Chapter Text
Jotunheim, 965 A.D.
The day was lost.
Laufey looked over the cold, rocky plains of Jotunheim, innumerable Jotun bodies scattered about the icy vastness. His land. His home. Jotun blood soaked into the snow, leaving it an eerie dark blue against the storming grey skies. The smell of new death was inescapable. And now, after the massacre, it was unsettlingly quiet.
Though they had fought the Asgardians for centuries, attacking non-military locations was always unspokenly off-limits. But now, forests and villages burned alike as the Aesir ravaged his realm, sparing neither young nor old from the slaughter. A new line had been drawn, one that could only be answered with more blood. Laufey felt his heart rattle as he and his entourage walked slowly through the remains of the town, struck silent at the devastation.
“Your highness…” Naglfari said softly, his closest advisor and longest friend. It was a request to be told what to do - his men needed guidance, strength, hope. Laufey swallowed the knot in his throat, inhaled deeply through his nose, and cleared his mind, as always.
“Search for survivors,” he intoned quietly, as though speaking too loudly would somehow make it worse. “Start setting up camps and preparing a meal for whoever you find. And send word to the palace that we’ll need resources brought as soon as possible. Where is Rindr?”
Just as one of his men was about to retrieve the messenger, Rindr came running up to them, breathing heavily, the steam of his breath curling around the runes on his face, dark indigo against his ruddy blue skin.
“Sire!” he called, and fell to his knees in front of his king. “Sire, it’s your son…”
Laufey bent down quickly and got close to Rindr’s face. “What?! What about my son?” Laufey’s only child, Vosud, was but an infant. He’d left him and his wife safe in the palace...
With a pained, apologetic gaze, Rindr barely managed a whisper. “He’s been kidnapped!”
Laufey’s body froze, his pupils reduced to pinpricks in fear, causing his huge red eyes to appear almost empty. For several moments, he didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t look at anyone around him. The news was too terrible for his brain to process, and the reality of Rindr’s words sunk in slowly. Eventually, the Jotun King he came back to himself, and stared at the source of the news. “Who…?”
“The Aesir, sir,” Rindr swallowed hard, all the platitudes of “killing the messenger” swirling through his mind as he fought the urge to get as far away from his majesty as possible. “They found a way in.”
They’ve got my son. A hollowness spread through Laufey’s chest, and a loud ringing filled his ears. They’ve got my son. His vision began to black around the edges, and he felt lightheaded. He fought it off, steadying himself on Rindr’s shoulder.
“What of the Queen? What of my Leikn?”
Again, Rindr’s face set itself in frozen fear. “She...was attacked. She fought bravely, but...I’m afraid she was badly wounded. She is unconscious, recovering with the healers in the Springs. We have been unable to wake her as of yet.”
Laufey’s breath caught only slightly before he responded. “Send a message to Odin. Immediately. I will negotiate.”
His voice was as strong as he could make it, but he knew his situation was dire. Odin had already conquered Niflheim and Alfheim, and Vanaheim bowed to his every whim since he had married their king’s eldest daughter, Frigga. Jotunheim was one of the last realms that stood a chance of holding him back, and they were going to fall. The Asgardian forces were too strong, and the Jotun’s limited resources would only dwindle further as winter came. It was a matter of time - Odin knew that. Laufey’s nightmare was coming true. He would soon be face-to-face with the fearsome Allfather of the Nine Realms, who held his only progeny as the bargaining chip for his kingdom.
——
Laufey’s awaited Odin’s arrival in his throne room. The Frost Giant king tapped his fingers nervously on the arm of his throne, though to any outside observer, it would have merely been seen as impatience. Laufey had centuries of practice perfecting his royal countenance, molding it into a frightening, ice cold visage. He would need every ounce of control he could muster today.
The doors swung open, and the Allfather himself was led down the long corridor to his throne. Though the cavernous hall was massive even by Frost Giant standards, the moment the Allfather entered it felt utterly constraining. He had no entourage, no additional dignitaries with him, and likewise Laufey’s had demanded their meeting be held in private; he did not want their discussion to be heard by anyone, but also...for the safety of his people. The Aesir were the most belligerent creatures in the universe, and Odin was the worst of them all.
It took an unseemly amount of time for him to approach the dias; he was sauntering unhurriedly toward Laufey, a smug, victorious grin spread across his lips. And still, Laufey dare not react - the life of his son depended on it. After what felt like several more centuries, Odin stood before him, proudly holding Gungnir at his side. Laufey hadn’t noticed before, but it appeared the Allfather now had an eyepatch over his left eye. It gave Laufey no small amount of satisfaction to see the King of Asgard had been maimed on Jotunheim...but even though his warriors were able to take his eye, Odin had procured something so much more precious.
“King Laufey. So glad you’ve finally decided to talk.”
Odin’s voice was slick with sarcasm and haughty disdain; it was a well-known fact that the Aesir inherently believed they were better than all other races in the Nine Realms, and that could not have been made more apparent from his tilted head and disrespectful posture. “I suppose the additional motivation has served its purpose.”
“Where...is my son?” Laufey growled as deeply as he could manage, the threat seeping from his words. Indeed, he may have been near powerless in this negotiation, but he would not be cowed so easily.
“Your boy is alive. Safe, and unharmed. For now.”
Laufey’s eye twitched almost imperceptibly. “What are your terms?” he snarled. Frost Giants weren’t known for being loquacious, and he saw no reason to expand into pleasantries here. Just find out what to do to get your son back... he reminded himself, gripping the armrests of his chair. He felt the stone beginning to crack beneath his fingers.
“I thought you’d never ask!” Odin said, too brightly for the circumstances. “First, your complete and unconditional surrender. Second, I’ll be taking the Casket of Ancient Winters. And third...your son is staying with me.”
“WHAT?!”
Odin grinned like a wolf, reveling in the anger that radiated from Laufey. “How else should I expect to keep my strongest and most worthy adversary in line? Let’s be honest with each other, Laufey - this war could last for eons longer before your pride weakened enough to accept surrender. We are saving lives by ending the conflict now. More of your own lives than mine, of course. This negotiation leans heavily in your favor, King Laufe y, as once you have bent the knee to Asgard, your people can start to rebuild. They can have a flourishing economy while trading with the Aesir, the Dwarves, the Vanir, the Light Elves - your people will prosper under this...new arrangement.”
Laufey’s eyes narrowed in anger. This “trade” he spoke of meant Asgard would force them to focus their economy on extracting the rare minerals they used for their “magic.” And it would likely make the Frost Giants dependent on the Allfather for survival necessities...like food.
“But,” Odin continued, “I know you well enough that you would convince your people to rise up once you got your footing. So your little boy, your precious firstborn son, will stay on Asgard as a safety precaution. I possess the real treasure of Jotunheim. Not the Cask of Ancient Winters, but the heir to the throne. One step out of line, Laufey, and your legacy ends with you.”
“You wouldn’t dare…” Laufey trembled with the struggle of maintaining his composure while facing the malevolent warrior-god. “You give me the option of having my son imprisoned forever or killed?”
“No,” Odin smiled again with a sinister twist of his lips under his full beard. “He will be kept alive regardless. It is up to you whether the only life he knows is being tortured in the dungeon while you carry on this war...or if you surrender and he is cared for and raised as a servant on Asgard. Safe, possibly even happy.”
Laufey fumed. “This is unheard of, Odin. Even for you, kidnapping my son is...barbaric. This is madness.”
“And what, pray tell, are you going to do to stop me?”
Laufey growled again, more feral and animalistic than he’d known he could make. My son... his heart screamed and shredded in his chest. My legacy. He lowered his gaze, staring furiously at the ground while his breath froze like the winter in his chest.
He’d been outmaneuvered by a man who was willing to do more deplorable things than he thought possible, and now he was paying the heavy toll for not having understood his enemy’s ruthlessness sooner.
He had no choice.
“I...accept.”
Laufey barely whispered, but his voice carried throughout the hall, echoing with the desperation he felt but could never express. For the sake of his innocent son, he, and his people, would bear this burden.
“Very good,” Odin sneered with sickening self-satisfaction. “Sound the horns, old friend. It’s time for Jotunheim to lay down arms...and finally surrender.”
——
Frigga had worried the hem of her gown so thoroughly that the threads were beginning to come apart, despite the finery of its craftsmanship. She stared out into the dark Asgardian night, knowing her husband was coming, that he would be home at any moment. Her heart raced with a strange combination of thrill and fear.
When she had first learned that she would be married off to the King of Asgard - and the de facto ruler of the Nine Realms - she was terrified. The week preceding her wedding, she couldn’t sleep, still reeling at the idea that she would be wed to a GOD...and not just a god, but Odin, the Allfather, the most horrible and cold-blooded Aesir that ever lived. Her mother had stroked her hair as Frigga wept, speaking softly and sweetly about how lucky she was, what an honor to her family and her people that she would be the next Allmother. But Frigga could hear the strain in her voice, the icy fear of her eldest daughter being given to the monster who had conquered more realms than anyone in history and held them in near slavery under the auspices of “protection.”
Vanaheim had been spared from the worst of his rule, primarily because her father knew that cooperating, no matter how degraded and undignified it made him, meant his citizens would not suffer the ire of Asgard. He carried it like a yolk, and while he still held the hearts and sympathies of the Vanir, his position was no more glorious than a well-decorated bureaucrat, following orders from the higher-ups.
But...as life often proves, one must expect the unexpected. She had found Odin to be a reasonable man and a decent spouse. Though she disagreed with some (...many) of his edicts and decisions as king, he was kind to her - he genuinely liked her. In private, though he still carried the responsibility and stress of ruling, he let his guard down with her, allowed her to ask questions openly and made her feel safe and respected. And over the centuries, they had grown with each other. Some might call it love - perhaps even she would call it that - but at its essence it was a deep familiarity, the comfort of predictability, a trust born of uncountable small, personal interactions.
And when she’d had Thor, their lives ignited with joy. A son - an heir! - healthy and happy as they could have ever dreamed. And as her growing toddler rocked, sleeping next to her in his gilded crib, Frigga couldn’t help but wonder what Odin’s latest campaign on Jotunheim would mean for their blossoming family.
“Frigga...dear,” a soft, gravely voice came from the entryway behind her. She turned, smiling with relief, immediately noticing the new eyepatch. She was about to ask about it until she saw what her husband carried in his arms...a small bundle that almost looked like…
Her heart sank as a little blue baby came into view, the gentle runes and patterns already showing on its face and chest.
“Odin...what is this?” Her voice almost caught as he handed her the blanketed newborn, sleeping soundly, the crimson red eyes hidden by his restless eyelids. He was dreaming.
“This...is Laufey’s son.”
Frigga’s breath stopped in her throat. “Odin…”
“I rescued him,” he said, quickly and firmly enough to quell her questioning. There was a deep sorrow in his voice, like a man wrestling to understand what great cruelties he had seen. “He was left abandoned in their temple during the battle...likely because of his birth defect. He was going to die. I couldn’t...I couldn’t just leave him there…”
Odin went silent, staring at the child. Frigga instinctively began rocking the baby back and forth, feeling his small body’s cold through the fabric of his swaddle. She looked up at her king.
“They were going to sacrifice him?”
“Yes. It was... barbaric .” Odin growled. “In an attempt to please whatever demons they worship, to aid them in this awful war. They would have murdered the only son of the king to defeat us. But it was for naught, my dear. The day is won, and the child is alive. Jotunheim has surrendered.”
Frigga felt tears in her eyes as she continued to sway with the diminutive babe. They won. The war was finally over. There could be peace, a real life for her son and…
“Odin, what are we going to do with him? We can’t keep a Frost Giant in the Palace...” Frost Giants were monsters of legend in Asgard. From an early age, children learned nursery rhymes about the fearsome creatures from the land of ice.
“I thought...you might be able to help me with that.”
“What...how?”
Odin’s eye focused on her with fast determination. “We shapeshift him to Aesir form. Permanently.”
“Odin...you know how dangerous that is. Permanently shifting a child so young...his sense of identity could be shattered. He’d always feel out of place, uncomfortable in his own skin and never knowing why-“
“And we’ll make him a prince.”
Frigga stared at him with disbelief. “You want US to raise him?”
“No one would dare harm a prince of Asgard,” Odin locked eyes with her, keeping her gaze completely on him. “He may feel different, but he would hold a status. It would protect him.” He reached down and gently stroked the top of the baby’s head. “Laufey doesn’t know he’s alive; he’ll never come for him. We must try, Frigga. This poor thing has been through enough. We must keep him safe...even if it means hiding who he is. Forever.”
Frigga’s mouth went dry and her eyes unfocused. Adopting another child? Caring for this refugee Jotun while keeping his true identity secret? Her thoughts spun as she fully considered what was being asked of her.
Meanwhile, Odin examined his wife’s reactions. His cold, calculating mind read what she felt and adapted his look to its complementary reaction. This beautiful witch, this powerful Vanir was his to command as easily as a peaked eyebrow or a heartfelt sob. Laufey’s son would be raised to love him, to hate the evil Frost Giants and long for their destruction. And once Laufey fell, he would give his loyal second son the throne of Jotunheim and reveal his true identity as the firstborn son of King Laufey, rightful heir to the throne. His most powerful foe literally made family. It was the best possible way to maintain Laufey’s obedience.
Then his own firstborn would take his place as King of Asgard and Protector of the Nine Realms.
Odin let his mind churn on the optimistic possibilities of his plan for several moments before focusing back on Frigga.
“What do you think, my love?”
Frigga’s breath was shallow, but deep in her heart she already knew her answer. She turned to her husband, tears threatening to cascade from her eyes.
“Yes. We’ll keep him safe.”
Odin smiled and leaned forward to kiss her forehead gently. “You are the saint of motherhood, my beautiful Frigga…” his said softly, his voice velvet against her troubled mind.
They each put a hand on the boy’s skin, then looked at each other soulfully.
“I love you, Odin,” Frigga said, her voice higher than normal, strained with emotion.
“And I you, my queen,” Odin responded, his eyes softening as what he assumed was love spread from his chest and through his limbs.
They both closed their eyes and focused on changing the baby. Golden light flowed from their fingertips, wrapping around the child and covering him in a warm glow. Slowly, the runes began to disappear, and his blue skin lightened and turned a soft pink. The baby opened its eyes long enough for the red to dissipate, and emerald green irises stared at the sky. His bald scalp sprouted a few wispy dark locks, barely a shadow upon his head. After just a few minutes, Laufey’s son appeared unrecognizable from an Aesir infant.
With a sigh, Frigga opened her eyes, weeping, and looked down at her new son. He gazed back up at her with a sleepy smile. “He’s beautiful,” she said softly.
Odin wrapped his arm around his wife. “What shall we call him? I don’t believe the Frost Giants gave him a name before leaving him to the elements…”
Frigga stood silently as she cradled the boy in her arms, looking into his curious green eyes.
“I think we should name him...Loki.”