Chapter Text
Loki hid behind one of the great stone pillars surrounding the receiving grounds, the snow camouflaging him, as Odin himself, preceded by four of Asgard’s finest warriors and on his famed eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, approached his father, King Laufey’s, throne. The wind whipped around his horns and lifted up the barest layers of fresh snow that, when they brushed his cheek, crystallised into intricate constellations before disappearing again, carried away on the frosty air. When Odin finally came to a stop in front of his father, he took a moment to marvel at their strange armour and huge swords that rattled with the wind. The harsh light of a cold sun glinted as it struck their pointed metal tips and alighted on the symbols in their shoulder plates that proclaimed them as the King’s Guard.
Odin stayed sat on his horse, sitting proud before the throne, flanked by two men either side, and stared up at Laufey, exuding a power that only came from holding the title of Allfather. He seemed not to notice the cold and instead began to speak without a single waver in his voice, seemingly uncaring that he was in enemy territory.
“King Laufey of Jötunheimr, I am here to propose an end to our hostilities, I ask that you hear what I have to say and consider it seriously as a way to secure eternal peace between our realms.”
Laufey scoffed from his throne above them and his rough voice echoed ominously around the unforgiving stone. “You have nothing I desire, Odin Allfather. Any settlement between us would only serve to better Asgard’s stolen-gold halls.” Loki rolled his eyes, he disliked Odin as much as his father did but at least he knew better than to insult him for Norns sake.
“That is where you are mistaken, I am willing to offer you that which you desire most.”
“And what is that, pray tell?”
“I would return to you the Casket of Ancient Winters.”
Silence seemed to ring around the already frozen rocks of Jötunheimr. The few Jötnar fighters present all immediately formed great ice weapons around their hands and watched the Allfather with a single-minded determination to destroy him where he prevailed.
Both Odin and Laufey stared each other down, Laufey in attempt to call the king’s bluff and Odin to show he truly meant the words he had spoken.
“The Jötnar do not take the theft of our property lightly, Odin.”
“I am honest in what I propose, King Laufey, I seek peace and trust between us so that future generations may live without the looming threat of war.”
Laufey considered for a time, an untouchable, unreachable statue towering over them. Eventually, he signalled the Jötunn to his left to stand down and the others followed suit, however they still kept their weapons formed and stood at attention.
“What would you ask in return?” Laufey asked carefully.
“I would ask that one of your heirs wed my son, Thor, Crown Prince of Asgard, and provide heirs to our joint line of succession to demonstrate to both our peoples that we are united.”
Loki felt all the breath leave his lungs in one fell swoop. Wed Thor? Asgard’s biggest, most bullheaded, witless barbarian? That Thor? Surely not. And surely not him at any rate, his father wouldn’t wed his youngest son when he’d barely reached maturity… would he?
It’s a little known fact that the Jötnar are what the Aesir call ‘intersex’, meaning they have both the ability to sire and carry children; the only ones who know outside of Jötunheimr are scholars and a handful of lucky travellers, and apparently, the Allfather (although, considering his title it should, in fact, be obvious that he would be privy to this one vital piece of information). Jötnar do not have a word for it per say, they simply are, and if they choose to present as either male or female according to the standards set by the other realms then they do, or if they choose to present as neither or an ever-changing mix between the two then that is also common and accepted by all. The thought of having to go to Asgard though… now that does frighten him; the Aesir have such backwards ideas about some things, no matter how much they boast about their gleaming golden city.
Loki leans a bit closer around the pillar he’d been coveting and accidentally breaks a thin icicle with one of his horns. It shatters when it hits the ground and his father turns his head to look at him, not at all surprised that he’d been eavesdropping on the Allfather’s visit. Odin thankfully seems not to hear anything, or if he does he at least can’t make out the white frame of Laufey’s youngest and slightest son against the stark white background of Jötunheimr, and keeps his infallible composure as Laufey glares at him briefly before turning back.
“I will require some time to consider your proposal.”
“Of course,” Odin replies immediately, even beginning to gather Sleipnir’s reins in preparation to leave, “I hope to hear from you in time, King Laufey.” With that, the Allfather, accompanied by his guards, gallops away across the frozen terrain back to the edge of the realm where the fabric of space is thinnest between this world and theirs.
As soon as the Bifrost is closed again the king dismisses the others. Loki attempts to take the opportunity to sneak away but even despite his small size and near-invisibility in comparison to the rest of the Jötnar, the one person he’s never been good at hiding from is his father. “Not you.” The single command stills him. He puts on his best mask of indifference before going to stand before the throne, looking up daintily with his lilac eyes into his father’s burning red scleras.
“My King.”
“Do not give me that, Loki Laufeyson, I should have brought you before me the moment I knew you were there and made an example of you to the Allfather.”
Loki grins at him, mischievous. “You wouldn’t.”
Laufey sighs. “No, I wouldn’t, but that’s only because you cause me more trouble when you’re angry.”
"Nothing to do with the fact I’m the most delicate Jötunn to ever exist?” He snipes with rather more bitterness than he intended, cheeky grin all but vanished.
“You have never been delicate, my son, but you stand out and that makes you a target. We’ve talked about this.” In that moment Laufey sounded like the most world-weary parent to have ever lived, somehow summing up centuries worth of arguments in one entirely exhausted breath.
“I know, father,” he looks down at his white arms that reflect like glaciers in the biting, arctic sun, “I am sorry, I know you mean well.”
“That I do. Now,” Laufey rises from the throne and comes down to stand with him. Next to each other as they are Loki still has to crane his neck but, admittedly, not as bad as before; when he was a child and barely even came up to his father’s knee when his brothers were all at his waist he thought for sure he would grow up to be like them eventually, but even now he only just grazes elbow height. “What did you think of Odin’s proposal?”
The way Laufey tenses slightly as he asks means he’s thinking something Loki will absolutely not approve of, and there’s only so many things that could be.
“Oh, no. Father, you can’t be serious! I know that we’ve suffered since the casket was taken from us but you can’t actually want to condemn one of us, nay, me, to a life with Thor Odinson by my side and in my bed!”
“Loki! I did not raise you to be so crass.” Loki shams a cowed look for all of a second until the anger twisting Laufey’s face dispels a moment later. “I have not yet agreed to anything and I am simply asking after your considered opinion on the matter - you know how I favour your strategic guidance over your brothers, surely.”
Flattery really does get you everywhere, he thinks.
“Fine. Objectively, from a completely third party standpoint, it’s a fair settlement. Not only do we avoid war, but we also gain back the casket and the prestige that comes with a marriage into the most prolific family in all the Nine. But! You’d be trusting Odin Allfather of all beings, he was never exactly known for his benevolence in the past.”
“You’re correct but that was before Queen Frigga tempered him. He has become mellow in his old age with her by his side.”
It’s true that Loki has heard stories of the gentle Allmother, tales of her care and nurturing ways precede her wherever she ventures throughout all Nine Realms on the tree of Yggdrasil. Part of him thinks, though, that she must at least have something fiercer to her if she was the one to best the Allfather and his murderous appetites for war and conquering in the ages before Loki was born to his dearly departed mother.
“We must talk to your brothers of this, they’ll want have their say, too, I’m sure.”
“As am I, My King.”