Chapter Text
Heimdall raises his chin. “I accept whatever penalty I have earned.”
Shaking his head, Odin studies Heimdall’s face. “Thor’s rashness I can understand; his friends’ folly, Loki’s schemes. They are all young, knowing nothing of war and little of the Jotnar. But you… I have never known you to shirk your duties, nor to disobey orders except in the greater interests of Asgard. I would know your reasoning: what drove you to let them through?”
“You did.”
Though some possible explanations whirr through his head, he hasn’t the time to work this out on his own; there is still so much to arrange. “Will you explain?”
“If you will truly listen this time.”
Taken aback, Odin narrows his eyes. “When have I ever ignored your counsel?”
“Whenever it comes to Loki,” Heimdall says, meeting his gaze impassively.
Well. It seems the day’s lessons must be hammered further in. “I will hear you.”
“I hope you will,” Heimdall returns. “When first you took the child, I expected him to be a danger to Asgard, and you would not hear me then. You grew to love him, and I concede he has responded to that love, yet by raising him in the ignorance of his own nature you have raised an unpredictable weapon that might at any point learn the truth and turn against us—and not without reason. The longer the delay, the more devastating the blow, to him and, in turn, to us.
“And if indeed he has a good heart, then his nature is a truth he by all rights deserves to know. You have had a thousand years and more to level with him; when he showed how cleverly he could keep secrets, to hide even from my eyes, and yet you still would not trust him with the truth, I gave you my counsel again, and you would not hear me. When he began to seek answers as to why he differed from his peers, you comforted him with evasions. When the secrets began to do him harm, you debated, but refused to come clean.
“In time it became apparent that you and the queen would continue this deceit indefinitely—if nothing forced your hand. So I determined that if the opportunity arose, if I could see any way around the vow of silence you had demanded of me, I would provide him with what answers I could. That if he asked me directly, for information about himself or the Jotnar, I would find some way to to aid his quest… and that if he ever sought to visit his homeworld, I would not stand in his way.”
For a long moment, Odin digests that revelation.
“He did not seek Jotunheim to learn about himself,” he points out at last.
“Yet where else might he come to a knowledge of the truth? The very act of visiting would likely reveal to him what I could not.”
“And possibly kill him in the process.”
“And did you shy from letting him visit Muspelheim, where there are giants of equal ferocity? Whose flames sent him back to the healers in agony, for days?”
Closing his eyes against the memories—Loki bravely holding back cries, the healers worrying over the likelihood of scars—Odin shakes his head. One more way in which he has failed his younger son.
“He got those wounds because he thought to prove himself equal to Thor by withstanding an equal onslaught. Had he understood that his nature was weak to fire, he would have made different choices, employed the kind of tricks he has used on other battlefields, and likely escaped harm. And that was hardly the only time that his ignorance has cost him dearly. You should have warned him long before he was of age to adventure on other Realms.”
“It never felt like the right time,” Odin returns, aware that the excuse is nearly as childish as Thor’s. “We could not be sure of who he might tell, or what he might do—”
“Hardly an idle fear. Yet you knew, from the moment you decided to bring him to Asgard, that there would be consequences. You accepted the risk—and then, by waiting, by letting him stumble along in the dark, you made the repercussions ever worse. Remember this, son of Bor: The truth comes always at a cost. But you are the one whose choices made the cost so high.”
Closing his eyes in pain, Odin lets it sink in again, the extent to which he’s failed his son. Both of them, in truth; had Loki gone alone to Jotunheim, he would have fared better than going there at Thor’s side. The thought floods him with shame.
But he has no time to wallow in self-blame. “Your eyes see more clearly than mine, old friend. Perhaps it was not the best move, but I cannot claim that mine were better. For all the harm done today, it seems you were indeed acting to prevent worse harm.”
Heimdall’s silence speaks louder than his words could.
That very silence reminds Odin of another force he must set in motion, one that he should not delay, so before heading back to Loki he drops by the stables to find Hogun waiting there.
If the Vanir lad is impatient, he hides it well.
“The rumors have already begun to spread,” Odin begins with no preamble. “I know not how far, or how twisted, but the talk has already been passed around. People will know that Thor went to Jotunheim, that he fought with Laufey’s forces, that Asgardians came back wounded. If they consider Loki at all, they will know that he lies in the healing hall. As for Thor, some will already have heard that he stood before me in court, charged with treason, and that he has been banished to Midgard for a time.”
Hogun nods, betraying nothing of his reaction to the news of Thor’s banishment.
“I cannot spare the time or the attention to look out from Hlidskjalf and see my people. So I will rely on your ears. Go to the taverns, the marketplaces. Get a feel for what people know, and what they think of it. What sort of misconceptions are spreading, what sort of sentiment is building up. Whether any factions are forming, and what their intentions seem to be.
“You are unlikely to go unnoticed, but stay secret to the extent you can, without seeming as if you are trying to hide. If any notice you, do not stay long—but give them some account of what you saw on Jotunheim.”
Hogun raises an eyebrow. “Am I to add fuel to the rumors, or correct them?”
“Lies have caused enough trouble this day. There are certain truths that I cannot openly announce, but which I would have more people aware of. That I am trying to avert a war, for one. You understand, I assume, that Thor went to Jotunheim itching for a fight?”
A nod.
“You saw him turn a mere insult into a cause for war?”
“The insult sparked it, true,” Hogun says, eyes narrowing, “and just after Loki had convinced him to walk away. But it is not fair to say that the insult alone caused him to lose his head.”
“Granted. As for Loki, you attest that he tried to prevent the fight?”
“He did,” Hogun agrees. “Thor would not hear him at first, and then only grudgingly.”
“And he acquitted himself well in battle?”
“He saved Fandral’s life, and sacrificed himself to ensure our escape.” His gaze drops. “It shames me that I have ever thought him weak, or doubted his courage.”
“Mmm.” A key realization, however late it might be. It remains to be seen if it will stick, and if it will help Loki in future; Hogun is known for his quiet perception, so the fact that he did not pick up on Loki’s courage before this is telling. But then, had Odin not also missed it—doubted his own son’s courage, been surprised by Laufey’s appraisal?
“What of Laufey?” he asks. “What is your impression of the king of the Jotnar?”
Taking a moment before responding, Hogun seems to be thinking back. “Not as savage as I had expected,” he ventures at last. “Cautious; he tried to avert the battle, said he knew what war would bring. Clever, in the way he used words and the way he turned Thor’s around on him. Thoughtful enough to observe us from the shadows, and to consider before he spoke, yet proud enough that Thor’s accusations roused his ire.
“In truth,” he concludes, “I saw little to set him apart from other kings, a fact I have been pondering while waiting here.”
Odin, too, takes a moment before responding.
“I cannot see the people of Asgard taking such words to heart,” he says finally. “Their impression of Laufey was forged in the last war, and will not be easily undone, let alone by rumor. And you are not of Asgard; I cannot say whether that might help your case or hurt it. Perhaps it might be wisest to leave Laufey out of the tale entirely.
“Yet… perhaps… if those who draw you into conversation are the ones who bring him up, or mention the Jotnar, perhaps your perspective might help them reconsider their preconceptions.”
Hogun nods thoughtfully.
“So go, then, and roam around, taking note of what you hear, and use your own discretion for when to speak up and how much. When speaking, be clear as to the fate of Thor, and that his banishment is temporary—but that the consequences he has earned may yet be permanent. Return to me three days hence, or sooner if you learn any matters of import that ought to be brought to my attention with haste. Once you return, I may have other tasks for you. Go now.”
Turning on his heel, Hogun the Grim heads out.
Briefly, he considers Sif, currently in the dungeons—but even if she can be persuaded to take on the task he has for her, he has yet to determine if the task is even feasible.
It is time—past time—to see to Loki.