feel of linen and skin against his fingers.
He swam deeper, letting the current take him downstream and praying to whichever gods or fates that still listened that he hadn’t somehow passed Loki in the muck. Finally, when he was about to go back up for air, he felt something causing the water to roil to his left. He reached out, feeling a frantic hand grabbing for anything it could find. Hogun took it, pulling Loki close to him and holding him tight, despite his panicked thrashing. Not risking the time to tie the rope to him, Hogun gave it a sharp tug and wrapped what he could around his forearm. At once, he could feel the rope being pulled from above and began kicking, trying to help the others pull him and Loki to the surface.
In his arms, Loki still thrashed, but for the time being Hogun took this as a good sign. So long as he still moved, he still had air in his lungs. Asgardians were tough creatures — the Jötnar even more so — but Hogun suspected they were still capable of drowning.
As his own lungs began to burn from a lack of air, Hogun could see the sparkle of sunlight on the surface. He let out the breath he’d been holding to ease the fire in his chest and kicked harder to reach the surface. Finally, light flooded his vision and he hoisted Loki up to get his face out of the water; no small feat with Loki’s weight pressing him down beneath the water.
“Get to the bank!” Hogun called up to Thor.
Thor nodded and ran the length of the bridge, holding the rope aloft to keep it from dragging against the rail. Once on the bank, he pulled Hogun and Loki to land and cast the rope aside. He pulled Loki into a tight hug, ignoring his coughs and sputters as he cleared the water from his lungs. Neither of them even seemed to notice the way Sif glared at them, or Fandral bouncing impatiently a few feet away.
“I would not have liked to explain to father what happened if we failed to retrieve you,” Thor said.
Loki said nothing, staring blankly at the water in front of him.
“You shall be honoured for this,” Thor said to Hogun, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have done my family a great service and all of Asgard shall know it.”
“There was no need for a rescue,” Sif said. “He could have just as easily turned himself into a fish and swam far away from us.”
“When have you ever seen me turn myself into a fish, you stupid cow?” Loki demanded, turning to her.
“What sort of sorcerer are you that you can’t?” Sif demanded back.
“Enough!” Thor shouted. “I am weary of this feud between you. Loki is my brother and—”
Sif snorted, cutting him off.
Casting a hard glare to her, Thor pulled a dagger from his belt and without hesitation, slid the blade across his palm, drawing a long, straight cut that bled freely.
“Loki, give me your hand,” he said, not taking his eyes off Sif.
Loki hesitated for only a moment before giving Thor his right hand, seeing plainly where this was going. Any other time, he might have protested it, but he was too exhausted to put on a show. He barely flinched as Thor dragged the blade across his open palm before taking Loki’s hand in his own.
“With this action, we share blood,” Thor said. “There is none here who can deny now that Loki is my brother.”
He continued to glare at Sif, watching her reaction.
“No, I cannot deny it,” Sif said bitterly.
“Good,” Thor said, taking his hand from Loki’s. “Then you know that a strike against him is a strike against me.”
Sif only nodded and looked away. Looking at the cut on his hand, Loki wanted to be sick. This was exactly the sort of grudging respect he had wished to avoid.
***
All of Asgard had indeed heard of Hogun’s deed, and how Odin’s founding son needed rescue in the first place. Never mind that anyone else in his place would have needed rescue as well. With Loki, it was simply more proof that he didn’t belong on Asgard in the first place; that he was so weak, he needed saving by a human boy.
He didn’t blame Hogun for it. If anything, he owed Hogun a debt. But he still tasted the bitter resentment toward the entire realm as he sat in the dining hall, watching everyone chatter mindlessly and occasionally throw a glance his way.
Loki focused especially on Sif, dressed now as the maiden she was supposed to be, in a golden gown to match her hair. She could fill two roles and be praised for it. In the palace, she was a maiden. Outside, a warrior. Why should Loki be shamed for his magic if Sif was not shamed for taking up a sword?
He realised that he hated her, and always had. From the first time she insulted Jötunheimr in his presence, even before knowing the truth of Loki’s heritage, he hated her.
If she was going to question his abilities as a sorcerer, perhaps she would like a private demonstration of his skill.
Set out at even intervals along the table were vases with various flowers from the gardens. Loki picked out a blue one, and with his table knife, cut the stem short and put it in his mouth briefly to suck on the freshly cut end. Quietly muttering a series of incantations, he wet his fingers with his tongue and played them over the petals, weaving layer after layer of magic into the plant. Wash day was three days away and by then, the flower would be long forgotten. The curse that Loki put into it, however, would sill be strong, waiting until the first touch of water to release itself.
Satisfied with his work, Loki stood and walked slowly up to Sif, hesitating as she spoke with several other girls her age. She was bored with their conversation, but court manners required certain behaviours from her.
When she saw Loki approach, she tried to decide which conversation she wanted to have least.
“What do you want?” she demanded finally, not quite caring about court manners enough to address a prince properly.
“Only peace,” Loki said, turning the flower over in his fingers in a display of nervousness. “Thor did our speaking for us. I thought you might want to speak for yourself.”
Sif looked back to her companions and nodded, sending them away.
“What is that in your hand?” she asked, taking control of the conversation.
“Oh,” Loki said, looking down at the flower. “A peace-offering. I know it should be something more personal, but I feared you might not accept it if it was something of my own.”
Sif thought about this offering for long enough for Loki to look away and bit the end of this thumb, apparently second-guessing himself.
“Yes, all right,” she said finally.
“May I?” he asked, holding up the flower.
“Very well,” Sif said.
She tilted her head, allowing Loki to slide the short stem of the flower into the hair above her ear. He moved her hair to hold it in place, giving it an uncertain smile.
“There,” he said. “And now, I think it would be best if we agreed to avoid one another’s presence.”
Sif nodded. “Agreed,” she said. “But know that it is only an agreement I make for Thor.”
Loki nodded. “Understood,” he said. He then bowed lightly to her. “My lady.”
He turned quickly to walk away before she saw the grin he could no longer hide.
***
Few people in Asgard could be said to be truly Æsir. It was a misnomer; an idea that existed in name only. There were no more Æsir on Asgard than there were Dökkálfar on Svartálfheimr. But where one had been wiped out by an ancient war, the other faded into history through diplomacy and treaties. Odin himself was half-Jötun. Frigga had strong lines of Álfar and Vanir in her line. But save those few with Nornir or human blood, there still existed universal traits amongst those on Asgard. Most notably, the more Aryan traits of blond hair and blue eyes. Loki’s dark hair had always set him apart, and when his secret got out, few seemed truly shocked to hear it. After all, what sort of Æsir prince is born with dark hair?
The shriek of horror and anger was heard through the palace, in part due to a slight magical boost. Loki was still in bed when he heard it and grinned widely at the satisfaction of a job well done. He had not seen Sif in three days, and just to further cement his cover, he rolled out of bed and bolted down to the doors of his chambers. Not even bothering to dress or apply his glamour, he opened the door and peered out at the guard assigned to his chambers.
“What was that?” Loki asked, looking for all the world as though he’d just been roused from sleep.
The guard looked down at him, jumping slightly at the sight before him.
“I don’t know, my prince,” he said, turning his gaze away. “Shall I find out?”
Loki considered the offer for a long moment. “No,” he said finally. “I’m sure the whole palace will know before breakfast is done. I can find out for myself. Thank you.”
He closed the door and returned to his bedchamber to dress.
While he usually made a habit of sleeping through breakfast, he knew that the dining hall was unusually full that morning. Every noble in the palace, and even some of the serving classes milled about, speculating upon the scream that echoed through Asgard’s golden halls that morning. Thor found Loki by one of the long tables, picking over a stack of bread rolls.
“What are you doing here so early?” Thor asked.
“Gossip,” Loki answered cheerily. “What have you heard?”
Thor frowned at him. “Loki.”
Loki shrugged. “I was woken from my slumber, as I’m sure were many others. Are you not curious to know why?”
“Well, yes,” Thor admitted. “But it is not our place to spread gossip like—”
“Like what?” Loki prompted.
“Like women,” Thor said.
Loki hummed thoughtfully. “Would you say the same thing to Sif?” he asked, looking around as though hoping to spot her in the crowd.
“No,” Thor said, looking around as well. “She is a woman.”
“She’s also a warrior,” Loki pointed out. “Surely a person can’t be both. Isn’t that how it is? Either one or the other?”
Thor didn’t have an answer for him, so Loki smiled triumphantly and took a bite of his roll.
“Where is she, anyway?” Loki asked. “I thought she’d be down here, not gossipping with the rest of us.”
“I do not know,” Thor realised aloud. “Surely, she must have heard that banshee wail as well.”
Loki’s face went serious as he raised his eyebrows pointedly.
“You don’t think?” Thor asked.
“I think plenty,” Loki said. “But, no. I have not implied anything.”
Loki watched the seeds of worry sprout in Thor, and again had to stop himself from laughing as his brother turned and sprinted from the dining hall.
***
Loki had not counted on Týr still being terrifying. He may have been too old to cower beneath his mother’s skirts, but that didn’t stop Loki from putting himself behind Odin.
The curse had worked wonderfully. As soon as water soaked Sif’s hair, all the golden colour drained from it, leaving behind locks as black as a raven’s wing. It was a maliciously beautiful sight.
It was also forbidden magic, and Loki’s future well-being depended upon his being able to deflect his guilt.
“My son was in his bed,” Odin said calmly, in stark contrast to Týr’s rage. “The guard outside his door confirms it. And the guard outside your door says no-one entered your chambers who should not have.”
“They’re lying,” Týr insisted. “He did this, that little goblin. I know it was him.”
“Týr Hymirson,” Odin said sternly, loud enough for his voice to echo off the walls of the throne room. “This is not the first time you have falsely accused my son of crimes against your family. Do so again, and they will be your last words spoken in this realm.”
Týr paled and took half a step back. “Yes, Allfather,” he said.
Without another word, he took Sif, her face still red from crying, and led her through the large doors to the promenade.
“Loki,” Odin said, not turning to look down at him. “Be honest with me.”
Loki shook his head. “I have not been near her for days,” he said, knowing it to be truth, but not the one Odin was after. “We agreed to avoid one another’s presence, and have both held to that agreement until just now.”
Odin regarded him with suspicion, but nodded all the same. “Very well,” he said. “I would suggest you continue to honour that agreement.”
“Yes, Father,” Loki said.
“Good.” Odin turned away and began walking toward the door to the north hall. “I believe you have lessons this morning.”
“Yes, Father,” Loki repeated. He didn’t wait to be dismissed before darting from the throne room, feeling as though he had dodged death itself.
***
Viðar ran as fast as his legs could carry him as he rounded a corner to a corridor that even then he knew he was not supposed to be down. Against the wall in front of him stood a large, golden pot with a large, sprawling fern, and wasting no time he ducked behind it.
Moments later, Loki’s even footsteps rounded the corner, stopping less than a meter from the fern. Hands planted firmly on his hips, Loki looked round the corridor and hummed to himself.
“I think I have lost my brother,” he declared casually to the corridor. “Mother will be most upset, but I think Baldur will enjoy being the youngest once more.”
Loki didn’t expect any sort of nervous giggle from the precocious toddler he’d liberated from the nursery, but he didn’t need one to know where Viðar hid. The swaying of the fern more than gave him away.
“Maybe I should lose him as well,” Loki continued. “Then I can be youngest once again.”
“Loki, what trouble are you causing today?” Odin asked suddenly from behind him.
Loki spun round quickly, startled at his father’s ability to sneak up on him so.
“No trouble at all, Father,” Loki said innocently, taking a step back toward the fern.
Odin narrowed his gaze at Loki, no longer even certain how to interpret his words. To feel this distrust toward his own son left a heavy feeling, sorrowful in his chest, but he refused to show it. Especially around Loki.
“There is a matter I wish to speak with you about,” he said.
“Yes,” Loki said. “I would like to speak with you as well, but today is wash day and Viðar has not yet had his bath.”
He spun quickly and snatched up Viðar from behind the fern. This time, he expected at least an indignant squeal from Viðar, but still nothing came. Not taking the time to dwell on it, Loki rushed down the corridor with Viðar slung over his shoulder. He had a good idea what Odin wished to speak with him about, and wanted nothing to do with that conversation for as long as possible.
Loki let himself into Frigga’s washroom, Viðar struggling to free himself from Loki’s grip.
“Loki,” Frigga said to the sound of the door opening. “Your father was looking for you.”
“Yes, he found me,” Loki said. “And I found this!”
He pulled Viðar from his shoulder and held him out for Frigga, ignoring the way he squirmed to get away.
“Ah, yes. Someone else who wasn’t where he was supposed to be.” Frigga took her youngest from Loki and held him on her hip with one arm. Viðar stopped struggling at once.
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Frigga asked.
“Not a thing,” Loki said. “Who else went missing today?”
Frigga looked at him dubiously, and Loki knew that he was in for more trouble than he’d realised. Maybe if he left quickly, he could outrun Odin again.
“I’ll let you get to work then,” he said easily. “Try not to let him get you too wet.”
“He’s no worse than you were at this age,” Frigga said, letting more of her weariness show than she’d meant to.
Loki cringed dramatically and stepped backward out the door. As soon as he turned round to sneak off somewhere to hide, he found Odin blocking his path.
“Perhaps now we can talk,” Odin said sternly.
“Yes,” Loki agreed, putting on a false smile. “Let’s.”
“I’ve spoken with Týr today,” Odin said, cornering Loki against the door. The mere mention of Týr tended to have Loki running in the opposite direction, and Odin wasn’t about to give him the chance to do so.
“Oh?” Loki asked. “What crime is he accusing me of today?”
“He tells me you have not attended training for several months,” Odin said. He wasn’t doing anything to raise his voice, but his calm, quiet anger made Loki’s blood turn to ice.
“Ah,” Loki said. Suddenly, sneaking off to the library didn’t seem the best plan. He regretted not going somewhere beyond the palace. Like Nidavelir.
“Do you deny these claims?” Odin asked.
“Not at all, Father,” Loki said, not even daring to think what might happen if he got caught up in a string of lies regarding this. Even more, he feared what might happen if Odin knew the truth.
“There’s nothing to deny,” Loki continued, gathering up his wits. “Volstagg leads training in the evenings. I find I prefer it to working in the heat of the day.”
“Volstagg?” Odin asked. “I was not aware he led anything beyond the hunt.”
Odin thought he knew of everything that happened in his kingdom. Perhaps he had become too focused on the relationships with the other realms if he no longer knew what transpired within his own court. It was little wonder that Loki was able to cause so much trouble lately.
“He does think of things other than food when it suits him to,” Loki said. He tried to edge along the wall, but Odin stepped to remain right in front of him.
“You have become very talented with words,” Odin said gravely. “I only wish it has not been at the expense of your other studies.”
Before Loki could twist the truth into another lie, Odin dismissed him and moved to enter Frigga’s chambers. Loki remained where he stood, feeling he had been let off rather lightly, and wondering when the true punishment would come.
***
“Loki! Pay attention!”
Volstagg stood at the edge of the ring, despairing at the prince’s complete lack of skill with a weapon.
Loki had been training with Volstagg for almost three months, and had not left Týr’s training a day before, but that was only half the truth. Attendance and participation were not the same thing, and given Loki’s apparent willingness to learn, Volstagg was willing to bet that his lack of participation had not been through any fault of his own.
“Loki!” he shouted again, but it was too late.
In a single swing, Hogun disarmed Loki of his practise sword and struck him in the ribs with his own. A long stream of red trailed out from Loki’s side as he fell to the ground, long limbs sprawled out awkwardly. If it had been the first time Volstagg had seen the display, he would have panicked. As indeed he did the first time Loki used the flash of a red silk scarf and the low light of twilight to aid in his dramatics. As it was, Volstagg dragged his hand down his face and stomped over to where the prince lay in the sand.
“I’m done,” Loki declared, staring blankly up at the sky.
“Get up,” Volstagg said. “You are not just going to lie there in the dust.”
“He got me. I’m dead,” Loki said.
“There is no honour in this defeat,” Volstagg said.
“There is no honour in being defeated every time I step foot in the ring,” Loki complained.
Volstagg sighed tiredly. Loki’s lack of skill annoyed him. His inconsistent attitude toward training annoyed him. Most of all, the fact that Loki was right annoyed him. He had yet to best even a single opponent in all the time Volstagg had been training him. He hadn’t even come close.
“Sit up at least,” Volstagg said. “I don’t like talking to a corpse.”
Loki complied, and Volstagg lowered his bulk to meet Loki in the eye.
“How much have you trained with a sword?” he asked quietly, so the others wouldn’t overhear him.
Loki looked away, not wanting to admit that most of his time spent with a sword had been spent learning how to use one on stage.
“Right,” Volstagg said, picking up on part of what was being left unsaid. “Have you trained with anything else?”
“A bow,” Loki said. “Knives as well.”
Volstagg nodded. “I think that’s something we can work with,” he said. “Now get up. Your father’s watching.”
Loki looked around wildly as he got to his feet. Sure enough, Odin stood at the far end of the ring, watching everything in a stony silence. Leaving Loki to sort himself out, Volstagg approached the Allfather, saluting as he drew near.
“Volstagg,” Odin said with a nod. “What is this you have here?”
Dropping his salute, Volstagg turned to look at the small band of teens he’d collected over the years.
“Just taking in Týr’s cast-offs,” he said without thinking.
Odin glanced at him, but said nothing on the matter. Instead, he pointed out to the group on the other side of the ring, where they had already forgotten their lessons and had begun kicking around the leather ball Loki often brought to training.
“That tall boy,” Odin said. “I believe I’ve seen him before.”
“Fandral?” asked Volstagg. “He and your son seem very close. They’re often disappearing together after training.”
“Yes, about Loki,” Odin said.
He stopped a long moment to watch the antics from across the ring, unable to tell what was going on beyond a mess being made from all the dust being kicked up along with the ball. It made Odin wonder when he’d last seen Loki playing with children his own age, rather than fighting with them or temporarily kidnapping Viðar. So much of his cheer lately seemed to either be false or at the expense of others. He almost hadn’t the heart to discipline him for neglecting his training for so long, if it meant Loki could be truly happy for just a while longer.
He said nothing while he contemplated the state of his own family, and Volstagg waited patiently for him to start speaking again.
“Loki tells me he has been training with you for several months now,” Odin said finally.
“He has, yes,” Volstagg said. “But he’s very far behind.”
Somehow, Odin wasn’t surprised to hear this.
“How far?” he asked.
Volstagg sighed, not wanting to be the one to deliver the news. “Years, maybe,” he said. “He knows how to hold a sword, but you give him one, and he hardly knows what to do with it.”
What Volstagg said seemed to contradict Týr’s complaint, and not favourably. If anything, it cast even more uncertainty on the situation.
“Weapons training starts at thirteen,” Odin said.
“It does,” Volstagg agreed, but he didn’t want to volunteer any more information than he had to.
“Midwinter was Loki’s sixteenth nameday.”
“Was it really?” Volstagg asked, knowing that Odin could see right past what he was trying to do. He knew full well how old all four of Odin’s sons were. All of Asgard did.
“Tell me, Volstagg,” Odin said. “How can he be so far behind when Týr tells me he’s only been neglecting training recently?”
Volstagg licked his lips and tugged awkwardly at the end of his beard. “I dare say you already know the answer to that,” he said.
Odin said nothing, only staring at Volstagg patiently.
“Týr’s done this before,” Volstagg said finally. “I have trained a few boys he neglected until they grew tired of sitting at the sides. Alv there was one of them.” He pointed to a large boy who even from the distance seemed to have more fat than muscle on him. “Your son is very stubborn to have kept attending for so long. The only reason he stopped was because Fandral brought him here one evening. I think he was afraid of what might happen if he took Týr’s hint.”
Odin nodded. Indeed, Týr had neglected to make any mention of his own fault in Loki’s training.
“And what of the hunt?” Odin asked.
“I still plan on taking him,” Volstagg said. “He’s sixteen; he can’t stay behind. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise he’ll be successful.”
“Very well,” Odin said, resigned to the knowledge that the fates had already apparently decided that Loki was always to be kept to the sides of everything. Not for the first time, Odin wondered if his choice in keeping him had been the right one. He wondered if maybe Loki would have been better off if raised far outside the palace by another family.
“I would like to be kept aware of his progress.”
“Yes, Allfather,” Volstagg said.
Again, Odin nodded before turning to walk away, deciding to let Loki have his time with the few friends he had. There was no reason to deprive him of that when the only fault had not been his own.
Once Odin was far enough away, Volstagg let out a deep breath and willed himself to keep standing. Midsummer’s day was barely more than a month away, and he hadn’t the first idea how he was supposed to prepare Loki for his first hunt in that time.
End notes:
In the comics, Loki apparently weighed something like 550 pounds, all crammed into a rail-thin 6'4" body. The rest of the Æsir were all similarly-built, so I figure they're all a bit like Stitch — really dense for their size.
Wash day and Loki were very closely linked, with Loki at one point being the god of hearth and leisure. Saturday is Loki's day, and the day was set aside for doing the washing, bathing, and occasionally just being a bit lazy.
Also, Viðar was known as Odin's silent son. He knew all sorts of secrets because he could be trusted not to tell anyone.