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Odin sat silent, surveying a hall filled with drinking and dancing as his people celebrated Sigrblot and the coming of summer. He himself felt little of the cheer of his subjects, his mood more in keeping with his oldest son. In the center of the great table Thor sat surrounded by his friends, somber despite the festivities though he made an effort to smile. Gone was the jovial warrior who would walk the room, regaling others with tales of his valor. He remained stationary, his smiles small wounded things that seldom touched his eyes. The Warriors Three aided by Sif acted as a buffer, maintaining a cocoon of space around him. Some courtiers were allowed to enter but at a signal that passed wordless between the four they would be ushered off, usually by Fandral and his easy smiles. Frigga sat court at the other end of the feasting hall, her features luminous but sad. Sensing his attention she looked to him, met his eye and gave him an encouraging nod.
The twelfth time his eldest laughed at some jest only to turn to the empty place at his side and frown Odin stood and exited the hall. As the sounds of the feast faded behind him he felt every year of his age settle on his shoulders. It was a time of celebration, but his thoughts constantly circled back to dark places. Loki, his youngest, his clever boy, was home after a year of being lost among the stars. A traitor to Asgard and Jötunheimr alike and a possible fugitive from the Chitauri, who he thought would help him carve out a new kingdom on Midgard. Odin had not seen his youngest, not since pronouncing sentence on him nearly six months before.
The images from that day haunted him: his son bound and gagged, standing before him and the Diar unbowed, eyes blazing with anger as his crimes were recounted. When the Diar fell silent he sat unblinking as he passed sentence down on his child; hoping something of the smiling boy he raised would show in the thin, hollow man before him. The last he saw of Loki he was being taken to his cell, fighting and no doubt cursing beneath the gag.
You will have to face him sooner or later, my love. Frigga’s words followed Odin through the palace, away from the celebration. So far he had avoided it. Ignored her wordless admonishments and Thor’s more vocal pleas. He feared any visit would do the boy more harm than good. He was always at a loss with his youngest son, unsure of what to say or do. Loki was different from other Aesir children: bright, so terribly bright but always unsure of himself. The smallest slight, something Thor would easily ignore, would bring him near to tears. His affinity for magic, something he was looked down on for by others that Odin always took pride in. Loki soldiered through arms training because it was his duty, but never found joy in fighting the way others did. It was a relief at first, Loki’s aversion to violence. He took it as a sign, that his foundling didn’t share the Jötun’s dark nature. He learned too late he had another nature all his own, just as dark and infinitely more dangerous.
“All-father.”
Odin looked up for the first time since leaving the feasting hall. Tall doors barred his way, guarded by two warriors and a mage.
Magard rose and bowed her head. “Loki has made no attempts to escape, All-father,” she reported, arms folded in the deep blue sleeves of her robes. “Nor as he made attempt to speak to us, or his servant.”
“Is he eating?”
She nodded. “He eats only enough to sustain himself, nothing more. He has not attempted to starve himself since your proclamation.”
Odin felt his stomach clench. In the first month of his arrest Loki refused food and water. Even the pleading of his mother did not move him. It wasn’t until Odin sent a writ warning his son that he would be fed by force if he continued that Loki began to eat.
“Open the doors.”
The mage bowed, then turned to the doors and raised her hands over her head. For the barest of moments he made out fiery red lines crisscrossing the heavy wood before she lowered her arms in a rushing arc. With the first layer of protections gone Odin strode forward. A latticework of uru shrunk to nothingness as he approached, and the two guards opened the doors. Odin walked over a thin line of runes that burned white-hot just inside the threshold, felt the spell recognize him and let him pass unhindered.
The delicate tunes of a harp greeted him, played somewhere to his left. His son’s chambers were much changed since his return. He reshaped them himself so that all trace of favor or comfort was removed. No longer did his youngest have a sprawling apartment with sitting room, bedroom, and personal library. His world was reduced to a single room. The thick gilding that once shone on the walls was gone and revealed the heavy rune-worked stone and wood beneath. The lush furniture was replaced by a single, thinly padded cot huddled near the cold fireplace. The shelves where he stored his books had been gutted, leaving only the few tomes that did not concern magic. The large balcony with its vistas of Asgard was cut off from the room by a latticework like that which barred his door. A small table set against it held a pitcher of water, along with a helping of bread and meat served on simple horn plates. Across from this an ornately carved tray held a chalice of wine and a golden plate piled with honeyed fruit and sweetmeats, along with a bowl of strawberries drizzled with cream.
Neither appeared to have been touched.
Loki sat by the latticework, back propped against a pillar, one leg stretched before him with the other bent at the knee. His simple white tunic and trousers made him appear younger; more a boy than a man grown. A thing compounded by the long length of his hair softly curling at his collar. Thick manacles at his wrists pulsed with pale green light, mimicking the ebb and flow of his son’s magic. Hugin perched on the back of the couch, black eyes fixed on his charge.
“Tell Nan I’ll eat when I’m ready,” Loki commanded without turning.
“Loki.”
His son’s head whipped around at his voice though he didn’t stand, and the harp cut off sharply. Loki gave him a single encompassing look before turning away, gaze once again on the setting sun. There was a shuffle of fabric and a figure stood on the other side of the fireplace.
She disappeared from the feast hours ago, though he hadn’t wondered over it. Laughter had been ill suited to her of late and her love’s homecoming had done nothing to lighten her mood. She wore her auburn hair loose, billowing over her pale shoulders and dark green gown to the waist, her golden eyes bright and red rimmed. She dipped a deep curtsey.
“All-Father.”
“Lady Sigyn.” He looked pointedly at the bowl of strawberries and she stiffened, straightened to her full height as if preparing for battle. He could feel Loki’s eyes on them. “The Queen has been looking for you,” he gestured to the door. “See her now, before she sends a search party.”
Sigyn bowed. “As you will.” She took a step towards Loki then thought better of it. “My love-”
“Go.”
She bit her lip at Loki’s curt command, the brightness of one eye overflowing. She brushed the tear aside before starting towards the door.
“Your plates,” Odin reminded her when she was almost at the threshold.
She half-turned. “I shall return for them later, All-Father.”
When the heavy doors closed behind her Odin walked farther into the room. Loki was looking out again, ignoring his presence.
“She has changed, since your fall,” he watched Loki as he spoke. “More so since your homecoming.”
His son’s hands clenched tightly, the pulsing of the manacles increased.
“I remember the first time I saw her,” Odin reminisced as he moved to the table. “Heimdall told me of your interest, but I brushed it off as the first blooming of a boy’s passions.” His son’s shoulders tightened as he spoke and the knuckles of his hand grew corpse-white. “Your mother called me to the healing room one day and there she was; face mottled, lips swollen and pained. She was allergic to strawberries.” He picked up the red fruit. She chose the best of what was offered in the feasting hall; the berries deep red and nearly as long as his thumb. “You always loved them so.” Odin set the strawberry back in its bowl. “You sat next to her as the healers spread salve on her face to take down the swelling.” He could see them even now, Loki in his ever-present green vest, the skirt of Sigyn’s ivory dress crumpled in her fists. “She remarked on how hideous she looked, and you took her face in your hands and told her she would always be beautiful to you. That was the moment I knew you loved her.”
Loki’s laugh was sharp. “Yet when I asked for her hand you sent me with Thor and his cronies to Muspelheim to watch him fawn over Sutur’s daughters.”
“To improve relations between Asgard and Muspelheim,” Odin countered weakly.
“To bully me into a political marriage!”
Odin began to protest, but stopped himself. He looked down, tracing the carved floor with his eye. He remembered each of his letters to his sons during those months. Those for his oldest warned Thor not to linger over any one of Surtur’s daughters overmuch no matter how beautiful they were, with skin the color of flame and hair black as night. To be mindful of his hosts and never forget he was there as an ambassador for Asgard. The letters to his youngest were filled with questions; if he had found one of the young women suitable, what he thought of the court, if he wished to remain after Thor returned home. Reminding him how tenuous the situation between Asgard and Muspelheim could become with tensions between Aelfheim and Nelfheim growing.
“Did you really think I didn’t know?” Loki’s voice was quiet. “You would never bind us together with Thor; that would create too many enemies among the other realms. But your second son? That would serve your purposes very well.” When Odin didn’t respond he continued. “And when I returned bride-less, and made my desire to wed Sigyn known you had her banished-“
“I made her father ambassador to Vanaheim.” Odin rode over his son. “Frey had the experience, and preexisting ties that could be used to the benefit of Asgard.”
“Banished,” Loki repeated. A thin smile spread over his pale features. “For all the good it did you.”
Odin found himself smiling fondly. “Do you know what your mother said, when you returned from Vanaheim with Sigyn on your arm? That you were too much like me by half.”
When Loki remained silent he went to stand by the window. Night fell as they spoke, covering the room in shadow. At a word the lanterns around them lit, casting golden light on the walls. “I never told you how I met your mother, did I?”
“Yet I have a feeling you mean to tell me, whether I want to hear or not.”
Odin sighed. “We were at war with Vanaheim. I was young, filled with battle and adventure. Not unlike Thor, but I was tempered by my father’s control.” He leaned back to look at the stars. “She was captured with a group of soldiers, acting as a runner for her father’s general. Gullveig didn’t know, believed her to be safe with her brothers and sister. I saw her, this slight, red-haired thing, hissing and spitting at any who tried to approach.” He could still see her; dressed as a page, spear held steady as she was surrounded by Asgardian soldiers. “I claimed her as my cup-bearer, thinking her a boy. I meant to protect her. It was near two months later before I discovered my page-boy was a girl.
“It was Frigga who convinced me to petition my father to end the war. A political marriage between our two realms was to cement the peace. I was to marry the crown princess Fulla, when her younger sister was all I wanted. Three days before the wedding I snuck into Vanaheim and found Frigga waiting for me, a small sack of provisions and a way out of the capitol already planned.” She was on her bed when he scaled the outer walls of the palace, arms folded and eyebrow cocked. “She told me she expected me a week ago.”
“Is this why you’re here?” Loki asked without turning. “To recount better days?”
Odin’s smile faded. “I am here to see how you’re doing, my son.”
“I am not your son.”
The last word was venom-filled. The manacles flared and Loki stiffened, his mouth twisted into a grimace. Even with all his wards Odin felt the burst of power and was thankful he thought to take such precautions. Loki had grown more powerful in his absence. He refused to give all but the vaguest of details concerning his time lost among Yggdrasil’s branches.
Loki turned to glare at him, but the expression slid into a sickly smile. “Pleased with your handiwork?” he asked, lifting his arms slightly. “Though I wonder if you had them made before or after my return.”
Odin stepped away from the table and examined his son. The wounds his youngest sustained on Midgard had healed well, he was told. No scars marred his features, and any bruises were long since gone. It was the other scars, the ones the healers could not see, that troubled the All-Father more. The ones that brought Loki screaming from sleep and left him sweat soaked and shivering. The ones that kept him pacing until the sun rose.
“No matter how many times you tell me that you are not my son, it will not change how I feel.” It was a struggle to keep his voice calm and neutral. “We raised you, Loki, from the time I found you-“
“The time you stole me.”
“From that time until this,” Odin finished. “My love for you, our love for you, has never waned.”
Thor visited his brother nearly every day since his return to Asgard for at least an hour, though each visit left him silent and cold. Frigga came three times a week, but whatever words passed between them she kept to herself. He always knew because she returned to their chambers thin lipped and worried. Sigyn had begged him for weeks to see her lover before he finally relented, hoping to spare the girl the worst of his son’s frustrated anger. Judging by the red rimming her eyes he had failed. He was the only one who avoided his youngest, and both Thor and Frigga confronted him on his absence several times.
Hugin cawed, wings flapping in the sudden quiet before he hopped from the couch and onto Sigyn’s harp.
“Where did I fail you, my son?”
Odin kept his gaze focused on the setting sun, but he heard Loki’s sharp movement. “I have combed my memories, searched for the moment, but I cannot find it.” He looked down. “Perhaps because there were too many times, too many moments where I could have…should have… done better by you.” His thoughts drifted to Jormungandr and Fenrir, to beautiful, tragic Hela. “I have wronged you, Loki, and for all my years I cannot find a means of making it right.”
“Are you here to beg forgiveness, for these wrongs not even worth remembering?” Loki moved then, swift and agile as a snake so that he was looking directly at him, green eyes burning. “Perhaps you should start with the first wrong. For taking me away from my fate.”
“You would have died.” The words were near a whisper. No child, not even a Jötun, could have survived in that burning, bitter cold for long wrapped in nothing but a thin shawl.
“Did it ever occur to you, All-Father, that I should have?” Loki’s words were ice. “That I was left there for a reason? Perhaps your enemies knew something you did not.” Loki’s tone had changed, gone quiet and still. “Think of everything that would not have happened had you simply left me where I lay. Midgard and Jötunheimr whole, the Casket of Ancient Winters still in your grasp, the name of Odin held in high regard throughout the nine realms.”
“I have,” Odin admitted. “I think often of what might be had I left you there. I think of my oldest growing up alone, lacking a voice of reason to calm the worst of his ardor. Of my wife without someone to teach her art to. I think of a small child who did nothing but be born, left to die alone in darkness.” Loki’s face grew pale as he spoke. “There is nothing you could say, Loki, that would make regret bringing you to Asgard, into my home. My heart.”
“Pretty words,” Loki chuckled darkly as he stood. “And they call me Silvertongue.” He looked at the floor. “Tell me, would you feel the same knowing I meant to kill your oldest?” His eyes slid upward slowly, tracing Odin’s finery as he approached. “He was to be the first. I couldn’t have Asgard pining for their golden son, their brilliant, banished heir, while I was solidifying my rule. Frigga…well… despite everything she was a mother to me, no matter my origins. I meant to keep her alive.” His head tilted. “Captive, of course. It would be good for Asgard to have some continuity after the death of their king. Poor Odin. Odin the great, the All-Father, killed by cravens while he slept.”
“But you didn’t let Laufey kill me, Loki.” He could recall that, Laufey flying away from him to shatter against a wall. Loki declaring himself a son of Odin.
“Thor interrupted Laufey while the idiot knelt over you, gloating.” His voice rose as he spoke, tone laced with contempt. “I give the fool one chance, and what does he do? He-”
Odin frowned. “Thor wasn’t there.”
“Of course he was.” Loki’s smile was mocking. “He is always there, waiting to ruin everything!”
“You killed Laufey with Gungnir,” Odin said carefully. “Even if I wasn’t aware, Frigga said as much in the aftermath.”
Loki’s features twisted in confusion. “No… Thor killed Laufey… he stopped him…” his son’s breathing became shallow, eyes searching the space in front of him. “He threw me…” He staggered, his shoulder slammed into the pillar behind him.
“Loki-” Odin took a step forward
“Leave.”
“My son-”
“Go!” The shout was strangled.
The doors opened, the guards and Magard filled the doorway but remained outside the line of runes. “All-Father…” she trailed off, eyes darting between them.
Loki struggled to bring himself under control, and the sight of it broke something within him. Thor was the one ruled by his passions, the son who was quick to anger and even quicker to forgive. Loki was never discomfited, never showed anything but what he wanted others to see.
“We are fine,” he said gravely. “My son is tired. Annar.” Odin half-turned to a guard with a scar bisecting his face. “See to his tray.”
Loki was still as the man approached, eyes unseeing, but at the last moment he lunged. The manacles flared white-hot. The spell brought the prince to his knees and wrenched a cry from his throat. Annar moved quickly, filling the tray and stepping away in moments, eyes fixed on his task. On the floor Loki trembled, thin fingers turned to claws quickly darkening to blue. By the time Annar finished and stood at the doorway the light from the manacles was dark green. Loki panted heavily, curled in on himself, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Loki-”
“Leave.” His son’s words were soft. He could see the blue spreading, trailing up his neck to stain his face, almost hidden by his hair. “Tell your Queen and son you did your duty. You spoke to the monster.”
You are no monster, he wanted to say. At least, not one of his own making.
The room emptied behind him, leaving them alone. Loki remained where he fell, head bowed.
“Good night, my son,” Odin said instead.
Loki did not respond.