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Thor is restless as he waits, hands tightening into fists at his sides and then loosening once more. It’s as much to keep the bitter chill from seeping into his bones and locking them into place as it is a distraction from the murmurs of dissent all around. There are few Æsir there in attendance to witness his public shaming— the Allfather, the Allmother and the goddess of oaths, Vár. The four of them stand before a throne crafted of ice, and the hall built to accommodate the Jötnar dwarves them all with its vastness.
Staring sullenly down at his feet and sulking like a petulant child, Thor takes in nothing of his surroundings. He is too busy cursing the Norns for his luck to notice the grandeur, how the ice shines resplendent under the cold Jötunheim sun… There are markings etched into it, a multitude of stories carved into the walls of the hall where the light comes in thickest, and lending to its overall ornate décor… But its effect is subtle, lost to the Æsir…
“— Ása-Thor,” Laufey’s voice booms through the hall, and the Jötnar immediately fall to hush in order to hear their king’s words. This day should have been a joyous occasion, a formal acknowledgement of the longstanding betrothal between Ása-Thor and Jǫtun-Loki, but there have been whispers of Thor’s discontent. The Jötnar know as well as the Æsir that there will be no acceptance of an engagement made here today, no intent to intermarry, only public rejection and humiliation. That the one Thor means to reject is Laufey’s own child makes the occasion all the more tense.
“Laufey,” Odin speaks on Thor’s behalf, and Thor would bristle with the implication that he cannot speak his own mind, but he cannot quite bring himself to meet Laufey’s gaze now he’s here. He reluctantly accepts that his father might have a point. “I assure you, my son means no offense. He is a boy still, with a fool’s heart. I implore you to understand—”
“Silence,” Laufey snarls, interrupting the Allfather. “I would hear the boy say it.”
Thor looks up, swallowing hard as he meets the blazing red gaze. The tense silence is all-consuming as he works up the courage to speak the words he has rehearsed since he had learnt of this assumed betrothal. “I, Thor, first-born son to Odin, son of Borr, and heir to the throne of Asgard, stand here today before the Æsir and Jötnar courts… with the intention to decline Loki’s hand.”
No matter how expected it is, there are still several gasps from their audience. Laufey’s expression is unreadable, though his scarlet gaze burns cold with hatred. “If not through marriage, how else do you mean to ensure lasting peace between our realms?” The underlying threat is clear, that Laufey has every right to bring war to Asgard for this slight.
“I bring to you an alternative proposal,” Thor says quickly, almost stumbling over his words in his haste, and looking briefly to his father for guidance. “That Loki should be brought to Asgard and raised as a brother to me.”
The discontent is obvious in Laufey’s expression, for although being raised as a prince and brother offers equal status for now, when Thor takes the throne, Loki will remain second to him. It is an insult that the Æsir should take Jötunheim’s greatest treasure without the intention of cherishing it. Instead, Loki will be cast to the shadow of Thor’s glory, one more relic taken in exchange for the Casket of Ancient Winters… But what choice has Laufey but to agree? He is desperate, for Jötunheim needs the Casket in order to survive. His pride has caused his people to suffer enough, and Laufey will not see them suffer more.
“Loki,” Laufey says at last, resigned. “You may step forward. The decision is yours to make.”
Thor doesn’t know what he expected, but Loki is unlike any other Jötun he’s seen. He had heard the Jötnar refer to him as a jewel: one among the íviðjur, for his skill lies in sorcery and child-bearing, unlike the warriors of the realm. He is breathtakingly beautiful, smaller in stature than his brethren and almost delicate in appearance. His hair is long, sweeping down his back in an intricate braid, interwoven with silver thread and rubies, and Thor can only stare at him without words.
“I accept your proposal, Ása-Thor,” Loki says, and his voice is silky. He sounds calm, as though he has not been rejected before his people, humiliated by the one who was supposed to take him as consort… “When do we leave?”