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Chapter Text

The gift of foresight was not much of a gift when you were confined to a prison cell. There were some minor surprises - if you could call them that - such as footsteps outside, an errant fly entering his cell, or a particularly unpleasant smell wafting his way. 

But foresight was wasted if you could not do anything about it. Heimdall could do something about the fly, but really, how much amusement could you get from killing a fly? 

It spoke volumes of how low Heimdall has sunk, that the fly was nevertheless a highlight of his two years in imprisonment. It was, for one, the only guest that Heimdall had received in that time. Second, there was a moment in which Heimdall entertained the idea that this fly was no fly at all, but a spy… or maybe Loki himself, disguised as a despicable insect.

But alas - sometimes a fly is just a fly. It died quickly, crushed between Heimdall’s fingers. 

What were two years to a god? Tyr had been imprisoned for longer, although Tyr had the fortune of being occasionally visited by Odin - who was a far more superior conversationalist compared to a fly. 

But there were stretches of years if not decades in which Odin has not seen Tyr. It did not make Heimdall feel better about his own deteriorating state. Insanity was a very subjective thing, but one of the symptoms was getting obsessed over inconsequential things or falling into an unreasonable rage. 

Heimdall had both of these symptoms. It was about the goddamn door flap through which the food got thrown in. Heimdall could exactly tell when the footsteps would approach his door, when the door flap would open with this godawful screech, when the food would drop on the floor, and when the jailer would leave without comment. 

It would be fine if it happened once or twice. But it was the only thing that happened every day, twice a day. Stale bread and cheese, or stale bread and sausage, or stale bread and apple. The apple was a highlight, despite the fact that Heimdall did not need food to survive. 

At some point, he had begun throwing everything back through the door flap. He stopped eventually because the jailer always threw the discarded food back into the cell and Heimdall had twice the junk he had started with. 

Heimdall did not need to eat the food, but he ate it nonetheless. Eating subpar food was preferable to having mountains of rotting bread piled up in his room. 

But it wasn’t really the food that bothered Heimdall, even though the food was bad. It was the inevitability. Even if he plugged his ears, he could tell that the door flap would screech. Everything that happened, was happening twice. Anticipation doubled each sensory experience. If this was torture, then it was rather effective.

But after year one had passed, Heimdall had come to realize that his suffering was not a carefully tailored regime to drive him mad. It was incidental. Heimdall was obsolete, killing him was obsolete, torturing him was obsolete.  

This was the moment in which Heimdall stopped considering escape plans and started considering dying. 

Dying was by far easier than escaping. This prison had been fashioned by Odin, after all. But dying had the unfortunate side effect of being dead while all your enemies still lived. 

Therefore Heimdall didn’t die, didn’t escape, and was slowly going mad when the door to his prison cell door opened and admitted visitors. 

These visitors were Loki, a filthy wolf mutt, and a nondescript Aesir warden. Heimdall cared little for the Aesir man, although he’d kill him once free, and cared even less for the animal. He only cared for Loki. 

Being filled with hatred was the same as being alive. Heimdall was as alive as he hasn’t been in years. There were so many things that Heimdall wanted to say and so many things he wanted to do to Loki. 

“Hello Loki, you treacherous weasel. How is the murdering and pillaging going on?”

“Very well, thanks for asking,” came the flat response. 

The fact that Loki had come without his father, without any mentionable warriors at his side was peak arrogance and peak stupidity. It also made his next choice easier. 

Heimdall had no weapons on him, but who needs weapons when your enemy has some? Stepping forward, Heimdall was about to pick Loki’s dagger and shiv him in the gut, then take the warden's sword and decapitate him and Loki in one swing. 

If it only wasn’t for the dog.

This giant grey mutt got in the way and let out a deep growl that he felt deep in his bones. Heimdall wasn’t afraid of animals no matter the size, but something about this one made him halt. Looking into the wolf’s eyes and finally bothering to read him, Heimdall realized something. 

In this animal’s body did not rest an animal’s mind. 

“Father, get back.”

The growling intensified. 

“Of course, he’s trying to murder me, what else would he do after two years of imprisonment?” After this, Loki softened his voice. “Let me handle him. You know he can’t touch me.”

Loki truly believed that. Even more so, the mutt that Loki called “father” believed him as well.

“You did this,” said Heimdall. “You did this to your own father?”

“It was a team effort,” said Loki deadpan. 

It had been a mistake not to properly read Loki. The boy had been so green, so young, that Heimdall had not considered what could change in two years. This is what happens when you are so intent on murdering, that you don’t consider what you are murdering. 

Heimdall rectified his mistake and looked. 

Was this really Loki?

Heimdall had noticed from the start that Loki was a head taller, that his eyes were a different color, that his clothing and the way he carried himself were different. But now that Heimdall bothered to look , he understood that there was a lot more wrong with Loki. 

Two years had passed since Heimdall last saw him, but Loki had aged by far more than two years. Gone was the youthful hunger, replaced by an apathy of someone who had seen too much. His new pale blue eyes were magical, but it was not any kind of magic that Heimdall had seen before. 

Loki calmly waited to be read and waited to be asked questions. 

“What has happened to you?” asked Heimdall despite himself.

“It would be more accurate to ask what I’ve seen and where I’ve been. What I have seen is…” Here Loki searched for words and found none. Heimdall, who was looking into him, found no words for it either. “I think I’ve seen the truth. And seen how little solace there is in truth.”

Odin has found this out the hard way, thought Loki.

“Odin is alive?” asked Heimdall.

“A bit more complicated than that, I’m afraid,” said Loki almost apologetically. He was sorry for what happened to Odin and, paradoxically, a little envious. 

“What have you done?” demanded to know Heimdall. 

“Only the impossible,” said Loki. “I have stopped Ragnarok. I have traveled into the past and returned to the moment from which I left.”

There was no bravado, just a calm statement of facts. 

“I have become the leader of the Aesir, so to say, the new Allfather. There is a new peace and a new world order in place. Can’t say it’s finalized, but then again, what is ever final?”

Loki was telling what he believed to be the truth. He didn’t really care if Heimdall believed it, though. He didn’t even really care if Heimdall lived or died. Loki merely slightly preferred for Heimdall to live in order to… 

“Me? Serve you ?” Heimdall laughed curtly. “In what possible world would I ever consider doing that?”

“In this one,” said Loki. “As I said, it’s a new world.”

Besides, thought Loki, it is your duty. For all your faults, you never shirked from protecting the Aesir. 

“Protecting the Aesir just as Allfather wanted! If they bow to you, then they can all freeze in Helheim as the traitors they are!” 

“I see,” said Loki. “Then would you like to see Odin?”

Heimdall looked for deceit and found none.

“Seeing Odin will not persuade me to join you,” said Heimdall.

“Then it will be at least a pleasant walk for both of us,” said Loki and thought: “You might see something I can’t see.”

“Even if I did, I would not tell you.”

Loki shrugged. 

“But you are still going to come with me, are you not?”

At this moment, Heimdall had the most uncanny feeling that just as he was reading Loki, Loki was reading him in turn. It was unpleasant, even more unpleasant than his entire two-year stay here.

“One day, I will kill you,” said Heimdall.

“I expect nothing less,” said Loki and turned his back on Heimdall, expecting him to follow. 

Follow, Heimdall did. 

*** 

The streets were emptier than they used. Time of war had passed and the Einherjar returned to where they had come from. Still, there were fewer known faces than he’d have expected…

“So, Loki… how many exactly died in the disastrous war of yours?”

“Less than expected and far less than you think,” came the answer. “I have encouraged people to move away and some did. But change does not come easy...”

“Were there so many that could not endure your stink of treachery, that they decided to switch realms?” asked Heimdall in feigned surprise. 

“There were other reasons. You will see.”

Heimdall did not dive deeper into that topic, because he was distracted by the group of elves that were approaching them. Three light elves and - most notably - a dark elf among them. Were these the beginnings of peace? If yes, then how unfortunate. Odin had long said that the best defense again the elves was their own infighting.

The elves bowed respectfully to Loki as they passed and Loki returned the favor. They did not exchange words, apparently already being familiar guests here. 

“This is a mistake,” said Heimdall when the elves were out of earshot. 

“On the opposite, it is a solution.”

“To what? The growing wealth and prosperity of the Aesir? Shaking things up, Loki? One war not enough to sate your craven black soul?”

“I had enough of wars, including theirs. Unlike Odin, I think their fight only makes them more dangerous. They grow more and more fanatical, more and more proficient at war. If they ever eradicated one side of the conflict, where do you think their fanatical fervor would turn to?”

“They care for little else except their Pond of Souls.”

“In that case, I rest assured. Why would they ever attack us if they only care for the Pond of Souls?” 

The pup had grown more infuriating in the last two years. 

The more Heimdall looked, the more unwanted “guests” he saw. There were the filthy Vanir, the grubby dwarves, and an invasion of hideous overgrown animals… Although on second sight, it was not all that they were. 

“Creating the monstrosity that you call “father” was not enough and you decided to experiment on a few more souls?”

“You can’t blame all the misfortunes in the world on me,” said Loki in sudden good humor. “For some of it, my kin were responsible too!”

As if on cue, a giant bird landed on a nearby building. It was just small enough to not crush the building under its weight. The bird turned its head to look with a hateful eye at Heimdall and let out a shriek. 

“Your advice is, as always, very appreciated!” shouted back Loki. 

“But so rarely followed,” seemed the bird’s body language to say. With a last disapproving shriek, the bird went up into the sky. 

“On top of all disasters, we have your hairy and feathery giant friends spreading their filth over our entire realm,” commented Heimdall. 

“Would be fairer to say that they are spreading their filth over all the realms,” corrected Loki. “They just come to visit and see me. I don’t expect that most will stay here for long.”

“Ah, they have heard of famed Aesir hospitality towards giants and decided not to push their luck?”

“Something like that.”

Heimdall scoffed. If this trip was supposed to make him change his mind about joining Loki, then it was currently accomplishing the very opposite of that. Wherever he looked, the world was turning to shit. 

But not only that: there was something off about the world. From the moment that Heimdall stepped outside his jail, he felt it. No, he realized that even inside jail he had heard, smelled, and felt the badness. Something was seriously wrong and yet everything seemed fine at the same time. There were two voices shouting conflicting messages at him - no wonder he had ignored that faint whisper back when he was locked up. 

Now that Heimdall was outside, he was on the cusp of understanding. This is what the wind carried, what message the stones echoed back at him…

As they turned the corner of tight alleys and arrived at the path leading to the Great Lodge, Heimdall saw what was wrong. 

“What in hell have you done?!

“I have stopped Ragnarok,” said Loki. “Haven’t I told you already?”

The sky was burning . A raging giant, Surtr, was hunched over the Great Lodge and his sword was impaling the core of the world. 

No, not impaling. About to impale. A moment away from it. And a moment. A moment. A moment. 

Time was… stuck . Heimdall could see what was about to happen, only it wasn’t happening. His foresight kept getting stuck on the moment that should be but wasn’t playing to the end. 

“Who has done this?” asked Heimdall despite himself. 

“I feel like we are having the same conversation over and over again,” said Loki. “I have done this. I have stopped Ragnarok.” 

The mutt, which had been so quiet that Heimdall had almost forgotten about it, let out a noise that would be a chuckle in a human mouth. Heimdall threw it a poisonous glance before turning his attention again to the sky. 

It was… contained. You could see the clear edge of where the fire stopped and the real sky began. It was as if somebody had torn out red fabric and placed it over blue ice. 

No wonder Heimdall could not place what he was experiencing from afar. Ragnarok wasn’t stopped. It was still happening. While the outside world was oblivious to it. 

***

The descent into Odin’s cavern was quiet. Heimdall would like to say that he had a lot to think about, but Heimdall wasn’t really thinking. He was grappling with reality. 

Loki said that Heimdall wouldn’t be able to touch him. Maybe Loki was right. If he was indeed the one who has done this… and if this wasn’t all just a cheap trick. 

The cavern was no longer lighted by torches or candles. There was no need, for Surtr’s sword shone like the raging sun. You could see the tumbling benches and books, halted mid flight in the air. You could see the cracks in the earth. You could see…

Due to Heimdall’s gifts, neither brightness nor darkness blinded him. From the very entrance, he could see him. 

There was Odin on his knees. His face was turned upwards towards the tear and, despite the fact that it was hidden behind a mask, Heimdall knew that there was wonder on Odin’s face. 

“You have trapped him,” said Heimdall curtly. “He’s caught in the moment of Ragnarok. Do you think I care?” 

“I have not trapped him,” said Loki softly. “I have saved him from death. He just would not listen and would not run… he had to hear the truth until the end.”

But the truth has no end, thought Loki. 

“Then it was the mask! You tricked him into wearing the mask!”

“Tricked Odin? Do you hear yourself talk? I have put on the mask first and paid for it! When I finally tore it off and said it was not worth it, Odin claimed me mad. So he put on the mask himself.”

“So you are saying, that you, in your infinite wisdom, could escape the mask’s thrall while Odin could not? Do not mind if I remain incredulous about-” 

“With his last dying breath,” said Loki, “my father called my name. In the whirlwind of past and present, I saw the truth that all my knowledge was for nothing. I tore off the mask and…”

… held my father’s hands as he died, but I could not let go, he was not allowed to go, I clung to his soul and I trapped it into the orb. There, I held my father’s corpse and the useless orb, it was all wrong and I wanted to go back…

“Then I went back into the past. It was like slipping into the water when you know how to swim. But the past is just the past, therefore I went back to the present. I stopped Ragnarok. I did what I could to save father.” Loki placed his hand on the wolf’s head and met his father’s eyes. 

Loki’s eyes said: “I’m sorry.”

His father’s said: “Don’t grieve for me. I am still with you.”

Heimdall turned away from them. 

They were not important, and their story was not important. Odin mattered, but Odin would not look at him. 

Odin was staring at the truth, the edges of his mouth lifted in marvel. Odin could see the future, all glittering permutations of the future and understand it all. Anyone who tore him out of his ecstasy would die by Odin’s hand. 

This was the work of millennia, the goal for which Odin was willing to sacrifice everything. 

“All I do,” said Odin a long time ago, “is in order to keep the Aesir safe. To keep my family safe and to protect you all.”

For that, Odin needed knowledge and power. He would go to any lengths and Heimdall admired him for it. 

These words that Odin said echoed in Heimdall’s mind. It was the truth as Odin understood it and what he believed in. Heimdall had believed him.

But here, in this blinding cavern, all lies were incinerated. 

Knowledge did not serve the Aesir. All the accumulated power, all the children born of Odin’s blood, all the deaths, even Odin himself..! They all served knowledge and knowledge never served them. Every single person was just a stepping stone, helping Odin to peek behind the curtain. 

Heimdall threw a pebble and it just got stuck in time. Then another. And another.

“It’s pointless,” said Loki behind him. 

“So what?” roared Heimdall and whipped around. “Did you lead me here to gloat? Is this all you wanted?”

No, said Loki’s face. This is the site of my failure. I have murdered my father by inaction. 

“If I wanted to gloat”, said Loki out loud, “then there are many far better places for it.

“Then what do you want?” demanded Heimdall. “You are a leech inside a wound, the puppeteer of a fucked up play and what the hell do you think you are doing here?!”

If Heimdall thought that he could land a single blow, he would have hit Loki. Instead, Heimdall trembled in rage that he could not release. 

Loki walked past him and stared not at Odin, but at Surtr’s sword. 

“‘He reads thoughts for me’”, quoted Loki. “This was how Odin had described you. But you do far more than that, do you not? You are the guardian of Asgard.”

Heimdall turned away and stared into the dark. 

“I came here not to show you Odin, even though he was the reason you came. I wanted you to take a look, as the guardian of Asgard. Do you see what I see, Heimdall?”

Once more, Heimdall was pulled in by Loki’s words. He couldn’t do anything against it. It was as if he was commanding his body to stay still and, instead, it moved despite his best wishes.  

Therefore, Heimdall turned around and looked.

“Do you see the enemy?”

Heimdall saw. 

“Ragnarok hasn’t stopped. It’s still happening.”

Loki smiled at the answer.

“Yes. Inch by inch, Surtr’s sword is driven deeper into the earth. In about a hundred years, Asgard will die.”

“Then all you’ve done was for naught.”

“I have saved countless Aesir lives and given us all time. In this window of opportunity, we can do something about it. Stop it for good.”

“You don’t even believe it yourself.”

“No,” said Loki. “I don’t really believe we can prevent it. But I am still going to try.”

Loki looked at Heimdall and, for the first time, really looked. 

“Will you try with me?”

Chapter Text

The walls of Asgard were always one of Heimdall’s favorite places. He could see the Rainbow Bridge from here. Whether above or below, no one could sneak up on Asgard as long as Heimdall stood on these walls. 

Besides, it was satisfying to see people, small as ants, scuttling below. With his eyesight, Heimdall could see each of their faces, distinguish each strand of their hair, while they did not even know he was up there. 

The last and final reason why Heimdall liked being here was that he was alone. The press of godly and human thoughts was often suffocating. There was always so much stupid in their stupid heads, but now it was especially insufferable. 

“Apologize,” had Loki said to Heimdall. 

It was clear he was not going to budge on this. If Heimdall could not apologize, Loki would physically drag him through the dirt until Heimdall did. 

“Sorry,” Heimdall had to force the words through his teeth to the astonished farmer and his daughter, as they were gathering their scattered goods. These were the last words Heimdall would ever exchange with these people as he stalked away from them. 

Heimdall had fumed for a long time afterward. He’s been throwing pebbles at passing seagulls and watching them explode in a cloud of feathers. 

Eventually, Loki must have begun worrying about the population of the flying fuckers, otherwise, why would he have come to see him. 

“I’m not telling you to stop being an asshole. That’s a task that makes undoing Ragnarok look laughably easy. But if you are going to be an asshole, you can’t get physical.”

“So I’m supposed to let any dirty peasant shove me around?”

“I expect you to use your gift of foresight to avoid getting shoved . Or have you deteriorated so much that even peasants can touch you without trying?”

Grinding his teeth, Heimdall did not answer.

“You do understand just how many of my allies want you dead? You can either work on reforming at least a little bit or to start working on your burial pyre.”

“None of them care about Aesir peasants getting shoved around,” scoffed Heimdall. 

“ I care,” said Loki with a dangerous edge. “My plans hinge on being different compared to Odin. You will be seen as my most powerful enforcer and your actions will be interpreted as mine. If you act as you always did, you will jeopardize everything .” 

Hm. ‘Most powerful enforcer’, was it?

“Play nice with ambassadors. Play nice with foreign gods. If you need to blow off steam, you still have your words. Haven’t forgotten how to cut people with them, have you?”

Heimdall just smirked at him. It seems Loki remembered well the days he spent in Asgard as a youth.

“So stop acting like a rabid dog that is snapping at chickens.”

With that Loki departed, his cloak billowing behind him. Heimdall considered throwing a pebble at him and in the end, didn’t.

Odin didn’t like being disrespected much either. Heimdall shouldn’t have expected anything less from Loki.  

***

Sif signed off the purchase listed and gave it back to the servant. It was almost dinner time. It’s unlikely that Thud would come by to visit, but someone mentioned hearing thunder in the distance. Sif would plate for her just in case.

Next, Sif almost walked into Heimdall who was standing in the doorway. 

“Hello, Sif,” said Heimdall. “Have you been avoiding me?”

“You mistake “not seeking you out” for “avoiding you”. An easy mistake to make with the size of your ego.” 

Sif walked past Heimdall, who, regrettably, followed.

“It’s been two weeks, Sif. I don’t quite believe you.”

“Two rather busy weeks, Heimdall. It seems I have actual work to do these days… unlike you.”  

“Ah, but why so hostile? All I had hoped for was to catch up…”

“No,” said Sif.

“No what?”

“None of these games,” said Sif and turned around to face Heimdall. “Ask your questions, if you like. But I’m out of time and patience to be toyed with.”

That was true. She had been dreading this conversation and just wanted it over with. 

“How is Loki as your new master?”

“Fine,” said Sif. “For a change, I have work as a diplomat. Turns out, it’s easier to do this work when you don’t break every single word you’ve given a few decades later.”

“This decade hasn’t even passed, so don’t get up your hopes too much. Besides, everything you have negotiated has worked out well for Odin.”

“It worked out well for him. Not always for me.”

Heimdall shrugged. He couldn’t care less about her professional pride… or motherly losses.

“How is Thrud?”

“Coming and going. As you already know.”

“Can’t be easy for… always being the one left behind,” said Heimdall as he probed.

Sif said nothing, just held his gaze. Yes, it was not easy. But in many ways, she was relieved that when the fire had claimed her home, there was still something left to hold on to. 

There was another barb on Heimdall’s tongue, one that Sif must have had practice being abandoned and had already gotten so much better at it. 

But Heimdall swallowed that barb. The fact that Heimdall was pissed at the world had little to do with her. She was not Heimdall’s favorite person in the world, but she ranked higher than most. Besides, Heimdall needed allies. 

“You made peace for sake of Thrud,” said Heimdall. “I understand. I’m just not sure you have thought it through.”

“Have you?” asked Sif. Then she turned around and left.

***

“Hey, Heimdall. Had enough of moping around?”

Maybe being locked up wasn’t the punishment, but a mercy. Maybe Heimdal should consider going back.

“‘Hello Heimdall,’” said Heimdall, mimicking someone else’s voice. “‘Who are you doing, esteemed Heimdall, on this fine morning?’ Have you ever heard of courtesy, Loki?”

“I prefer to practice it when I hope to see it returned. So why bother? Here, I brought you some reading material.” 

Heimdall did not pick up the pile of books that was dropped next to him. He preferred to look at the rolling hills and the clouds of herded sheep down below. 

It was a nice day. There was a chance it might turn back into one. 

Loki sat down next to him. He was without his coat today, looking thinner and more his age. His eyes were bright. Loki, too, thought that it was a fine day and a fine view. 

For a while, neither chose to ruin the silence by speaking. 

“What is it that happened to your eyes?” finally asked Heimdall. 

Loki’s original eyes were blue, but not this pale ice-cold blue. His pupils were almost white in the sunshine. It made him look like a freak.

“I always had an easy time picking up languages. The second time I hear them, I can understand almost all. The third time, I can speak it. Something in my bloodline…”

Your filthy Jötnar blood that you are so proud of.

“Seeing the pasts of others' lives have intensified it. Saturated it to a point where it was almost spilling out of me. I can read all languages now, and speak them all.” Loki shrugged. “Not much of a gift. I would have achieved the same in a few more decades.”

“Fascinating,” said Heimdall. “I heard a lot of words and none of them were about your eyes.”

“Oh, the eyes. Whenever I channel the gift of understanding, my eyes glow as they do now. It seems I can no longer choose to… not understand.”

One way or another, Loki had no strong feelings about this change in him. 

“To speak about a more interesting topic: your homework. It’s time you did some work and gave me your perspective.”

Heimdall looked between the books and Loki.

“I believe you brought me the contents of your trash pile, Loki. What is this? Jötnar, Dwarven… and Vanir writings! I never belied that those primitive brutes knew the gift of written speech!” 

“I have left it up to you, which books you will investigate,” continued Loki as if Heimdall had said nothing at all. “After all, curiosity is the sign of an intelligent man and I would prefer you explored the material according to your interests.”

“Why should any of it interest me?”

“Indeed. You are a superior being, a man who had never fallen prey to magic or imprisonment. Why would you have an interest in secrets and power? What could you gain from writings, that other races have shared with us only after noticeable concessions?”

Looking over them, many of the books were indeed ancient and carefully preserved. Besides, Heimdall’s room was raided in his absence and robbed of all good reading material a long time ago. 

“I might take a look at them.”

“Very well,” said Loki, standing up. “Take care not to leave them around - Mimir was of the opinion that you should have none of these books. Make sure they don’t fall into anyone else’s hands but yours.”

Heimdall snorted. 

“Then it is agreed.” Brushing himself off, Loki added as if as an afterthought: “One final thing, though, Heimdall.”

Heimdall saw it coming, but time had turned to quicksand. Loki placed his hand on Heimdall’s shoulder and said into his ear:

“I hope with the reading material provided, you will never again go through my notes again. It’s quite the fall from here. I’m sure you’d survive… but the crawl back would hopefully cement the idea, just how idiotic it is to provoke a man in order to read his written thoughts — when you can already read his thoughts anytime, every day.” 

Loki squeezed his shoulder and let go. 

“You have to do better, Heimdall! You need to start thinking.”

Time snapped back. Heimdall uneasily moved his shoulder and then looked back. Loki was already out of shouting distance, striding home. 

“Fucking half-blood,” muttered Heimdall. The threat didn’t really bother him. The first offense was just fooling around and getting to second offense would be just stupid.  

What bothered Heimdall was that he hadn’t seen it coming. Loki had come from the start to warn him off. The homework assignment was genuine, though, but also just a precursor to the delivery of the threat. 

The reason why Heimdall didn’t see it coming, was because Loki wasn’t angry. Loki was concerned for Heimdall’s well-being, hence the occupational theory. The threat was made in the genuine hope that Heimdall would do better… and that Loki did not have to inflict great physical harm on him.

“Fucking agent of chaos…”

This was exactly the reason why Heimdall didn’t wanna deal with him in the first place.

***

Loki had some deep regrets about Kratos’s new form, but none about his size. 

It might be a somewhat silly thing to contemplate, but Loki liked still being able to give Father proper hugs. For example, as happy as Loki was with Fenrir’s return to the living, it was a little bit of a bummer to only ever be able to pet his snout. Of course, the most important that Fenrir was happy and healthy! But still… 

To return to the topic of the Father’s size - it wasn’t too small either. Loki did not like much when people ignored his Father, but with his size, he was either chest or eye-level with most people. It was hard to ignore a wolf who was coolly examining your every move and could take off your head with one bite. 

Of course, this applied to Loki as well…

“I’m almost finished,” said Loki, dipping his feather in ink. “Just writing the last sentence.”

Father stared, unblinking. 

“I mean it.”

It did little to persuade Father. Recently, Father had gotten really insistent about bedtime. It was rather paradoxical because previously Kratos didn’t care much whether it was day or night. Rest is what you did in between important things.  

But now that Loki was an adult, when he was ruling over the affairs of his realm and finalizing treaties - now Father had finally bothered dragging him to bed. 

Granted, Loki had rarely skipped more than a night in a row when he was younger. It was probably the period when Loki spent a week without sleep that made Kratos snap. He actually grabbed Loki by his clothes with his teeth, swung Loki on his back, carried him to bed, and then actually laid down on him. Loki couldn’t even change his clothes!

Didn’t really matter though. Loki fell asleep not long after.

After that, Kratos set down the law. Lunch was negotiable, but breakfast and dinner were not. Sleep was only skippable if there were immediate, real problems that needed to be solved. 

Loki had tried arguing, of course. 

“We’re gods, we don’t need sleep or eating! I can work fine without it.”

“Sleep keeps you sane. Eating with others keeps you in touch. Do not argue with me on this, boy.”

That actually got Loki to shut up. It has been years since Father has last called him that and yes, maybe Father was right. Godly bodies could take a lot of abuse before they turned to corpses. But godly minds were not as durable... 

With a sigh, Loki placed his feather aside and closed his journal.

“Can’t say I made much progress today. Dwarven mechanisms are truly marvelous, but the amount of arithmetics behind them, ugh!”

“Patience,” said Father. “You can’t master the craft of an entire race in just a month.”

“Yes, but…” Loki waved his hand through the air. “It’s just so close! Sometimes I get it on pure instinct… which makes going through calculations afterward such a chore.”

Father was silent on that. He knew, that his son understood the danger of shortcuts and the value of discipline, and therefore did not need to be reminded of any of it. 

“Anyway, let’s go to bed,” said Loki, pushing away his chair.

Loki followed Father, as he trotted ahead. 

It was really easy to think of Father as Father, even in his wolf form. He still gave Loki the same feeling of calm and security. It was comforting, especially at night. 

In their bedchamber, Loki took off the day clothes and put on the linen shirt. Then he climbed under the furs as Father settled next to him. They always shared the bed. It helped with nightmares.  

Sleep did not come easily. There were so many thoughts, so many little worries that occupied Loki’s attention. There was the issue of rotten grain, the materials for new barns that had to be arranged, the dwarven audience in a week, and the letter from the elven embassy. His mind just wouldn’t let go of work, even at night. 

“Father?”

The wolf shifted next to him, eyes still closed. 

“I was actually wondering… do you actually like being a wolf? I mean, not as we had much choice - unless we went soul-ripping some poor beast that had nothing wrong. But if you could choose, what would you have picked? I always thought a bear would suit you well.”

“A bear, “ said Father. 

“Yes. Powerful, big… best not to piss them off.”

Father snorted. After some thought, he said:

“Bears… They have agile fingers. More useful than wolf paws. But I’d barely fit in most door frames and I’d suffocate you if we slept in the same bed.”

“You already do that,” joked Loki. There were a few times when Loki woke up panting for air as a crushing weight of Father had settled on his chest. 

Father huffed and nipped at Loki’s hand. It was painless, just a touch of teeth. Loki caught the tongue as revenge which made Father growl. 

Laughing, Loki let it go. Father licked his hand and rested his snout on Loki’s forearm. 

“I never thought much about life as an animal,” said Father. “But I like running faster than I have ever before. I like tracking by scent. Meat tastes better than it ever did.”

“I’m still with you,” said Father. “Life is good.”

Then Father closed his eyes. He had said everything he wanted to say. 

Loki listened to his even breathing. He didn’t want to disturb Father by raising his arm to wipe away the tears. So he lay there until sleep came and brought, for once, gentle dreams. 

Chapter Text

The doors to the great hall opened with a bang as the red-haired woman walked in. Loki had been carving a wooden statuette, sitting at the far end of the long table. He had time to put away both knife and wood carving before the woman purposefully strode up to him and went on a knee.

“I greet you, Loki of Jötnar, glorious leader of the Aesir and the true victor of Ragnarok,” said Thrud, her fist clenched against her heart. “Your Valkyrie humbly awaits your orders.” 

“Get lost, Thrud,” said Loki, brushing away the wood shavings off his pants. “Besides, Valkyrie?” 

“Well, Jötnar boy, did you think those wings were fake?” Thrud stood up from the knee and flexed them in demonstration. The golden wings extended with a soft metallic clink. 

“I just figured you lost Mjolnir and Sigrun lent you her wings out of pity.”

“Hah!” 

“Careful”, said Heimdall from the far end of the table, still chewing an apple. “She’s about to attack.”

A moment later, Thrud sent Mjolnir flying. It stopped inches away from Loki’s face.

“I see your first act as a Valkyrie is to try to blow your leader’s brains out,” said Loki standing up from his chair.

“Gotta test your mettle, don’t I?” 

“You disrespectful cur should really know better than start fights in a place of…” began Heimdall and was ignored by both. 

“Good to see you, Thrud,” said Loki and grasped her forearm. “Congratulations on becoming a Valkyrie.”

“Thanks, Loki,” said Thrud and beamed. “Ready to serve and protect at your orders.”

“My first order will be obvious: join us for dinner. I’m sure everyone will be happy to have you.”

“I really won’t,” said Heimdall, already on his way out, taking book and apple with him. 

“Nice to see you too, Heimdall,” shouted Thrud after him. “Prison didn’t blunt your charm at all!”

Awful pups, thought Heimdall and twisted his mouth. Around Thrud, Loki really devolved into childishness. It was sickening to see. 

***

Later - much later -, after the feast was over, after Sif had made her toast and so did everyone else, after someone threw the pig’s head at Thrud but instead hit his neighbor, after the fight had stopped and the drinking contest had started, Loki and Thrud slipped out of the great hall. Thrud didn’t drink and Loki was getting tired of the noise. 

In silent agreement, they found a spot aside from the settlement. There on that hill, they laid and stared at the stars. If Loki had done that with Angrboda, it would have been thrilling, strange, exciting. With Thrud, there was instead the comfort of comradeship. 

“It was always strange to see different stars in other realms,” said Thrud. “Sometimes Midgard air felt just like in Asgard - and then I look up, and I see that it’s not my home sky.”

“Midgard was my home and the sky I knew by heart,” said Loki. “Now after two year’s Asgard’s sky is more familiar… but I am still learning new constellations.”

“To look at the same thing and see different things…” trailed of Thrud and Loki nodded in understanding. 

They both felt the strangeness. Their skies, their hearts, and their gazes had changed. Not only did they undergo transformation, but so did the world. Yet still, some things stayed the same. 

“How are you, Loki?” asked Thrud. “We’ve been all about me all day, but how are you doing?”

“I’m doing work,” said Loki shrugging. “I’m learning, talking to people, trying to do good…”

“That’s not all I’m asking about.”

Lying back, Loki picked listlessly at the words he could say.

“It feels rather wrong to complain about my father’s fate when yours is dead.”

“True,” said Thrud. “But there was also the whole thing…”

Thrud waved her arm around as if trying to encompass the enormity of the “whole thing”. 

“Prophecies. The mask. Odin. Ragnarok in our backdoor.”

“That obviously sucks too,” said Loki. “But then again, every single problem had happened because of my choices and it’s equally stupid to complain about it.”

“Not everything happened because of you,” said Thrud. “You didn’t stick the spear in your father’s heart, did you? Odin did that to your father as much as he did to mine.”

“Yeah. It's not all me,” said Loki. “There have been centuries of choices made by people before I was even born. It all led to Ragnarok… but I could have made a difference. I didn’t do it right.”

“Don’t argue with that, Thrud,” said Loki. “I had seen other choices I could have made and seen worse and better worlds than this one. In every world I wore the mask, my father died.”

“Died at Ragnarok,” corrected Thrud. “You said that you only saw events right up to the present at the time - you could have picked a better path and then - wham! Your father dead anyway the next fortnight.”

“Maybe.” It might be true, of course. But Loki had the - possibly childish - notion that it would take nothing less but Ragnarok to take down dad. 

“Besides,” pressed on Thrud. “You’ve done so many things that did make a change. Odin is out of the way, you stopped Ragnarok and saved Asgard.”

“Yes. Because the mask made it possible.”

“Then was the mask as bad as you think?”

Loki sighed and lifted himself up on his elbows. 

“Without the mask, Asgard would have fallen. We’d have saved as many as we could but not all. Freyr would have most likely died.”

“And then the peace between the elves would be blown to pieces,” added Thrud. 

“Yeah.” Loki stared at the sky, unblinking. “So many people would die and continue dying. That is exactly what makes it so much worse…”

Loki’s lowered to almost a whisper. For a few moments, he fell silent. Then he said:

“I’d still have preferred for all them to die and for my father to live instead.” He then added: “I know that’s a terrible thing to say.”

Thrud was silent to that. 

“You better not blow up Asgard to do some unholy ritual to put your dad’s soul into a human body,” finally said Thrud. “But otherwise, it’s fine. I’d have felt similar if we were talking about blowing Midgard and killing Freyr to save my dad.”

“Cool,” said Loki. “Then we are both terrible people.”

Thrud laughed and punched him. 

“Two terrible half-bloods, here to terrorize the realms!”

Loki smiled against himself. 

“More like quarter blood regarding you.”

“Pfft. Dirty blood doesn’t dilute.”

“If you say so.”

A wind gust ruffled their hair and carried the sounds of a faraway song. 

“I think I’d have liked most to choose in innocence and to choose a path that saved my father,” said Loki. “That is no longer possible without knowing about everyone else I’m going to sacrifice.”

“Maybe ignorance would have made you happier. Maybe the mask was a shittier option than most. But only children have the luxury of innocence. We had to grow up.”

“We did.” There was a lot of bitterness in these two words.

Thrud squeezes his forearm. 

“Don’t regret signing up to serve me as a Valkyrie yet, Thrud?” asked Loki. “Your “glorious leader” might be a bit of a whiner.”

“That’s fine. Knew that from the start.”

A chuckle. It might be the last interesting thing to be said on that hill, decided Heimdall.

He was sitting near the mead hall, far out of sight for both of them. Right across him in the courtyard lay Loki’s doggie. He was far enough not to be mistaken to be with Heimdall, but close enough to keep an eye on whatever Heimdall was doing. 

Well, the doggie had no idea just how acute Heimdall’s hearing was. Guarding him was accomplishing a lot less than the furry mutt thought.

“How do you like the feast, doggie? Found a good bone to chew on?”

The wolf remained unmoving, not even his ears perked up. He long stopped reacting to such obvious jibes, in particular by drunks. 

“Oh, I haven’t drunk the slightest bit.”

The doggie had already smelled that. Some men don’t need mead to turn rotten. 

“Servants should have poured one for you, little doggie. Might have been in a better mood tonight.”

The wolf lowered his head on his paws and stopped listening. 

Heimdall realized two things: it was pretty unsatisfying to rile up someone who can’t answer out loud - even more so if the person was genuinely bored by you. 

Therefore Heimdall decided to peer into him. 

Heimdall had never met Kratos while he was still a proper god. They had missed each other in Vanir and since Heimdall sat out Ragnarok…

Either way, Heimdall had never had the displeasure of meeting him previously and could not tell how much Kratos had changed. Likely, not very much. From the stories, he did not sound like a very bright person, and being a doggie had only made him more complacent. 

He paid attention to things when they were right before his snout and didn’t care much for hypotheticals. He cared about Loki, paid attention to Loki and did what Loki wanted. Heimdall would call it an empty pathetic life, but Kratos seemed satisfied enough. Which again, pointed towards him not being very bright. 

Heimdall had to dig a bit deeper. Kratos’ pride, which seemed like such an obvious point of attack, turned out to be a bit of a fluke. Pride and arrogance had led so many of his enemies to downfall, that Kratos kept a tight leash on his own. He was proud, very proud, this brutish god of war. But he rarely acted on it. 

Insulting his pride was pointless. Kratos did not see living as an animal beneath him, either way. What he did mind, what bothered him…

“What’s it like to be in a body tailored for violence?”

Anyone else would see no change in the wolf’s body language. But Heimdall saw Kratos tense up, perfectly still and alert. 

“You already have all the right instincts and now in this body… All you can really do is hunt and kill.”

The wolf opened his eyes and looked at Heimdall. There was something in his gaze that made it clear that he disagreed.

“Really? Then what can you do? Can you talk? Persuade others of your viewpoint and share knowledge? You can either follow, attack or threaten - and that is all that you do.” Heimdall waved his hands at the town. “Everyone knows you are just a guard dog even though Loki calls you father.”

The wolf bared his teeth in a sharp grin. There was a series of complex images and thoughts and the gist of it was…

A puppy in a den. Wolves are made for life, even though violence is needed for life. 

Some humans or gods are made for violence. Their ability to create life took second place to killing.  

So easy to fall into thoughtless cruel ways, when you have the ability to stop thinking and let the animal take over. Of course I am afraid.

But I've lived with this fear for a long time. This body makes me no monster - only my actions can make me one. 

I look my fears in the eye and they cower. I have made peace. But you run and run…

This wolf still had the eyes of an old god. Old not as much in years, as much made old by pain and death. 

Kratos looked at Heimdall and pitied him. 

“How dare you…” Heimdall’s voice was thick with rage. He had stood up without noticing. 

Eyeing him coolly, Kratos stretched and stood up as well. He didn’t care to fight, didn’t care to talk. In the end, Heimdall didn’t interest him. So Kratos left.

The only reason that Heimdall didn’t follow, was that while arguing with dogs was already the behavior of questionable worth, trying to beat up an escaping dog was even more ridiculous. Kratos was beneath him. 

Even though he acted like it was the opposite way around.

***

Heimdall caught Thrud when she was leaving the wyvern stalls. The place smelled like dung, burnt wood, and lightning. Judging from the smile on her, the baby wyverns still made it all worth it. 

“Hello, Thrud.”

The smile on Thrud’s face did not disappear but it did grow more crooked as she examined him. Curiosity battled an old dislike - but the dislike had faded in the last two years and the curiosity was fresh. 

“Hey, Heimdall. It’s been a while.”

“That it has.”

Two years, in which neither you nor Sif considered paying me a visit nor putting in a word for me. 

“Is being a Valkyrie turning out to be all that you expected it to be?”

“You mean traveling the world, eradicating evil, and cracking skulls?” Thrud shrugged. “It was everything I expected and everything I wanted.”

The unsaid words were: “Just never expected to do it with Odin gone… or to see everything that his rule had brought to other realms.”

“You are rather glad that your friend Loki is pulling the strings now.”

“After hearing Sigrun’s stories - yes, I am. Wouldn’t have liked enforcing genocide for an insane old man.”

“Enforcing safety,” corrected Heimdall.

“Yeah, I’ve seen that safety. We’ve just been swarmed with fans of Odin’s politics during Ragnarok.”

“Which was going to happen one way or another.” 

“I am sure glad, that it happened in one of the worse ways - oh, and did Odin do anything to save anyone? Did you?” Thrud shook her head. “I’m glad you were stuck in the prison. Hel knows how many more lives you’d help ruin.”

Heimdall laughed sharply.

“You still understand nothing of this world - then again, what should I expect?”

Heimdall continued:

“You see, they might call you Valkyrie… but all they see is daddy’s girl. The girl of that fat old drunk that died for nothing. You can’t match your mother, can’t match your father. What does that make you?”

That had hit her where it counts. Thrud stood very still, heart frozen in ice. 

What ought to have happened was rage, a burst of violence. But the girl had grown just the slightest bit because all she did was watch Heimdall. 

As for what went on in her head… Thrud thought, that she had it coming. What else to expect when engaging in a pissing match with such a petty and vindictive god as Heimdall? But there was some awe there as there. Was Heimdall always… just this?

Reading this made Heimdall lock his jaw. Some people can lie even in their thoughts, but Thrud was not one of these people. She really couldn’t believe that she ever felt that Heimdall was intimidating, the oh-so-high and mighty perfect Heimdall…

In the last years, her vision had widened. There were things that mattered and things that didn’t. Heimdall - Heimdall the bested, the captured - didn’t matter. Not as long as he remained Odin’s man at heart.  

“You really have to think about what future you are choosing,” said Thrud finally. “Because right now, there is no place for you here.”

“This is our home, Asgard!” 

“And thanks to Odin, it’s dying.” Thrud went through her hair and sighed. “Loki really thought you might help… but really, I don’t see it happening. You’re still the same.”

With that, Thrud walked away. In the future that Heimdall saw, there was no way for him to stop her from doing so. 

***

The sight was great from here. Wispy smoke trails winded themselves towards the bright sun from all the houses. So many people running about - and even better, almost all of them were in shouting distance. 

“Hey fat sack, where are you going? Has anyone told you yet that you are balding? Old age is no joy for anyone - no wonder your wife is so enamored with the baker!”

Heimdall laughed as someone threw a stone at him. The crowd’s aim was getting better. He took another swig, turned around, and strolled to the other end of the roof’s ridge. 

“Milady, you were not hoping for a son, were you? I’m afraid it will turn out to be a daughter same as the others - and disappointing wenches all of them! Maybe you should pray to become barren next time?”

This got even more outraged shouts this time. Dung was now among the missiles. 

“More, more!” laughed Heimdall. 

He gracefully bowed before the crowd. It felt good to have an audience. Let’s see how many more he could entice to join in. Maybe they will even set the house on fire to get to him. 

Heimdall couldn’t tell anymore why he used to think getting drunk was such a bad idea. It was great fun! It blurred everything - perceptions, thoughts. No regrets or shame! Besides, why should such a perfect creature as Heimdall ever feel ashamed?

“Hey! Ever wonder why all your friends abandoned you? It’s because…” 

Heimdall could not elaborate because several things happened. 

First of all, three missiles were approaching from different directions. Second, for an unfathomable reason, Heimdall momentarily lost his balance. Third, Heimdall realized that the tile that he was about to step on, was about to break under his foot.

Instead, Heimdall chose the tile next to it and a moment realized that this one was going to slip off the roof and take him down with it. Looking at the prospect of tumbling down and losing his booze, Heimdall instead attempted running down the roof as if it was what he had planned in the first place. 

The steps were a bit larger than intended and the fall higher than usual. 

There was a painful recoil and the sound of something breaking as Heimdall landed. Luckily, he had spilled only a little of the wine in the whole ordeal. Taking another sip, Heimdall carelessly stepped aside to evade a blow. 

The step was unusually clumsy and painful. It took a few more moments for Heimdall to realize what happened. He never previously had the pleasure of breaking a bone. 

Oh well. It would heal in a bit. 

If only all these stupid people would stop shouting and trying to hit him! 

Heimdall was the most formidable warrior that Asgard has ever known. A bunch of jumped-up peasants had no chance against him. But the mud was so slippery here, his foot hindering his mobility and maybe the alcohol was getting to him after all… 

There was not much difficulty in dodging any melee attacks, no matter the weapon. It brought them closer and gave Heimdall the opportunity to throw them into the dirt. But the missiles kept coming at the same time - and while stones couldn’t really hurt him, the rotten vegetables and dung apples were a dire danger to his pride. 

It was the dirt-covered turnip that almost made Heimdall pull his blade. But Heimdall was not that far gone just yet - he remembered very well how Thor turned into a crazed maniac when he got drunk and did not care to repeat those “heroics”. 

But the urge persisted. Heimdall hated them, he could barely see straight from fury, and he wanted to strangle all of them…

“Enough of this!”

After delivering another righteous kick to a peasant's back, Heimdall turned to look back. The crowd was parting around the newcomer. 

“This has to stop,” said Loki and swept his gaze across the crowd. The people were still seething - but the attacks had stopped.

“This bastard has insulted-...” 

“Yes,” said Loki. “I have heard. He will be dealt with.”

The man, who had exclaimed previously, wilted under Loki’s icy tone. He mumbled something and retreated back. 

“I apologize sincerely for these events,” said Loki. “This incident will not repeat again.”

Only now, Loki turned his gaze on Heimdall. It made Heimdall’s skin crawl and made him want to take another swig. 

“Now run along.”

With that, the murmuring crowd slowly dispersed. Loki had to coolly raise his eyebrows at the last curious stragglers before they as well disappeared.

Only then Loki approached Heimdall and looked him over. It was, all things considered, a rather neutral glance. It made Heimdall grind his teeth. 

“Let’s get you somewhere, where we can take a look at the foot,” said Loki.

“I will take care of it on my own,” pressed out Heimdall through his teeth. 

“Alright.” 

For a few humiliating moments, Loki calmly waited for Heimdall to regenerate. He could not. 

“I don’t need you to nanny me,” snapped Heimdall.  “Get lost already.”

“How about we leave this dirty place instead,” said Loki, putting Heimdall’s arm around his neck, “and get somewhere quiet? I know a place.”

Without really waiting for an answer, Loki began dragging him along. Seeing that arguing would only lead to more unpleasantness, Heimdall just shut up and began hobbling along. With Loki’s support, he did not need to put much weight on the broken foot anymore. 

The quiet place really wasn’t that far away. That was a good thing because Heimdall felt every stare that strafed him. The drunken haze was fading, the bloody leg was hurting worse and the wine bottle had disappeared at some point. 

When the door closed behind them, in the narrow small room that used to be once a stall and now had turned to storage, Heimdall could breathe out in relief. There was a narrow bench on which Heimdall sat down with a wince.

The minor problems were out of the way, and only a major problem remained. Loki was silent, but Heimdall was sure it wouldn’t stay that way for long. 

“Let me see the foot,” said Loki.

“No.”

With a sigh, Loki kneeled and took it upon himself to remove Heimdall’s boot. The only reason why Heimdall didn’t hiss, was because he knew that if he did, Loki would give him a look that would say: “Don’t be such a baby”.

As such, Heimdall bore the pain with gritted teeth. 

The boot removed, Loki commanded:

“Put it on the bench.”

With a scowl, that hopefully communicated all the scorn that Heimdall felt, he obliged with the command.

Loki felt carefully for the fracture. His eyes glowed brighter than usual, hinting at the magic he was using to peer inside. One of the major bones had broken neatly, but there were a few fractures in the smaller bones and one of the shards had dislocated - likely in the fight that had followed.

Whatever feelings Loki had about the manner in which the injury was acquired were very quickly displaced by academic curiosity. Due to the manner of his daily work, he did not often have the possibility to use his fledgling healing magic on anything more serious than a splinter. 

“I will not be a study object for your ill-conceived interpretation of Vanir magic,” said Heimdall and made motions to stand up. But he did not succeed. Vines had already begun sprouting from the bench, rooting his leg to where it lay.

“Wonderful. The dislike will work well to further incentivize you to stop getting hurt again.”

Heimdall was going to say that he did not need any further incentives, but then Loki cast his spell and it was such a gripping experience that Heimdall had to suppress words of profanity.

It didn’t hurt, as such. It was a little itchy but even that could be ignored. The reason why Heimdall was unable to ignore it was that he knew perfectly well that tiny spore tendrils were invading his foot and were going to perform their job in setting the bone. It was a grueling vision that made Heimdall want to set his foot on fire. 

“This is the most disgusting thing I have felt in my entire life.”

With a smile, Loki swiped chunks of a half-dried beet off Heimdall’s shoulder. It took all self-control to not clock his self-proclaimed “doctor”.

“Try thinking of something else,” suggested the “doctor”.

Heimdall imagined driving his sword through Loki’s chest and then beating his face in with the pommel. The image calmed him down enough to make Heimdall remember how much he hated getting blood on him. Then Heimdall remembered something else…

“So you did steal my wine. Once a petty thief, always a petty thief,” drawled Heimdall. “But wait, really? You put the wine in there ?”

There were actual pocket dimensions in Loki’s coat. Dwarves master craftsmen had similar magic for their storage, but it was a secret Heimdall had never seen them share before.

“The wine is soaking all the paper in there, you know,” added Heimdall, having peeked into one of the pocket dimensions. “The handkerchief will forever smell of wine and… dog fur and meatloaf ?”

“Oh,” said Loki. “Forgot about that one. Either way, that pocket had nothing important in it.”

Using a pocket dimension as a trash can was both revolting and an obscene show of magical luxury. The only reason Heimdall was not jealous was that he was neither into collecting material possessions, nor collecting trash. 

Anyway, the most important thing was that Heimdall was not getting the wine back. Which was bad because Loki seemed to have a sobering effect on him.

“Really don’t see why you had to come and ruin my fun,” said Heimdall. “I got drunk, so what? The town is full of drunks and I don’t see you dragging them out of the mud.” 

Loki chose to say nothing, which incited Heimdall more.

“Just a few days one of those disgusting men tried kissing a pig 'cause he mistook her for his wife. Another took a bath inside a beer barrel and vowed not to leave it until he had drunk its contents. Whereas me? I just told people some truth. Where is the crime in that?”

Loki still said nothing at all.

“Oh, you are thinking about forbidding to sell me alcohol. How droll! As if I can’t get wine in a hundred different ways! You are worse than Odin - at least he never went that far to restrict me.”

“But he didn’t like you drinking much either, did he?” asked Loki. 

Heimdall didn’t answer. 

“So you didn’t drink.” Loki shook his head in something like admiration. “It’s almost ingenious. Encourage Thor’s drinking while mocking yours. It’s not about alcohol, one way or another. It’s about what makes each of you easier to control.”

“For example,” said Loki, “Thor’s popularity both gained and waned depending on what he’d done during his last drunken rampage. Didn’t improve him as a father either. But it ensured that he wouldn’t think too much about Odin’s commands and that no one would ever trust him to be a dependable leader.”

“Whereas you are the opposite case,” continued Loki. “If drinking was beneath you, then so were all the people who drank - and there is hardly a stonecold sober soul in all of Asgard. You’d stay the sharpest tool in the toolbox and no one would ever become your drinking buddy or a friend.”

“I don’t need friends,” cut off Heimdall.

“Yeah, you didn’t. All you needed was Odin.”

“Fuck you,” said Heimdall. “And fuck Odin.”

Loki just shrugged at that. 

“You were right, though,” said Loki after a pause. “I don’t care about you drinking.”

Because either way, you are not much use to me right now , slipped in the thought right after. Heimdall clenched his finger around the bench. 

“What really bothers me…” Loki stopped and tried again: “Ever seen children pick at a stew because they hate vegetables?”

“What?”

“They just keep trying to identify the chunks which are beets or carrots to put them aside… or to try to spit them out without anyone noticing.”

“Get to the point - preferably without any mention of children or vegetables.”

“I’m almost there,” promised Loki. “They are basically trying to eat the stew without eating it - and get away with it. When children do it, it’s kind of adorable. When adults do it… it’s just embarrassing.”

Loki dodged the punch without much effort.

“My point is,” said Loki. “You should commit to killing me or truly serve me. This dilly-dallying is beneath you.” 

Loki had a gift for delivering the most inciting diatribe monologues in a polite and calm manner. “Kill me,” said Loki, as if he didn’t know damn well that Heimdall wasn’t going to succeed. Besides, even if Heimdall did succeed… what then? Who could replace Loki? Who could do anything about Ragnarok?

But living with Loki as his master was no easier than killing him. 

“Remove the vines,” said Heimdall. With a wave of his hand, Loki made the vines retreat. The foot wasn’t fully healed, but it was better. 

Loki did not ask: “How is the foot?”. Loki did not ask: “Where are you going?”.

Loki was going to wait until Heimdall came back with an answer or a poised knife. 

As for Heimdall, he was heading out somewhere without any people. He was getting damn sick of seeing and being seen by now.

Chapter Text

Heimdall allowed himself to limp only after he was out of sight of human civilization. The alcohol was almost completely out of his system and the anger, which had motivated him to keep up the pace, was dwindling by now as well. Neither could distract him now from the pain.

It was such a shame, that here in the forest, where a brook sang of water and the birds sang of air, it was hard to stay angry. 

Heimdall rested for a moment against the tree. The foot was throbbing with ugly, dull pain. When he put weight on that foot, the pain turned sharp as a knife. 

But really, it wasn’t that important. Heimdall had to find the spring.

With his hearing, Heimdall knew exactly where it would be. It was the same beautiful place it had been. The crashing of water from a nearby waterfall was dulled by the canopy of the forest. The spring was wide and moved slowly here, reflecting the blue of the sky. 

Heimdall sat down a rock, removed the boot with a wince, and submerged his foot into the ice-cold water. The cold gave immediate relief to the pain and Heimdall exhaled a breath he’d been holding for too long. 

This place was beloved by many and therefore a place Heimdall visited far too little. Only in winter or early spring could this beauty be enjoyed in solitude. 

But it wasn’t beauty that Heimdall had come for.

Heimdall leaned forward to see his face. His hair was ruffled and some of the braids got undone, while a dark smudge marked his cheek. Still, he looked the same. A day of drunken debauchery had not ruined his looks. Why would it?

Yes, unlike most people, Heimdall saw deeper than surface level. There was the temptation to pull back, to avoid his own gaze. Heimdall did neither.

“You’re a mess,” whispered Heimdall.

It was easier to say it out loud than Heimdall thought it’d be. 

“In life, there are only victors and losers. You were on the losing side… but you didn’t die. You didn’t switch sides as easily as Sif or Thrud did. You got stuck on the fence.”

Heimdall’s face twisted into a mocking grimace.

“Don’t tell me you are still hung up on Odin. The worthless two-faced sack of bones..! He betrayed us! He failed us all!” 

There was a lot of shouting locked inside Heimdall. Pain was for losers, for those who didn’t evade the blow. But as much as Heimdall liked to pretend he was above it all, there it was. 

“How many times did he dismiss me? ‘No time, Heimdall’,” mimicked Heimdall. “‘Another time, Heimdall’. Where was he running off every time? Chasing his damn ‘truth’?!”

“Odin only acted as if he valued me. Gave me the Gjallarhorn, gave me every courtesy and every shred of respect he could bear to give… but gave me none of his time. Even his respect was readily rescinded if I didn’t play it exactly as he wanted. Guessed Odin’s wishes wrong? Bad luck. He looked at me as if I was the dumbest oaf he had the misfortune of meeting.”

“And of course, the famous: ‘Why didn’t you tell me that?’. Maybe because you cut me off the last twenty times and didn’t want to hear it! You just never had time for me and no patience…” Heimdall breathed out. “In the end, you were looking past me, looking past everyone… looking for something else entirely.”

Heimdall took a handful of water to drink. The spring water was cold enough to make his teeth hurt. Then he washed his face and looked at himself again.

“If I hate you so much, then why do I still defend you?” asked Heimdall. “I despise traitors, and yet…”

… and yet Odin’s actions were Heimdall’s actions. Unlike Mimir or Tyr, Heimdall never tried to influence Odin and would consider the thought treason in itself. He trusted in Odin’s judgement, and never flinched when he did what had to be done. Suppressing rebellions, identifying liars, and forever protecting Asgard…

“Protector of Asgard!” Heimdall laughed at that. “Oh what a fancy title. Was all of Asgard just Odin’s workshop? Did he see no beauty in it, nothing worth protecting?”

Odin once loved Asgard, that Heimdall knew. Sometimes it came to shine through, especially when Odin spoke of his first wife Fjörgyn. But that happened less and less until she and love itself became a distant memory.

“Defending Asgard and enforcing Odin’s will was the same to me, but they are separate things. I need to find new ways to protect Asgard…” 

“In that case, there is the issue of Loki.” Heimdall glanced at his reflection and laughed out loud. “Is this it? A grudge over some runt outdoing us all? It is rather humbling.”

“But then again, who else could step up?” continued Heimdall. “For all my strengths, I am no leader. Sif would likely take over, but she lacks the bite to intimidate our foes and to lead a war. We’d be easy prey - and there are so many foes that still hold a grudge…”

“Tyr…” Heimdall stopped there. “Interesting. He’d do well. In many ways, though, he is far worse than Loki - and he has very personal, well-founded reasons to despise me.”

“Therefore, we return to Loki.” Heimdall drifted off. He didn’t wanna say it out loud, but Loki scared him. It was a good thing. Overwhelming power, knowledge and a certain degree of ruthlessness were what it took for the job. 

“Well, who does that remind us of?” muttered Heimdall. “None want a repeat of Odin…”

Way back when Odin looked at Loki, he saw himself in him. Hunger for knowledge and willingness to use unconventional ways to achieve his goals. Curiosity for the sake of itself… Heimdall did not understand Odin at all back then, but time had brought out the similarities between the Allfather and the little runt. 

“Then again, Loki is Loki,” muttered Heimdall. “If he turns rotten, he’ll do that for his own reasons… and those reasons will be unlike Odin’s. Not as if Loki needs any more reasons! A damn Jötnar half-blood with a monster for a father! Wiping out a pantheon in revenge would be like him…”

No, that was untrue. It was easy to fall into stereotypes, especially with how much Heimdall despised Giants. Loki had the chance for revenge and didn’t take it. Even now, he could anytime undo his magic and unleash Ragnarok. There would be no resistance, just immediate death. Even Heimdall wouldn’t be able to do anything. 

Loki was the one that had done the impossible - all to save his enemies. Asgard was conquered by ruthlessness masquerading as mercy. It was admirable, in a way. 

“Haven’t I known this from the start?” asked Heimdall. “Loki is my only option. I knew it and still couldn’t commit. If Loki is right, then everything Odin has done… everything I have done is wrong.”

There was nothing in the world that Heimdall hated as much as being wrong. It was worse than being dirty - it was like the wrongness seeped deep into him. The feeling of being tainted.

Maybe other people were more used to it, stumbling through the world as they did, perfectly complacent in their imperfection. Heimdall was different compared to them. Perfection was in reach… you just had to grasp it. 

The problem was that Heimdall was not a long-term strategist. Odin complained often that Heimdall lacked the imagination for the big picture, that he always jumped at the immediate problem to solve it right away instead of seeing what other advantages could be gained from letting the problem fester. 

Heimdall looked away from the reflection and let his gaze wander through the forest. 

It came once more to the same thing: Heimdall needed Loki, in more than one way. Heimdall needed a strong leader, one who would make the right choices. Loki was young and a freshly hatched ruler - but his potential and power could not be disputed. 

But did Loki need Heimdall?

Unlike whatever Loki thought, Heimdall wasn’t that much into carnage and torture. He liked defeating the undefeatable and making sure that they knew that it was no sweat for him. Heimdall’s uglier sides only came out when people didn’t know their place even after defeat… but those uglier parts of him could be hidden away. 

It would still be possible to have fun under Loki and to serve him faithfully. Heimdall just had to use a gentler touch, a more elegant approach. Something that would fit Loki’s image.

Under Loki’s facade of uncaring, there was faint disappointment that Heimdall was wasting himself. Like so many, Loki yearned for a second pair of sharp eyes that would see through darkness as if it was the brightest day. Heimdall was not just a guardian or enforcer; he could also be an excellent advisor. 

Of course, it would take time to earn Loki’s trust. It would take a bit of groveling before Loki’s allies, but Heimdall was good at turning up the charm when he wanted to. Not like they would buy it, but it might just satisfy Loki. 

“Oh, Loki,” sighed Heimdall. “You are just made of trouble - making me think of how to best suck up to you. Despicable!” 

Despite the words, Heimdall was in high spirits. He took the time to clean himself up and rebraid his hair. Putting the boots back on, Heimdall felt like a new person. It was time to head back and face the music.

When Heimdall hit the dusty road, he belatedly realized that his foot didn’t hurt anymore. 

Well, no wonder. He was a shining example of an Aesir god. There was no ailment that would hinder him for long. 

*** 

Books are an interesting thing. Less noisy than people and less obnoxious since the chorus of thoughts does not threaten to drown out your own. 

But do not think of books as obedient little things that tell you only what the author wanted to say. The scribe, who is not always the author, has his own story. The fingerprints of the readers, the careless folding of pages, the underlining of words by a hurried quill - they all tell a story as well. 

Yet it had its own charm. Heimdall read not only the books but also read the people behind the books. From the distance of space and time, it was far easier to like these people. 

The warm feelings did not extend to the pig who grabbed the page with greasy fingers, though. Neither did Heimdall warm up to the dwarves - the grubby fuckers were still despicable creatures who were all either debauchers, pedants, or incompetent insurgents. Heimdall even hinted as much to Loki.

“The dwarves have saddled you with trash,” he announced to Loki. 

A raised brow asked for clarification.

“They selected books that would be specifically useless for you. For example, one of the books is based on utilizing hydraulics - but only in the constellation of their own geysers. For example, the bronze-to-iron ratio is chosen to counteract the acidic property of their stink water. Our wheels would rust in no time if forged under these specifications.”

“You think that book has no uses at all?”

“Only if we suddenly forgot how to make water mills and had to reinvent them,” scoffed Heimdall. “As for the other books, they could be useful - if we had all of them. They gave you advanced manuals on specific machinery that is rather useless without referencing the works they build upon on.”

“And finally,” said Heimdall, opening up a book he had brought. “Look at this page.”

“I see the inkblot, yes.”

“Well, the inkblot is new and I would go as far as to say that it is intentional,” said Heimdall and added: “It’s the freshness of the ink and the height from which the ink splattered.”

“Interesting,” just said Loki. 

“Your dwarven allies don’t trust you as much as you think.”

“Why should they?” shrugged Loki. “They do well to beware of giving away their power or secrets after Odin.”

“It is still a blank-faced affront. Their rudeness is intentional… but no matter. I have written down the words obscured by the ink for you. I have also noted down the pages with typos, including in one of the formulas.”

Loki accepted the scroll and looked over it. 

“Well done,” said Loki finally. 

Heimdall made a small bow. Living to please. 

While Heimdall’s feats of observation were what pleased Loki the most, the bow genuinely amused Loki. With the smile now reaching his eyes, Loki asked:

“Well, what about the rest of the books? Any other trivia I should know about?”

“I’ve not looked at the other books. Since you have the dwarven audience in a fortnight, I thought it best to prepare for it first.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. Since when did Heimdall know about that?

“I have overheard Sif talking,” explained Heimdall. “Apart from that, the servants seem to be in a particular rush to make the great hall look presentable.”

What Heimdall did not mention was that Sif mentioned to the audience behind locked doors and that the servants pointedly avoided talking around him. 

Either way, Heimdall did glimpse that it was the first time that the dwarves were meeting Loki on his own turf instead of Svartelfheim. This meant that Loki had to show sovereignty, that his control over his realm was complete and that he was a ruler to be reckoned with. 

“I would like to stand at your side during the meeting if you would have me,” said Heimdall. He did not bow again, for too much subservience would harm his case. 

There was no immediate answer. Loki watched Heimdall for a few moments, wondering about Heimdall’s motives and then how to best phrase his apprehensions. 

“The dwarves remember the rebellion you helped suppress. Among others, Durlin is one of the core members of the dwarven council.”

Heimdall remembered that one, just as much Durlin remembered him in turn. After all, Heimdall wanted to impress upon Durlin what a terrible idea it was to go up against Odin - and left a scar that would make sure that the reminder would stick. 

“I am aware that the council will react to my presence with hostility. Nonetheless, I can be of help. Other than that, would they not be even more suspicious if you tried hiding me away… or even worse, if they found out about my release through other channels?”

They have to see, that I am committed to you, thought Heimdall. Otherwise, they will doubt your judgement and influence. 

“They have already received word,” said Loki. “The decision to release you was not a fast one, nor was it made without seeking counsel. What bothers me primarily is that…”

There Loki searched for words that would be less bruising to Heimdall’s pride. The gist was though: “I thought you were not ready for it yet.” Instead, Loki sidestepped this sentence.

“Your role in the audience will be unpleasant. You will need to remain silent unless it is an apology that is leaving your mouth. I did not intend you to throw to such obvious humiliations so early - and to make clear, I will not defend you, for I condemn your actions as much as Odin’s.”

There was the crux of the issue. Loki had already made peace with Heimdall and chosen to look past his actions. None of Heimdall’s past had affected him directly or left deep scars. Whereas the dwarves had all the reasons to despise and no reasons to forgive. Heimdall on the loose was not only a reminder of Asgard’s bloody deeds but also a direct threat to them. 

Logically, Loki wanted to show that Heimdall was no threat at all. A fangless beast that would take any beating and still adoringly look at its new master.

“I can do it,” said Heimdall. It had to be done sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

Loki’s expression did not change as he tried to gauge how truthful Heimdall was with Loki and with himself as well. 

“Very well,” said Loki. “Be warned: I expect you to obey my commands without hesitation or protest. Practice your apology in advance. If I find it less heartfelt than necessary, I might have to enact a public demonstration of your new status.”

Loki did not want to humiliate Heimdall more than it was necessary. But if Heimdall ever forced the question of choosing between him and the dwarves - Loki would choose the dwarves without hesitation and throw Heimdall to the wolves.

Seeing Heimdall nod, Loki appeared satisfied. 

There was a pause as Loki was thinking of ways to soften the last words or to sweeten the bitter pill somehow. But Heimdall curtly bowed in farewell and chose to depart. He did not need to hear words that Loki did not really mean. 

He knew he was a tool, one with blood still sticking to it. 

***

Decisions that are made so easily in daylight weighed differently in the deep of night. Why did Heimdall even agree to it? To bow and apologize before the dirt diggers? What’s next, thanking the pigs for giving up their piglets for the feast?

When Heimdall saw Loki doubt him, there was no other decision he could make. To be the weak link in the chain was not Heimdall’s chosen fate.

And yet Heimdall laid on the bed, counting the mice in the cellars and counting splinters in the ceiling’s wood beam. Sleep wouldn’t come, replaced by unease. 

It did not help that Heimdall’s silk bedsheets were long gone since his imprisonment. He’d be more incised about it if Loki or Sif had taken them, but neither of them knew of the theft or even cared about it. 

It seemed so gauche to request new silk bedsheets made, especially since the ruler of the realm slept on wolf furs he had hunted himself. 

Odin had gifted the silk sheets back then to Heimdall of his own volition. Things like this made it easy to serve Odin. The only times that Heimdall was forced to grovel or apologize was to lull the enemies into false safety, intending to pay back all indignities twice over in a few years. 

Of course, the enemies would try getting back at them in turn. A never-ending battle of wits in preparation for Ragnarok where all debts were paid in fire and blood anyway. Were silk sheets worth it? 

Oh dammit, maybe they were. Heimdall felt every irregularity that irritated his skin, could feel every single thread that was thicker or thinner than usual. It chafed him. Sometimes he went outside to sleep on a soft grass hill, whose irregular make was nature’s perfection. But sleeping outside was for dogs and wild animals. Heimdall did not plan to make it a habit. 

At the very least, it comforted Heimdall that he was not the only one having a rotten night. 

Through three thick doors, Heimdall could faintly hear Loki’s thrashing. Muttered protest, a pressed out groan. Loki was caught in a nightmare. 

The sounds of it were soothing Heimdall. It would have been insufferable to be denied sleep while everyone dreamt their happy dreams. Instead, Loki, the most powerful man in this realm, could not defeat his nightmares. 

In hindsight, another reason why Heimdall agreed to be paraded before the dwarves was that Loki lacked the self-satisfied righteousness that Heimdall so detested. Loki saw himself not as a judge of villains, but as a protector. Do not let any more harm come to the victims and heal the scarred wounds that others left behind. 

Maybe it was because Loki considered himself a villain as well. His nightmares certainly spoke of a guilty conscience.

Loki said something in his sleep, louder and more insistent. The sleep-locked tongue would not pronounce “I’m sorry” clearly, but Heimdall could decipher nonetheless. It was loud enough to rouse the mutt from sleep, which pressed its cold nose against Loki’s chest and sighed. 

It was enough to rip Loki from the nightmare. Breathing shallowly, Loki buried his face in his father’s fur. 

Heimdall never had nightmares, at least not those you wake up from with a start. His dreams were mostly pleasant, dreams of nature or golden palaces. If sleep did not evade him so often lately, he’d consider the nighttime a pleasant rest from life. 

Loki had his nightmares, Heimdall his sleepless nights, and there was a queer sense of justice reaped from not suffering alone. 

***

Loki stood up when Sif and the dwarven emissaries entered his study. 

“I have not expected you so soon today! Greetings to you all,” Loki approached and went to shake the hands of the first dwarf. “I hope the travel through Yggdrasil’s branches did not tax you overly much, Nipingr?”

“It did not, Loki of the Jötnar,” slowly said Nipingr. His long eyebrows were stark white and his demeanor thoughtful. “The beasts did not like the heights or the smells much, but they carried us safely nonetheless.”

“A beautiful journey,” said the sole female dwarf in the party, tossing her hair out of her face.

“Greetings to you, Arnfasta,” said Loki. “Did you by chance see Níðhöggr’s offspring? They too are one of the highlights of the journey.”

“We did not see the wyrms,” said a stout dwarf, laughing. “But maybe something to look forward to next time!”

“I will hope you will see them on the way back, Digrvaldi. They are a little boisterous but with Ratotoskr’s guidance, they will grow into fine guardians yet.”

“The squirrel, was it not?” said the lean dwarf curtly. “He better take care of them better than last summer - caused some havoc in the Myrkr tunnels.”

“In all fairness, Bodil,” said the dwarf, who was stroking his beard and thoughtfully examining the entire room, “the little rascal of a wyrm was quickly caught and Lord Loki’s help left the place in a better place than before.”

“Domari, you don’t give a damn about the wyrms or the Myrkr mine,” said Durlin. “Why exactly are all of you ignoring the olifant in the room?”

“It’s only polite to engage in small talk at the host’s behest,” said Arnfasta.

“We wanted to give you the courtesy of pointing out your favorite enemy,” said Digrvaldi.

“Enemy!” Durlin snorted. “Just one of many Aesir bastards.”

With that, Durlin cast the last dark gaze at Heimdall and sat down as first at the table. This disrespect brooked only mild amusement from Loki, whose face remained the same polite smiling facade as before.

“Please sit, everyone. We can discuss all topics, whether pleasant or unpleasant, just as well while sitting down.”

The party shuffled and arranged themselves at the table. Sif sat at Loki’s right, while Durlin, who had sat down first, was sitting at Loki’s left. The rest sat down wherever there was a free chair, not caring much about the order. 

Heimdall was the only one standing behind Loki’s shoulder. 

“As you have all noticed,” began Loki, “I have enrolled Heimdall in my service.”

The traces of humour, induced by the light chatter, had already fled the dwarven faces. It was replaced by stoic expectation of people who knew what was about to be said and were polite enough to listen to it anyway.

“It’s not a decision made lightly, nor a decision made to spite your people. I remember well the harm he has caused and the countless reasons you have to wish for his death. Yet he may be the key to saving this realm - and as its ruler, I have the duty to try everything to undo Ragnarok.”

The dwarven faces said: “That’s very nice, but we still want the bastard dead.”

Loki’s face said: “That’s very nice, but the bastard stays alive.”

They were at an impasse.

“I find it a little dubious that Heimdall, for his lack of magic knowledge, would be able to help you in this matter,” said Nipingr. 

“I don’t need a magical practitioner,” said Loki. “There is no living person that knows the answer and there is no book that has it spelled out: ‘Here is how you stop Ragnarok.’ But I need someone who sees true and accurate, and for them to convey what they see to me.”

“But can you trust him?” asked Arnfasta. “To tell truth to you?”

“In this matter, yes.” 

“Let us speak of a hypothetical scenario,” boomed Digrvaldi, stressing the word ‘hypothetical’. “Your mad dog helps you save Asgard and then runs off to do genocide. Where does that leave us? Your realm might benefit from him but all we stand is to lose from his freedom.”

Heimdall bit his tongue to not add that genocide was actually Thor’s area of expertise. His work was just a tiny bit subtler.

“If I do save Asgard, do you not trust me to keep Heimdall in check as well?” asked Loki. “Would you not say that accomplishing the second is far easier than the first?”

A point well made. 

The silence was punctuated by the screeching of wood against wood, as Durlin pushed back his chair and stared darkly past Loki’s shoulder.  

“Conditional trust,” said Durlin. “Conditional usefulness. But really, we understand. You believe that you can outrun time, out trick prophecies, outdo Heimdall and hell, what do I know! Maybe you can.”

“There is just the issue of scars,” said Durlin. His own burn scar peeked underneath his hat. 

In the silence, Durlin leaned over the desk and looked directly at Loki. 

“We lost people. Lost a bit of ourselves after we failed. That is the worst part about what they have done to us.” Durlin glimpsed Heimdall who had opened his mouth and said: “Just shut up. Don’t care if you gonna justify yourself or apologize - you are still rotten. No matter whose side you are on now, you will stay the same.”

Heimdall shut his mouth. Well, good riddance. A little shame about the wasted effort that went into writing his speech, but still, no complaints.

“I’d have more words to say on him, but with Odin dead, his henchman deserves as little of my attention as possible. Just a thing though…”

Durlin threw an armlet on the table. 

“Put this on him. It will alert us if he ever enters Svartalfheim.”

Loki reached for the silver band, examined the runes on it to confirm its purpose and then passed it on to Heimdall. With a great degree of distaste, Heimdall put it on. Both Durlin’s and Loki’s demeanor showed that the armlet did nothing more than what was already said - but still.

“Now the dog has its collar,” chuckled Durlin. 

Heimdall clenched his jaw, staring straight ahead. 

“Durlin has spoken true,” said Domari. “We speak of danger or safety and of what can be gained or lost. But do we speak of justice? Is it just that Heimdall stay alive why so many of ours did not?”

“And yet none of you brought up the matter of his execution while he was still locked away,” said Loki. “His death had less value than grain - you sought more the material reparations instead of spiritual ones.”

“But have not those been lacking as well?” interjected Arnfasta. “Where are still the stolen relics? Where is the forge of Adnvari? Where is Rothgerus’s spearhead? Or Lefsi’s banner? We have waited patiently and yet seen no sign of them.”

“Because we have not found them!” insisted Loki.

“Then search harder!”

If Heimdall was free to speak, he would have mentioned that Lefsi’s banner was a gift and that Andvari’s forge was supposed to be cursed and traded to Odin before the dwarven realm was even claimed as a vassal. But Loki’s straight back spoke that he knew about the history of these items perfectly well himself. 

There was a long argument here, written between the lines. The gifts were given in hopes of strengthening the peace - is not natural, that the dwarves wanted the gifts back after the peace turned out to be a lie? As for the trades, were they not done in duress, knowing that when Odin really wanted something, he would not hold back to get it at any cost?

Loki had listened to these arguments and found them sound. But there was much work to do besides finding Odin’s oblique treasuries. The dwarves suspected obstruction, though, that Asgardians were trying to drag out the issue until it would be forgotten. As for those dwarves who cared little for the relics, was a good emotional argument to hammer out more concessions out of Asgard and argue for more favorable trade deals. 

Combined with damage from the war, less than stellar harvests, and consistency of dwarven haranguing, it was no wonder that Loki was beginning to lose his temper on the matter. 

“We are doing what we can,” stressed Loki. “I can once more intensify the search - but right now, it can only be done at the expense of sowing and planting new food. Surely you have a vested interest in improving harvests, considering that much of it goes to Svartalfheim as well?”

“Using food as a cudgel,” harrumphed Digrvaldi. “Just like Odin, aren’t you?”

“Cut that out, Digrvaldi,” said Loki in a tired voice. “It would work better if you hadn’t used this argument for the last four times we discussed the topic.”

“Had to try,” shrugged Digrvaldi unrepentantly.

“I understand your frustration, Lord Loki,” said Nípingr. “So far you have done a great deal to repay the debt that you have inherited from Odin - through no fault of your own. And yet you are showered with reproach…” 

Loki smiled softly and inclined his head. As for his thoughts, those were: “What has the old snake concocted this time?”

“I have spent some time thinking about how the topic could be solved more permanently. After all, Asgard has been profiting from our inventions and labor for years over years. How to even the scales without draining Asgard dry?” Nipingr coughed, his drooping eyes making him look even older than he was. “Digrvaldi, could you get out the proposal? I think you stashed it somewhere.”

Digrvaldi readily brought out a bundle of papers and handed it over to Loki. Loki leafed through, half-listening to Nipingr’s explanations. 

“There has been a novel idea introduced in our community. Inventing new mechanisms takes time, yet sometimes the inventor ends up empty-handed while the forge master reaps all the profit. Clever minds have therefore suggested “leasing” ideas in return for payments…”

“Perpetual payments,” said Loki, nodding towards a passage in his hands.

“Yes, in some cases perpetual payments. Since Odin has taken both physical representations of our work and the technical schematics with which they could be infinitely reproduced, many creators were robbed of their fruit’s work…”

 “Naturally, they deserve compensation,” said Loki, nudging a sheet of paper toward Sif. Upon reading the contents of this particular aspect of the proposal, Sif raised her brows at Loki who smiled mirthlessly. 

“I understand that it will take some time to read through all intricacies of my written words…” began Nipingr. He was cut off by Arnfasta, who stood up sharply:

“I do not see the point,” she said. “Are things not simple? Either we are owed, or we are not. Either in the last two years, Loki has grown to trust in the fairness of our deals, or all this time had been a waste.”

“Yes, yes,” said Nipingr, “but the lad is young and he needs time to take his time…”

“But Uncle Nipingr, have you not been a steadfast advisor to both sides so far? Why is your word alone not enough to make a decision…”

“Oh Arnfasta…” said Nipingr as if lost for words.

The dwarves were wasted as diplomats - they should have been performers at fairs. What a thrilling stage play! Poke at Loki’s age and inexperience, appeal to emotions as the wronged party, and finally add in Nipingr as the good dwarf counterpart to the bad dwarf Arnfasta… was Heimdall the only one who could see through it all?

Durlin saw Heimdall’s barely suppressed outrage and winked at him. If looks could kill, the dwarf would be dead. 

“You are right, Arnfasta,” said Loki. “I don’t need to read it all.”

Damn the consequence, Heimdall almost spoke up, before he saw Loki turn towards him.

“Heimdall, please get the paper in the second drawer and my inkpot with my quill.” Loki then turned back to the dwarves and elaborated: “There are some numbers that I wanted to check. Recently, I have been getting into arithmetics and there are so few practical examples for such heady concepts… would be a shame to not use the opportunity here.”

“Of course, Loki,” said Nipingr fatherly. “Take your time.”

“Thank you,” smiled Loki. “I certainly will.” 

There was genuine amusement… no, delight in Loki’s eyes. Loki was having fun. 

It was for the best that Heimdall had said nothing after all. He placed the paper and inkwell neatly before Loki and retreated behind his shoulder.

Loki did not joke when he said that he would take his time. Sif had time to arrange for drinks for the dwarven party and engage them in pleasant, if hollow, chatter about their daily affairs. 

As dwarves gingerly nipped at their ale, Loki eventually tore himself away from his calculation and smiled broadly at his guests:

“Fascinating read and even more fascinating math in here. At last, I am done here. You have done tremendous work here, Nipingr, yet I’m afraid it’s all unsignable rubbish.” 

A murmur of outrage rose up - just a murmur though because there were at least three dwarves in the party that knew that the proposal was complete poppycock. 

“Perpetual payments for all eternity are bad enough, but linking it to the dwarven bronze coin?” Loki shook his head. “Remind me, Digrvaldi, isn’t your cousin in the coin printing business?”

“I have many cousins,” said Digrvaldi. “I can’t be sure I don’t have one dipping his toes in that business…”

“Must be hard to keep track of them. Ah, I remember!” Loki waved his hand. “Gullmund, I think. The one who is running the Gullmund bank? The bank that defines the interest rate?”

“Ah,” said Digrvaldi, “I seem to remember now.”

Of course, you do, thought Loki and Heimdall at the same time. 

“Well, the perpetual payments are adjusted according to the interest rate which poses an interesting question… what if the interest rate increases tenfold if not twentyfold? What then? Do we start paying the debt by carting houses to Svartalfheim or by starting a war to break the contract?”

Loki’s joke was rewarded with a few strained smiles and no laughter as such. Although, no. Sif enjoyed the jest and had to hide her smile behind a fake cough. 

“Either way, Nipingr,” said Loki, “I’d be less insulted if you asked me nicely to hand over keys to Asgard.”

“But wouldn’t it be madness to raise the interest rates to such a degree?” argued Digrvaldi. “My cousin would certainly do no such thing… and besides, you mentioned that at some point Asgard would rebel at such unfair conditions.”

Loki shrugged.

“Who can guarantee what the future will bring? In a few generations, your cousin will be gone, but Asgard will be still standing. Will a different dwarf choose to wreck their own economy to destroy a foreign realm? Or will Asgard be weakened through years of increasing payments, until it is fangless enough to become Nidavellir’s own vassal realm?”

“Our people have never sought conquest,” said Arnfasta.

“Yes,” said Loki. “But now the dwarves have weapons of conquest beyond measure and the ability to wield them. Currently, they have no hunger for war… but what about their children and grandchildren?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, suddenly Nipingr started laughing.

“Ah, Loki,” said Nipingr with a genuine wicked smile. “You are always a delight and a fountain of wit.”

“Would hate to disappoint, Uncle Nipingr,” said Loki with a grin. “Let us settle on this for today - I have written down several machines for which we will pay a ten-year settlement, while several more inventions will receive smaller payments for the next thirty years.”

“Fifty years will be,” nodded Nipingr.

“Maybe we will be able to decide tomorrow on forty years tomorrow,” said Loki. “But for now, let us rest the issue. Have you seen your quarters yet? I need you at your best for the feast and drinking tonight!”

Arnfasta downed her drink in one go and said with laughter: 

“Hey, I’m ready to go even right now!”

“Then join me in the great hall! Sif, could you show the rest to their quarters?”

“Of course,” said Sif with a polite bow. From her demeanor, none of what happened was such a terrible surprise to her. The dwarves often tested Loki… although this time, it might have gone too far. 

Looking at the dwarves cheerfully and loudly leaving the room, Heimdall realized that this was both a reprimanding barb and a test. You sign up our mortal enemy as a servant? Fine. Then pay the price so that Asgard may never become a danger to us.

If you don’t see through the test, then you are a gullible fool who would not have been able to keep Heimdall in check, and as consequence, you are someone who deserves to lose everything.

But despite the sharply worded exchange, despite the tense moments, despite the very real danger behind written words - there was genuine sympathy. The dwarves liked Loki. Even more so, Loki liked them in turn. They exasperated him, drove him to tear out his hair, but he truly liked them for some unfathomable reason. 

Durlin was the last of the dwarves to leave the room. He and Loki exchanged a look, then Durlin departed without words. 

Heimdall snorted. That’s how Loki knew about Digrvaldi’s cousin, huh? What a twisted lot, these dwarves… no wonder Odin didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. 

***

Up here, you could see the wind roll through the grass. The night creatures scuttling about - the fox looking for a meal, the owl swooping for something in the brushes. 

The same wind that disturbed the grass carried the sounds of festivities behind Heimdall. But Heimdall wasn’t really listening for it, nor looking at the animals or the grass. He was touching Durlin’s bracelet and thinking of traveling. 

Previously, Heimdall never really bothered. When he visited the realms on Odin’s orders, he only ever saw places that were too hot or cold, too humid or too windy, too cramped or too empty. None of them were Asgard. That was reason enough to stay home. 

Now though, that Heimdall was actually forbidden from going anywhere, it seemed like such an enticing idea. Heimdall’s connection to Bifröst was never severed. If Loki did not change anything - which he very well might have, since he had the reigns now -, then switching realms might be a trivial matter. 

Someone began bellowing a dwarven song at the top of their lungs. A few drunk Asgardian voices were joining in. Heimdall scowled and let go of the bracelet. 

It was just the symptom, was it not? Asgard now infested with the dirt diggers, him leashed with a dwarven invention… leaving Asgard was just a childish notion of rebellion.

“Hey Heimdall!” someone shouted. 

His first instinct was to walk away. Heimdall was in no mood for company. But glancing back, Heimdall confirmed that it was indeed Loki, that had called for him, and that Loki was pretty drunk. 

In general, Heimdall despised drunks. It made already sloppy people even sloppier and turned smart people into daft idiots. 

But there was something amusing about watching Loki walk up the hill with the exaggerated carefulness of a drunk. He plopped next to Heimdall and beamed at him. 

“Knew it was you! Saw someone sitting and thought - well, who could that be? Of course it’s you!” 

Loki was the “happy drunk” type, it seemed. 

“By the way, you did really well in the audience! Glowered a bit, did as I told, took the bracelet… You’re amazing!” Loki actually put an arm around Heimdall’s shoulder. The only reason why Heimdall allowed it was because he hoped these antics would really embarrass Loki tomorrow. “I’m so happy you’re on my team! We’ll do great things together… with your eyes, my wit and my dad’s brawn - nothing can hold us back!”

Heimdall snorted. He didn’t really see how the mutt factored in. 

“Oh, you probably don’t like people breathing ale into your face,” said Loki and pulled away. “Really, I don’t drink usually. But the dwarves really insist and since I turned an adult, just seemed easier to party with them and to make some good memories.”

In the tilt of Loki’s head, Heimdall could read that the dwarves decided that Odin’s untrustworthiness could have been easily determined earlier if they had drunk more with him. The dwarves were determined to not make that mistake a second time. 

“They are really cool, you know,” said Loki, a grin again appearing on his face. “They are funny and treat me well - wish you could have met Agdis, she stayed behind this time, since she is pregnant with her sixth…”

Then came the flood of words about the dwarves. Heimdall did not need to know that Domari was one of the most respected judges of his generation, did not need to know that Bodil was a fighter that even Loki’s father struggled to defeat, nor that Nipingr had spent the last thirty years in house arrest under Odin’s orders. 

Looking at Loki’s glistening eyes and agitated hand gestures, Heimdall realized that Loki was happy. Even more - this fact was so exceptional, because in daily life, whether Loki was energetic or quiet, there was always an undercurrent of darkness to his mood. It was as if Loki never put down his crown of grief and guilt.

But this night, Loki was uncrowned. Surrounded by friendship, buzzed on ale, Loki just wanted to make Heimdall smile. No one should have to sit in the dark on such a golden night. 

Oh tomorrow, Loki would likely regret the unguarded nature of this act. Tomorrow, Heimdall would find the words to mock Loki’s gesture, if only in the solitude of his own room, for there would be no appreciative audience for Heimdall’s barbed wit. 

But tonight Heimdall listened to things he didn’t really care about.  

Drunk Loki was a talker and in his opinion, Heimdall needed to be filled in only on every single thing that happened in his two-year absence. The only reason why Loki did not keep talking until morning was that his father came by to fetch him.

“Father! You’re here too!” Loki’s delight at the wolf that appeared at his side was unsurpassed. “Look, we’re star-watching with Heimdall.”

The mutt had a look of skepticism about him, but that was lost on Loki. 

“You know how much I love you?” asked Loki and wrapped his hands around the wolf’s neck. “You smell great, you’re the best father and I’m so glad you’re with me…”

The wolf’s tail betrayed him, wagging once. Heimdall snorted in laughter. 

“Dwarves are wondering where I am? You can tell them I’m…” Loki frowned. “Wait, you can’t tell them. I have to go down myself!”

The mutt looked at Loki with tired exasperation.

“Sure, let’s go! You’re my favorite favorite father, of course, I’ll do anything you say.”

Loki had to lean on the mutt for support as he stood up. Heimdall watched them with amusement. 

“Alright, Heimdall. See you tomorrow! Have a great night!”

“Sure,” said Heimdall, waving goodbye. He watched them walk down the hill, as Loki once more explained to his mutt why he was the best:

“You’re always there for me! You’re the greatest warrior that ever lived! You have great fur - and really, I don’t even mind that you are starting to shed!”

Heimdall burst into laughter and made sure that the mutt heard him. 

This night really wasn’t that bad, all things considered.

Chapter Text

Heimdall liked the mornings after a feast. For one, it was quiet. People were divided into three categories: passed out, unfortunately awake and cheerfully sober folks - since they did not participate in the festivities. 

As a long-time member of the last category, Heimdall enjoyed how little it took to annoy everyone else. 

Planting himself across from Loki, Heimdall cheerfully greeted him with “Good morning!” as he sat down. Back came a far more subdued “Good morning” as Loki stayed hunched over his soup. 

In general, Heimdall liked eating stinky cheese at the same table as hungover people. Today, though, Heimdall crunched on honeyed nuts and just watched Loki. Not as if cheese could smell worse than whatever Loki was eating. It was one of those terrible brew made with salted herring and pickle juice which was heralded as the best medicine for hungover. 

Loki was currently at the stage of misery that translates as indifference to anything that is not screaming into your ear. Spoon by spoon, the soup was transported into his mouth and swallowed. Maybe the cure was in the fact that once you’ve eaten it, you realize that there are worse things in the world than being hungover. 

Didn’t work on Loki, though, since he was too far gone. Three nights of partying and three days of negotiations left him a hollow husk of a god. Once his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, Loki just sat there.

Don’t mistake his stillness for lack of thought. There were a lot of thoughts, a lot of things to do, and great deal of unwillingness to pursue them. Doing chores, no matter how necessary, felt like a fate worse than death.

But the thought of going back to bed also irked Loki. A whole day wasted! The dwarven negotiations had already taken a sizable chunk of his valuable time - could Loki afford in good conscience to lie around?

In the end, Loki ended up on something like a compromise with himself. He raised his gaze and looked at Heimdall.

“Going for a walk?” asked Heimdall.

Loki nodded. 

“Then let’s get going.”

***

There was no real necessity to come along on Loki’s errands except for the fact that Heimdall was bored and a hungover Loki was the best source of amusement in all of Asgard - mostly owing to Asgard lack of entertainment.

The two of them moved at a pace that was only slightly quicker than the pace of the old and infirm. Each step echoed with dull pain in Loki’s head, but still, the fresh air brought back some vigor and even his will to live. 

On their slow stroll, Heimdall took the time to engage in his favorite pastime: observation.

It was interesting to see how people treated Heimdall with Loki around and vice versa. When alone, Heimdall usually got dark glances, muttered curses and people making a wide berth around him… whereas now he was as good as invisible. 

In contrast, Loki was greeted with smiles, shouts from vendors to try something for free and genuine goodwill from the people around him. Of course, almost all had some ulterior motive - why else would they try to gain the favor of Asgard’s leader? -, but there was little fear and even less resentment behind the facade of friendliness.

Being shadowed by Heimdall, though, did slightly dampen Loki’s popularity. More than one person had approached with the intent of engaging Loki in conversation or to ask him for a favour, had taken a look at Heimdall and decided otherwise. They had - correctly - assumed they Heimdall’s biting commentary would not improve their chances at currying favor from Loki. 

This was probably the reason why Loki had so easily accepted Heimdall accompanying him. It was by all accounts a mutually beneficial arrangement. 

It wasn’t before long they reached the wyvern stables. They were located on the outskirts of town, where a wayward wyvern was less likely to incite a building engulfing inferno. Spewing lightning was not the same as breathing fire - but on hot dry summer nights there was little difference between the two. 

Loki entered the stable first, not even slightly minding the stench. In fact, it was the familiar smell that improved his mood and made him quicken his step. Heimdall had to breathe in deeply the last lungful of fresh air before steeling himself and entering the building. 

The odor hit him first. It was up to Heimdall to decide whether to focus on wyvern shit or rotting meat, whether the burnt note in the air made everything worse or better. Before coming to a decision, he heard Loki exclaim:

“Visna! Glad to have caught you here.”

“Greetings,” said Visna, raising herself to full height and turning around. She had just been in the process of mucking the stables.  “Fancy seeing you here so soon… To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, oh Lord Loki?”

“Just checking on the babies. Do you need a hand?”

Visna snorted in amusement and threw her shovel at Loki who caught it. 

“Last two stables need to be cleared out. I’ll go and prepare the food.”

“Got it.”

With that, Visna considered the matter settled. 

As for Heimdall, it was his first time seeing a stablehand eagerly shoving off her work to her lord. Nevertheless, it seemed to be an established pattern between the two. 

On the way out, Visna passed Heimdall and acknowledged him with a curt: “Heimdall”. Heimdall returned it with a nod. The two of them were never friends, but her work as an animal handler and Heimdall’s interest in animal taming led them to become familiar. 

Visna had not changed much in the two years, nor acquired any new visible scars on her face. Her hair was already dirty silver when they had last parted, but age has not made her weaker - nor anymore chattier than she had been. 

After Visna’s departure, Heimdall turned his attention back to Loki. 

“Enjoying shoveling manure for a change, Loki?” asked Heimdall ironically, as he watched Loki get to work. 

“Sure.”

The answer was sincere. Loki had too few opportunities to apply himself to manual work, which actually helped him focus and settle his mind. Neither did he mind getting dirty, especially when it was for the sake of the “babies”. 

The little beasts were held up in a communal pen and had been already making a ruckus. Heimdall, quickly losing interest in the sight of Loki knee-deep in shit, came over to look at them. Not too close though - at five months, the wyverns primarily interacted with the world by snapping at it.

Seeing Heimdall approach, the beasts went into a frenzy, believing that they were about to be fed. Heimdall smirked as he observed them. 

These wyverns were not the usual breed that Asgardians used. Their scales were a more vibrant metallic gold than usual. Their feathers were - as meager and pathetic as they looked at this age - a fierce red. They would catch many admiring stares when they would be fully grown.

As for now, they were currently still a bunch of fierce overgrown chickens. Heimdall failed to see what inspired Loki to have such a devoted love for these creatures. As for Heimdall himself, he much more preferred feline species - they had a certain elegance and arrogance that wyverns simply lacked. 

A shift in the air tore Heimdall out of his musings. Something was approaching. 

From the darkness rose up a beast, unfolding its wings and opening its radiant eyes. It barely fit inside the building which was housing it. Its skin had the same golden tint as its offspring but shaded by age and crisscrossed by scars. 

It took a few moments for Heimdall to decide if he was seeing a dragon or a wyvern. The feather pattern spoke wyvern, but the size… the size was not quite yet dragon, but close. It was not a beast that Heimdall would expect shackled in Asgard.

Speaking of which, there were no shackles on the adult wyvern and its predatory gaze was fixed on Heimdall. 

The main reason why Heimdall did not step backward was that it was principal to avoid any actions that could be interpreted as fear. Staying this close was a provocation in itself, though, and Heimdall hated the thought of dodging lightning. He might get some dirt on himself and static was terrible for his hair. 

“Greetings,” said Loki appearing at Heimdall’s side. “We’ve just come to see how the young ones are doing.”

The wyvern’s eye flicked toward Loki. Its posture was still tense. 

Loki, with unbreaking eye contact, performed a measured bow. The wyvern stared for a while before bowing its head in turn. 

“Well, the courtesies are done for,” said Loki, turning to Heimdall. “You have just met the Queen. I’d call her a delight, but that would be a blunt-faced lie. We are housing her and her kids as a mutually beneficial arrangement…”

“She is unshackled,” pointed out Heimdall.

“And will remain so, as part of the deal we struck. Besides, she’d kill herself and quite a few of our people rather than wear chains.”

That seemed to be true. The wyvern was proud and not afraid of dying. The only reason why she agreed to be housed in here was because she seemed to be crippled. Her wing was slashed and beyond repair. Her front claw lacked three digits. Her right eye was damaged - it seemed functional, and the pupil even tracked you as if she could see, but she couldn’t see anything in that eye.

“She had a fight over territory with a dragon - and lost. Couldn’t hunt her usual prey from the sky anymore and in desperation decided to go for Vanir settlements… luckily, I had the chance to talk to her before she could hurt anyone.”

“Can’t have been easy to persuade her,” said Heimdall. 

“It was anything but. Still, In the end, she saw reason.”

Her small and very killable children must also contribute to her cooperative nature. 

Visna’s return was announced by the little beasts freaking out. It sounded like there was a crate of hissing snakes inside that pen all trying to kill each other. 

“Wanna do the honors?” asked Visna.

“Absolutely,” beamed Loki. He took the bucket full of innards and began throwing it to the small wyverns. 

Heimdall watched in horror as Loki dived with bare hands into the bucket of slimy disgusting animal bits. Heimdall had to remind himself not to shake hands with him for the next few weeks. 

What caused such disgust in Heimdall was provoking the very opposite feelings in the wyverns. It was a free-for-all. Either the chicken heads were perceptive and fast enough to snatch the meat out of the air and gulp it down in one move - or the food would be pulled out of their own beaks by their siblings. 

It was a tough world. Some wyverns got less meat than others, either because they were slow or not strong enough to not be pushed out of the way. One wyvern, a small female, was one of the unlucky who was less physically resilient and whose meat was often ripped from her beak. Loki had an eye on her, throwing the meat to her more often than others - but there was only so much he could do from the distance. 

In the chaotic struggle, Heimdall also spotted the reason why the female was so unsuccessful. Her right front claw ended in a club and made her so easily lose balance when pushed by her siblings. 

But the little one did not lose hope. Waiting for the right moment, she pecked one of the thieves in the neck and when they dropped the food in surprise, snatched it from them. There was some outraged chatter and hissing, but since the food kept falling, there was no time to pursue a vendetta. 

Heimdall laughed at the scene. He liked wicked clever creatures. 

“Do you want to have a turn?” asked Loki, guts in hand.

“No, thank you,” quickly said Heimdall. “I prefer watching.”

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Loki. “They really go crazy for intestines and Vasna was so kind to prepare it just for me. I feed them so that they get used to me and know that I mean well.”

The wyverns stared adoringly at Loki’s glistening fingers. If they could, they’d bite them off. 

“It’s clearly paying off.”

Heimdall’s sarcasm went over Loki’s head.

“It really does! I hope to ride one of them once they grow up. I have my eye on the…”

“... one with silver stripes around his beak?”

Loki laughed.

“Seen right through me, Heimdall! Can you guess also which one Thrud picked?”

If Thrud was present, this would be far easier to do. People just look differently at things that they consider theirs. Instead, Heimdall had to extrapolate from his experience with Thrud…

“The big one in the middle.” 

“That’s right!” Loki threw a particularly long intestine and watched fatherly as two wyverns were tugging at opposite ends of it. “By the way, have you picked out one for yourself?”

Heimdall scowled as if he had bitten into something bitter.

“Me? Why would I pick one?”

“Oh, I just figured you’d be interested. Flying through the skies on a majestic beast…”

“If I wanted to fly on a wyvern, I’d have picked one ages ago,” scoffed Heimdall. “Look at them, scraggly beasts. The flying itself is also not as great as it sounds.” 

A lot of jerking around on a bony beast that falls down from a few arrows to the belly.

“But these are special ones,” said Loki with shining ones. “They will have far greater stamina and will be much faster than the others. Besides, don’t they look cool?”

Heimdall snorted. They’d look good - for wyverns . The bar just wasn’t very high.

“Well, maybe it wasn’t meant to be,” said Loki, turning his attention back to the wyverns. “They are hard to tame and who knows if it will work out.”

“There is nothing complicated about beast taming,” said Heimdall.

“True,” said Loki. “Still, I made a deal with the Queen that I would release a year after their birth any of her offspring that have not bonded with us.”

“You are going let these creatures free ?”

“If they’re not on our side, why keep them? But I hope that most will choose to stay.”

That was the stupidest deal that Heimdall has ever heard of.

“I mean,” continued Loki, “I understand your trepidation. From what I heard, you have mostly relied on discipline and punishment to keep animals in check. It must be challenging, if not impossible, to adjust to new methods - and the wyverns are a picky lot.”

“Your attempts at manipulation are plain and not working,” said Heimdall.

Loki suppressed a grin and put away the now-empty bucket. 

“I just thought it could be good to have someone fly alongside me. Few are capable of handling these wyverns, and Thrud comes to visit far too little.”

As Loki left to clean his hands, Heimdall stayed behind to examine the little chicken monsters. 

“You are all a brain-dead sorry lot,” proclaimed Heimdall. “And the only smart one is a cripple. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

The sated and lounging wyverns looked at him with vague interest.

“Well, not as if a wyvern needs claws to fly,” mused Heimdall. “It is its mettle in the sky that matters the most…”

Need be, Heimdall could order a golden claw made from metal. Maybe it would make his wyvern stand out more from others. 

“Hm…”

Well, there was no rush. The wyverns had to grow. With time it would become clear which wyverns were the most proficient, cruel and obedient ones. 

Yet at first glance - and Heimdall’s glances were worth more than another person’s long study -, the cripple seemed to have the most potential. Worth keeping an eye on.

***

Durlin switched his second magnifying glass to the third one to get a closer look at the irregularity. It still did not allow him to narrow down if the metal was corroding according to type C pattern or type F in the flickering candlelight. 

With a sigh, Durlin put away the ore and noted down: “P. C. Inconclusive.” Then he reached for the next piece of ore in his drawer.

This was the glorious work that security chiefs did. Chests of earth lugged to his office - thankfully, he sorted that analysis last week and got the damn dirt out of here -, but then came the ore shipments and Durlin has been stuck on them ever since. 

The superiors at the mine had shown him the layout of the mine, the seismic hotspots, the water channels they have rerouted and new support beams. All bollocks. The truth of the matter was, the place was a damn cheese block and had unstable foundations at which the cave rivers were gnawing at. 

Here was Durlin, doing divination not on animal guts but on metal ore. For all the good it did, it might as well be animal guts. 

The reason though why Durlin nevertheless attempted to make it work was because for once in a long time, the work might not be wholly useless. With Odin pushing deadlines no matter the cost, all his safety work might as well have been building castles from soap bubbles. But now Durlin had the power to make his points stick . They lost output, sure. Had far fewer mine collapses, though, and even when a mine collapsed, more people survived these days. 

Not to be mistaken, though; the job was still shit. Just more bearable these days.

The candle flickered again and Durlin paused. There was a draft while all his windows were closed. The front door hadn’t opened. Most likely it wasn’t anything but…

Durlin surreptitiously glanced to the side, where the cellar door was. A dark-cloaked figure stood there.

“Hey, Durlin.”

Durling dropped the ore and swore.

“Dammit, can’t you announce yourself when coming in?”

“I just did,” said Loki, stepping out in the light. A smile played on his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Should I, what, set up a bell near the Doorway? Cling-a-ling when I exit?”

“Not a bad idea,” said Durlin, closing the log book. “Especially if I want to go down as the crazy dwarf with bells in his cellar.”

“Add an axe next to your desk and people will think twice before booking their appointments.”

“Hah!” 

As Loki settled in the chair next to the desk, Durlin examined the boy. His hair was damp - was it raining in Asgard? 

Back when Loki was standing in the doorway, Durlin had the unpleasant feeling that it was Odin standing there. Of course, Loki’s cloak was green and had a hood, unlike Odin’s. Their clothes were only similar in the fact that they were both of Asgardian make. 

When you look directly at Loki, you wonder how you could make that mistake. But out of the corner of the eye… the same silhouette. 

You had to wonder if it was intentional. It might be useful to be seen as Odin’s successor, if only for intimidation purposes. On the other hand, Loki had the cloak back when he returned from his stroll through the past. Discarding the cloak would be like admitting that there was something wrong, that he’d been imitating Odin intentionally and had only stopped after being caught red-handed one too many times.

Cursed if you do. Cursed if you don’t.  

“How’s Dínner?” asked Loki.

Durlin let the girl speak for herself, as she crawled up his arm onto his shoulder from her water tank. 

“Good to hear!” said Loki, with shining eyes. “I have brought you a little something - if I may?”

After a curt permissive nod from Durlin, Loki stretched a small dried fish towards Dínner. She wrapped her tentacle around it and globbed down on it.

Durlin considered asking if there was salt in it, but Loki knew that Dínner couldn’t have any salt and had factored it in when picking the treat. Loki paid attention to animals, maybe even more than to people. 

This was the type of silence that people usually fill with chatter and chatter occasionally has its uses. But Loki valued Durlin for more than his chatter. 

"What did you make of Heimdall?" asked Loki.

It was as if he was asking: Did I make a mistake?

But no. It was more like: I think I made the right choice, but the cost of this mistake will be borne by others. Therefore I need to ask: Did I make a mistake?

“He’s an asshole,” said Durlin, and Loki nodded at that. “I doubt he’ll be of much use to you.”

Loki made an impatient gesture with his hand: And?

“He was squirming like a worm when Nipingr made his play and you were “pondering”. Whereas when you called out the bull, he was so damn smug.” Durlin scoffed. “You’d think Heimdall himself had the bright idea to put you on the throne, judging from how self-satisfied he looked”

Loki smirked. 

“Don’t be too smug about it yourself, though”, said Durlin, pointing a finger at Loki. “Putting dwarves in their place? Fun and games. But how is he going to act when something gets under his skin and really pisses him off?”

“Making him apologize was not ‘under his skin’ enough for you?”

Durlin scoffed. 

“Oh, I bet he was prissy about that. I also bet that Heimdall’s gonna be on his best behavior the first months when the prison cell memories are still fresh. But years down the line? Are you still going to be as vigilant, all the while Heimdall’s grievances accumulate and the chains begin to chafe?”

“The carrot and the whip,” shrugged Loki. “He needs reward and punishment from time to time - and before you say anything, I am aware of how callow that sounds.”

Durlin humphed and poured himself from the bottle. 

“You can be as callow as you like to him. I really don’t mind.” Durlin grinned lopsidedly and drunk from the mug. He did not offer any to Loki, knowing he’d decline. 

At some point, Dínner grew restless. Durlin knew how to interpret the twitching and raised his arm toward Loki. Dínner wandered into Loki’s lap who accepted her with delight. 

Durlin watched the one-sided conversation unfold as Loki listened and occasionally commented on Dínner’s thoughts. It gave room for Durlin to think.

He’d said that he was fine with Loki being ruthless. Wasn’t wholly right. He wanted Loki to be as loyal and kind-hearted as his mother was, and to be as intolerant to injustice and cruelty as she was. But Laufey was a warrior and a rebel under an unfair regime. Loki’s lot was different and not all his problems could be solved by an axe or by a friendly stretched-out hand. 

Loki had to rule. Manipulating, seeing through lies, making alliances with unsavory types… it was all on the agenda. 

But what would it make him into? 

“That’s not fair,” exclaimed Loki.

“What’s not fair?”

“Dínner called me sluggish… oh, mentally deficient too, for still not knowing how to swim.”

“She’s right,” said Durlin, taking a sip. “Keep that down, though, if the knowledge spreads, all assassins will know that all they need is just a sufficiently large bathtub to kill you.”

“Sod off,” said Loki without heat. “Do you know how cold the water in Asgard is?”

“A god’s true weakness: a little bit of cold.”

Loki rolled his eyes and let Dínner plop back in her water tank. 

“I’ll wait for summer. Besides, I had another thing I wanted to discuss. Do you know a good armor smith? Lunda has run off with Skjoldr, so I’m a bit lost.”

“What kind of armor do you need?”

“Well, I don’t really need armor,” said Loki with a sheepish look. “I want to order vambraces for Heimdall.”

Durlin sat down the mug with a thunk. 

“Yeah,” said Durlin. “Order him vambraces. Why don’t I go ahead and arrange flowers as well?”

“Too early for that,” said Loki deadpan. 

Durlin threw him a glance and Loki raised his hands in defense. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry I’m asking you. But spring is running me ragged and you know the smiths around…”

“Oh poor you,” said Durlin without a hint of pity, getting out a sheet of paper. “What do you need?”

“Steel, ornamented, but nothing too fancy. Leave room for upgrades. Has to be of decent quality, otherwise, Heimdall will feel that it’s an insult instead of a gift. Maybe a small enchantment for keeping it rust-free and repelling dirt?”

Good luck with those requirements. Durlin pitied the fool who’d take the order, but nevertheless noted it all down.

“Anything else?”

“Flower and wave motifs are fine. Actually, add a howling wolf to it.”

“Marking your property? Why don’t you order him a collar to go with it?” asked Durlin.

Loki flashed a grin and remained silent. 

“Anyway, I’ve written it down,” said Durlin. “What about the cost?”

“Whatever you think is a fair price,” said Loki. 

Durlin scoffed:

“I’ll be adding the asshole tax to it.”

“Fair.”

Durlin wrote down “ASSHOLE TAX” with a flourish and put the quill back into the ink pot. 

“Was that all you wanted? If so, then feel free to sod off. I still have my free evening to enjoy.”

“I won’t keep you. Dínner, behave in my absence.”

Dínner spit ink at him which Loki dodged. Her equivalent of a farewell kiss. 

“Great, then, be seeing you!” 

Durlin settled deeper in his chair, watching Loki make his way toward the cellar.

“Oh, by the way,” said Loki, stopping in the doorway and looking back. “Just wanted to say… thank you.”

Durlin raised his mug at Loki, which earned a short smile from him.

Then Loki was gone. 

With a sigh, Durlin read over the vambrace description. There were a few smiths who could create something worthwhile… might be best to choose one who knows to keep his trap shut. 

“Dínner, you ever consider that you might be too fond of the little guy?” asked Durlin. “Maybe liking him is clouding your judgement.”

Dínner stared at him with her round eyes from the water tank and threw some water at him with a well-coiled tentacle.

“Alright, alright, let’s say we might be too fond of him. Do you think we’re giving him too much slack?”

Dínner wasn’t much into questions without real answers. Durlin couldn’t fault her.

When Durlin was born, Odin had already been an old wicked geezer for centuries. As for Loki, he was still a pipsqueak. Might be growing like a beansprout and ruling a realm like it was nothing, but his grin was still the one of a mischievous child. 

Let’s say Loki rebuilds the Asgardian imperial machine with Heimdall a few decades later. Will Durlin see it in time? Or will he still be blinded by the sight of a sweet kid, sitting across from him and playing with his octopus?

Durlin closed the bottle and put it under his desk. Enough drink for today. It always made him gloomy on evenings like these.

Chapter Text

What Krators liked about fighting, was that the world came into focus. 

The golden loop that came for his neck was easily dodged and neither did Kratos step into the trap, that would have constricted around his paw. Losing mobility would mean losing the battle. 

Another wooden shaft hit his shoulder. Atreus was sending out blunted arrows in rapid succession, to pressure Kratos into the trapped area. It was working. They had agreed that fifth arrow hit would count as defeat and this was Kratos’s fourth. 

The next part required good footwork. Kratos was swifter, more agile in his wolf body, but at the same time it was harder to keep track of four paws versus two legs. 

Not even speaking of how devious his son’s traps were. Golden threads, thin as hair and so easily covered by dirt. They could be torn, eventually, but not before Atreus unloaded his entire quiver into Kratos. 

The trick was to be quick as lightning. Even the traps could not spring if your touch was as fleeting wind and the speed would force Atreus to come closer…

This is what battle gave to Kratos: awareness of his body and the world around him. Every detail magnified, every moment packed with hundreds of decisions.

Suddenly, Kratos was jerked out of mid-movement and held in place. He snarled at his foot, tearing at the bindings, as Atreus stepped forward to land his final shot…

That was all that Kratos needed. He abandoned the pretense and leaped at Atreus. Confusion flashed on Atreus’s face, succeeded by belated understanding. Atreus tried moving out of the way and deflecting Kratos bite, both without success. 

Kratos jaws were firmly set around Atreus’s arm, his weight pinning Atreus to the ground. Breathing hard, Kratos felt the rush of victory. He’d been addicted to it since he was a boy and never shook the habit since. 

“Hey, isn’t fair!” said Atreus, the words coming out belabored since an entire giant wolf was standing on his chest. “Since when are you doing the tricking ?”

Kratos growled: “Since my son is growing complacent in his fighting.”

Atreus rolled his eyes, but there was a twinkle in them. For all that was said, they were both satisfied with the battle. Atreus was delighted that his old man was learning new tricks. As for Kratos, he was proud. Each victory came harder than the one before. 

“How is this for complacent?” asked Atreus as his tattoos glowed up. 

Kratos had to release his arm and jump back, otherwise he’d be caught in the bear’s crushing embrace. 

Now the roles in the fight were reversed. Kratos was the powerful, cumbersome beast, while now he became the nimble hunter. Atreus used to stay away from his opponent, while now he sought to close the gap. 

Kratos circled and sought openings. Where he found them, he bounced at the bear and bit. Not hard, of course, not even hard enough to draw blood - just to be felt. 

Atreus moved with deceptive slowness. More than once, his reach turned out to be further than expected and his speed enough for the claws to strafe Kratos. The blows were not done in full strength, of course, not leaving even bruises. But they made a point.

In the end, animal against animal, it was not true sparring. Neither of them wanted to hurt each other and naturally held back. There were no weapons that could deflect a blow, no armor that could soften the hit.

For all intents and purposes, it was just playfighting. Blowing off steam. 

It was something that Kratos should have done when the boy was still a boy. Life goes on, not waiting for you to wash off your sins, and before long, Atreus had all grown up. 

They were roughousing until they grew tired. 

“Mercy,” said Atreus, breathing heavily and shifting back in his human form. 

Kratos, panting for air himself, came over to poke Atreus in the shoulder with the nose. His language was now the language of the body instead of the tongue. All good?  

Behind them, Kratos heard slow clapping.

“The glorious leader of Asgard vanquished so easily,” said Heimdall. “If only he had used the magic at his disposal, maybe this whole jumping around might have been avoided.”

“Is the easy road the only one worth walking?” said Atreus unbothered. “If I do not hone my skills in archery, I will lose them. Besides, one day I might find a foe against whom my magic is useless - or one whose magic surpasses mine.”

Kratos’ and Atreus' gazes met and Atreus slightly smiled at him. It was Kratos who had insisted on making the training sessions regularly with the above reasoning. 

“Thank goodness, then,” said Heimdall. “Looked from here like almost all of it was playfighting. The bear, in particular, was rather clumsy with the bow.”

Kratos bristled at the words and had to suppress a growl in his throat. Atreus, noticing, scratched his back and Kratos once more turned his back on the golden twat.  

“You got us. Just playing around when we should be working.” Atreus stood up, brushing the dust off his clothes and his cloak, then flashed a short grin. “But for real training, would you care to join me?”

There was a hint of wariness on Heimdall’s face as he was deciphering Atreus’ intent. Kratos needed no powers to know exactly what the grin meant - and he also knew that Heimdall was incapable of resisting provocation. 

“I think my busy schedule will allow it.”

“Wonderful!”

Kratos shook himself off, brushed against Atreus’s leg as he left and jumped over the fence to clear the field. This was Atreus’s show now. 

Kratos picked a spot with the best view and sat down. That was bound to be amusing. 

***

Heimdall entered the dusty training field. There were training dummies lined on the far end, while a few spectators were lined on the opposite side. Kratos and Loki’s fight was a familiar sight and piqued little interest, but Heimdall was a different matter. 

There was an immediate buzz as people, unobtrusively as possible, gathered up around. They would certainly prefer for Heimdall to eat dirt, but they would also be amused by the opposite. The crowds were rarely picky about spectacle as long as it was bloody, outrageous or humiliating for someone. 

Heimdall had, of course, no intention of humiliating Loki. It would reflect badly on himself to have his own boss laughed at by peasants. Nevertheless, a little humility would do Loki well. 

That is if Loki had no lessons of his own to impart. Loki’s demeanor spoke of the fact that he expected an even fight that could go either way. 

“Before we start,” said Loki, “there is one thing.”

From the pockets of his cloak, Loki pulled out two objects and held them up like offerings. 

Heimdall was forced to approach him, acutely aware of the crowd’s eyes on him and, even more so, of Loki’s gaze on him. 

The vambraces looked fine. It was not what Heimdall would have ordered for himself, but his old vambraces were gone and the new ones wouldn’t clash too much with his outfit. 

Heimdall was inclined to accept, if only because it would hide away Durlin’s bracelet. Instead of a mark of bondage, Loki offered Heimdall a badge of - however dubious - honor. 

There was a small snag though.

Heimdall met Loki’s pale, unflinching gaze. Gifting the vambraces in public was a conscious choice and as were the decorative wolves. Refusing was an option. Loki would not make a scene of it and would not bring it up again. 

But Loki would like for Heimdall to accept. Would like for Heimdall to wear it. 

In the end, their unity would reflect well on them. 

Heimdall took the vambraces and fitted them against his forearms. He looked them over and saw their silver glint in the sun.

“Not bad,” said Heimdall. “They will serve me.”

A smile appeared on Loki's face, a genuine albeit brief one. His mind already jumped to the next exciting thing on the agenda:

“You’ll be able to test them out right now. If there are any flaws, you’ll notice them latest in this battle.”

There was no need. Heimdall saw flaws in equipment immediately if there were any, but Loki was already continuing with what was truly on his mind.

“There is a branch of magic that I never had the chance of properly testing. I would like to imbue my arrows with it and see if I can hit you. You can use anything at your disposal to avoid them.” 

“I’m being used as a training dummy?” commented Heimdall. “Sounds rather boring if all I do is dodge.”

“Fair enough. One strike against you, I win. One strike against me, you win.” Loki halted and added, “Oh, and to make this fair, I will not use temporal magic on you directly.”

As much as Heimdall despised artificial handicaps, he remembered well being frozen in time and being unable to move. It would not be much of a contest if Loki repeated that trick.

“Very well. Shall we start?”

The answer came in the form of an arrow. Heimdall tilted his head to the side, feeling the air current ruffle his air as the arrow passed by. 

“So far, so unimpressive,” commented Heimdall. 

But Loki paid it no mind, already firing the next arrows imbued with magic. In Loki’s furrowed brow, Heimdall read that Loki was testing his tools and how they interacted with him. Would sonic arrows drown out other noises? What if there were enough of them? Could they distract Heimdall from letting other missiles through? 

Multiply these thoughts by twenty and you might get what was going on inside that mind. Loki was firing, memorizing and learning.

All the while, Heimdall strolled forward, casually deflecting and stepping out of the way of missiles. He found that battle was to be savored and not to be rushed; no need to break into a run. It was pleasant to see how much more frantic the enemy's efforts became as his slow walk carried him closer to them, unstoppable and unrelenting. 

But there was no fear nor frustration in Loki as he steadily kept sending arrows at Heimdall. Collecting information - but also buying time and trying to keep his distance. There was something that Loki building up to…

No chance of it succeeding, though. The nice part about strolling towards your opponent is that they never expect you to dash lightning-quick up to them - just as Heimdall did now…

But Heimdall’s strike hit the air. Loki was nowhere to be found. Heimdall had to twirl around to see Loki ten paces away, shooting him a quick smile and then an arrow to follow. 

Right. Loki mentioned that he would not use his time powers on Heimdall - but said nothing about not using them on himself. Giving himself as much time as he needed to escape right under Heimdall’s nose… devious.

Loki was close to untouchable with the time at his disposal. Were his powers inexhaustible, though, and could he be defeated through attrition? 

There was not too much time to ponder on this, though, as Loki’s assault intensified. His arrows were now firing almost unpredictably, halting midair and then suddenly continuing their flight, while others were accelerated to an impossible degree from the start. Usually, Heimdall could predict the trajectory of an arrow from the moment the bowstring snapped back - but now he had to keep his full attention on each arrow from beginning to end. 

It was exhilarating to engage his power of foresight to such a degree. His new vambraces sparked with silver as they caught the arrows out of the air. In the back of his mind, Heimdall noted the appreciative gasps from the crowd. To them, Heimdall’s arms must be blurring in an impossible flurry of movement as the arrows went flying in all directions.

Then, there was a lull in attacks. Heimdall felt danger with all his senses as Loki drew back the bowstring and cast a new spell upon the arrow. Whatever it was, Heimdall could not allow it to touch him. 

Heimdall prepared to dash and then…

This arrow was strange. It went straight, without a magical aura or anything special about it. At the same time, it was there and here. It could be flying up the sky or falling towards the ground. It might have rotted in the earth last year, but maybe the branch, from which it was whittled, would only grow next year. 

It was not an arrow. It was what an arrow could be. 

Heimdall was as good as blind. He tried dodging randomly, moving quickly to avoid it by chance. But when he stopped moving, he felt the blunt arrow painlessly hit his shoulder.

With blood rushing in his ears, Heimdall couldn’t hear anything. Whether the crowd was delighted or in shock, he could not tell. Maybe it happened too quickly for them to notice and all they saw was that Heimdall suddenly stopped moving. 

The only thing that Heimdall had eyes for was the arrow lying at his feet. It wasn’t even a real arrow - it lacked an arrowhead, ending in blunt wood. It was chosen because Loki knew that it would find its target and because Loki did not want to needlessly draw blood. 

Distantly, Heimdall knew that he should be a good sport. He just never had any practice at dealing with loss gracefully. The very least he could do was raise his eyes to meet Loki’s. 

“That was interesting,” said Loki out of breath. “The experiment worked as expected, but frankly, not happy with how long it took me.”

“Not happy?” asked Heimdall.

“Yes. It took me minutes to prepare the spell - hence the buying for time. There are still drawbacks to this method.”

Despite his words, Loki was thrilled that he could confirm that his new form of magic worked . It was not optimal, Loki himself saw ways in which it could fail, but it was a neat weapon that exploited a weakness Heimdall did not know he possessed. 

“Congratulations,” finally said Heimdall. It came out easier than he expected. “Do not expect the next rematch to be won so easily.” 

It really wouldn’t be. Now, Heimdall had a clear picture of what he was up against and Loki’s demeanor just told him about every single weakness this powerful spell possessed. 

“Counting on it,” said Loki flashing a sharp grin. 

From behind, he was joined by the giant wolf. Mutt was looking mighty proud, pointedly not looking at Heimdall but filled with obvious satisfaction. 

 “Anyway... delighted as I was by our training, I will be taking my leave now,” said Heimdall. He really did not want to stay any longer than was necessary.

Loki nodded and Heimdall departed with a bow. 

On his way out, Heimdall threw a short glance at the crowd. They were happy with the show and seemed to be affirmed by the prowess of their leader. Not all shared this attitude, though. Sullen men in groups of twos or threes, thinking about how much better old times used to be when they weren’t led by a pip-squeak and when Heimdall wasn’t yet capable of losing. 

Maybe these men were right, but Heimdall despised them for their dullness and lack of imagination. Contempt for the future breeds complacency and weakness; why look back when you can try to win in the future? 

Well, they were boring people with boring thoughts. Heimdall had some training to look forward to that actually had a point. A battle, where you could lose, was a new and unpleasant experience, but it gave a hell of a motivation to give his all. 

But maybe, next time they could arrange the sparring session to be in a more inconspicuous space than in the middle of the village square. 

***

Spring had come. For many a period of rejoicing - but also a period of work. For Freya, it was a period of travel and fulfilling obligations; one of them she was tending to right now.

Coming back to Asgard was like hearing an old song that you once loved but no longer do. Sometimes, old tenderness took you by surprise. At other times, the bitterness cut you like a serrated knife. 

Freya never knew which of the two would take over her heart. It was her third time coming to Asgard since Ragnarok. 

None these thoughts of it showed on her face, as she and her people passed through the gates of Tyr’s temple. A fresh wind was picking up, ruffling Freya’s hair and bringing familiar smells. 

There it was: Asgard.

Green pastures, on which flocks of sheep grazed, were framed by harsh black cliffs and mountains. The sight always moved Freya. It was a good place to raise a child. It was a horrible place to be alone. It was a terrible place to wage war upon.

It was good that they had come in peace. 

Freya could already see where Loki and his entourage were waiting at a respectful distance. Freya raised her arm in greeting and, on a whim, considered turning into a bird to fly up to them. Her mouth quirked up, as Freya imagined surprise on both sides and Loki’s delight at her heartfelt impulsiveness. 

But Freya chose the reliable, steady option. She was aware of her own Vanir people behind her as well as of the Asgardians in their care. It would be cruel to startle them unnecessarily when many of them already have good reason to be alarmed by any slightest deviation from routine. 

As a result, Freya walked regally at the head of the procession. She was flanked by two priestesses to the left and right who were carrying giant leaves over her. It was an old ritual of protection and blessing. Behind them, came the men and finally the Gradungr that was pulling a heavy cart.

Before long, Freya and her people reached the Asgardian entourage. Loki bowed first with a fist to his chest.

“Welcome Freya, Queen of the Vanir!”

“Greetings, King of the Asgard.”

“Has your journey gone well?”

“Last time I checked, all members of the party accounted for.”

“A brilliant success then,” grinned Loki. “I am glad to see you, Freya.”

She was glad to see him too. As they talked, she was transfixed by the wind whipping around Loki’s overgrown hair. The messiness of his hair and the impish smile made him look younger than he was. It reminded Freya of the boy he used to be. 

Besides, it was easier to be transfixed by hair than to pay attention to the blond annoyance on his left. Freya chose to pay him no mind for now, greeting Kratos next.

“Greetings, Kratos. I hope you are doing well.”

Kratos let out a half-growl, half huff, a sound she was well accustomed with in his both human and wolf form. It was probably a good thing that Kratos was never a man of many words and communicated in almost the same manner as before. Mimir would have gone mad after five minutes without hearing his own voice. 

“Glad to hear,” said Freya. If they were alone, Freya would have patted and scratched his head but refrained from it in public.

As Freya tore her gaze away from Kratos, it inevitably landed on Heimdall. He bowed to her ironically.

“Greetings, Queen Frigga.”

“Heimdall,” said Freya, giving him a cool look.

There was the perfectly courteous barb that Freya had expected.

“Let us continue onwards,” suggested Loki, pointedly ignoring what has transpired. “The clouds look like it is going to rain soon.”

“Very well,” said Freya.

Her priestesses lowered the giant leaves, the ritual having concluded, while Freya joined Loki at the point of the procession. They walked side by side, exchanging the news that had accumulated in the past year. 

It made for pleasant chatter. She and Loki were alike in many ways and shared similar interests in people, animals, and magic. More than that, they had many friends and allies in common. Freya was heartened to hear that Thrudd had become a true Valkyrie and that the wyvern hatchlings were doing well. She had expected at least one of them to die, but Loki had done everything to prevent that fate - and succeeded. 

As for Freya, she shared news of settlements rebuild and temples reclaimed. Hildisvíni was handling matters in her absence.

“Perhaps it was for the best, that I have left,” continued Freya. “Last I heard, there was a dispute over old breeding grounds. First, neither clan wanted to claim it, as it included maintenance of the whole area. Then, they changed their minds when bulls started grazing there, bitterly arguing over the place…”

“Sounds like they should have argued over the bulls instead,” commented Loki. 

“Even if they had claimed and tamed them, where else could they graze but the taming grounds? Either way, a wildfire razed the lands a while after - the bulls escaped unharmed -,” added Freya, noticing Loki’s worried glance. It was mostly true. “The fire had not only ravaged the land but broken a ward and unleashed Nightmares upon the land. Suddenly no one wanted the land once more. But before you know it, your father has devoured the monsters, making it safe, and then the local children found a treasure near the old wards…”

Loki laughed. 

“Why not wait another month? A new calamity is bound to strike again and the argument over the land will subside.”

“It probably will,” said Freya, laughing as well. “But without mediation, the tempers are heated enough to commit bloodshed. Have to keep them in check somehow.”

“Lucky you are gone and Hildisvíni had been saddled with this job instead.”

“Lucky indeed,” said Freya and looked behind her, at the rolling hills and the grey shimmering sea. The dark clouds, that the wind hurried along, made the green of the grass only look more vibrant in contrast.

Her heart trembled like a stringed instrument under gentle fingers. Today, Asgard reminded her of love. Tomorrow, it might remind her of grief.

Freya was too aware of Heimdall that followed after them and that he could read her every thought. Let him do as he liked. 

She was not afraid of her naked heart nor his sharp words that could poke at her wounds. Once more, Freya was shielded by the love of her people and the loyalty of her friends, and there was nothing that could destroy her anymore. 

They slowly climbed up the ascent to Asgard settlement. Hrimthur's Wall which once shielded Asgard from all threats had been breached during Ragnarok. Loki had chosen to not rebuild it. Instead, he used the opening to carve a new path through the wall that led straight to the settlement. 

A symbolic gesture, as well as a pragmatic one. Loki was opening Asgard to visits and trade. The time for war was over. It was time for peace. 

They walked this road of peace until they reached the settlement. Many people were gathered there. Women were wearing flowers, men were carrying grins and all were looking for spectacle. 

That they got. With delight, people fought to get a glimpse of the Vanir goddess, under whose feet flowers spouted after every step. Their Asgard king equaled her in his splendor, letting creatures woven from light scamper through the air. To the joy of the children, Freya’s priestesses threw foreign fruit and dried sweets into the crowd.

Bringing wonder and joy was one of the merry duties of a goddess. Maybe one day she will once more find it a boring and trifling matter, but for now, Freya enjoyed being surrounded by a cheerful crowd. 

They were advancing deeper into the settlement when Heimdall said: 

"Esteemed monarchs, you might want to stop now."

They did so, if only to look back at him. Heimdall’s mouth twitched in grim amusement as he added:

“Wouldn’t want get the dirt on you.”

In the next moment, they heard a loud crash. Ahead of them, two traps have sprung: a cart that barreled from a side alley and a wooden beam that crashed from a nearby building. A crude and not very impressive effort to injure or intimidate three formidable gods. 

At the very least, it did get them to stop their procession. And, at the very least, no one in the crowd got injured.

Almost immediately, it became obvious to the conspirators that the trap had failed. In their honor, they did not scatter like rats but chose to face them directly, gathering up on the wreckage ahead.

“Loki the Trickster and Frigga the Fickle!” said a man loudly, glaring behind his bushy bear. 

Freya's lips twitched as she did her best to keep a serene expression. She’d been called far worse, but the bearded man had unintentionally delighted her. Freya knew that Heimdall hated being ignored and not being listed in accusing speech must have irked Heimdall beyond reason.

“You conquered this realm through deceit and betrayal, plundered its treasures and even took our own people from us! The last was one villainous act too many. Return our people, Vanir witch! You cannot keep them forever—”

“Forever?” asked someone behind them.

An Asgardian woman, Nefja, walked to the front, giving a respectful bow to Freya and Loki in passing before she turned toward the man on the barricade. 

“Does this look like forever to you?” said Nefja. 

The man squinted at her with distrust. He knew the voice, he knew the woman, and yet her garb and hairdo were thoroughly Vanir. 

Although maybe, it was the baby bump that had him stumped. 

“Nefja… have you escaped..?”

“Escaped?” Nefja laughed. “I am only here to visit. It was time to pay respects to my mother and introduce her to my husband.”

A Vanir man joined the woman and wrapped his arm around her waist. 

The man on the barricades grew red with fury. Before he could talk further, more Asgardians from Freya’s caravan came up to the front.  

“Domnhall, get down from there and stop embarrassing yourself. We brought Vanir booze and the shit is good.”

“I’m not touching that swill! Have you had your hearts replaced and heads emptied down there?” raged Domnhall. “How can you stand standing beside these animals? Have you forgotten all the blood they’d spilled?”

The men, that were standing behind Domnhall, growled and shouted things in a similar vein. Resentments of war festered deep.

“You’d forget everything, too, after the feasts they throw,” said an Asgardian man with bronze hair. 

That was received with laughter.

“Add in cute Vanir girl and I swear, I’ve started forgetting my sisters’ names!”

“Better take that back, Raggi!” shouted a woman from the crowd.

“What’s this shrieking?” asked Raggi. “Is that a wildcat shouting my name?”

Despite the grousing from both sides, Raggi went to hug the woman - his sister, by the looks of it - with a great deal of sincerity and joy. Freya smiled at the sight of them.

The mood overall, which had first been marked by fear and suspense, was now of humor and joy of reunions. If Domnhall had hoped to spark a mutiny, then he had misjudged the timing and the audience. 

It was at this moment that Loki chose to speak up.

“Domnhall,” said Loki. 

It was said neutrally, at a low volume. Nonetheless, the people grew quiet.

“I will choose to see your actions as fuelled by care and love for your people. Likely, this is the only way of showing loyalty that you could have conceived at the moment - but there can be no more of it. In particular, I want to never again hear you insult Lady Freya again.”

Domnhall stammered, eventually bringing out:

“But they, they…”

“They have what? Offered their home to their mortal enemies, that have laid siege to their realm for years? Given them food and drink? Is that truly the worst fate you can think of?” 

Loki tore his gaze away from Domnhall and looked through the crowd.

“None of you will ever be forced to live in Vanaheim. Anyone who wants to leave that people can leave anytime. But neither can anyone force people to return to Asgard against their will.”

That sounded reasonable enough. Oh, it would do little to quiet the conspiracies about Vanir witches and the cauldrons in which they cook children. Domnhall and his friends would continue to believe whatever they believed, but they would find little support among their neighbors.

Domnhall came to the same conclusion, looking as if he had bit into a sour apple. Not having the courage to further disrepect the gods, but also not daring to lose face, Domnhall muttered something unintelligible and gave hint of a bow before disappearing from the barricade. The others followed suit, neither wishing to lead the rebellion instead. 

“I have not invited any jesters,” said Loki loudly to the crowd, “but grateful that some appeared to perform for free anyway!”

The wit was well-received, relieving some of the tension. Short after, the procession resumed after turning into a side alley. This twisting and narrow path towards Loki’s home shed much of the crowd, allowing Loki and Freya to exchange words once more.

“Apologies for that,” said Loki.

“No need,” said Freya. “Both the attack and insults were as toothless as they were brainless. I have heard worse from my own people.”

Kratos exhaled a snort, that Freya interpreted as scoffing. 

“My people have good reason to deride me, Kratos,” said Freya. “We gods have greater responsibilities. When harvest fails, when war erupts… we are meant to prevent it or fix it. My people have forgiven much, but my failures of judgement caused pain not only to me but to generations of people.”

“I can understand Vanir grudges,” said Loki, “but Asgardian resentment irks me, especially when they have prospered for many long years..!”

“People do as gods say,” shrugged Freya. “They have followed Odin’s word for so long, anything else feels like heresy. It will take time for them to accept the new reality.”

“You are rather forgiving,” said Loki.

“She really isn’t it,” commented Heimdall from behind.

“I would for my private conversation with Loki to remain one,” said Freya. “You don’t mind being quiet for a while, Heimdall, do you?”

She said the last part over her shoulder, not even looking at Heimdall. She cared little for his answer, which thankfully did not come and spared her the necessity of listening to his voice once more.

“I have indeed - for good or ill - forgiven Asgardians very little,” continued Freya. “The brutes on the main street repeat Odin’s words with less elegance or wit, but even this echo makes me want to tear out their tongues.”

Freya shrugged and added:

“But then again, it is just an echo that will fall silent one day. I need to do nothing else but wait.”

“Wisely said,” said Loki. “Then again, you don’t have to live here and wait for rebels to cut your throat.”

“Poor helpless you,” laughed Freya. “Do you need some pointers on what to do if someone holds a knife to your throat?”

“It’s been such a long while since anybody has done that to me that I might need a reminder.”

Freya just laughed at that. 

She knew that Loki needed no pointers and no advice on how to deal with the dissidents. This was his own old breeding grounds situation - a long-time festering problem that will always need an eye to keep on. 

Luckily, it was not something Freya had to occupy herself with.

Chapter Text

Heimdall always considered Vanir magic to be inferior to Aesir magic, in no small part due to how much more time-consuming it was. All that singing, dancing, communing with the earth… when all that Allfather had to do was clap his hands to make the tongues rot in the mouths of the naysayers.

Then again, not even Allfather had ever successfully replicated Vanir fertility magic. 

This very magic was being done now on Aesir land. Heimdall did not need to stay and watch for three days as Frigga and Loki walked barefoot and spread the seeds on the tilled fields. According to Loki, he did not need Heimdall’s protection and neither did he expect a malevolent ploy from “Freya”. 

Heimdall was less sure of that. The ritual that Loki and Frigga were taking part in was long, laborious and easy to sabotage. It did not need to be Frigga - although Heimdall was wary of her the most -, for it could be any of the onlookers that could disrupt the magic. 

Of course, most Aesir inhabitants couldn’t distinguish their arse from their mother’s face and their attempts at disruption would be as pathetic as their attempts to groom their beards. Alas, even a clan of sheep can occasionally produce a wolf - even mortals could show a sliver of wit, as unlikely as it seemed. 

Therefore, as much as Heimdall paid attention to Frigga, he mostly watched the grape of people clustered on the other side of the field. Their pretense of examining a broken fence was growing thinner and thinner the longer they stood there. 

“I’m telling you…”

The man had the foresight to look around, but not enough wit to know that Heimdall was still in listening distance.

“The witch is wrapping him around her finger! Look at him! The third day he’s walking the fields and still doesn’t suspect a thing!”

“Suspect what?”

“Her rituals! I will bet my best cow on her doing more right now than making the earth fertile - she bewitching him! Mark my words, she’ll spring her trap and make him marry her before the week is done!”

Because Frigga’s first marriage to an Aesir king has gone so well, thought Heimdall with irony. 

“I don’t believe it,” shook another man his head. “Loki’s a sly dog and would know if she did any tricks.”

“He knows magic, sure,” scoffed the first man. “But people? He’s a beardless pup, barely grown! A woman shows interest in him, does her wicked magic and Loki will fall over himself to please him. Once that’s vows are exchanged, Asgard will belong to the Vanir witch.”

“All men his age think with their dick,” chimed in the third. “It is possible.”

“Exactly! This is why we gotta stop it.” The man furtively pulled out something from his belt pouch. “Here, I have a mare’s tail hair, gibbets of a crow and wartroot.”

The men, intrigued, hobbled around the occult items.

“I heard of a warding spell that dissipates all foul magic,” continued the man in a hushed tone. “All we have to tie the tail hair on the four corners of the fence, bury the gibbets on the hill and burn the wartroot at midnight. I’ll take care of the last two, but I need your help to do the first without notice…”

“Congratulations,” said Heimdall. “You failed already at step one.”

The men jerked away in startlement. One of them almost tripped on a stone, while the other dropped what he was holding.

“I suggest you get out of my sight,” said Heimdall, nudging the pouch with a foot. Unbelievable, real crow gibbets. That’s the foul stuff that he had been smelling across the field and what he had first attributed to the natural odor of these men.

The men started first mumbling, then talking with more conviction about how they needed to fix the fence and it’s all just a misunderstanding of sorts. 

“Is it time to retract my charitable offer of letting you go? Why are you still talking when you should be walking?”

The men’s brains finally caught up to the situation and they began vaguely shuffling that generally preceded retreat. That is until one of the men got the wrong idea and tried picking up the pouch. 

Heimdall placed his foot on the pouch. 

“Hey, I’m just picking up after myself.” protested the man.

“Sure,” said Heimdall. “Pick up the trash and make sure to burn, while you’re at it.”

The man nodded, but not in a way that Heimdall liked. 

“Think again,” said Heimdall. 

This time, the man remembered who Heimdall was and how little could be obscured from him. Instead, the man tried something stupid: he tried arguing with Heimdall. 

“This is our only chance to stop the conspiracy…! Surely you understand the importance of stopping the witch-”

Heimdall interrupted the man by grabbing his chin and forcefully holding his head in the direction he wanted.

“What do you see?” asked Heimdall.

“I don’t— what are you..?”

The man’s friends were about to intervene and try to shake off Heimdall, but something in Heimdall’s tense posture told them to back off. 

“I find it amazing how people cultivate willful blindness,” mused Heimdall. “I am pointing you right in the direction and you probably don’t see anything wrong. What are you looking at?”

The man, feeling the painful squeeze of fingers and Heimdall’s intense gaze, tried his best to answer:

“The… the village. Our home. The Great Lodge…”

“Anything else?”

The man floundered.

“Birds..?”

“Birds!” Heimdall laughed and let go of the man. “What I see is the red glaze of Surtr driving his blade into Asgard and causing Ragnarok. But you are so used to it, you don’t even see it.”

The man stumbled backward, rubbing his jaw. 

“Well, yeah!” said the friend of the man. “The bloody thing’s been there for years now!”

“I recommend that you from time to time just stop and look. Let yourself be reminded, that Loki the Trickster, the King of Asgar, has himself stopped the unstoppable and continues to do so every day.” Heimdall paused. “Do remind me, what great magical feats have you accomplished lately? Is it your name also known across all realms? Do people tell tales of your exploits and hope to gain your favor?"

None of the men met Heimdall’s gaze. They just wanted to feel important. They wanted to believe that their actions mattered.

“Let gods deal with gods,” said Heimdall. “Now get out.”

They did so gladly. Heimdall stared after their retreating backs, scoffed, and went back to watching Loki. 

Marriage… how ridiculous. 

Heimdall looked once more at them, just to see if he had somehow blinded himself to the possibility or romance and saw nothing at all. Frigga’s tenderness was that of a mother and Loki acted like a faithful son. 

Their relationship was more complicated than that, of course. Loki had helped kill Frigga’s son and Frigga herself has spent years trying to kill Loki’s father. Despite it, both met each other first in times of grief and saw in each other a replacement for something irreplaceable. They would never shake that bond.

“Never”. People always threw that word around, not knowing how time warps everything. With time, even this bond might rot into something black and rotten - but even so, the bond would remain. 

Loki’s gaze was unfocused and his arms moved in a wide arc as he threw out the seeds. From what it seemed, he was unaware of the small altercation that Heimdall had, fully focused on the ritual. 

The soft squelch of mud under bare feet. The sun beating down on his shoulders. The crisp wind brought relief. Loki was sweating, but not aware of it. 

Spring always brought the promise of renewal and the hope of new beginnings. Sowing for the future, Loki was content.

It was rare to see him so. For that reason, Heimdall did not mind spending the last days as he did: observing Loki.  

***

Kratos was dozing by the fire. He was aware of the conversation in the room, just as he was aware of the crackling of logs and the steps of servants outside. The sounds of peace formed a harmonic lullaby. His enjoyment of the melody was somewhat tainted by guilt, though. 

Kratos saw himself as a bodyguard of his son and did not like shirking his duty. At the same time, Atreus was right: Kratos had to relax from time to time. This was their home now and their home was at peace. 

Therefore, with Freya present, Kratos allowed himself to relax. But if he smelled even a hint of danger - Kratos would snap out immediately. 

Freya and Atreus were speaking quietly, to avoid disturbing him, but from time to time an exclamation escaped the table.

“Your brave knight has ventured deep into my kingdom… a shame he will never return,” said Atreus, knocking down the figure.

“It is a sad fate to be slain in faraway lands,” said Freya, “but his sacrifice has not been in vain… for has managed to draw out your light elf queen.”

She placed down her figure 

“How did you..?!” exclaimed Atreus and then groaned.

“What’s up with you today?” said Freya, amused. “You don’t usually make mistakes like these.”

Kratos ears twitched. Both of the “combatants” lowered their voices once more. It was this children’s game again. 

Kratos failed to see the fascination with it and why both Freya and Atreus got so agitated about it. Freya kept telling him that people of all ages loved and played this “board game” in Alfheim and that it trained their strategic thinking. 

Still, to Kratos, it was still a children’s game. The game simplified a battlefield to an inexcusable degree. As if the chaos of battle could be portrayed by a simple grid and as if the figures all followed predictable rules! Playing the game might train strategic thinking, but it also trained complacency and did nothing to prepare you for the enemy breaking the rules.

Still, the game brought joy to Atreus. Kratos tried not to radiate his disdain for the game too loudly, but he did refuse to learn its rules. As such, there were not many people who could play this game with Atreus. Freya, who had gifted it in the first place, was his favorite and most faithful opponent. 

“Truth to be told,” said Atreus, “I’ve been distracted - dangerously so, it appears since tonight’s game is at stake.”

“Distracted by what?” asked Freya.

“Same old. Tensions between the Asgardians and the Vanir are on my mind. I had already decided to lead by example, to strengthen the trade, to encourage settling in your realm and then to come back and bring word of true Vanir nature…”

Atreus trailed off. 

“It is working. It’s all good ideas - you’ve seen it yourself on the first day,” finally said Atreus. ”People support peace and don’t like warmongering, despite some idiots thinking otherwise.”

“Then what is the problem?” asked Freya. “Is it about waiting?”

“Somewhat. I have never been that comfortable with waiting, hoping that change will happen on its own. I can’t beat new ideas into their heads and it can’t be rushed.”

“But…” continued Atreus, “what about the rest? They’re still proud about decimating the Giants. They are proud about having almost subjugated the Vanir. All the horrors that Odin has done - but they are still proud of him.”

“People are proud of their power and people are proud of their gods,” murmured Freya. “Especially, when these gods rarely harmed their own people.”

“But war harms every people! It has cost Asgardians many lives before Odin switched to the unending armies of dead souls. It was Odin’s futile quest for which the Asgardians have paid in death and blood.”

“And yet, those who lead people to war are often beloved for doing so,” noted Freya. “I have no love for Asgard, but conquest as seld-defense is the easiest lie you can sell to people.”

She then continued:

“I wish the people had seen through it and had objected to the war. But even if they did, I do not expect that they’d have been able to go against Odin’s will. If Thor hadn’t decimated them where they stood, then Odin would have made sure that every dissenter would have been ostracized, that his crop would have failed and his cows died from sickness.”

“And if all of Asgard would have stood up to Odin? Odin couldn’t have slaughtered or ostracized them all - he needs them and their worship.”

“He’d have divided them through manipulation and turned them against each other. Once a few ringleaders are dead, he would have offered his forgiveness and pardon to others.” Freya shook her head. “You know how Odin works. But even more so; Odin is a god. It takes nothing less than utmost sacrilege, the most heinous crimes and most grievous betrayal before people even consider turning against their gods.”

“Maybe that is what makes me angry,” said Atreus. “Odin says killing all Giants is right and good. Everyone agrees. I replace Odin and say that killing Giants was wrong and bad. People are at first unsure, but as time goes on, they say: ‘Maybe giants were not so bad. Look at Loki, he’s fine for a half-Giant!’”

“In the end, they just go along with whatever their god says,” muttered Atreus. “If I’m gone one day, who will be the god to replace me? Will my people forget my words as easily as they do Odin’s?”

“Maybe,” said Freya. “Or maybe they will remember your words and deeds as they did with Tyr whose legacy lived on despite decades of imprisonment.”

“Maybe,” echoed Atreus. “Still, all I hear about the past wars is that it was Odin’s will. As if their own will had nothing to do with it! Are mortals nothing but figures on the board?”

As if to make his point, Atreus moved another of his figures.

“In the end, one could argue that we are all nothing but figures on the board for the Fates,” said Freya and moved one of her own figures. “We too are subject to grief, love and death. We meet our match and are bested by other gods. Time and nature shape our lives without us knowing.”

“And yet, there is a difference.”

“There is.”

Their game was moving rapidly now as if close to its culmination.

“I lived eleven winters believing that I am a mortal,” said Atreus. “I believed that my mother was mortal and that my father was mortal. I believed, that despite being sickly and boringly normal, I could grow up to be exceptional. One day, I would live adventures like those in my mother’s stories.”

“You did,” smiled Freya.

“Yes,” said Atreus. “I also thought: ‘Someone should stand up to those bad gods!’ It was a naive and childish thought, of course, me not yet aware of the cost of standing up to gods. But even so… for eleven years, I was a mortal and I thought that not every god should be obeyed.”

Kratos moved his head and turned to watch Atreus. Atreus was playing with the figurine in his hands, before putting it aside and shrugging. 

“As this mortal child,” said Atreus, “I’m still mad that other mortals don’t think for themselves, don’t stand up for what they think is right! Why should gods be the only ones dictating their fate? Should they not decide their own?”

Freya did not answer him, merely looking at him under her heavy eyelids, then making her move on the board.

Atreus looked at the board, still consumed in thought.

“At the same time,” said Atreus, “I am myself a god. I want them simply to do as I say and to think as I think.”

Atreus placed his piece on the board and Kratos saw Freya lifting an eyebrow.

“Well played,” she said. “I concede.”

“The game still has another ten moves in it at least.”

“Sure. But I don’t see it playing out any different in any case.”

Kratos did not like the children’s game but he liked watching Atreus win. Judging from Freya’s smile, she felt similarly.

“You have already decided, whether to indulge your mortal rebel or your ruler god in this matter, did you not?” asked Freya.

“I did,” sighed Atreus. “I just don’t see a way for them to think for themselves and to come to the same conclusions as I do. Tell me, Freya, am I being delusional here? Is this pure folly?”

Kratos let out a deep rumble from his throat:

“Leading people to wisdom and kindness is hard but it is no folly.”

Atreus looked at Kratos, who had risen from his rest and smiled at him. 

“At least one person thinks I’m not a fool in this matter. What about you, Freya?”

“I agree with Kratos. It’s not a silly idea but it’s going to be hard, maybe even bordering on impossible. I myself would not have the patience for it.”

“Then it is good, that it is I, Loki the Patient, who is taken upon himself to succeed in this arduous quest!” laughed Atreus. 

Kratos nipped at his arm which Atreus dodged.

“You act as if you wanted us to talk you out of your idea,” accused Kratos.

“Maybe,” admitted Atreus. “I don’t delight in adding another nail-biting challenge to my plate but alright. I’ll stop complaining since it is what I’ve chosen.”

“Still!” complained Atreus. “How do I lead these people to learn the right lessons from the past when none of them bother to look? I have thought about planting stories and songs - some have already met success but only the raunchy ones. People don’t want to hear about the atrocities their gods have committed.”

“Oh, they’ve heard you the first time,” interrupted Freya. “They just didn’t care or didn’t believe you.”

“Exactly! If stories don’t do anything then…” Atreus trailed off, looking at the board game. 

Not tearing away his gaze, Atreus said eventually:

“Actually, I have an idea.”

***

The seagulls drew circles before diving into the water. Loki waited for the ripples on the water’s surface to clear before throwing another stone.

There were a satisfying series of hard sounds as the pebble recoiled on the lake. It was cut short by a wave that swallowed the missile. Not his best shot. 

Loki weighed another stone in his hand, his gaze fixed on very far away. Eventually, he let it fly.

Immediately, right after the first bounce, there was the loud sound of pebble hitting pebble. Loki’s stone sank ignobly, while the second one continued his journey across the blue expanse. 

Glancing back, Loki saw Heimdall and his smirk.  

“Nice weather we’re having,” said Loki and threw another pebble. It was intercepted once more.

“Spring is here to stay,” agreed Heimdall, stepping up next to Loki. “The fields are already showing green.”

“As they should.”

For a while, Loki continued to send out stones that would be lazily deflected by Heimdall.

“For how long do you intend to entertain the Vanir at your homestead?”

“Until the spring festival. We have to thank them and Freya for coming all this way, after all.”

From the corner of his eye, Loki saw Heimdall raise an eyebrow.

“You’re considering delaying the festival. Why?” asked Heimdall.

With a mirthless smile, Loki went through the motion of throwing but did not release the stone in the end.

“You can follow the stone’s trajectory, correct?” asked Loki.

“Sure.”

“How far? How deep? Can you see if your stone has reached the other end of the lake? Can you see if the sunk stones have been swallowed by fish or sank to the very bottom?”

“I have not seen yet a fish stupid enough to swallow a stone,” commented Heimdall. “And I can estimate, though not see it when a stone has finished sinking. Why does this interest you so much? Have you started studying stones after studying humans has turned out to be too bothersome?”

Loki laughed and said:

“Something like that.”

Weighing the stone in his hand, Loki mused:

“Though it is less a study of stones than a study of waves and the wind - are stones just not the tool for mapping both?”

Loki threw his stone, which bounced undisturbed and disappeared into the far distance.

“But to be frank, what do I care about the waves and the wind?” shrugged Loki. “Throwing stones helps sort out my mind. Weigh a thought, then send it flying and see how it measures up to the world.”

“Rather badly so far,” commented Heimdall and intercepted a missile with ease.

“Cannot argue with that.”

For a while, only the sound of stones slamming into each other and the cries of seagulls disturbed the beach. Then, Loki said: 

“Tell me about festivals under Odin.”

Heimdall took a short glance at him, before he started talking. He told Loki about feasts, giant oxes roasted whole and bowls overflowing with fruits. Barrels over barrels of strong wine and the best most famed bards telling tales that made people forget even the wine.

These feasts were thrown to celebrate victories and great feats of strength. There were the regular occasions, of course, such as the winter solstice and Frigga’s day…

“A spring festival, much like the one you are planning,” added Heimdall. Loki did not take the bait.

“What rituals were followed on such occasions? What competitions were set up?”

Heimdall told of drinking games and matches between warriors, both entertainment as much for the participants as much for the cheering observers. There were flytes in which people denigrated their opponent in verse, the most convincing and entertaining one becoming the winner.

“How come I have never witnessed a flyte before?”

“They have fallen out of favor with the Allfather after one challenge too many.”

 Loki snorted.

“No wonder. Anyway, what about competitions with multiple participants?”

There were peasant competitions, like riding boars or cracking turnip heads. For the last, you impaled a turnip on a large pole and then tried to knock it down. Some people attempted to achieve the goal by throwing stones, while others climbed the slender pole - more than often, sliding off before reaching the midway.

“The more heroic competitions can involve rowing against each other, although that is rarely done in spring,” continued Heimdall. “There is arrow shooting and axe throwing… mostly, anything can become a competition as soon as a challenge is spoken out.”

“What about rituals? Or competitions with symbolism?”

“There are some unique ones, apart from regular offerings of food and hymns. For Thor’s day, people smashed pumpkins with a wooden hammer, imitating their drunkard “hero”. Whoever broke the biggest one with a single blow was the winner and the reward was drowning him in mead.”

Heimdall paused.

“Metaphorically, of course, but frankly they should have drowned them for real. That festivity brought out the worst in everyone - more than one death every single time.”

“From smashing pumpkins?” frowned Loki.

“No, usually they start smashing each other’s skulls after they run out of pumpkins.”

“In a true Thor fashion,” drily commented Loki. “Any other mentionable competitions?”

“Well, there is the one on Frigga’s day. Men put an uncorked bottle of syra between their legs and thrust forward, spilling the drink. Whoever gets the most syra from the bottle into the nearby bucket is the winner. Of course, it symbolizes…”

“I can guess what it symbolizes.”

Heimdall chuckled and flung his stone across the lake’s surface.

“Did any of this help, my esteemed king? Or are you only going to stop after you’ve filled up the lake with all the stones this shore has to offer?”

“My last one for today,” said Loki and threw it. 

There was a resounding boom as it hit the water’s surface and continued to rebound for a long while. 

“Hm. Maybe should have done that one a bit softer,” said Loki, scratching his head. “Hope I haven’t scared the fish to death.”

Together they watched as the first fish floated up belly up to the surface, joined by more.

“I’ll tell some men to gather them up and prepare them for dinner,” said Heimdall.

“Probably for the best.”

***

The next day, Loki continued the topic. 

“I think it makes sense to introduce new rituals to my people. As long as I provide substantial rewards and spectacle, it should be well-received even if my message does not go through…”

“Do you not think you should focus on the fight?” said Heimdall, throwing a dagger for variety’s sake.

“Hard to focus when it’s the only thing I think about.” said Loki, effortlessly freezing the dagger in the air. “I swear, I lie awake at night and trying to think of ways to make people understand what Odin has done…”

Heimdall said nothing at all. This time, they were sparring in a fir forest. The trees provided another way to block arrows - or to obscure the arrows from sight until Loki allowed them to continue their flight.

“It speaks much of how much I am out of ideas, considering that I even entertained the idea to just painting some turnips like Odin’s head and letting them throw stones at them. But there isn’t much moral in it, to be honest… except for the fact that throwing stones is rather fun.”

Loki halted mid-monologue and looked around. Heimdall was nowhere to be seen, having disappeared between the fir trees. 

“Hm,” said Loki. “Wonder if I should implement a hide-and-seek game somehow…”

In the next moment, Loki sidestepped the attack from above. Heimdall, who had jumped from one of the upper branches, had come very close to touching Loki.

“Good one,” commended Loki. “You got my cloak.”

Heimdall snorted and intensified his attack. Next time, he ought to combine a stealth attack with some traps. Maybe that could catch Loki off-guard…

“Anyway,” said Loki, going back to shooting arrows at Heimdall, “I am surprised that it’s the second day and I still haven’t heard a single disparaging word about my plans from you.”

“What is there to say? Some people breed sheep, while you are trying to teach your sheep how to walk upright. Everyone has their favorite pastime - it is not my place to comment on the futility of yours.”

Loki laughed and sent out an arrow that almost pinned Heimdall’s foot where he stood. 

***

“I’ve been thinking about how I learned about Odin’s misdeeds,” said Atreus, running the comb through his father’s fur. “It was by meeting new people and traveling through new lands. Everywhere we went, there was proof of how Odin was bad for the realms…”

Kratos sighed deeply. 

“Just look at Tyr’s temple! Tyr was beloved by all, and I think if I remind the Asgardians about the injustice of his imprisonment, maybe it will work better at changing their minds. A shame that Tyr isn’t here - he’d be a living reminder of Odin’s crimes.”

“You’ve already said that before,” growled Kratos.

Freya walked in without knocking, an armful of herbs in her hands. Taking a look at the long-suffering Kratos, she laughed:

“I see Loki has found a new victim.”

“What can I say? I think best when thinking out loud,” said Atreus. “Besides, father is shedding and we need to get that excess fur out before the spring festival.”

This time, Freya suppressed her snort of laughter.

“Then I wish you the best of luck in both endeavors - the thinking of solutions and combing fur. I’ll be drying the herbs outside.”

“Thanks,” absent-mindedly muttered Atreus. “So, where was I? It was travel that brought perspective to how Odin’s mismanagement and obsession brought misery and ruin to all of the realms but his… and even then, the ruin for Asgard was unavoidable in the end as well. Therefore, how does one put people in my shoes? Do I set them on a journey of their own? Or should I…”

Kratos was beginning to regret encouraging Atreus’s noble ideas in the first place.

***

“I think I have an idea!” brightly said Loki. 

Sif put down her quill and raised her eyes.

“Finally, a breakthrough?”

“I think so,” said Loki, pulling closer a stool. “I have already told father and Freya. Both thought it was fine but they doubted that we could execute it in time. This is where you come in! We will need materials and a lot of it…”

Sif listened to the plan, only rarely intervening with clarifying questions. In the end, she just said:

“That is a lot of work in mere three days.”

“But it can be done?”

"If you want it done in secret, then it limits how many workers we can use."

"Let's say you pick the least talkative and trusted ones, while me, father and Freya… heck, even Heimdall will help build it as well."

"Good luck with the last." 

Sif picked up the quill again, wrote down a few numbers and thought for a moment. 

"It can be done," said Sif. “If you work day and night, with my most trusted people… it can be done.”

Loki was about to say something and spring to his feet when Sif silenced him with a raised hand.

“Before you go though…” Sif looked at him for a long while, her quill resting on the table. “Do you truly want to be the one associated with these trials?”

Loki shifted and said:

“I thought it might be more persuasive if the idea came from someone else - but it is my realm. No one could arrange it without my say-so. In the end, I would not like to plant lies in a matter that needs truth so badly.”

Sif nodded.

“I agree. Still, a word of caution. You might be a powerful god who has slain dragons… but you are young. Some of them have sons older than you. If they feel lectured, patronized, their minds will close up.”

“I thought they already had plenty of reasons to close up their minds,” joked Loki. “Being fooled by an old wheezer, having participated in mass murder… I thought they’d need to work through all these before arriving at my age.”

Sif chuckled.

“Maybe that is so. But my experience tells me that people get caught up in the most superficial things. Asgardians might think themselves tragically misled and accept it as an epic tale of guilt and redemption. Kill a neighbor - and there is no forgiveness. Kill a people - and there is no scale of reference, no precedence. It might be easier to swallow deeds too big for understanding.”

Loki looked at Sif, the widow of Thor the Giant Slayer, and did not speak. The Asgardians were complicit in crimes, but it was nothing compared to what Thor had been doing, to what Heimdall had done.

“I am telling you this,” said Sif, “so that you take care. When showing them their past, don’t forget to show them your future. Otherwise, they will be left with nothing, choosing to crawl back into darkness rather than facing the light.”

Thor had chosen the light before he died, thought Loki. What had Heimdall chosen? He had chosen Loki. What would the Asgardians choose?

“Thank you for your advice. I will hold it close to my heart.”

Sif smiled and picked up her quill.

“I will send the materials shortly. Did you already choose a place where to stage the trials?”

***

The construction is shrouded in fog. No peeking; the unveiling will come soon enough.

Therefore: on the last night before the festivities:

Freya had seen him from afar, flinging stones at the lake. She walked down the hill without hurry, gauging the mood from Loki’s turned back. Was he tense? Relaxed or focused?

From the sharp movement of his arm, Freya thought that he was ready - a little tense with anticipation, but not overly much so. She almost considered going back but decided not to. 

Freya walked on the stony beach without softening her step, but Loki did not turn around. Only when she stood shoulder to shoulder, did he throw a glance at her and smile. 

This was the only way in which he acknowledged her presence, returning to his stone skipping. They stood in silence together as color fled from the sky and night settled on these lands.

Eventually, Loki halted. This was the right moment to speak, but Freya said nothing still. She had come down here to speak of the next day and the disappointment it might hold in order to prepare him. Loki had invested much in tomorrow’s festivities - Freya did not want failure to crush his spirit overly much. 

But while Loki was young in years, he was not bereft of bitter lessons that life taught. What more had Freya to teach? That hope can scar you in unexpected ways? Life had already taught him that.

In the end, it was Loki who had spoken:

“I think back and realize that I might have made a mistake.”

Before Freya could ask what the mistake was, Loki turned to her and asked:

“Were you afraid when you first came to Asgard?”

Freya raised an eyebrow and searched for an answer.

“I was full of hope,” finally said she. “I was too much in love with Odin and too angry at my brother to make room for anything else. Whatever pangs of fear and loneliness I felt in the deep of night… they were gone in the morning.”

“I don’t remember when the tides shifted,” said Freya. “It must have been when Baldur grew to an adult and that was when fear of having made a mistake became my constant companion.”

The young moon reflected in the black lake. It was far too little light for such darkness.

“I think I am the opposite,” admitted Loki. “I was so angry and afraid in the beginning, cold as ice. I committed to ruling Asgard, but I didn’t like most people here. I barely wanted to know them and kept my distance.”

It wasn’t only them you kept your distance from, thought Freya. In the first year, after his father’s death and revival, Loki was almost unrecognizable. Only now, the boy she once knew, was resurfacing again.  

“Now I think I made a mistake,” said Loki. “I want to protect them and that means I have to love them. Maybe I should have started to try changing their mind much earlier.”

“Could your heart have borne disappointment, back when it was so cold and brittle?” thought Freya to herself. 

Outloud, she said:

“Maybe. Or maybe I should have plucked Odin’s other eye while he was sleeping. Out of these two mistakes, yours is far smaller - and you have so much more time to correct it.”

Loki scrunched his nose, and Freya laughed and ruffled Loki’s hair. He had grown taller than her and if he kept growing, his head would soon become out of her reach.

“Let’s go to sleep,” said Freya. “Your father is waiting for you and you have a long day ahead of you.”

Loki was about to answer when a loud noise interrupted him. A rift of Bifröst glowed with purple in the night; from it emerged a Valkyrie which dove down and flew along the surface of the lake.

Judging from Loki’s body language, there was no cause for alarm. Loki held control over Bifröst and would have blocked any unwanted invasions, but still, Freya had startled at the sudden appearance. 

“Is that Mimir?” suddenly asked Freya.

“Certainly seems so,” said Loki. “I wonder why he and Sigrun returned tonight?”

They would find out soon enough.