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Chapter Text

Rain was not common on Alfheim, but when it came it was soft and nourishing, rejuvenating the lush woods and meadows and falling with a gentle patter on the roofs of buildings.

It was that same pattering that was lulling Vali and Nari to sleep, and Loki let his illusions quietly fade away as Sigyn finished singing her lullaby. They paused for a moment, both watching the gentle rise and fall of their sons’ chests, and then Loki held out a hand and tugged Sigyn to her feet, pulling her against his side as they slipped out the door.

With a flick of her wrist, Sigyn sent golden seidr twining around the door frame, silencing charms stretching over the wood. They would be able to hear the boys, but they didn’t have to fear waking them. Sigyn sighed and leaned more heavily onto Loki. “Your sons are entirely too boisterous and take entirely too long to fall asleep,” she said.

Loki chuckled and swept Sigyn up into his arms, carrying her over to the couch. “My sons, are they?”

“Only one of us enjoys spurning their bed until the morning star vanishes, my love,” Sigyn said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Ah, and only one of us enjoys awakening at such a time. ‘Greeting the dawn with a smile’, I believe were your exact words.”

“There is nothing wrong with starting the day well,” Sigyn argued as Loki set them both down on the couch, her back pressed to his chest and their fingers wound together.

“I agree. And I say ‘well’ means after the sun has reached its zenith.”

“As if our sons would ever allow you to lie abed so long.”

“Our sons, now?”

Sigyn shifted until she was facing him and he could see the dangerous smile on her lips. “Yes,” she purred, brushing a finger over his lips. “Our.”

“Well,” Loki said, leaning forward until their lips brushed each other and he could smell the berries and herbs she had been working with today, the slight electric scent of seidr. “I-” He froze, head snapping toward the door.

Sigyn pulled back as well, frowning. “Loki?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

Loki untangled himself from his wife and edged toward the door. A flurry of green seidr formed at his fingertips as he cast silently. His senses sharpened and he closed his eyes to limit the new flood of stimuli.

Rain was not common on Alfheim, but when it came it was soft and pattering. It was not enough to hide the clop of hooves or the clank of armor.

Loki clenched his hands into fists, trembling. No. No, they were so close to crafting the final runes that would hide them from even Heimdall’s gaze forever. Loki had collected the supplies on dozens of nerve-wracking trips through the realms, every time fearing he would draw the Allfather’s gaze. Odin couldn’t come now, when they were so close to being safe. When he was so close to finally freeing the rest of his children.

A familiar voice drifted to his ears under the patter of the rain, directing soldiers to surround the house.

“Sigyn,” Loki breathed, seidr swirling around his hands, “it’s him.”

His wife did not need to ask who ‘he’ was. There was only one man that could inspire the fear in Loki’s voice. She rose to her feet, the sickly hue of her face at sharp odds with her usual golden-brown skin. She waved a hand over herself and vanished. A moment later, the door to the boy’s room opened just long enough for her to slip inside. Loki took a few long, deep breaths, his heart thundering in his chest. This would not be like last time. He would not allow it. Last time he had not been present, sent on a mission by the Allfather only to return to find his home in ruins, his family gone. He had lost himself to grief and rage until Sigyn was able to contact him with the blessed news that she had managed to escape with the twins. But this time he was here, and Odin would regret that arrogance.

His seidr itched under his skin, begging to be released, to tear through the ranks of Aesir who would dare approach the house where his children slept with weapons in their hands. Loki slid into a ready stance, a spell on his lips, when a terrified whimper came from the boy’s room. He could only imagine what his sons were remembering, the pit in his stomach yawning wider in sympathy.

Loki doused his offensive seidr. No. A magic attack would satisfy him only momentarily. He was not strong enough to face Odin, not with Gungnir in his hands, and his first and only concern had to be his family. He would need all his seidr to escape and rescue the rest of his children. And there was no better way to upset the Allfather than to slip through his fingers.

Mind made up, Loki cloaked himself and hurried to Vali and Nari’s bedroom, vanishing only a few important mementos to his pocket in time and space. They had kept their cottage purposefully minimalistic, knowing they could have to flee at any moment. But even with that plan in mind, their near-century living there meant memories were ingrained on every inch of the cottage. He could not take it with him, so he would settle for the lopsided pot Nari had inscribed with runes to be unbreakable, the flower wreath Vali had charmed to be ever-blooming, his and Sigyn’s wedding swords from their place above the fire. He always kept enough supplies for a few weeks, just in case, so he didn’t have to worry about that at least.

When he slipped into the door, sending a quick burst of seidr through the wood to make sure he didn’t get a sword to the throat, he found Sigyn standing in the middle of the room, Vali and Nari clutched to her sides and sword at the ready. “We must go,” he whispered, scooping up Vali while Sigyn sheathed her blade and did the same with Nari. The boys were too old to be carried, and Sigyn huffed slightly at the weight, but they had both kept up their physical as well as magical training in the decades since they had fled to Alfheim, so she adjusted to the burden quickly and sent him a quick nod. That was good; the ways between worlds were too dangerous to risk anything less than a full grip on the untrained boys. Loki nodded back, clasping hands with his wife.

Their seidr burst to life around them, winding around their hands and up their arms, green and gold entwined and burning with power.

“Direct your seidr to protection,” Sigyn told the boys, while Loki fixed his mind on a specific location, somewhere that would be safe.

Alfheim was supposed to be safe, gentle in climate enough to raise a family but distant enough politically from Asgard that they wouldn’t be turned over. But now Odin had desecrated the peaceful woods with his warriors. He would not desecrate them with his family’s blood. Jotunheim was out: Angrboda retained her position in their court and she had long since proven she didn’t care whether their children lived or died. She would be no more welcoming to his new wife and children. Vanaheim was too closely tied to Asgard. Frigga -- Loki shook off the painful thought of the woman who raised him -- the Allmother was Vanir, sent to Asgard to ensure peace. Her brethren would not shield his family if it put her in danger. The dwarves didn’t like him, which meant Svartalfheim was out. Muspelheim, Niflheim, and Hel were uninhabitable to anyone other than the eldr jotnar and the dead.

Which left only one realm.

As Vali’s purple seidr lit up his scrunched-up face, and Nari’s blue joined the colors swirling around the family, Loki made a decision, one fueled by necessity and desperate, clawing hope.

He reached into the space Between Yggdrasil’s branches and pulled, sending them hurtling through the darkness.

To Midgard.

Chapter Text

Midgard was cold and grey where Alfheim was warm and lush, but Loki did not take the time to observe details. The first thing he did was cast the strongest cloaking spell he could, the seidr wrapping tightly around them and hiding them from even Heimdall’s gaze. The second thing he did was teleport them, drawing more on his and Sigyn’s seidr to guide them than his little knowledge of the human realm.

Solitude, he entreated. Safety. Hidden.

Their joined seidr flared and the family appeared in a dense forest. It was even colder here, but it was dark and quiet and he knew from Sigyn’s pulse of seidr and firm nod that there was no one around for miles. The warming charms she cast a moment later took care of their main discomfort, and Loki placed Vali on the ground and looked around at the tall dark trees that surrounded them.

“Come,” Sigyn said quietly, drawing her sword. “There is a small clearing this way.”

Loki thanked the Norns and their seidr when they reached the clearing. It was perfect, small enough that the shielding charms wouldn’t exhaust Sigyn, but more than large enough for the four of them. Which was good, because there would soon be more if Loki had his way.

He turned to Sigyn as she pulled blankets and furs from her pocket dimension. There was no time to get comfortable or to see them properly settled. “Sigyn,” he started, and she cut him off, striding toward him and wrapping her arms around him. He buried his face in her hair and breathed.

“Go,” she said.

“I’ll be back soon, dear heart,” Loki promised. He looked at the boys. “I love you all. Be safe.” With that, he stepped back and plunged into the Between once more.

Sleipnir was first. His eldest son was in the most danger, directly in the path of the Allfather’s rage. Loki kept his cloaking firmly in place as he stepped out of the Between onto Asgardian soil. He was right behind the stables, and it was the work of a moment to slip inside.

The hay-strewn cobblestones muffled his steps as he hurried past stalls filled with horses. He had ridden a great many of them in his youth, had witnessed their birth and training, but tonight he had eyes only for the stall at the very end.

Sleipnir looked up at the sound of his approach, tossing his white mane. He perked up at the sight of Loki and pushed forward, excitedly nuzzling Loki’s shoulder as Loki slipped into his stall.

“Hello, my son,” Loki breathed, cupping his son’s face and expanding his cloaking spell to cover him too. Sleipnir bobbed a little at his voice, the moonlight dancing over his dappled coat. “I am freeing you and your siblings,” Loki said, finding the clasp of Sleipnir’s halter that bore Gungnir’s seal. “Odin came for us on Alfheim.”

Breaking the seal would alert the Allfather instantly. He would have to do this quickly. Loki grasped Sleipnir’s face and gazed into one dark eye. “Listen carefully, Sleipnir. You must stay in this form until you reach Sigyn. You will not be strong enough to make the journey in your aesir form.” Sleipnir snorted and stomped one hoof, and Loki nodded, gently untangling his son’s forelock. “I know, it is unfair to ask, but I must. I cannot accompany you; the instant I break the seal your siblings will be in much greater peril. But you can make the journey in this form.” They had learned that Sleipnir’s horse form could traverse the Between easier than his human form, his speed lending enough energy to strengthen his seidr for the journey. “Do you understand?”

Sleipnir nodded. “Thank you, my son,” Loki breathed, and pressed his forehead to Sleipnir’s, passing him the memory of Sigyn’s location. Then, with one sharp movement and a powerful burst of seidr, the clasp of the halter broke. Loki yanked it off and threw the stall door open. Sleipnir tossed his head and galloped out of the stable, building speed until he vanished into the Between.

Loki took a single moment to catch his breath. His other children had a little more time, as isolated as they were. Odin was limited by the Bifrost, forced to land in an open area and traverse any dangerous terrain. Loki, on the other hand, could slip through the cracks, landing closer to his children. He had never dared before, the constant knowledge of the ax that hovered above his children’s heads holding him back until their runes were finished. And perhaps there was a cowardly part of him that knew seeing his children imprisoned would be too much for him to bear. Hearing of Sleipnir, even seeing him once on his excursions to gather information and supplies, had been unavoidable, and it had nearly killed him. He could do more good for his children sane and whole, he had told himself, and perhaps it was true.

Either way, there was no excuse any longer, and Loki tore his way through the Between into a dark cave.

It was pitch black, the kind of darkness that stole the breath from your lungs.

“Fenrir?” Loki called softly, and a strangled whimper came from his right.

Loki summoned a ball of light to his palm, the green casting the cave in eerie shadows until he brightened it to a clean white. He moved closer until the light danced over black fur, and then his magic fled him, the warm core in his chest extinguished by horror, plunging them back into darkness. He took a raw, shuddering breath, the stench of feces and old blood finally breaking through the buzz of adrenaline. He waved his hand and more mage lights flared into being, lighting up the cave and allowing him to see exactly what the aesir had done to his son.

Fenrir was chained to the middle of the floor, unable to move. He was scrawny and weak, his fur limp and matted, barely able to wag his tail at the sight of Loki. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the Norns-damned sword that had been stabbed through his son’s mouth. Loki shook with horror and rage. He had thought his other children were living like Sleipnir, contained and seen as less than their aesir counterparts, but still treated with care and some level of dignity. How dare they? How dare they?

Fenrir whimpered again, and Loki snapped out of his anger, rushing over to his son. “Oh my darling,” he murmured, tears running down his cheeks. “Oh my son. You’ll be okay, I’m here now. I’m getting you out of here.”

He kept up a constant stream of encouragement as he evaluated the chains and the- He turned away from the blood crusting his son’s jaws, hand pressed to his mouth and breathing loudly through the nausea. The chains were older, they probably hadn’t been replaced in the 90 years since Odin had attacked. The- the other item was newer, and the thought gave Loki some small measure of relief. Any amount of time was inexcusable, but at least his son hadn’t been suffering the worst of tortures for all the decades Loki had spent in purposeful ignorance.

The chains were strong, and Loki’s seidr was weakening from the constant use. Walking Between was always draining. But Loki reached for it anyway, pulling it up and forcing it to burn bright and angry, eating through Gungnir’s seal just as it had on Sleipnir’s halter.

The chains fell away, the skin beneath raw and infected. Fenrir had grown several inches in his captivity, his head now reaching higher than Loki’s waist, but it looked like the chains hadn’t grown with him. He could not move, his muscles shaking when he tried to shift, and Loki shushed him, gently pushing him back down. He had not realized his son would need healing, and for a moment he weighed the seidr he had left with his son’s pain. Fenrir’s seidr was focusing on keeping him alive, it wouldn’t be able to support anything else. Sigyn was proficient in healing and less drained than Loki, she could help Fenrir. But that did not matter if Loki could not get him to Midgard. Fenrir would have to shift forms for the trip, and Loki was afraid of what that would mean for his wrists and ankles. Not to mention the sword, which Loki still hadn’t touched out of fear of doing more damage.

Loki took a deep breath. “Fenrir,” he said quietly. “I am going to remove the sword and heal your wounds as much as I can. Then I will take you somewhere safe, where your mother can help you further. You will have to return to human form for the trip.” Loki hesitated. “We will have to be fast, and it will likely be painful. It will be easier if you are asleep. I know I have failed you, my son, but will you trust me now? No, do not try to nod or shake your head. Blink once if you agree and twice if not.”

Fenrir looked at him with pain-filled eyes for a moment before his eyelids slid shut once.

“Very well,” Loki breathed, his seidr twining around his hands as he gently placed them on either side of his son’s head. “Rest, my son.”

Fenrir’s body went limp and Loki took a deep breath before grasping the hilt of the sword. There was no time to waste. The sword was not enchanted, but it had been driven into the stone with great force. Loki wondered if Odin knew of this latest creative torment and decided he didn’t care. If Loki was ever given the chance, Odin would pay for every drop of blood and moment of pain his children had endured. Loki channeled a spark of seidr down the blade, easing its exit and ensuring he didn’t worsen the wound more than necessary. Fresh blood streamed down Fenrir’s face regardless, the sword having been in place long enough that the wound had begun knitting closed around it. Once it was clear, Loki flung it as far away as possible and dropped to his knees, pouring his seidr into his son’s body.

He could feel the knots of pain and stagnant seidr where injuries had festered, and he focused on those areas. Heal, he begged, and Fenrir’s ruined muzzle started to knit itself back together, the horrible snick of bone reforming and slotting into place echoing in Loki’s ears. The seeping infections on his legs drained away, replacing pus and inflammation with a healthier flow of red blood. He poured more of his seidr to those areas until they scabbed over, focusing on the front legs where the arteries would be once Fenrir shifted to human form.

He wanted to keep going, to wipe every trace of injury from his son’s body, but if he allowed his seidr too much freedom it would flood from his body to his son’s and he would be unable to get them home. It may even kill him. Even now the seidr was scraping the bottom of his magical core, so he twisted the magic back on itself, only allowing it to trigger the change from wolf to boy on its way out. Sweat was beading his brow and his lungs ached from exertion. Fenrir shifted into his human form, pale and limp, dirty black hair hanging in his eyes. The injuries were even more apparent without the coat of fur in the way, and Loki didn’t bother stopping the renewed tears as he cradled his son close to his chest. He wrapped protective seidr around his son and focused hard on the memory of the clearing. He could do it for his son, even as his seidr ached from being overworked and his vision threatened to fade.

Loki fell more than stepped out of the Between, and he vaguely registered alarmed shouts and hands catching him before he blacked out.

When Loki blinked his eyes open, there were two familiar faces hovering over him and one that was more mature than he had ever seen it but still sparked aching recognition.

Sleipnir smiled sadly at him. “Hello, Father,” he said quietly.

Loki reached up and Sleipnir caught his hand clumsily, fingers strange after almost a century spent in his other form. “Sleipnir,” Loki breathed. “You’re here.”

“Yes, Father. You got me out, me and Fenrir.” Sleipnir’s dark eyes were shining, and Loki just drank him in for a long moment. At least this son had been treated well, strong muscles and shining hair attesting to his care.

Sleipnir’s words registered and Loki jerked halfway upright before falling back down. “Fenrir,” he rasped. “He was hurt. Is he well?”

“Sigyn is attending to him,” Sleipnir reassured him, helping him sit up.

Sigyn was kneeling over Fenrir, golden seidr swirling around them. Even as he watched, the cuts healed over, leaving scars that would hopefully fade with time.

Loki turned and hesitated, longing to reach out and pull his son into a hug. But his son looked so much older, the last of his baby fat stripped away by time and strain, and he did not know that his touch would be welcome after the decades he left him alone.

Sleipnir solved that dilemma by pulling him forward into a tight hug, arms still unfamiliar and awkward. Loki shakily wrapped his arms around his eldest. “Oh Sleipnir,” he murmured. “Oh my son. I’m sorry it took me so long. Not a day went by that I did not think of you.”

“I know, Father,” Sleipnir whispered back.

Soft footsteps roused them, and Loki raised his head from Sleipnir’s shoulder. Sigyn smiled shakily at him.

“Fenrir?” Loki asked, craning his neck to see the boy.

“Resting,” Sigyn said, squeezing his shoulder. “He will need more healing sessions for the deeper damage, but he is doing much better and his own seidr seems to be strengthening enough to aid the process.”

“Thank the Norns,” Loki moaned, squeezing Sleipnir tighter. “What they did to him-”

“Is not fit for children’s ears,” Sigyn reminded him gently.

“It is not fit for a child’s body either,” Loki spat, “but that did not stop them.” He took a few deep breaths, sandwiched between his family members. Nari and Vali joined the hug a few seconds later, and Loki allowed himself to enjoy it. “I must fetch Jormungandr,” he said after a few minutes, leveraging himself to his feet.

Sigyn sighed. “Your seidr is not restored enough.”

“He is still in danger-”

“Peace, my love. I would never suggest leaving him to the care of the Allfather.” She spat ‘care’ like it was poison. “But you cannot go in your current state.” Golden seidr lit up Loki’s nerves in a hot waterfall down his shoulder and into his core. It felt like drinking hot spiced mead on a winter’s eve, and his own core easily accepted the familiar touch of his wife’s energy. Loki kept the seidr carefully contained, ignoring the bruises and cuts and physical exhaustion he had accumulated.

“And you will take Sleipnir with you, if he is willing,” Sigyn said, pulling her hand away. Loki reared back in protest, but she met his gaze firmly. “The seidr I gave you is enough to break Gungnir’s seal and provide protection. You will drain yourself again should you teleport. I must retain enough seidr to keep the shields and heal any further injuries.” They both glanced at Fenrir’s prone form. “Sleipnir has seidr that I can almost hear begging for release.”

Odin had used Sleipnir’s seidr to power the very bond that imprisoned him. “I will not-.”

“Father,” Sleipnir broke in. “I want to help. Sigyn is right; my seidr has been chained for too long.” Sleipnir met his eyes and saw to the heart of his concern, as he had always had the unsettling ability to. “You are not like the Allfather.”

Loki stared into his son’s eyes, seeing only calm determination staring back. He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his son’s cheek. “You have grown, Sleipnir,” he murmured. “I am so very proud of you. I am sorry I was not there to see it.”

Sleipnir clumsily grasped Loki’s hand with his own, leaning into his touch. Then he stood and stepped away, pulling his silver seidr around him. Loki gave Vali and Nari a quick hug, kissed his wife, and joined hands with his son.

“We must be cautious,” he said, focusing on his renewed seidr. “I know not what environment your brother will be in. I will guide you to him and provide protection.”

Sleipnir nodded and closed his eyes, reaching for the ley lines that would guide their path. As Loki closed his eyes and focused on protection and the tug in his chest that led to Jormungandr, they disappeared.

Loki sensed the danger the instant they reappeared and threw up the strongest shielding he could. His magic buckled under the pressure of billions of gallons of water before he forced it back. It was pitch black on all sides. If not for the eerie feeling of water licking past his shield, they might have been back in Fenrir’s cave.

“The sea,” Loki breathed. His son could swim, yes, and if he had the freedom of the oceans he would be better off than his other siblings, but the crushing cold and dark made the thought a meager comfort. Sleipnir squeezed his hand, adding some of his own seidr to Loki’s shield.

Carefully, making sure not to divert any seidr from the shield, Loki formed a few mage lights and sent them drifting through the water. The tug in his chest led them deeper, until his shielding touched the ocean floor. Loki looked around. The tugging in his chest told him that this was the place, but he didn’t see his son anywhere.

Something shifted the barest amount, sending a puff of silt swirling past the mage lights. Loki looked down. A familiar red eye blinked at them, slitted pupil constricting at the light. Loki sucked in a breath and dropped to his knees, carefully expanding the shield until it covered Jormungandr’s head. This son has grown as well, his head almost as large as Loki’s hand. He was almost completely buried in silt and made no move to change that.

“Jormungandr?” Loki asked carefully.

Jormungandr blinked again but made no other movement. Loki frowned. Jormungandr was the most prone to long periods of stillness out of his siblings, but this felt unnatural. He reached out with his seidr and sucked in a breath. Jormungandr was frozen in place, bound to the ocean floor with Odin’s magic. Trapped in his own body, unable to move and crushed by the water and darkness. Oh, Odin would pay.

“I will free you,” Loki said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Then you must come entirely inside the shield so you may shift safely to aesir form. Sleipnir and I will teleport us to safety.”

Jormungandr blinked again and Loki placed a gentle hand on his head, feeling out Gungnir’s seal and tearing it to shreds. A moment passed, little ripples of movement shivering down Jormundandr’s body and disturbing the silt. Slowly, Jormungandr pulled his head out of the shield and jolted into motion, swimming jerkily around them in a careful spiral that got faster and smoother until he finally slowed and coiled in a neat spiral by the edge of the shield so Loki could expand it over him.

His snake form had to be twenty feet long, and Loki marveled at it even as Jormungandr shifted. “Father, Sleipnir,” he croaked, lifting a trembling arm to shield his eyes from the mage lights. Loki dimmed them and Jormungandr’s shoulders relaxed a little. “How long has it been?”

“90 years, my son,” Loki whispered, crouching beside him. “I am sorry it took me so long.”

Jormungandr sighed. “I had feared longer,” he said quietly, “but I had hoped shorter. Is Odin overthrown, then?”

Loki let out a strangled laugh. “I’m afraid not.”

“Yet,” Sleipnir added, and they both blinked up at him. Terror and pride rose in Loki’s chest in equal measures at the determined look in his eldest’s eyes.

Loki turned back to Jormungandr. “But we are finding a safe home, where he will not find us.”

“Here on Midgard?” Jormungandr asked, his eyes sharp.

Loki smiled tentatively. “As smart as ever, Jormungandr.”

Jormungandr shrugged stiffly. “Not many realms would welcome us.”

Loki pursed his lips and nodded. “Are you injured?”

“No.” Jormungandr stood shakily and Loki offered an arm to support him. Jormungandr gave him a long look before leaning a little of his weight on Loki. Loki’s heart sank. He had been lucky so far, that Sleipnir had accepted his delay so easily. It was not surprising that Jormungandr—and perhaps Fenrir, he realized, the boy had not been awake long enough for him to really tell—would have reservations. “The Allfather’s spell did not harm me, and I had enough seidr that I could fend off any seeking mouths.”

Loki blanched at the thought of his son trapped immobile while the beasts of the deep scavenged for food.

“I suppose I am your last stop, seeing how I am on Midgard and difficult for the Allfather to access?” Jormungandr asked, stretching carefully.

“Hela,” Loki corrected. He knew where she was, at least. All the nine realms had heard of Odin throwing his granddaughter into the realm of the dead, and tongues had been wagging even harder when the valkyrie brought back word of her on a marble throne. “Whether Odin intended it as a prison or not, he made her queen of a realm, and that gives her power enough to protect her until the rest of you are safe.”

Jormungandr considered that for a moment before nodding. “Makes sense. Shall we go? I’ve seen enough of this place for a lifetime.”

“Of course,” Loki said quickly. “Are you ready, Sleipnir?”

“Yes,” Sleipnir said, taking Loki’s hand and throwing an arm over Jormungandr’s shoulders. Jormungandr sagged into the embrace, and Loki forced himself to focus on joy that their relationship remained intact, rather than the pain and shameful jealousy that filled his chest.

Teleportation was much easier than walking Between, ley lines guiding one’s path so all you had to do was add a spark of seidr to push yourself along. Sleipnir insisted on offering the brunt of the traveling seidr, and they arrived in the clearing within moments. Jormungandr staggered, stunned by the light of their fire and his newly-returned limbs. Sleipnir held him upright.

“Jor!” Vali and Nari raced up to the older boys, barreling into Sleipnir and Jormungandr for a tight hug.

Loki met Sigyn’s tired smile with one of his own. “I must get Hela,” he said. With Sleipnir taking the brunt of the travel, and Sigyn sharing her seidr with him earlier, his own seidr had been restored enough for him to make the final journey.

“Eat first,” Sigyn said, fixing him with an uncompromising stare as she handed him a bowl of hearty stew.

Loki sighed but picked up the spoon. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to boost his strength. “I’m getting her tonight,” he warned his wife.

“Of course,” she said gravely. They both knew the risks of waiting too long. If they gave Odin time to build his forces, he could line the path to Helheim with soldiers, or even break in to attack Hela. Five of their children were safe with them, but they wouldn’t rest until the sixth had come home too.

Chapter Text

Loki finished his dinner and made a quick round of the fire before he left, checking in with everyone and making sure Sigyn would look over Jormungandr despite his insistence that he was fine. Loki had seen the way he struggled to move at first, and the hesitant stiffness the boy still carried. He dropped kisses on foreheads and brushed unruly hair from Fenrir’s slack face. Even Jormungandr allowed him to clasp his shoulder.

“Bring her home,” Sigyn murmured, cupping his cheek and kissing him soundly on the lips. This may be his final journey, and his seidr may have been strong again, but traveling to the realm of the dead was no easy task.

Loki’s first stop was the southernmost point of Niflheim. He might have been able to travel directly to his other children, but the realm of the dead was not so easily broached. The fog Niflheim was named for was thick, almost liquid around him. It seeped into his lungs and made him choke before he cast a charm around his head to let him breathe. He took a deep breath of the newly clean air and set off into the fog. He focused on the thought of his daughter as he walked, rather than the twisting, beckoning whiteness all around him. Getting lost on Niflheim was dangerous, and if he wasn’t careful he would end up in the realm of the dead not as a visitor but as a permanent resident.

He walked until his feet were sore and his head ached, and then he walked further. Finally, when he was on the verge of collapse and his seidr flickered dangerously around his head, the fog began to clear. A surge of triumph lengthened his stride, and soon a beam of pure sunlight cut through the mist, warming his face as he stepped into a beautiful meadow, the fog disappearing behind him as if it had never been. He had reached Helvegr, the path to Helheim.

The walk was much pleasanter now, and the sun revitalized him as much as the fog had depleted him. He considered stopping for food, but if his centuries of experience had taught him anything, it was that looks were deceiving. This cheerful path could be just as dangerous as the stifling fog, if not more so, so he kept his pace steady and regulated his breathing to encourage his seidr’s growth.

He was soon thankful for his foresight and strengthened seidr.

Thor stared at him, feet planted firmly on the path and Mjolnir grasped in one hand. Loki’s heart dropped. He was so close, too close to be denied now. He turned the fear to ice and drew his blades. “Stand aside, Thor.”

“Loki, why are you doing this?” Thor asked, looking concerned of all things.

Rage roared in Loki’s chest, but he kept a firm hold on it. He could not afford recklessness. “Why?” he hissed. “You dare ask me such a question? Why would I rescue my children from their imprisonment?”

“The All-Father is caring for them,” Thor said, raising both hands calmingly. Mjolnir swung from his wrist strap. “As he cares for you and Sigyn and the boys. He is ensuring the realms do not fall to Ragnarok before he can find the key to this prophecy and your children may be safely returned to Asgard’s halls.” His face was utterly clear of guile. He meant every word.

“What lies you have been told, Thor,” Loki said coldly. Once, he may have been amused by his brother’s gullibility. Not anymore. Not about this. “The All-Father has not been caring for me and mine. I have been in hiding. I took my family and fled in the night where Odin could not find us because he stole my children from me when I was not there to defend them and imprisoned them in horrors you cannot imagine.”

Thor looked taken aback, confusion and doubt clouding his eyes. “Why do you speak such, brother? Father would never-”

“I freed my children with mine own hands,” Loki hissed, holding his hands up as if Thor could see the agony dripping off them.”Sleipnir enslaved by his own grandfather, Jormungandr trapped in the depths of the sea, unable to move, Fenrir-” his voice broke. His hands were shaking. Thor’s face was creased in horror and concern. Loki took a deep breath. “Fenrir,” he repeated quietly, “imprisoned in the blackest cave, in shackles too small and a sword through his mouth pinning him to the stone.”

Thor made a choked noise, shaking his head. “No,” he said, but it was more pleading than a true denial.

“Yes,” Loki snarled. He yanked his seidr to the surface, and an explosion of black smoke erupted around them, his memory forming around them. Loki ignored his son’s pained whimpers as much as he could, watching Thor instead. Thor, whose face crumpled, who took a staggering step toward Fenrir.

“No,” he whimpered.

Loki forced detail into the illusion as his memory-self pulled the sword from his son’s mouth. Blood spattered around them. Thor looked sick, tears streaming down his face.

Loki let the illusion drop only after Fenrir shifted to his aesir form, the wound still healing on his face. They stood in silence, the cheerful meadow around them a sharp contrast to the horror in their hearts. Thor took several deep, shuddering breaths. “Brother,” he said weakly. “I am sorry that I must ask you this. But I must be sure,” he pleaded. “Surely you understand, I must be sure.”

“What would you have me do?” Loki asked tiredly.

Thor hesitated, but plowed onward with bull-headed determination. “Swear that what you have shown and told me today is the truth, unaltered.”

Loki looked him in the eye. “I swear it on the lives of the very children I rescued today, and on my seidr, that what I have told and shown you is the truth, unaltered.”

Thor crumpled to the ground, head buried in his hands and sobs shaking his shoulders. “There are not enough words in any tongue to express my sorrow and regret that I let this pass me by. That I let my-” his voice hitched, “my family be treated in such a manner.” He looked up, lightning building behind his eyes, rage filling the hollow left by his grief.

Loki watched him warily. This is not how he expected Thor to react. He expected fury and accusations, to be dragged to Odin’s feet.

Thor stood, voice rolling over the fields and silencing the birds. “I swear it to you, upon my life and hammer, that I shall protect your children, your wife, and yourself with every drop of blood in my veins, even against the All-Father himself. You will see justice, brother, I swear it.”

Thunder clapped loudly despite the clear skies. Loki couldn’t breathe. His heart was aching within his ribs, a desperate hope that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in centuries, as he and Thor grew apart even before the final blow. Thor was choosing him, had sworn to protect him and his. He had never dreamed it possible.

“Don’t be foolhardy,” he croaked, his own eyes wet. “You cannot defeat Odin.” He remembered Sleipnir’s words, and a small smile crooked his lips. “Not yet.”

Thor looked at him, his own hope shining through his sorrow and rage. “Then what shall we do, brother? You have a plan?”

Loki was trying to formulate one, but he was exhausted and magically drained, and he still had to free Hela. “Pretend as though nothing has happened,” he said. Thor bristled and he raised a hand, silencing him. “Tell him I arrived before you and took Hela, that you have no idea where we went.” He smiled wryly. “That, at least, will be truth.”

Thor looked heartbroken. “I understand your anger with me, Loki, but-”

“This is not a matter of anger, Thor,” Loki dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “It is simple practicality.”

“I would never reveal your whereabouts,” Thor promised.

“Not intentionally,” Loki corrected. He shook his head. “You cannot reveal what you do not know.” He paused. “And the knowledge cannot be stripped from you, either.”

Thor opened his mouth, clearly about to argue that Odin would never, then stopped, looking ill again. “By the Norns,” he murmured.

“You must go somewhere else until you can collect yourself,” Loki said with impressive patience. “It is not safe here.”

Thor nodded shakily. “Wait,” he said. Loki turned back to look at him. Thor looked suddenly small and lonely despite his bulk. “You will contact me? To let me know of your plan?” he asked.

Loki watched him for a long moment and then sighed. “Yes. Be on watch, the message will be disguised.”

“Of course, brother,” Thor said.

Loki turned to leave again, but once more Thor called after him. “What, Thor?” Loki snapped. “I must free my daughter.”

“You need seidr to free her,” Thor said seriously. He walked slowly toward Loki, holding one hand out, palm-up. “You drained yourself to prove yourself to me. It is only fair that I-” he closed his eyes for a moment, looking miserable, then looked back at Loki, “start making some small reparation for my ignorance and neglect.”

Loki swallowed hard. If Thor was at fault for his ignorance, then Loki was a thousand times moreso. He reached out, grasping Thor’s hand. His brother’s seidr was electric, shooting up his arm and into his core, leaving the fine hair on his arms standing up and the smell of ozone in the air.

Loki looked down at his hand when they stepped apart. He felt stronger than he had since fleeing to Midgard. He had drawn from Thor without fear, knowing Thor’s power reserves ran deep due to his elemental connection and that Mjolnir could help him escape the Helvegr even if his seidr ran out. “Thank you, brother,” he said softly.

Thor lit up at the acknowledgment of their relation. Loki hadn’t called him brother since discovering his íss jotnar heritage. But this, this vow of loyalty, this gift of seidr, this heartfelt apology…these made them family regardless of blood.

“Be safe, brother,” Thor said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “And- tell them I am sorry. Until such a time as I can tell them myself.”

Loki looked up at his brother and nodded shakily. Thor squeezed his shoulder before stepping back and swinging Mjolnir, shooting into the air and disappearing from sight.

Loki took a few moments to breathe and let his tears fall. Then he resumed his journey. He had told Thor it wasn’t safe to remain here, and it was true for him too. He needed to retrieve Hela and make for safer grounds, where his thread of life wasn’t stretched quite so thin by proximity to Helheim.

Not long after, noise drifted toward him, a cacophonous clanging and the shriek of metal on metal that was at odds with the gentle breeze. The clamor grew to ear-piercing levels as he crested a hill. There was a river at the bottom of the hill, one he had only heard described in epics and Valkyrie reports. Instead of water, the river was filled with weapons, flashing and clanging and screeching against one another. Here the weapons of the diseased remained until Ragnarok, when the dead would supposedly take them up again. Even the Valkyrie brought the weapons of their warriors here, where the ownerless blades fought each other with as much viciousness as they had in life.

As he came nearer, he spotted some weapons lying along the edges of the riverbank, mostly knives or child-sized swords. Some occasionally roused to spar, while others lay still and quiet, their owners having never raised them against another.

Loki wondered where his own blades would fall. Likely more toward the center of the river, but he relied on his magic more than his physical knives these days. When Mjolnir eventually took its place here, it may well blast the rest of the weapons from the river.

Loki amused himself with the thought of the weapons flying into the air as he traversed the bridge. As long as he was not present when it happened; he didn’t fancy being nearby when the weapons came down again.

Once the river faded into silence behind him, it wasn’t long before a massive wall of marble rose before him. Loki frowned, glancing back the way he had come. The Valkyrie reports had said there was another landmark to be passed before he reached the wall, a battlefield of dead warriors not brave enough to reach Valhalla eternally locked in battle. But there was no sign of warriors. Perhaps this wall was a trap?

Loki frowned at the wall. It certainly looked real enough. He reached into his pocket dimension, pulling out a live rooster. The Valkyrie reports were useful here too, though the choice of a rooster was obvious once it was clear a blood sacrifice was required. A symbol of warrior strength, the messenger of the dead, and the greeter of Ragnarok.

“A life for entrance to Helheim’s halls,” Loki muttered, drawing his knife and slitting the rooster’s throat. As it was still bleeding and twitching in his grasp, he gathered his seidr and threw it. The bird flew limply through the air, his seidr boosting it higher until it vanished, it’s spray of blood splattering the towering walls.

There was a long moment of silence, and then a door opened which had not been there a moment before. It was small, just big enough for a single person, made of heavy black wood with runes of glittering white marble emerging from it in a spiral, so seamless it was as if they had grown there. Aegishjalmur, svefnthorn, wyrd, odal. Victory, rest, fate, protection. The first in particular was an incongruous choice for the realm of the lesser dead. Loki imagined how Thor and his friends would react to the sight of the rune. Hogun, perhaps, would take a moment to consider it, but the group had always rousingly talked of the realm of the dishonorable dead, the thieves and murderers who could not make it into Valhalla or Folkvangr. As if the world was entirely made of glorious warriors and evil scoundrels. Where they thought the children, the farmers, the mothers who died in childbirth, and all others who did not wear armor or charge headfirst into battle went was beyond Loki. Perhaps, in their minuscule world, occupied by battles and mead, those people did not exist. Their mead was poured by no hand, their armor cleaned by no labor, their beds prepared by the air itself. But Loki knew better, and he imagined what comfort that shining rune would give those “dishonorable” souls that made their trembling way to the marble walls.

He walked through the door, darkness wrapping around him for a disorienting moment before bright torchlight lit the halls. These were white marble, like the exterior wall, but the dark swirls in that stone were replaced here by glowing silver. At the end of the hall was a modest throne room with a simple marble throne resting on a raised dais. And on that throne…. Loki stepped forward, a smile breaking over his face as he watched Hela talk quietly with what must be one of her advisors.

Hela turned to face him and Loki stumbled backward, smile dropping from his face. Half of Hela’s face was the pale skin and green eye that he remembered as her preferred form, but the other half….

“Hela?” Loki whispered.

Hela rose from her throne and descended to the floor. Her black and silver dress draped around her elegantly, the dark material almost blending in with the left side of her face. “Hello, Father.”

She came near enough for him to be sure that his eyesight was not failing him. The black, shrunken skin was real, the milky white eye was real, and when she raised her hands to take his own, he saw that the blackness extended down her whole body.

“Hela, what happened? Are you…choosing this form?” All of his children had been naturally gifted in shape shifting, but that power was primarily directed to a single form. His older boys had their animal forms, and Hela had always been able to switch between an aesir and íss jotunn form. While his children could take other forms, it took much greater effort, and this…he couldn’t imagine why Hela would choose this form.

“I am choosing this form,” she said, gesturing to her right half. “This,” she gently brushed her blackened cheek, “was a consequence of being cast into Helheim. The realm of the dead had to take some form of payment, to allow a living being to stay here for so long.”

Loki took her hands. The right was normal, soft with a few calluses. The left was leathery and cold. Dead. “I’m so sorry, dear one,” he breathed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried this much since the first days after they had been taken. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Hela’s blackened half remained stiff and unmoved, but her aesir half gave him a look of such warmth and compassion that he broke down entirely. She wrapped her arms around him and he bent over her, trying to shield her with his body even though the damage had long been done. “It was not your fault,” she said softly. “The Allfather is to blame. Besides,” she pulled back, forcing him to look her in the face, “I have made my peace with it. I was…very upset when I first arrived here. But I do good work here. You should have seen it when I arrived, dank and cold and dark. The dead had been neglected for so long, I am glad I could help them.”

Loki laughed brokenly. “How was I blessed with such kind and gracious children. And look at me,” he wiped his face. “I am meant to be comforting you.”

“I have had 90 years to grow accustomed,” Hela said, smiling a little. “You have just had a shock.”

“Still.” Loki shook himself a little and took a deep breath. He gently cupped Hela’s face. “I am sorry for all that you have suffered, but I am so incredibly proud of you, Hela. You have risen above your situation and done incredible things. Your heart is so large, and I feel sorry for those who were too blind to see it.”

A tear of her own traced its way down Hela’s living cheek. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered. “I missed you. That was the worst part of being here. I couldn’t leave, and I knew that if I saw you again, it would be because you were dead.”

“I am here now,” Loki promised. “I have freed your siblings and I will break your bonds just the same.” He hesitated. “If you wish to stay-”

“No.” Hela smiled at him, green eye shining. “My work here will keep, and I can manage any upkeep outside of this realm. I wish to go with you.”

Loki beamed, the final weight in his chest easing. “You are always welcome. Now, where did Odin place his binding?”

“The center of the realm,” Hela explained, taking his hand and leading him to a door on the other side of the throne room. “You should have seen it, just a massive cavern. No plants, no light, no buildings.” She scoffed. “A prison, as if the only dead here were murderers.”

Loki smiled at the synchronicity of their thoughts. “Was it you who chose the runes on the door, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hela confirmed. “There was a nasty gate, rusted as if it were crusted in blood. Certainly not suitable.”

“I appreciated the aegishjalmur,” Loki murmured. “Though all your choices were wonderful. A place of rest and safety.” They stepped out of the hallway and Loki stopped in his tracks, gaping. They were in a massive cavern, that had not changed, but the floor was carpeted in a thick and springy bed of moss, and fireflies flitted through the air in the thousands, their small lights echoing the cheerful lanterns that stood on posts at regular intervals. The distant walls were covered with glowing stones and bioluminescent mosses, and houses were scattered around, each a unique and colorful design, light streaming from their windows. There were bonfires dotted about as well, and from each drifted the scent of roasting meat, spiced mead, and the sound of singing and laughter. Children ran past, shrieking, and a group of young adults was dancing in the distance, the stomp of feet and clapping of hands audible even from this distance. It was like a summer festival, once all the work was done and it was time for rest and celebration, while the warm breeze brushed your cheeks and the whole world felt at peace.

“Hela,” Loki breathed. “This is incredible.”

Hela smiled, looking at her kingdom with pride. “Thank you.”

As they walked through the cavern, people waved and called greetings to them, but none stopped their progress. Loki saw aesir and mortal and jotnar and elf, all mingling in peace and good spirits. They passed a cracking fire with a massive fish roasting on its spit. Loki’s stomach growled, but he knew better than to eat in the realm of the dead.

Soon they reached a circular area of cleared stone. Loki suspected Hela had used her magic as ruler of the realm to speed their progress, because he could see cheerful snow clouds and a number of íss jotnar in the distance that had not been visible moments ago. But that did not draw his attention for long. Gungnir’s seal was burned into the stone, dark and ugly lines opposed to the rich green of the moss surrounding them. Hela folded her arms. “Nothing I do can break it,” she said.

“You are the one subject to the binding, you would not be able to,” Loki murmured, crouching and resting a finger beside the outermost mark. Gungnir’s magic was strong, sending sparks through his arm and making him shudder.

“It is alright if you cannot break it, Father,” Hela said softly. “I would not want you to join us here eternally in your attempt.”

Loki stood and brushed a hand over her hair. “I will be careful,” he said, “but I am leaving with you this day.”

Hela’s face brightened and Loki turned back to the seal, reaching into his replenished seidr. He channeled it through his rage at Odin and his joy at seeing his daughter again, his hope for a future and his pain at the past. He turned it sharp and crackling with   power and then he loosed it on the seal.

Gugnnir’s seal glowed, the sharp scent of ozone filling the air and the moss at the edge of the stone shriveling. Loki clenched his teeth and poured more of his seidr into the seal. He could feel the magic reacting, rearing up against him and then slowly cracking and fading. This seal was much harder to break than his other children’s, bound to the realm itself, and sweat dripped off Loki’s face as he chipped away at it. Thank the Norns for Thor’s gift; he would have drained himself dry without it. The ground shook, the moss caught fire, and Loki was remembering his promise to be careful when something gave. Throwing caution to the wind, Loki flung his magic at the seal, a final blow onto the cracks he could feel spreading.

The seal cracked, the whole realm seemed to shudder, and Loki fell back, heaving for breath. When he managed to raise his head, he looked up to find them surrounded by the dead. He tensed, but Hela took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“There is no cause for alarm,” she announced. She did not raise her voice, but even the dead at the far back of the crowd looked relieved. Perhaps this was part of her power as ruler of the realm, to communicate with all within so easily. “My father has broken Gungnir’s seal. I am no longer bound here.”

There were some gasps and faint cheers, but most of the dead seemed worried. Hela raised a hand. “Do not fear, I will not be abandoning you. I will be maintaining my duties elsewhere for a time, but I will return and Helheim will remain as it is.”

Their fears allayed, a much louder cheer went up now, and the dead closest to them beamed and reached out to grasp Hela’s hand or pat her shoulder. The nearness made Loki twitch, but he supposed there was no danger in the land of the dead.

“Come, Father,” Hela said. “I will get us to Sigyn and the others.”

“I have no seidr-” Loki began, a hot flush of shame warming his ears and his seidr guttering in his chest, but Hela patted his hand.

“That is no obstacle. Part of my duties is to collect souls who have gotten lost. That means I must be able to go wherever the souls are.” She sent him a mischievous grin. “Perhaps this is an unorthodox use of those abilities, but who will complain? I am the ruler of this realm.”

Loki grinned despite his exhaustion. “That you are, my dear.”

And indeed no one complained as Hela raised her arms. Power swirled around them for a moment, and then they were deposited in the clearing in the dark woods. They were not so dark now, the sun cutting through the branches. He had been gone for many hours on his trip to Helheim, and he saw his family racing toward him through weary eyes. Fenrir was awake, was his first thought, joy filling him as his son slammed into him and buried his face in Loki’s chest. He rested a hand on the boy’s shaggy hair and drank in the sight of his children surrounding him.

“You’re all safe,” he murmured, dropping kisses on as many heads as he could reach. “You’re all safe.”

And as he looked up and met Sigyn’s tired smile, Loki allowed himself to embrace hope for the first time in a century.