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Thor lay quiet in the stillness, the drowsy warmth creeping slowly into his body and filling him with sleepy peace. His leaden limbs seemed to have melted into the bed, and his thoughts were beginning to dance on the edge of the dream-world when something woke him up.
“Thor?”
Thor withdrew from the half-dream, but he didn’t open his eyes, unsure that he hadn’t imagined the quiet, whispery voice.
“Thor?”
Thor opened his eyes. The fire, down to its coals, lendt only a slight reddish glow that barely illuminated movement, let alone actual shapes. Thor sat up with reluctance, clutching his blankets around him. It took him a long moment to spy a black hump where his bed met the headboard. “Loki?” he queried in a half-clogged voice. The hump shifted just slightly. Thor wondered if he would regret begging Mother and Father to put him and his brother into the same room, if Loki would consistently wake him up. It was something he’d wanted since Loki had been born. In the most tender stages of Loki’s life, Thor had burned with impatience for him to get old enough to play with. He rarely got to hold Loki, because all of the adults said he would squash or drop him. And then when Loki was finally big enough, Thor ran around with him, showing him all the toy weapons and introducing him to the flowers and rocks and trees in the gardens, even before Loki could walk. But it was impossible to room with him for the first few years, for a couple different reasons, one being that Loki was a baby and needed twenty-four-hour care as it was.
“Thor,” the Loki-hump whispered again.
“What is it?” Thor asked, a little more loudly.
“Frey.” Thor caught a glimpse of Loki’s hands, a dark grey-orange in the firelight, his arms outstretched as far as they would go, fingers grasping at the sheets. His chin barely came up to the edge of the bed.
“What?” Frey? Was Loki trying to say the word for love, or perhaps peace? Or even the name of their mother?
“Thor, frey.” Loki repeated, and the light reflected for an instant in Loki’s wide eyes. ‘Love’ or ‘peace’ didn’t seem to fit.
“Frey?” Thor repeated.
“Dahk.” Loki whispered.
Frey. Dahk. Afraid. Dark. “Did you have a nightmare?” Thor asked. Loki didn’t respond, but he hopped a little and scrabbled again at the sheets. “Here.” Thor leaned over and grabbed one of Loki’s hands. His skin was smooth and cold. Thor pulled him up onto the bed beside him. “Want to sleep with me tonight?” Again, Loki didn’t respond. Thor pointed to the pillow, even though he doubted Loki could make it out in the darkness. “Sleep here? With Thor?” In response, Loki lay down with his head on Thor’s pillow. Thor grabbed an extra from the other side of the bed and lay down beside Loki, drawing the blanket up over both of them. Loki’s soft pajamas were damp with sweat—at least, Thor hoped it was sweat. The firelight reflected into Loki’s eyes again, and Thor could see his face, wide-eyed, chubby still with infant fat, and afraid. Thor patted his shoulder. He felt sorry for his little brother. Another that Loki had been unable to room with him before now was because of his sicknesses. Loki would fret and cry all night sometimes, after Mother said babies usually stopped. He would keep getting sick, throwing up milk and staying feverish for weeks on end. Mother and Father hadn’t spoken to Thor about it, but Thor saw the worry in their faces and for the first year he’d been afraid of losing his little brother.
Even now, though Loki had stopped getting sick, he couldn’t seem to learn things. He was three and a half and still couldn’t seem to get a grasp of basic language. He spoke brokenly, and often didn’t answer or give signs that he’d heard when others spoke to him. The only times he’d run or play was when Thor came to run or play with him.
The bed vibrated ever so slightly, and Thor realized Loki was shivering. He wondered if he should go get one of the nurses to take care of Loki if he was getting a fever. Or perhaps he was still just afraid of the dark.
Thor scooted closer and put his arms around him. “Want me to tell you a story?”
Loki just looked at him, with wide, unblinking eyes.
“The Jackal and the Apples?” Thor suggested. That was Loki’s favorite story, which he’d discovered a few weeks ago, and he often pestered a nurse to tell it at bedtime, so many times that Thor grew utterly sick of it. But now he just wanted to stop Loki from being scared.
“Story,” said Loki. “Jaka.” But before Thor could say one word, he continued. “One day a man of the Aesir market came strolling into town to seek out a man who might make his daughter a suitable husband…”
Thor jerked back in surprise. Loki’s voice was soft, still only barely above a whisper, but he continued speaking, word-for-word, the tale that he heard told many times over. As Thor stared and listened in growing astonishment, Loki recited for minute upon minute without hesitating, almost without stopping for breath. After a while, Thor realized that Loki was mimicking to perfection the voice inflections of their story-telling nurse. It wasn’t a long tale, only fifteen minutes or so, but Thor had always felt that it dragged on forever, he’d heard it so often. Now it seemed even longer, as baby Loki continued to tell the tale exactly as he’d heard it, with no mispronunciation or, as far as Thor could tell, skipped words. Thor expected him to stop, but Loki went on until he reached the end.
“…and the apples had never tasted so good.” He fell silent. He’d stopped shaking.
Thor was speechless. He’d thought, like everyone else, that Loki was…well…stupid, in a way. Sweet, loving, yet distant, surprisingly pretty with his bright green eyes and shock of black hair, but mentally slow. And yet Loki had memorized a tale after hearing it spoken over a two-week period.
Thor wanted to say something to acknowledge that achievement, but he couldn't form his thoughts into words. “Goodnight, Loki,” he said at last.
--
“THOR! Thor, Thor, Thor! Thor!” Loki burst through the ring of bushes, hands held high. He tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face. He scrambled up again. “THORRRR!”
Thor caught the wooden hoop and turned. “What is it, Loki?”
Loki did not appear to appreciate his lack of enthusiasm. He stamped one foot and pointed behind him. “Thor, it’s the Dokkalfar! They are coming with gleaming blades and notched arrows! They intercepted me and are after me now! RUNNN!” At five years old, Loki’s earlier lack of language had entirely disappeared and then some. He grabbed Thor’s hand and tried to run, but Thor, after stumbling a few steps, didn’t move. His face grew hot with embarrassment while his playmates stared at the two of them, hoops and balls in hand, wincing. Loki’s shrill tones were not exactly pleasant on the ear.
“Loki, now isn’t the time.” Loki’s feet slipped in the grass as he tried to run with the unmovable Thor. Thor twisted out of his grasp.
“THERE IS NO TIME!” Loki squealed. “They will decimate us and tear apart our…um…um…” Loki's face screwed up as he searched for words. “Us!” he finished.
“All right,” Thor said, his ears going hot now. “You go keep them occupied, and I’ll join you in a little while.”
Loki glowered at him. “The Dokkalfar are not on your time table, Thor Odinson,” he said ominously, his voice going as deep as it could, which was about the pitch of a songbird. “The blood of the land shall be on your hands.” With that, Loki turned on his heel and struggled back through the bushes from where he’d come—instead of doing the sensible thing and using the path about two feet away—and disappeared. The wind rustled the leaves around them.
“Thor,” Volstagg said at last. “Your little brother is strange.”
Thor didn’t argue with that. He didn’t see Loki again until that night. He actually didn’t see Loki until he started to climb into bed in their darkened room. Light still streamed in from the cracks in their thick curtains, but it was lessening.
A hand suddenly grabbed his ankle and made him yell. (It was a yell, Thor told himself, not a scream.)
“LOKI!”
Loki’s head appeared from under the bed and he grinned up at him. Thor kicked his ear. “Get out from under there,” he said, trying to calm his speeding heart.
“Want to hear a story?” Loki asked as he crawled out from underneath the bed.
“No.” Thor climbed into bed and pulled the covers over his head. The bed creaked and shifted as Loki hopped up beside him. He dug the covers off of Thor’s head and slid in beside him.
“Before the Golden Age of Asgard,” Loki began. “In a time of darkness, the kingdom was threatened by an army of Dark Elves.” Thor groaned out loud. Loki ignored him. “There lived in the outskirts of the Capital City a dark-haired boy by the name of Lindri, and his brother, a light-haired boy by the name of Thrdair.”
Thor was surprised that Loki put him into the story, and felt a little guilty that Loki had to imagine him into their exploits because he had not been there in actuality. Thrdair was captured by a troop of Dokkalfar, Lindri rescued him, and then was captured himself and taken to the Dokkalfar stronghold. Thrdair went to warn the king of Asgard, and then took some helpers by the name of Vren, Faldrek, and Simile (Thor didn’t have the heart to interrupt Loki and tell him that ‘simile’ was not a name). He rescued Lindri, and they both cut off the head of the Dokkalfar leader together.
It was actually quite a good story, considering it was coming from the mouth of a five-year-old, and Thor listened in spite of himself, and then didn’t chase Loki out of his bed when he finished.
“Do Thrdair and Lindri have any more adventures?” he asked in the darkness. The sun had gone down and it was really dark now.
“Yes,” said Loki. “But I don’t know what they are.”
“Maybe I can come with you tomorrow and we’ll find out.”
Loki’s arm clobbered him in the nose as he threw it around Thor’s head in an awkward hug. “Yes!” he said. “We will!”
--
“Thor!” Loki’s voice wafted across the gardens and Thor winced. Not again. “Thor!”
“I’m over here, Loki!” Thor said, half-hanging from a tree branch with his feet braced against the trunk. “What do you want?”
Already in the branches above him, Fandral groaned and whispered, “Couldn’t you have just hidden?”
“There’s a procession, Thor!” Loki appeared, running up to the tree. “You should see it! It’s only around the corner; the embassy from Vanaheim has come to see Father. It’s a glorious sight, all golden, and the soldiers, Thor, there must be hundreds of them, and women and girls all in coaches!” It was the mention of soldiers that made Thor let go of the branch and slide down the trunk. Fandral, being a little older than either of them, came down at the mention of women and girls. Indeed, it must be something grand to get Loki so excited, his face flushed and eyes bright, dirt smeared across his tunic and palms.
The children ran across the gardens to the inner halls to the courtyard, where they stood half-hidden in a shadowed archway as the procession halted and began to disperse and reorganize.
“Oh, Loki, it’s nothing but a few dozen,” Thor said in disappointment, irritated at being dragged over here for nothing. Fandral said nothing, his gaze fastened at the handful of women gathering with their daughters. The sons chased each other around the coaches. “Can’t you count?”
“Well, it seemed like hundreds,” Loki said, not seeming put-out or regretful. He crouched down and wrapped his arms around his knees. Fandral left both of them and strolled over to the ladies. Thor couldn’t hear his voice, but he seemed to introduce himself and the women seemed quite charmed at the young lad who kissed their hands.
Annoyed, Thor called out, “Come on, Fandral!”
“Don’t you want to stay and…watch?” Loki asked, with a strange smile on his face.
“No. I want to go back to our game.” Thor raised his voice again. “Fandral!”
“Are you sure?” Loki prodded.
Thor didn’t answer. Fandral bowed to the ladies, waved to the girls, and strolled back in their direction. Thor grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards the gardens, leaving Loki crouching in the shadow of the arch.
Thor soon forgot Loki’s strange fascination with nothing. The Vanir boys eventually sought them out and, after the regular awkward fumbling while being around the prince of the Nine Realms (as in, Thor), they settled in, and despite being somewhat frailer they had a rambunctiously good time. Thor was even able to peel a guardian from the chaos that was preparing and executing the reception for the visitors so that they could go outside the palace walls to the forest. They returned as the afternoon waned and parted ways to get ready for dinner.
Curiously, Thor didn’t see Loki at all, either before or during the feast. It was a grand affair because of the visitors, and Thor basked in the fuss made over him by the ambassadors and nobles. Yet Loki was nowhere to be seen. Nobody else seemed to notice, or at least not to care.
It became even more curious as the evening wore on into music and games and Loki still didn’t appear, at least not in person. A young blonde girl kept following Thor around, smiling way too much and asking him to bring her things, and more than once talked about how much nicer he was than Loki and making comments about what a dangerous place Asgard seemed to be. It irked him.
He jumped at every unusual sound, expecting some sort of scream or breakage or anger that would result from a prank, but still, nothing happened. Worried, he dodged the company of the girl and pushed through a crowd of people to try to get to Frigga and Odin as they conversed with the Vanir officials. A guard swooped down from nowhere and pulled him back.
“Not now, Prince Thor,” he said.
“I need to speak with them.” Thor tried to pull his arm away and look down his nose at the taller guard. “Loki’s missing.”
The guard quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about that. The King and Queen are busy.”
Thor looked in despair as a procession containing his parents swept from the room. He sighed.
That night, still dreading some terrible uproar, Thor pushed open the door to their room with two timid fingers, a manservant following behind.
Loki was there, dressed for bed, sitting on his bed with his hands folded in front of him and his short legs kicking the air.
“Hello, Thor!” he called cheerily, waving a hand.
Thor stopped and looked suspiciously around the seemingly harmless room. “Where have you been all night?”
“Here,” Loki said cheerfully. He hopped off the bed and padded over to the table in front of the fireplace, picking up a cup and taking a sip of water.
“What have you been up to?” Thor demanded.
Loki blinked at him, the cup still against his lips. He seemed at a loss for a moment, and then he grinned and sipped the water again. “Nothing.”
Thor frowned at him. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not lying.” Loki walked back over to Thor’s bed and threw himself upon it, lying on his back. “But imagine this: one day, Prince Thor of Asgard left his brother Loki sitting in an archway. They had just watched the arrival of a procession of Vanir officials, ambassadors, and noblemen. Foolishly, Thor ignored Loki’s veiled queries about whether Thor would like to stay and watch the procession longer, so he went off and played outside of the palace walls, thus missing the uproar that happened inside of them.”
Thor rubbed his eyes and accepted his pajamas from the manservant, resigned to his fate, as Loki continued to spout on the bed.
“After the foolish prince left, Loki continued to observe the party until one or two of the girls noticed him sitting there. When he made direct eye contact with a small red-haired girl dressed in traveling finery, he stood up, dusted himself off, and walked closer, taking a seat on a short brick wall that encircled a patch of Boutonnieres.” Loki paused, propping himself up on his elbows. “That’s another name for cornflowers,” he said in a less grand tone. “They’re blue.”
“I know,” Thor said as he splashed water on his face, even though he didn’t. The only flowers he knew by sight were roses. Loki lay back down.
“The lass continued to look at him, but she didn’t move closer or let go of her mother’s hand, so Loki turned and plucked one of the flowers and held it up. The gesture worked and she edged closer. A companion of hers, a tall blonde girl, noticed her walking away and she quickly followed.”
“I think I met those two,” Thor said, thinking of the girl who had pestered him all evening, and then asked the manservant to fetch an extra blanket. Loki stole all the blankets whenever they slept in the same bed.
Loki waved a hand through the air to shush him. “Loki lowered the flower into his lap, holding the stem loosely between his fingers. ‘Hello,’ he said to the two approaching girls. ‘Who are you?’ asked the blonde one, quite loudly and rudely, without so much as a greeting. ‘I’m Prince Loki,’ Loki replied. ‘Who are you?’ ’You don’t look like a prince,’ the blonde one said, still very rudely. Loki wordlessly pointed to the royal insignia stitched on the left shoulder of his shirt and smiled at the red-haired girl. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
“The girl’s cheeks blushed rosy and she curtsied. ‘Correllia, Your Royal Highness.’ Loki, relieved that she at least had manners, stood up and was about to speak again when the blonde girl interrupted him. ‘You are eight years of age, are you not?’ Loki nodded. The girl lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him, squinting. ‘Why are you so small?’
“Loki got angry at this, but felt sorry for Correllia, as she reddened in embarrassment and nudged her companion with her elbow. ‘Is there a problem with my size?’ Loki glanced towards the gate. ‘I could have you tossed out of that gate in a few seconds if I so gave the word.’ With that, he turned his back on the rude girl and bowed to Correllia, presenting the Boutonniere—that’s a cornflower, remember—and said, ‘I hope you enjoy your stay in Asgard.’ Then he looked again at the blonde girl, let his gaze fall on her shoulder, and said. ‘There’s a spider on—’
“Before he could even finish, the girl shrieked and clamped her hand to her shoulder, tearing at her dress with her fingernails and dancing up and down. Loki leaned forward and brushed her dress. ‘It’s gone now,’ said he. There had never been a spider in the first place, but he wanted an honest answer to see that she was fearful of them. As the mothers hurried over to see what the matter was, Loki leaned in and quickly whispered, ‘Just be glad it wasn’t a red-horned rat-eater. Their venom kills with one bite.’ Both of the girls paled. He gave them and the mothers apologetic smiles and explanations before he slipped away to find some large black tarantulas, for as you know they love the pear trees in the kitchen gardens. All of the visiting women and lasses from Vanir were set upon by great tarantulas with red spikes sprouting from their bodies when they went to their chambers, setting several rooms to screaming. (See, Loki had taken those plain back tarantulas and added the horns before planting them in the rooms.) After the harmless fruit-eaters were all killed or scattered and hiding, Correllia kept sobbing about venomous red-horned rat-eaters, while attendants tried to assure her there were no such things.
“’But Prince Loki told us about them,’ she wept, and instantly the palace was in an uproar, with furious older brothers and caretakers running throughout the grounds, until they at last found Loki in the stables, perched atop a slanted ceiling beam. And thus he was sent packing to his room, not to emerge until the morrow.” Loki stopped speaking.
“Loki,” Thor said as he climbed into bed. Loki lay sprawled across most of the expanse, along the side that Thor always slept in. “You play too many pranks.”
Loki grinned up at him. “You laughed.”
Thor crossed his arms as he sat on his knees, waiting for Loki to move. “I did not.”
“Yes you did, right at red-horned rat-eater. Out loud.” Loki continued to grin.
Thor had, at the realization of the reason for the blonde girl’s remarks. And he had enjoyed the thought of the chaos as the females discovered the horrifying beasts concocted by Loki, and the insane hunt for him. But he wouldn’t have admitted it for the world that he had enjoyed a tale of one of Loki’s ridiculous escapades. He couldn’t stop the tell-tale blood coming into his face though, or the smile that was starting break his scowl as Loki started to laugh, so Thor shoved him to the side and covered his brother’s face with a pillow instead.
--
Sometime in the passage of the years, Loki stopped telling Thor stories. It happened sometime after they grew too old to share a room. For a long time, the menservants coming in to wake them in the mornings would still find Loki’s bed empty and Thor’s bed with twice its intended occupancy. After they grew too old for that, the morning would find Loki sleeping in a chair and Thor in the bed, or both curled up in furs by the fire. After they grew too old for that, and too old for menservants as alarm clocks, they sometimes saw the morning without sleeping. And then, eventually, Loki stopped coming into Thor’s room, and soon after that the stories stopped. Perhaps it was because of his sudden dedication to reading. Loki had always seemed to have his nose perpetually in books, but now it became a true obsession. Instead of storybooks, he started devouring thick volumes of every subject imaginable, locked in his room for hours and sometimes days. His skill in illusions and other magics skyrocketed. Perhaps it was because of the lack of feeding on storybooks that he stopped telling tales.
Thor, however, didn’t have the time to miss the stories. If Loki nursed an obsession for books, Thor nursed an obsession for training. He forced facts of politics and history into his head and then spent all of his leisure time with his friends, usually fighting in a ring. Thor didn’t see Loki much at all anymore. They still exchanged pleasantries whenever they saw each other, and still had a few inside jokes. Father forced Loki out into training, and through the years his skills in that area improved as well, and he spent time in a small, quiet cranny of Thor’s circle of friends. At times, Thor got the uncomfortable feeling that he didn’t know Loki anymore. But at other times, usually on adventures, Thor was sure that their bond was never stronger.
It would have stayed that way forever, had it not been for the Frost Giants breaking into the vault. One moment, Thor was floating, racing, beaming in his triumph of being coronated. The next, Asgard was in danger of invasion.
“The Jotuns must pay for what they’ve done,” He growled as he beheld the slaughter of the guards in the Weapons Vault. Odin stayed infuriatingly calm, seeming oblivious to the danger into which Asgard was put. Thor argued with him, trying to make him see, until he burst out in anger, “As king of Asgard—”
“But you’re not king!” Odin shouted, startling Thor into silence. After a moment, Odin added more softly, “Not yet.” He stepped away from the Casket that the Jotuns had failed to steal. Thor ground his teeth, too angry for words, angry that his father obviously thought him some sort of fool. “I will be taking a party to Jotunheim to take up this matter with Laufey,” Odin said, walking back towards the doors. Thor forced himself to follow, and to stay silent. This was a mistake, and Odin would regret it. But for now Thor would stay silent. “A concerned party, not an aggressive one,” Odin continued. “Thor, you will be accompanying me.”
“Father,” Loki’s voice startled Thor. He’d forgotten he was there, standing and watching the two of them, silently. It rankled Thor. “Do you wish me to come as well?”
“No, Loki.” Odin pushed open the door and they trailed out. “I need you to stay here. We don’t wish to appear overly concerned by sending the three male members of the family. Remain with your mother and lend some authority to Asgard while we are gone.”
Loki made no reply to this. That was his place, to take orders from his king without question, but his silent submission in the face of Thor’s chastising only lent more fury to Thor’s growing anger. Loki. Always taking the higher ground. Thor ground his teeth.
When they went to Jotunheim the next day, Thor was still seething.
“Thor,” Odin said softly to him as they traversed across the ruined terrain. “Do not think this is a punishment for your love of the Nine Realms and Asgard. Only know that war must be avoided until not going to war is more costly to Asgard and the Realms than war itself.” Thor didn’t answer, but he stopped deliberately not looking at Odin. “When that day comes, your leadership of the troops will be inv—”
Odin was interrupted. Thor, with a sickening tightening of his stomach, realized that even he, the warrior-thinking prince, had underestimated the brazen desperation of the Jotuns.
Thor managed to make it back to Asgard with the straggling remains of the group and the body of his Father before collapsing.
He woke up to attendants and flickering torches and swirling lights swimming through his vision. “Where’s Father?”
“Be still,” Eir told him. “You’re ill.”
“They didn’t give us the chance to speak,” he said.
War, for the moment, was out of the question. Jotunheim hadn’t made another peep. Thor recovered quickly enough, but as he considered going to war, he kept remembering what his father had said. War now would kill Aesir for certain. Perhaps if he waited death could be avoided.
He was afraid. Odin was in a strange mix of unconsciousness and the Odinsleep. He didn't want to fail on what could be Odin's last instructions.
Thor finally saw Loki for the first time when he was recovered and allowed to go to Odin’s chambers. As he entered the dimmed room, Loki, a dark form hunched next to the bed turned his face towards Thor, his face a deadly pale, illuminated by the golden light that came from the soothing shell that covered their father. He didn’t answer when Thor said hello, only turned his face back towards Odin. Thor couldn’t get him to speak a word, and when he looked at Frigga, seated on the other side of the bed, she only lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug and shook her head. Thor took his seat next to his brother.
In the days following, Thor attempted again and again to get Loki to say something, anything, but failed repeatedly. Thor left and entered the chamber frequently to attend to Asgard and keep war from bursting its seams. Loki worsened, and grew thin and haggard until Thor feared that he would become ill as well.
One evening, staring into space as they all sat silently near Odin, Thor had a sudden memory from early childhood.
“Loki,” he said, slowly, and then stopped. He began again. “Once upon a time, there lived two princes of Asgard named Thor and Loki.” He felt embarrassed, speaking such childish words, but Loki’s shoulders twitched. Encouraged, Thor continued. “They had a brave and wise father that they loved very much. One day—”
“Stop.” Loki’s head dropped downwards until it met his palm. Triumph flashed through Thor. Loki lifted his head again and glanced at him. Then he looked away again, his head dropping again. “Just stop.” He leaned over, bracing his elbows on his knees. "You are no storyteller." After a moment, Loki continued, speaking softly, and almost too quickly for Thor to catch the words. “In the age of prosperity in Asgard, the Frost Giants of Jotunheim threatened to destroy the peace so dearly bought by Odin Allfather of the Nine Realms. On the day of the coronation of Thor Odinson, the Jotuns broke into the Weapons Vault and nearly made off with the weapon of deadly might that had long been locked away from them. In response to this violation of the truce, the Allfather took his son Thor to Jotunheim to bring inquiry before Laufey. But they never reached the ruins of his palace, for they were set upon by Jotuns minutes after setting foot on Jotunheim, barely escaping with their lives. Hewn with deathly injuries, the Allfather lay for days immobile and unresponsive and slowly healing in body, but it remained doubtful that he would ever truly awaken.” Here Loki stopped for so long that Thor thought perhaps he was finished. But with visible effort, Loki forced the next words forward. “Loki…of Asgard…sat with him through the days…unable to eat or sleep, so…so wracked with guilt that he…” Loki stopped again. Thor stared at him. What? Guilt? Why? What madness was this? Loki’s voice dropped to the lowest of whispers to that Thor had to strain to hear him. “For it was he, through a doubt that his brother was truly ready for the throne, and a jealous feeling of neglect, who showed the Jotuns a way into the Vault that was hidden from Heimdall.”
Thor bolted to his feet, knocking his chair to the ground. He stood there, staring. Loki’s shoulders tightened, but he didn’t look up, and he didn’t stop speaking.
“But it was worse even than this, because he intended through an evil desire for selfish, jealous satisfaction, to drive Thor to do something so foolish that the Allfather would deny him the throne altogether—at least for a long time—or perhaps for…in truth, Loki didn’t even know.” Loki stopped again. Thor opened his mouth, closed it, couldn’t speak through the horror and betrayal rising in his throat. “But then, at last, healed of his injuries and exhaustion, Odin awoke.” Loki’s hands reached through the golden haze and grabbed Odin’s left arm, drawing it towards him. “And Loki confessed everything, including everything from faults and guilt to baseless feelings of hatred and loneliness. And Odin and Thor forgave him.” Loki’s fingers, white and thin, gripped Odin’s hand so hard that his forearms shook. “What Loki had started resolved in peace and Thor became one of the best kings in history, leading the Aesir into renewed prosperity. And the Allfather grew once more in strength and wisdom… and…lived…” Loki’s body convulsed and he collapsed against the bed, still gripping Odin’s hand, trembling as he began to weep.
Thor stood there, mouth dry, listening to his brother weep. He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t fathom that Loki was capable of true, intentional harm—no, he didn’t believe Loki was incapable, only that he…wouldn’t do such a thing…wouldn’t endanger him, and Father, and all of Asgard.
Feelings of hatred and loneliness?
Loki, what has happened to us?
Thor righted his chair and sank back down into it. After a moment, he reached forward and touched Loki’s shaking shoulder. Loki seized up at the contact, but Thor kept his hand there, and then leaned closer, whispering, “And he lived for many years afterwards, together with his family.”
So it went. And when the Allfather awoke many days later, the walls were broken.
--
Sometimes, at the end of a long day, full of Thor’s leadership and Loki’s council and the Allfather’s backseat wisdom, in the Great Hall in front of a fire, Loki tells Thor stories.