Chapter Text
It had an annoying kind of irony.
Loki had travelled a very long way, through both space and time, and the journey had been excruciating. He’d had to work himself raw, shedding all the tender parts of himself, sharpening to a point. He’d killed, betrayed, stolen, changed into every shape under the sun and scraped his way through the narrowest slits of fate—to drop like a stone into the past.
So naturally the only thing left standing in his way – was himself.
The younger version of Atreus was currently picking his way through the wintry foliage, unknowingly headed towards his own doom.
Baldur was about a mile away, but Loki knew as well as anyone that their Stranger could travel very far very fast. Atreus’s jötunn scent was still hidden by the traces of Faye’s magic, but it was starting to come through. Loki, who knew what to look for, could taste it on the air.
Turn back, Loki thought, hard. He tried to will the idea into his younger self’s mind. Shoo, brat!
Predictably, Atreus did not listen. He was following deer tracks in the snow, his head down, oblivious to the world.
Loki was in the form of a pine martin, watching the young half-God with beady black eyes from where he clung to the bark of a frozen oak tree. His tail twitched. Okay, vaguely, he did remember going for a few solo “hunts”, which actually ended up as long walks to get a break from his Father’s dark mood.
The pine martin jumped from one tree to another, hooked claws digging into the icy bark. It kept its eyes on the boy below him.
The fact that he didn’t really remember them meant that nothing significant had happened. Atreus might wander blindly in the forest like a lost lamb, but that didn’t mean that a wolf was bound to appear and eat him. And, if it did come to that, Loki could intervene… although he wasn’t sure he could defeat Baldur alone. In fact, he was pretty certain Baldur would turn him into furry pulp.
So far, Loki had avoided changing anything.
He’d watched Faye’s pyre burn. He’d watched the Stranger come to the house and tussle with Kratos – even though standing by and letting his Father get hit had been like salt in a wound. It was best to wait, hang back, and choose his moment… For as long as Loki stayed out of it, he knew the pattern of events and how they would play out, but as soon as he intervened, events would spiral outwards in a kaleidoscope and it would be impossible to control. He needed to hold that advantage. He didn’t have any others.
Atreus climbed up over the rise in the landscape. He scrambled through the powdery snow, bow in one hand. He was only walking, but he was breathing heavily, releasing puffs of white breath.
Far above him, the pine martin climbed along a branch and leaped onto the next tree, vanishing into the dark green foliage.
Except – he might have changed the future without realising it. Loki narrowed his small black eyes.
And as much as his younger self frustrated him – Loki didn’t want Atreus to die. For one thing, he hadn’t done anything to deserve it yet.
Briefly – Loki considered saying something like: Hey Kid! Run back to your Father before you find out how harsh the world is without Kratos at your back! Loki knew himself too well. Atreus was insatiably curious, and appearing in the forest as a friendly warning would be a sure-fire way to make sure Atreus never left him alone again.
But there was one instinct stronger than curiosity for Atreus – his sense of self-preservation. Hopefully.
Soundlessly, the pine martin dropped into the snow and shed his form in a shower of white sparks – back bowing and rearing, ears pricking like knife points, eyes glowing a piercing blue – until the creature that prowled through the forest was a fearsome wolf.
The gigantic wolf leaped out ahead of Atreus and bared his razor-sharp fangs. He roared so long he shook the snow from the trees.
“Beat it kid!” the wolf howled. He tried to make himself as scary as possible. “Scram! Or I’ll eat you!”
Atreus was so startled that he fell backwards. “A—a talking wolf?!”
Oh fuck, Loki thought to himself. He forget Midgardian animals didn’t talk much. He drew himself up, hackles rising, releasing a low, rumbling growl, but he couldn’t approach because Atreus was too startled to back away.
The Leviathan axe buried into his ribcage.
Loki was swept cleanly off his paws, crashing against the trunk of a tree. All the air was knocked out of him. He collapsed into the snow. With a whistle of magic, the axe ripped out of him and went swinging back to the unseen God.
“Wait!” the wolf gasped, and shed his form, slipping into the familiar form of a man. He gripped the bloody gash in his side. “Wait, fuck, hold on just a moment!”
Kratos broke through the frozen black under-brush, his bloody axe in his hand.
“Father?” Atreus climbed back to his feet. “You were following me?”
“Quiet, Boy,” Kratos said, flipping his bloody axe over. “Stand behind me.”
“Whoa, there, hold on,” Loki said, one scarlet hand raised in surrender while the other clutched the hole in his side. “I wasn’t going to hurt your kid. I just wanted to scare him off!”
“Why should I believe you?” Kratos asked. His deep voice was mountainous.
“Trust me, if I wanted to hurt your kid, I wouldn’t have changed forms,” Loki said. “I would have just fired a spell at him from the trees and turn him into a frog or something.”
Kratos’s eyes narrowed darkly and he shifted his grip on his axe hilt, as if testing its weight for another throw.
Wrong tactic. Loki bowed his head. “You remember the Stranger which attacked your house? He’s still sniffing around Midgard and you were headed right into his path.”
“You’ve been following us,” Kratos growled.
Scalding blood was leaking through Loki’s clenched hand and darkened the snow below him. “No, I’ve been following him. I don’t care about you or your kid.”
“How do I know you’re not working with him?” Kratos asked.
Loki grimaced. “Are you serious?”
“Who was he?” Atreus asked, piping up from his Father’s looming shadow. “Why did he attack us? How did he find us? How come he can’t be hurt?”
“Ugh…” Loki groaned, squeezing his hand around the axe-wound. He never thought he’d be on the receiving end of his own badgering questions. This must be why Thrúd had always wanted to hit him.
Kratos gestured at Loki with the axe. “Answer him.”
“The man who attacked you is called Baldur,” Loki said, reluctantly. “And no, we’re not working together, because Baldur is Aesir and I’m a Jötunn. Our kinds are mortal enemies.”
“You’re a giant?” Atreus asked. He regarded Loki dubiously. “But you’re not even tall.”
“I’m taller than you are, kid,” Loki snapped, petulantly.
“That’s why he attacked us,” Kratos summarised. His scowl could’ve turned Loki to stone. “He was looking for you.”
“No!” Loki scowled. “Baldur doesn’t even know I exist…”
“So why did he attack us, then?” Atreus said.
Loki shifted about on the snow. It crunched under him, turned a silty red as the heat of his blood melted it to a cherry mush. He really needed to use his healing spells, but he couldn’t risk the embers of magic being misinterpreted as an attack. Another blow from the Leviathan axe might polish him off. Curse his foul luck, why did nothing ever go to plan?
“Tell me,” Kratos commanded.
“He… he was looking for…” Loki grimaced. “He was looking for Laufey. Feya. Your late wife.”
“He knew my mother?” Atreus asked. He glanced up to the broad shape of Kratos and back to Loki. “You knew my mother? And her full name was Laufey?”
Kratos stared down at Loki. He gripped the hilt of his axe, knuckles bunching. “Why Faye?”
“Because... she’s Jötunn, too,” Loki admitted. “And Baldur thought she might know how to break his curse.”
“What are you talking about?” Atreus demanded. He shook his head. “You’re mistaken. Mother wasn’t a Frost Giant. You must be thinking about someone else.”
Loki’s tired eyes rose to Kratos. His hands were shaking and he was starting to feel dizzy with pain. “Please, let me go. I don’t want to fight you. Spare my life and… and I’ll help you out if we run into each other again.”
Kratos glowered down at him. He wasn’t known for his mercy.
“Go,” Kratos muttered, gesturing with his bloody axe.
Loki was weak with relief. He slipped into the shape of a fox, still weeping blood from his side, and darted into the undergrowth.
“Hey!” Atreus yelled after him. “You can’t go yet! I have more questions!!”
Gods Damn that little brat, Loki thought to himself. He knew that brand of cruelty well. Even if Loki were down to his final moments, Atreus would demand he used his last breath to answer a question. But Loki managed to escape, crawling under a bush that raked thorns through his fur.
*
In the back of a cave somewhere in the hills, Loki finally collapsed on his side. He slipped into an exhausted sleep, too worn out by the flight to think.
When Loki awoke, it was night, and he pressed his black velvet nose into his bloody ribcage. The axe wound was hot and still bleeding sluggishly. He licked the gash with a broad fox’s tongue.
Loki cast a few spells and the wound glowed faintly. The pain ebbed a little, and the edges drew together slightly... but it didn’t properly close or scar over.
Weeks of running through Midgard and all the time he’d spent in the future living like a faithful hound on Odin’s leash—the dangerous lifestyle hadn’t left much magic in the tank for an emergency. He was as skinny as a stray cat, and it had been years since he’d had a good night’s sleep.
There was nothing for it except patience. Loki curled up in the dark, freezing cave. He’d have to heal it the old fashioned way. Nature would force him to slow down or he’d work himself to death.
Well… Loki chafed against the idea of resting. Maybe there was a way to heal himself without taking any breaks. If he could find some yarrow… eyebright and chamomile… Visions of healing potions swam behind Loki’s eyes as he drifted back to sleep.
*
No yarrow.
No eyebright.
No chamomile.
Loki wasted a week limping from coast to coast in Midgard, and although he found some dried herbs in mortal huts, the potions he brewed with the dessicated plants tasted foul and had no effect on his wounds.
Eating a heavy diet of fresh, fatty meat and sleeping eight or ten hours a night did something to rebuild his energy levels. He hadn’t realised how worn and fatigued he’d grown just scrambling back to the past. But winter was winter, and even in the milder patches of forest summer herbs just weren’t growing. As the days passed he was increasingly aware that there was only one place he might be able to source what he needed.
He had been avoiding Freya’s neck of the woods out of fear of another bad first impression, but eventually he gathered up some rare metals to act as an offering and slipped nimbly into the garden.
Flaxen, glowing yellow grass swayed in a sweet wind, and red butterflies floated above the vegetation. The air was warm. Despite himself, Loki relaxed in the balmy, summertime feeling of the magic forest.
In the shape of a man, Loki walked up to Freya’s front door and knocked.
Freya pulled the door open. She looked just as Loki remembered, dark haired and dark eyed, her hair pulled back into a loose braid with metal clasps and trinkets hanging over her leather jerkin and tunic. She put a hand on her hip.
“Excuse me, my good Lady,” Loki said, unfalteringly polite. “I wonder if your garden grows chamomile, yarrow or eyebright? I’d pay for them, of course.”
“Who are you?” Freya asked, leaning on one hip.
“Just a traveller,” Loki said.
“How did you get through my protection staves? You aren’t mortal,” Freya said, and narrowed her eyes. “But you’re also not a God, are you?”
I’m not? Loki avoided frowning. “I’m... a jötunn. I’m, ah, quite far from home.”
“A jötunn on my doorstep, asking for a few non-magical, simple herbs?” Freya asked, and crossed her arms. “I find that a little hard to believe.”
“Okay, I’m unusual,” Loki admitted. “But I’m not impossible.”
Freya observed him for a moment, eyes narrowed.
It was rather unfair that a few days from now, Atreus would shoot her friend the boar, and there would be no hard feelings, but Loki was only asking for a few herbs she wouldn’t miss from her garden and getting the third degree. The difference was probably that while Atreus was cute and chubby-cheeked, Loki was a shifty-eyed, wiry adult with an untrustworthy air about him. He must have one of those faces.
Freya slowly closed the door on him.
A few moments later, she opened it again. There was a pouch in her hand. “I will give you chamomile, yarrow and eyebright, but you have to tell me how you got through the protection stave.”
Loki hesitated. He might need the workaround again. Although Loki had a lifetime’s experience in finding loopholes and exceptions, some were much more of a pain in the ass than others.
“I’m waiting,” Freya said, a note of iron in her voice.
“I turned myself into an insect,” Loki said, finally. “Your protection staves allow bees, flies, wasps and butterflies to cross the membrane—so that you can aid pollination for your garden in the summertime.”
“I see,” Freya said. “Thank you.”
Loki took the herbs, bowed his thanks, and made a swift exit. It wasn’t until he slipped back through the protection staves that he opened the pouch. The herbs were beautiful specimens, still holding their living colour, intact from petal to root-tip. Only—they were all dried.
That’s just my luck, Loki thought, miserably.
*
In the gloom of the Alfheim temple, Atreus scrambled to his feet, bow raised. He scoured the gloom.
Every surface in the temple was glossy and faintly reflected. The powerful light beam which surged through the core of the temple threw the other platforms into relief. Despite the overflow of white light, Atreus found it hard to focus his eyes on the other platforms.
“Who’s there?” Atreus called up to the platforms. Silence. When he walked towards the edge, his boots rang out in the empty air. “I know you’re there! Come out.”
A head poked over the edge of the platform.
“It’s you!” Atreus called. “The Wolfman!”
“I’m not a wolfman...” the shifty-eyed stranger muttered. He leaped lightly from the upper platform onto the main temple mount. Even though he was in human form, he prowled around the beam of light like an animal.
Atreus kept an arrow notched, and walked backwards to keep the shifty-eyed man in his scope.
“My father will be back from inside the light,” Atreus said, warningly. “Any moment now.”
“Relax. I’m not going to attack you,” the wolfman said. He pulled a small silver artefact from his pack. “I have something of my own to charge up.”
“You have a Bifröst lamp, too!” Atreus said. “Wait—you must have been following us from Midgard! I didn’t see you!”
“Tch. This isn’t anything as simple as a lamp,” the wolfman said, flipping the artefact over in his hand. He tied a shining golden cord to the handle and, like a fisherman, tossed it into the light of Alfheim.
The wolfman wrapped the golden cord around his fist as the line went taut. He drew the cord over his other hand, head tilted. Staring into the light of Alfheim, his pupils had constricted to tiny points, leaving his eyes deep pools of blue.
With a practised motion, the wolfman gave the cord a twist and pulled his artefact out of the torrent of light. It came swinging out, fully charged and glowing a brilliant white.
Atreus watched as the wolfman reeled in his artefact. The metal glowed white-hot.
“So we could have just tied something to the lamp and dunked it in?” Atreus asked. “My father walked into the light with the lamp in hand to charge it…”
“Funny how you only think of these things after the fact,” the wolfman said. He shook the artefact to cool it off and untied the cord from its handle. It disappeared into his pack.
“Hold on,” Atreus muttered. “My father’s been in the light for at least two hours. If it only takes a few seconds to charge up your lamp, then what’s he been doing all this time?”
“How should I know?” the wolfman shrugged. He looked up at the platforms arching above them and started to sprout wings, shedding white sparks. “See you around, kid.”
“Wait!” Atreus cried. He darted forwards. “If he’s stuck in there, how do I—?”
Atreus’s foot hit the ridge of the platform and he tripped. He cried out as he tumbled over the edge—and then suddenly stopped.
The wolfman’s hand was closed around the front of Atreus’s fur tabard, holding him up.
Suspended by the wolfman’s grip, Atreus finally had a good look at the man when he wasn’t crawling in the snow, bleeding heavily. The jötunn was tall and long-limbed, with narrow shoulders and hips, with rangy, slim muscles. His dark hair was scraped back into a long, tangled tail and his leather clothes had been inexpertly mended time and again.
Slowly, the wolfman stepped back, pulling Atreus back up with him. The boy stepped away when he was back on solid ground.
Atreus swallowed. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” the wolfman said. He had a feral-like grace, and when he moved he was completely silent. “You should watch your step. Not everyone can grow wings like me.”
“Can I?” Atreus asked. “Is that a jötunn power? If my mother was jötunn, do you think I could learn? Could you teach me?”
“No way. I’d like to be gone before your father gets back,” the wolfman said. He was eyeing the platforms above him and touched his wounded side. “I don’t want another taste of that axe of his.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Atreus said. “But now that he knows you’re friendly, he won’t try to hit you again.” He glanced at the beam of light and back. “Before you go, give me the cord so I can get him out.”
“Not a chance,” the wolfman muttered. “It’s my cord.”
“We can tie it around my waist and I can get my father out of the light,” Atreus said. “You can pull me out if I take too long. And if our Bifröst lamp isn’t finished charging, we can just use yours!”
“Slow down,” the wolfman backed away. “I don’t need to get involved in this.”
“Hey! I don’t know how, but you piggybacked off our journey with the witch from Midgard to get here to Alfheim,” Atreus said. “And now you’re stuck here, just like we are. We both need the Alfheim’s light to leave this realm, and your lamp wouldn’t be charged without us in the first place. But if you use the Realm Travel Room to escape, you’ll trap us here for good!”
The wolfman ran a hand over his shaggy hair. He pulled the artefact from his pack. “Okay.. first of all, again, this isn’t a lamp and it won’t work inside Týr's Temple. Look.”
Atreus approached. He looked down at the knot of metal in the wolfman’s hand. Runes, both ones Atreus was familiar with and ones in a script he’d never seen before were etched into the metal. It was haphazardly forged, the metal bumpy and bubbled around the handle, and it ended in a sharpened point. Alfheim’s light glowed through the runes in the core.
“It’s my needle,” the wolfman said, proudly. “I use it to tear between the realms and make my way between them. Pretty cool, right? The only downside is that I can’t bring anyone with me.”
Atreus looked down at the “needle”. It was clear the wolfman had made it himself out of some unknown metal. He must have forged it in secret, from stolen scraps of ore.
“Anyway… I guess it can’t hurt to help you get your father out,” the wolfman said. He slipped his needle back in his pack. “I still don’t think you need me for anything, though.”
“Thank you,” Atreus said. “Don’t worry. When he comes out, I won’t let my father hurt you.”
The wolfman unspooled his golden cord from his pack and tied a makeshift harness around Atreus’s chest. He tugged it tight.
“Alright, little fish. Give the cord three tugs if you want me to pull you out early,” said the wolfman. “Otherwise, I’ll drag you out after twenty minutes.”
“Is he alright?” Atreus swallowed. He tugged on the golden cord around his chest. “He’s already been in there a few hours…”
“Your dad is fine,” the wolfman said, without hesitation. “Trust me, he’s made of sterner stuff than this.”
Atreus smiled. There was a slightly annoyed tone to the wolfman’s voice, as if the question was stupid. All the fear drained out of Atreus. Of course it was stupid, Atreus thought to himself, proudly. Nothing in the nine realms could’ve put a dent in Kratos.
“Alright,” Atreus said. “I’m going in.”
Atreus submerged himself in the blistering white light.
The gold cord pulled and lifted, until the wolfman closed his hands around it. He held it steady, even as it dragged him hard towards the light. Time passed. The wolfman wrapped the cord around his fist, keeping his grip tight.
Three tugs – and the wolfman dragged them out, fist over fist. He grunted with effort.
Father and son breached the white light, crashing onto the platform.
“Boy!” Kratos’s voice resounded around the temple. “How could you—”
“I had to get you out!” Atreus scrambled to his feet. “You’ve been gone for hours! If the wolfman hadn’t been here—”
“Wolfman?” Kratos rumbled. He climbed to his feet and locked eyes on the jötunn at the other end of the golden rope. “You.”
“I’m not a wolfman,” the wolfman said. He was backing away. “My name is Loki.”
“You’ve been following us,” Kratos said, snatching the axe up from the floor. He prowled across the temple floor. “Why? For what purpose?”
“Don’t attack him,” Atreus said, jogging to keep up with his Father’s long strides. The cord, still tied in a harness, snaked around behind him like a long shining tail. “He helped us! I promised him you wouldn’t hurt him.”
“Stand aside, boy,” Kratos muttered.
“I guess I saw that one coming,” Loki muttered. Deftly, Loki flipped out the needle and slashed it downwards. The needle’s blade seemed to gather traction on the air itself, ripping through it. Shifting to the size and shape of a robin, Loki slipped through the gash between realms and vanished.
When the jötunn was gone, Kratos came to a halt. He glared into the empty air.
“Why did you have to do that?” Atreus snapped. “He was helping us! I gave my word you wouldn’t hurt him.”
“That was not your oath to make,” Kratos rumbled. He scowled at the place where the jötunn had just been.
“We could’ve just talked to him,” Atreus said. “He’s a jötunn like mother was. Maybe he even knew her! We could have found out about her life before she came to Midgard, her family, anything. I might even have grandparents!”
“Enough,” Kratos said. “I do not trust that Frost Giant. He is… slippery.”
“You don’t trust anyone. Not even me.” Atreus’s voice was sharp with pain. He untied the golden cord from around his chest and tossed it aside. “Did you even trust my mother?”
Kratos’s jaw clenched tightly. He gave his son a hard look. “You understand nothing. We’ll speak no more of this.”
*
In the warm orange glow of the smithy, Loki set the needle artefact down on the table with a thump. It was a heavy twist of metal, and the point dug into the wood.
“Now, what is this ugly lump?” Brok asked, picking the needle up by the handle. “This is what you want me to take a look at?”
“It’s what I use to travel between realms,” Loki said. “I charged it up recently in the Alfheim light, but it’s been feeling… weird. It slides around.”
“Who made this fucking thing?” Brok asked, turning it over in his hands. “By Freya! Must be someone blind, deaf and missing both hands.”
“I made it,” Loki said, pulling his shoulders back. “Look—smithing isn’t easy.”
“Hah! You certainly find it very fucking hard,” Brok said. He held the artefact up to the light. “You haven’t sealed a single pore in the metal. You said you charged it with Alfheim light? There’s nothing clean in this blade. It’s practically serrated. Hold on—you said you’ve been using this to travel between realms?”
Loki nodded. “What’s wrong with that?”
“You’ve… you must be shredding the fabric of reality with this thing,” Brok whistled. “How are you still alive? You’re fucking insane.”
“Is it really that dangerous?” Loki asked. He touched his side. Under his furs and leather jerkin, there was a wound that still hadn’t healed. “Do you think using this might be damaging me?”
“Damaging you?” Brok laughed and tossed the artefact up, catching it. “I’m surprised this thing hasn’t blown your fucking arms off!”
Loki frowned. “Can you fix it? Maybe tune it up a little?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Brok shook his head. “Fixing this crude lump would take way longer than just forging you a new one from scratch.”
Loki took the needle back and tucked it away. “Thanks anyway, then.”
“Hey!” Brok snapped. “Where are you going?”
Loki turned back. “But you just said—”
“I’ll make you a new one,” Brok said. “If your design works, then forging a real version of your needle is guaranteed to be a masterwork. I mean, solo travelling through realms with no doors or temples? It’s the kind of tool that will be passed down for generations. I’ll be able to make my mark on something unforgettable, and it’s not even a weapon.”
Loki hesitated. He set the needle back on the tabletop. “Passed down for generations?”
“Guaranteed,” Brok said. “After you inevitably get yourself killed by one of your other bright ideas.”
“Right,” Loki said, flatly. He patted his pockets. “How much?”
“Free,” Brok said, picking the needle up. “Just make sure to shove it in my brother Sindri’s ugly face, if you ever cross paths with him.” He turned the needle over. “Ha, he is going to be seething with jealousy when he sees what I cook up.”
There was a swoosh of magic behind Loki and a portal opened on the other side of the room. With a blast of freezing air, Atreus and his father stepped into the smithy.
“Hey, it’s Loki!” Atreus bounded up to him like a fawn. “I still have the cord you let me borrow. Thanks again for your help in Alfheim.”
Loki looked down at the roll of golden cord and then over Atreus’s shoulder to the looming shape of the boy’s father. Briefly, he considered dashing over to Brok, stealing his needle back, and escaping between realms.
“If you do not trouble us,” Kratos said, his voice a tectonic rumble. “Then I will not trouble you.”
“Fair enough,” Loki said. He took his cord back from Atreus and packed it away. “Thanks, kid.”
“Do you know where we’re headed?” Atreus asked. “We’ve been trying to find the tallest peak, but it’s not in Midgard at all, so we’re going to Jötunheim. It’s the home of the giants. Have you ever been there?”
“Once or twice,” Loki muttered. He noted the dozens of braided mistletoe arrows jostling around in Atreus’s quiver. Mimir’s dead head must be wrapped in canvas, waiting to be revived.
“I guess you can’t go back there any more while all the bridges are closed, huh?” Atreus said. “What’s it like over there? Do you miss it? Do you have family there?”
Loki frowned. He didn’t like thinking of Jötunheim because he had been doing everything in his power to avoid thinking of Ironwood and the girl he’d known there.
Kratos’s hand landed on Atreus’s shoulder. “Enough questions.”
“Oh,” Atreus said. “Sorry.”
Loki shrugged. “It’s fine. I guess... if I’m being honest, I do miss it. Just a little.”
“Do you want to come back with us?” Atreus asked.
“Boy,” Kratos said, warningly.
“What?” Atreus turned and looked at his father. “Loki’s a Frost Giant. We might run into a problem on our way to the tallest peak that only he can sort out for us. He’s helped us before!”
Kratos’s mouth formed a line. But he didn’t object any further.
“Loki, do you know the rune we need to unlock the gate to Jötunheim?” Atreus asked. “We can go up there and carve it now. You could show us around!”
“I don’t know the rune,” Loki lied. “And thanks for the offer, kid… but I have some things to sort out in Midgard.”
“Oh,” Atreus deflated slightly. He clearly planned on picking Loki’s brain for every scrap of information on the Frost Giants. “I understand. Maybe you can join us once that’s done?”
“Ha,” Loki put his hands on his hips. “Don’t worry, little fish. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”
*
Next afternoon, Brok had finished his work and proudly presented them to Loki. It was like the difference between a Norse weapon, and one from the stone age. The new needle device was a sleek, seamless slide of glossy metal, forming a blade that looked as natural and delicate as a blade of grass. It bore Brok’s insignia proudly on the grip, and all the runes had been painstakingly copied by Brok’s deft and beautiful chisel work.
In comparison, Loki’s old needle looked like a knot of rope that had been chewed by a dog. The runes on the old weapon flickered gently and sparked slightly.
Loki used the old version of the tool for one last time to take him back to Alfheim and charge up the new needle in the powerful flow of white light. It absorbed far more power and held it. It was even cold to the touch.
In the beautiful, dim half-light of the unearthly Alfheim dusk, Loki considered both weapons. Then he did a test.
He made two cuts. One in the palm of the hand which usually wielded the needle, and one in the off-hand. Just as he’d suspected, the one on his non-dominant hand healed up quickly, but the one he used the needle in took a full minute to stop bleeding and close.
Loki stared down at his bloody palms.
So his shoddy transportation device had been leaking dangerous levels of Alfheim light which had radiated throughout his body. The light had stripped away his natural healing ability… in short, his divinity. That’s why the wound in his side still hadn’t scarred over.
It was bad news for Loki, but there was a silver lining. There was no pain. Alfheim light could strip the magic from flesh, possibly irreversibly, and nobody would know until it was too late. With the right modifications… it could be a hell of a weapon.
*
Snow swirled through the air in sheets so thick that Loki could hardly see a foot ahead of him. Even in the mountainous shape of a polar bear, his long black claws failed to dig into the ice and the icy wind buffeted his broadside, threatening to topple him over.
Loki had always relied on more than his earthly senses, and so even through the blizzard he could trek towards the camp in a straight line.
He had learned his lesson – and shifted into the form of a man before he knocked on a treestump outside the covered entrance.
“A visitor?” Mimir’s voice came muffled through the slats in the wood. “In weather like this?”
A grunt, and the sound of someone colossal rising to their feet. The ringing of metal clasps on the blades of weapons as he moved. Kratos dragged the makeshift door open.
“Well met,” Loki said. Snow pelted the side of his face, forcing him to squint. “Have you seen Sindri? The blacksmiths seem to gravitate to your path, so they’re hard to track down.”
“I have not,” Kratos said, with finality. There was a grimness in his jaw and his scowl was even bleaker than usual.
“Oh, you’ve retrieved the chisel and Atreus is sick,” Loki said. He must have spent more time in Alfheim than he realised. “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but Freya will be able to help.”
“Come inside,” Kratos said, and it sounded more like an order than a suggestion.
Loki stepped inside and Kratos dragged the makeshift door shut, muffling the snowstorm.
“You know something about this sickness, Loki,” Kratos said.
“More than that, laddie,” Mimir said from his perch on an old barrel. “You talk as if you’re rehearsing lines. Tell me – could you be one of those unlucky giants with the blessing of foresight?”
Loki hesitated.
At the back of the small cave, Atreus was bundled up by the fire in all the blankets the travelling pair had brought with them. His face was washed out and grey. He was shivering under the bundle, face pinching in distress, deep within his fever.
“I might have a little foresight,” Loki admitted. Snow was melting in his fur collar. “I can tell you that you’ll make it to Freya in time, and she’ll be able to heal him and he won’t suffer any lasting effects.”
“If you know the cure,” Kratos said. “You will tell me. Now.”
Loki took a step back.
“Why do you hesitate?” Kratos asked.
Loki’s eyes darted between Kratos and Atreus. It would be fine if he washed his hands of this, Freya would sort it out and nothing bad would happen. But Kratos didn’t know that. And if Loki refused to help… Kratos would certainly hold a grudge.
“I think I might know why,” Mimir said, gravely. “I believe a Frost Giant has perhaps a hundred good reasons not to get involved in godly business. Am I right, lad?”
“It’s something like that,” Loki said, grateful to be given an out.
“I can understand your dislike of the Gods,” Kratos said. “But Atreus is a child. You cannot judge him by the actions of—”
“Hold on now, brother,” Mimir said, diplomatically. He fixed his remaining eye on Loki. “Can you at least tell me, good man, the diagnosis? It could be that I know the treatment myself. I’m spoken of as the smartest man in all the realms, I’ll have you know.”
With a sigh, Loki unbuttoned the clasps on his coat and loosened it so he could sit by the fire. He warmed his hands.
“Freya will believe that it is Atreus’s body fighting his own nature,” Loki said. “His true nature – his nature as a God.”
Kratos’s eyes widened slightly. “The nature I gave him.”
“Yes and no. I believe it’s more complicated than that,” Loki said. “Your child has two natures – the fires of Sparta, and the frosts of Jötunheimr. They duel against themselves in a stalemate that sickens the body.”
Kratos took a moment to absorb that. “You said that Freya knew a cure. What is it?”
“Not a cure, but a treatment,” Loki said. He ran a hand over his long, dark braid. “Freya will ask you to produce the heart of the keeper of the Bridge of the Damned in Helheim. It’s a very… Vanir solution, and it floods the boy’s system with so much power that nothing can get jammed together. At least, until it finishes draining out of him, then he’ll risk getting sick again.”
“From Helheim? That’s a journey and a half! But from your tone, I assume you have a better idea?” Mimir asked, hopefully.
Loki tilted his head. He grinned, sheepishly. “Sure, but the heart works fine. By the time the power of the heart drains, Atreus will be able to balance his duel natures himself.”
“And if this does not come to pass?” Kratos asked.
Loki shrugged. “I have a lot riding on things turning out the way I think they will.”
“Tell me what we need for your treatment,” Kratos ordered. “It might be easier to acquire.”
Loki shifted about slightly. His own father had been gone for a long time, and since then he had grown ever more disobedient. Direct orders still chafed against his pride.
“We wouldn’t need anything,” Loki said. “I can rebalance Atreus’s dual nature myself, but… well, you probably wouldn’t like it.”
“You would hurt him?” Kratos asked.
“What?” Loki startled. “No! Of course not.”
“Then you must do it,” Kratos said. He looked conflicted and glanced away. “If you could, Loki, I would appreciate it.”
It was as close to a please as Loki had ever heard leave Kratos’s mouth. It almost made him shiver.
“Alright,” Loki said. “Alright. But don’t hit me.”
Loki pulled his coat off and folded it up so that the fire could melt off the rest of the snow.
He breathed in. And out.
Deep within himself, Loki pulled a cord. His form shimmered and danced with light, and he felt himself grow tall and graceful, his dark hair turned red and soft, and his jaw smoothed.
Faye stood up, blinking her serious, pale blue eyes. She crouched in the camp. “Atreus is feverish and delirious, so we can’t explain what we’re doing. But he has to trust me.”
Kratos stared at Loki’s new form, motionless and severe. He looked like he was holding back every inch of himself, muscles tight and tense. Still, he growled: “I understand.”
“I apologise if it makes you uncomfortable,” Faye said. “It’s fine to turn into a wolf or a bird, but as soon as I turn into someone they know, people usually don’t take it well. It’s a trick that get me kicked out of lots of parties.”
Kratos watched Loki’s disguise with hawklike attention. Loki’s voice sounded exactly like Faye’s had, even down to the pauses and intonations. “I am not uncomfortable.”
Faye watched him somewhat warily as she crept the long way around the fire to kneel at Atreus’s side. Delicately, supporting the boy’s head, she pulled him into her lap. She smoothed his sweaty hair down, running her thumb across his face.
Atreus turned his head in his feverish dream, his eyes rolling behind his closed eyelids.
“Shh, shh,” Faye murmured, stroking the boy’s face. Her voice was a sweet whisper. “You’re very sick, Atreus, but I can help you. You need to relax, okay?”
Atreus shifted slightly. She pressed her cold hands to his cheek.
“Calm down, little soldier,” Faye murmured in Jötunn tongue. “I’m here to help you. Just relax and let me help...”
As she spoke, her magic poured out of her fingertips in white sparks. Their heartbeats synchronised. Faye closed her eyes and Loki reached down through their connection with hidden threads of intention, finding the knotted tangle of Atreus’s nature and smoothing out the threads.
Loki had done this for himself so many times, curled up, feverish and alone under his bed in Asgard. It was far, far easier to do it for someone else, with a clear head and a full bank of magic. It was almost satisfying to feel through the channels of Atreus’s dual natures, soothing where they had clashed and reconnecting where they had dried up.
Atreus relaxed in Faye’s arms. His breathing evened out. There was still sweat on his forehead, but that terrible, sick tension faded out of him.
With a grumble, Atreus opened his eyes. He wiped his damp face and then froze, staring up at the woman above him.
“M-Mother?” Atreus asked. His eyes were very wide.
“No, I’m sorry,” Faye said, and shifted back to his old form. Loki pushed Atreus out of his lap. “I was just—”
Atreus snatched his knife up and stabbed Loki in the stomach.
“Ow, fuck!” Loki snarled and sprang up. As he rose he flipped forms, shifting into a great white gull. He slammed into the makeshift door with such force that it broke outwards. He hit the storm with wings thrown up and flew through it, scattering blood on the wind.