Chapter Text
Odin introduces his sons to the Guardian of the Bifrost when they are barely grown enough to sit astride their ponies. They trail proudly behind Odin through the Gates and down the rainbow bridge to the Observatory, stirrups buckled high and heads bouncing in time with the trot set by their father’s war horse, scrambling down without much grace when he calls a halt.
Heimdall regards the boys from his imposing height; observes bright Thor stare at Hofud with childish yearning, fingers twitching to touch and restrained by his father’s heavy hand. Dark haired Loki meets his gaze evenly and without blinking. So grave, this child. He watches, just as Heimdall himself does, eyes flicking between his father, his brother and this name-given-a-face before choosing to speak.
“How far do you see, Gatekeeper?” A thin voice, careful words; those of a prince who already knows his place in the scheme of things.
“Across all dimensions and to the end of time, little prince.”
“Surely you cannot see everything,” Loki insists, sharp pale face pinching with suspicion.
“Of course he can!” Thor blurts, indignant and squirming. “Father says so!”
“Father also says you have hair like a maiden.”
“He does not –!”
“Boys, boys!” Odin booms, clapping a hand on each child’s shoulder and chuckling with mirth. “Heimdall sees all, Loki, my son. This I swear to you. He guards our lands without sleep, fear or favour. Heed him, both of you, for he is as stalwart and honourable an ally as ever you may find.”
Thor looks up at the shining golden figure with easy adoration. “We shall be friends, you and I.”
Heimdall inclines his head agreeably.
“We shall, young one.”
“And we,” Loki says quickly, twisting his hands in the hem of his tunic.
“Indeed.”
The boy’s shoulders drop in infinitesimal relief.
“Ask him,” Thor hisses.
“Ask him what, Thor?”
“About the – fine, be that way!” The little blond stamps a foot then visibly composes himself. “Heimdall,” he begins purposefully, “my brother and I want to know if you watch us all the time. Because mother says it’s rude to listen at doors and it wouldn’t be fair if you told father what we’ve planned for his nameday.”
“Heimdall would never do that,” Loki says quietly, eyes fixed on the Gatekeeper. “If father says he is honourable, then he is honourable.”
Heimdall rumbles wordless assent and folds his hands neatly over the hilt of his sword. As Odin says, he sees all – he does not miss the tiny satisfied quirk of Loki’s mouth.