Work Text:
i.
The last time the realm had held such a celebration, Frigga had not long ago arrived in Asgard as a new Queen and wife. The sheen and colours that seemed to shine off every lord and lady, even the food, had all been disorienting, almost dizzying. Vanaheim could hold its fair share of flashy celebrations, but it had been nothing compared to Asgard. Odin had thought her agitation an overreaction, though tried to reassure her that it was natural for the crowd to be a bit over-festive, since celebration of Förenajól only occurred once every few thousand years.
From her studies, she knew that on that day of Förenajól, in Asgard’s cities neighbours would set up tables in streets as they swapped dishes; villages would come together to share their gatherings from the harvest and the hunt; and in Asgard’s high palace the lords and ladies from the farthest reaches of Asgard, from its reclusive mountain lords to its mysterious ladies on the moon colonies, would gather in Odin’s banquet hall. Each would come bearing a traditional dish from their lands, enough to feed the whole hall. The feast had something to do with Buri’s unification of Asgard under one king. The sharing of food, each unique to its lands, celebrated the coming together of Asgard’s people into one, each different but all of one realm.
Knowing about it had not helped her feel like any less of an outsider back then. Even worse, she and Odin had sat all alone at the high table, looking out over the revellers. But no more one of them than a Queen could be a peasant, or a Vanir could be an Æsir.
Now, after a few thousand years as Asgard’s Queen, she felt she would have to revise her belief that a Vanir could become Æsir, for the glamour and colour of the Förenajól barely gave her pause. And she was no longer so alone at the table, not with her little Thor next to Odin, propped up on a high chair so that he might see over table, and see the crowd before him. And not with her newest baby in her arms, swaddled in a blanket and blinking sleepily up at her, evidently too tired to be disturbed by the noise around him.
Though both Loki and Thor would be put to bed soon enough; Loki first, then Thor, once he had worn off his toddler’s boundless energy. Even now, Thor was nearly bouncing in his seat, playing with his forks and knives whenever Odin wasn’t looking, as he waited for the feast to begin. Gná, one of Frigga’s two handmaidens standing behind the table to help her look after her sons, occasionally tried to calm Thor down, but mostly let the toddler have his fun.
Besides, it wasn’t like Thor had been left completely unoccupied as they waited for the feast to begin. So far, half the nobles in the room had come up to congratulate Frigga and Odin on the birth of a new babe at the end of such a long and hard war, and praised them on what a strong young man their first-born was growing up to be. Thor always preened under the compliments. Loki sometimes gurgled or flexed his little fingers, but for the most part ignored the well-wishers in favour of snuggling into his blanket. Odin and Frigga thanked every lord and lady solemnly, before moving on to the next noble.
(And each time they mentioned Loki’s birth, Frigga tried not think, Yes, but not from my womb.)
(Because it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. The squirming babe in her arms was her son, just as much as Thor was. Her blood or another’s, Loki was still hers.)
At last, once Odin must have judged enough time passed, he stood. It only took a few seconds before the whole hall was brought to a hush as Odin’s one eye roved over the gathered. After a moment, Odin gestured and pronounced, his voice ringing throughout the hall, “Let the feast begin.”
And so it did, but not as most of Asgard’s feasts proceeded. Servants came out of the doors at the sides of the room just below the high table, three carrying the same dish. Each came to the high table first, lining up three abreast in front of Odin, Frigga, and Thor. It was customary for the royal family to sample each dish the nobles had prepared before the rest of the nobles could feast upon it. The first servants brought what looked like roasted boar, probably from Lord Tyr’s holdings, setting their platters down in front of Odin, then Thor and Frigga.
Thor eyed the dish greedily, but he still waited for Odin to start carving a slice before reaching his own knife and fork across the table to stab awkwardly at the hunk of meat. Gná quickly stepped forward to help him carve off a slice, just as Frigga’s other handmaiden, Fulla, came forward to take Loki from her arms so that she could take a morsel for herself. Both Frigga and Thor watched as Odin raised a bite to his mouth before doing the same.
The instant the boar passed their lips, doors around the hall opened and servants flooded out into the hall, each carrying roast boar to every table, now that the dish had passed the royal family’s test.
And so it went, dish after dish served up to the high table before being carried out to the rest of room. There was the stew that glittered all the colours of the rainbow bridge, probably from one of the moon colonies – Lord Máni did so like to show off. There was – predictably – apple tarts from Idunn, smoked reindeer from Óðr, puffin and quail from Dagr. There was the smoked moosehead from Snotra, and Frigga almost had to laugh at the face Thor made at it. He ate just the tiniest sliver, as Frigga told him was acceptable, not that Frigga could blame him.
Throughout the feast, she asked servants to give her more of the food she found to her tastes, which her plate would keep warm as she tasted the rest. But for the foods that smelled not quite as appatizing…well, she learned this trick during her first Förenajól. In those earlier years, halfway through the feast she had realzied she would be too full to stomach the rest if she continued at the same rate, especially when some of the dishes had put her off her appetite. She had began using a glamour to pretent to take a bite of each, while truly only sampling the dishes that smelt the most appealing; the other bits, she vanished away to serve to the dogs later.
Which is why she refrained from scolding Thor when he only feigned taking a bite of Njord’s squid, instread dropping the piece not-so-subtly to the ground. Hopefully, with all the servants in the way, Njord hadn’t caught Thor’s snub; when Thor was older, Frigga decided, would have to teach him the trick herself.
They were perhaps two thirds of the way through when Frigga heard Loki make snuffling, complaining noises in Fulla’s arms. Frigga turned and gestured for Fulla to hand Loki over – if she couldn’t get him back to sleep, she would have to send Fulla to take him to his nursemaid, despite there still being lords and ladies in the hall that had yet to greet their newest prince.
After Fulla handed Loki over, the handmaiden proceeded to slice off the newest dish in front of her – a rather queer-smelling meat that Frigga thought she might skip. Frigga carefully rocked Loki in one of her arms as she returned her attention to her plate. With her free hand she grabbed her fork, readying the illusion of her placing the meat on its prongs, when Odin’s hand suddenly clamped around her’s.
“Don’t,” he growled.
Frigga almost dropped her fork in shock. “Odin, what–” she said, turning to stare at him, as at the same time Thor asked, “Father, why can't–”
“No,” Odin said sharply, though he released her hand. He did not look angry, as she expected, but instead his eye was staring off into the distance, his other hand half-raised to his face. “No, this smell, I – I remember it.”
Frigga frowned, glancing at the meat. It was pale white, almost light blue, and looked large enough to be from an ox, but apart from the smell nothing seemed strange about it. Was it poison, perhaps, that her husband had caught? Or was something else wrong? Slowly, she asked, “Have you not had it before, Odin? Last time, at the feast?”
“No, it wasn’t here,” Odin hissed. He looked at her, and Frigga saw something in his eye then, something she thought was fear (yet what could he possibly be afraid of? Poison? Or was she wrong about the fear?).
“It wasn’t here,” Odin said again, “it was–”
He stopped. He glanced down at Loki, and Frigga’s breath caught, as there was no mistaking the horror reflected in his eye. She could not remember the last time she had seen that expression on Odin’s face.
Then Odin stood.
“Who brings this dish to my table?”
Everyone stopped at the sound of Odin’s voice. All eyes turned to him. All servants but those three carrying the strange meat dispersed to the sides of the hall, waiting.
When no one moved, Odin repeated, “Who brings this dish to the King’s table?”
His voice echoes with power, and underneath it, anger, Frigga thought.
Or fear.
Loki started to squirm in her arms, probably distressed by Odin’s booming voice. She rocked Loki slowly, dread blossoming in her own heart. She hadn’t even seen her husband frightened when he went off to war. What could do this to him now?
Odin scanned the crowd, and seemed about to make his pronouncement again, when a man stood up from a table a quarter-way down the hall, on her side.
“I believe it is mine, Allfather. Is there something amiss with it?” the man said, a hint of nervousness in his tone. Frigga didn’t recognize him offhand – he was probably one of the mountain lords, the ones who lived on the opposite end of Asgard from the palace, rarely traversing the prodigious distance except for occasions such as today.
“What do you call this dish, Lord Ullr?” Odin stared down the man – Ullr – and his voice held the edge of threat.
Lord Ullr gulped nervously and quickly approached the high table before kneeling. “We call it risikjøtt, Allfather,” he said, then raised himself from his knee. This time, confusion mixed with the concern on his face. “The same it was called when I had my steward write it down and add to your list.”
The list of food for the Förenajól was gathered from all the nobles who decided to attend, as well as how many cooks and servants would be sent to help prepare it. Odin would have looked it over before sending it to one of his head cooks and the kitchen overseers. Which meant Odin would have seen whatever it was Lord Ullr had brought.
But Odin did not waver, although Frigga thought she caught his face grow paler. “Is that what you call it, Lord Ullr?” he said. “Because I would name it differently.”
Odin’s hands, clenched on the edge of the table just out of sight, were shaking. In her arms, Loki was wriggling, hands flailing out of his cocoon of blankets; as she adjusted her hold on him, Thor’s head poked out from behind Odin’s back. “Mama?” he whispered questioningly, his little face screwed up in bewilderment.
“Hush,” Frigga said quietly, no more aware of the reason for Odin’s growing tension than her son, as at the same time Lord Ullr asked, “Allfather?” His was face drawn in a bewilderment similar to Thor’s.
Odin’s face darkened. “Why is it that when this meat was brought before me, the scent I caught was not one I had remembered from the table, but one had I known on the battlefield?” His voice almost thundered through the hall, fury shot through every word. “Why,” he said, leaning forward, “have you offered me and your realm the flesh of frost giantsto eat?”
Frigga was sure the room must have erupted into shocked gasps, or protests. Lords must have sprung from their seats, and ladies must have shrieked, there must have a clamour of rage, and shouts of outrage loud enough to deafen her.
Because she heard nothing but a faint whine in her ears. She saw the sheen of colour and the glimmer of gold in front of her eyes, but she could make no sense of it.
Her world had narrowed down to her, and her babe laying next to her breasts.
To the frost giant in her arms.
To her baby, her Jotun in an Æsir disguise, with his little feet kicking at his blankets as he made small noises of displeasure.
The smell came back first. The smell of the meat – no, not meat, but burnt Jotun flesh – filled her nostrils, the air around her, almost as if she were suffocating on it.
She opened her mouth in a gasp to avoid the smell but she could still taste it in the air. As she took in a sharp, shallow breath, the room swam back into view. The whine in in her ears disappeared.
Odin was still staring at Ullr as the man quavered under his eye, his confusion still written upon his brow. Silence filled the hall. All eyes remained on the high table, as if everyone were holding their breaths, waiting. Only a few seconds must have passed since Odin had spoken.
Ullr was the first to break that silence.
“Allfather, I – I do not understand,” he protested. “Roasted risikjøtt – frost giant – has long been a delicacy in our parts. It has been brought before to the Förenajól – to both your and your father’s table!”
Before, Frigga’s mind echoed dimly. Brought to this feast before.
Her gorge rose in her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to force her nausea down.
Had it been brought last time she sat here, a new and confused Queen? Had she swallowed the cursed flesh?
Or had she skipped it as she planned to do today? Had its scent been too queer for her?
(But Odin must have eaten it. If it had been brought before, to him and Bor, then each time he would have eaten it.)
Slowly, her head twisted away from Ullr to look up at her husband. Ullr was still speaking – something about how this was highly irregular for the celebration – but her eyes were only for her husband. His lips were thinned, his face paled from its earlier ruddy anger. He did not look around at her once, not at her or Loki. If he knew what he had done, if he understood the implications of Ullr’s protests, he did not show it.
“Aye!” A man suddenly shouted from the crowd, and Frigga realized Ullr had stopped speaking. Her head snapped around to look out at the crowd, and she saw the man was seated close to Ullr’s empty chair. “We’ve never had a quarrel with the fare before,” he called from his seat, “and King Bor certainly never made any complaints.”
Some voice chimed in agreement, banging their tankards against the table. But a woman at the opposite end of the hall stood up, and even from the high table Frigga could tell she was shaking. “And what if we do not want this – this abomination at our tables?” she spat.
More people shouted in support, then others rose up again them, until the hall was filled with voices yelling at each other across the hall or at their neighbours.
“Mama!” Frigga heard, and she turned to see Thor staring at her from around Odin again, his blue eyes wide, scared, and uncomprehending. “Mama, what do they mean fwost giants?”
Frigga removed her hand from her mouth, then winced as the wretched smell still wafting from the platters of pale, burnt, flesh seemed to double in strength. “Thor, I think you should–” she tried to say over the noise just as Loki’s mewls turned into thin cries. His fists beat against the air, and though Frigga wished to keep her nose covered, she put both hands under Loki so she could sway him more gently. To Thor, she tried to say again, “Thor, go with–”
“Quiet!” Odin roared.
The tables fell mute once again. Loki’s cries were the only sound to pierce the silence, and Odin ignored them as he shouted, “This is not King Bor’s rule! We just finished a war with Jotunheim, and now you wish us to eat their dead?” Turning on Ullr, his eye blazing, he said, “Where did you get these bodies – were they from those slain? The treaty allowed them to gather and take care of their dead, and assured that so long as they remained on Jotunheim they would remain unharmed, not served at feasts!”
“Allfather, how could you believe we would ever be so barbaric?” Ullr had the gall to look offended. “No risikjøtt was ever a warrior first – they were more like the frost giants’ equivalent of peasants, legally sold to us. Sometimes they even sell themselves, with the money given to their kin. And now that you have set your treaty in place, risikjøtt will become exceedingly rare – we’ll be lucky to be sold any that isn’t over three thousand years old!”
(The younger they are, the sweeter the meat, Frigga remembered her hunting master telling her and her sister after she had stumbled upon a burrow of rabbit, the little kits still suckling at their mother’s teats. The hunting master had congratulated her, though she had been trying to hunt down a pheasant when she all but tripped into the nest. You want to catch them before they’re weaned – it makes the flesh more tender.)
She clutched Loki closer to her breast as she rocked him back and forth, trying to sooth his cries that only grew louder. His face became red and blotchy, and the thought crossed her mind that she didn’t know whether his face – his real face – would become purple or a deeper blue as blood flooded his cheeks, or if she would even notice at all.
(She and her sister had feasted on kit stew that night she found the burrow. Her hunting master had been right about the meat. It was the sweetest she had ever tasted.)
“We would never be as savage as the Jotnar – they would eat any living thing from the Nine, if they had the chance.” Ullr insisted over Loki’s cries, and behind him, several lords and ladies shouted their assent. Bolstered, Ullr continued, “Surely, my King, you have heard the stories from the war, where the Jotnar feasted upon the humans in the villages they captured, eating them alive – or that any of our warriors should hope they died before the Jotnar laid their claws on them, or else might be served up before Laufey himself!”
Other began yelling again, and Odin swelled up in fury. But before he could make any reply Thor burst into tears.
“I don’t wanna eat them,” Thor wailed, and Loki’s own shrieks rose to meet his brother’s.
“Thor–” Odin said, putting his hand on Thor’s shoulder as Frigga stood from her chair. Thor didn’t let his father finish before before his burrowed face in his father’s side and screamed, “Papa, I don’t wan’ them to eat me either.”
Frigga came around around chair and took one of her hands from Loki to smooth back Thor’s hair. “Nothing is going to harm you, Thor,” she soothed, barely catching herself before said, the Jotnar will not harm you; it was something she had said often enough during the war, though Thor barely understood there was a war going on, only that his father was gone and people were scared.
But she couldn’t say the words now. Not with the babe weighing down her arm.
(Of the eight sentient beings to inhabit the realms, only the adult Jotnar and Eldjotnar have teeth consisting solely of incisors, one her tutors had taught her, the books in front of her and the illusions her tutor conjured showing beastly, hulking head with razor-sharp fangs crowding their mouths. Like the beasts of plains, or the wolves of the forest, they are predators, first and foremost.)
(Loki still had yet to even start teething)
Holding Loki to her breast, still stroking Thor’s hair, she continued, “And you don’t have to eat anything if you don’t have to.”
Thor, who only stopped wailing long enough to breathe, switched from clutching at Odin’s side to clutching at her’s. As Thor sobbed into her dress and Loki shrieked for the whole hall to hear, she looked sharply up at Ullr. “Can you not see, Lord Ullr, that your words are upsetting the princes?” she snapped.
She knew why Thor cried, but what of Loki? Was it because of his father’s shouting, or because he was hungry, or because he was tired, because of the thousand other things that caused an ordinary babe to wail?
Or was the platters of meat still in front of her, their queer smell suffusing the air?
Had Loki smelt burning corpses on Jotunheim? As he had lain in that temple, abandoned for Norns knew how long, had he smelt the flesh of his people burning, their blood spilling on the snow?
Or could Loki smell something that she could not? Something that was beyond her senses, but not a Jotun’s?
“My Queen,” Ullr said, looking more annoyed than remorseful, “I apologize for your sons’ distress, but–”
Frigga ignored him and signalled for her handmaidens. “Gná, Fulla. Take the princes to their nursemaids and assure they go to bed.”
Both handmaidens nodded, and as Frigga handed Loki over to Fulla with his little fists and feet flailing and his shrieks carrying across the room, Gná tugged on Thor’s hand. Luckily, he let himself be drawn off his chair and led away from Frigga. They swept down the steps from the high table, Thor still bawling but Loki’s cries easing as he was carried further from the table.
Odin watched them go, then turned to Ullr with a hint of smug smile and said, “As you can see, Lord Ullr, even my sons have better taste than you.”
“I agree,” Frigga said coldly. “This dish is quite unpleasant, and I wish it removed at once.”
She looked at the servants, then at Odin. He gave the nod.
“But–” Ullr tried to protest as the servants at last took the pale flesh away, though the smell insisted on lingering. “But my King, never, in Asgard’s whole history, has a king–”
“And you think,” Odin said over Ullr, his eye narrowed, “serving this to me is any better than what happens at Laufey’s table?”
Ullr was shaking now, in anger now rather than nervousness. “Allfather, as I said, it iscustomary, and has been for several thousand years.”
“Then it will be custom no longer!” Odin shouted, his rage cowing Ullr. “This has been an insult to me, my family, and all of Asgard. When the feast is over, all the Jotnar you desecrated here will be given proper funerals, as is their right. You will empty your stores of any Jotnar bodies, and have them delivered here to be given the same funerals, as will anyone here.”
On those last words, he glared out at the hall, and Frigga added her stony gaze to his. If anyone other than Ullr had the same tastes, they did not stand up.
(Frigga prayed to the Norns there were no more than him.)
Still staring out at the room, Odin growled, “This was a being from one of the Nine, not a goat to be slaughtered. We are not savages, to feast on our enemies. Not on any table in Asgard, and especially not on mine.” His eye settled back on Ullr. “This will not be the example we will set to the other realms.”
Ullr had finally stopped gaping at Odin, though his words were still tinged with disbelief as he said, “So you would deny my food from your table.”
“Aye,” Odin said with relish, which Frigga wished she could echo, but it was Odin’s place to disciple the nobles, not her’s. “And I will deny you so long as you still call this ’food’.”
Lord Ullr looked about as furious as Odin, but as he drew himself up, he stayed silent. He turned on his heel, and walked down the dais and towards the doors. As he passed the tables, two others stood up; one was the man who had first defended Ullr, the other a woman who Frigga guessed was another from the mountain lands. Both swept out of the hall behind Ullr, without one look back.
When the doors closed on the three figures, Odin finally sat.
“The feast may resume,” he said.
It did, slowly. More servants came forward with dishes, and the clatter of cutlery and murmur of conversation started up again.
But as Frigga served herself again and again, she found she had lost her appetite. Even the food that did not repulse her had no taste.
And the smell of burnt Jotun flesh would not go away.
(If Loki’s skin burnt, would it smell the same?)
“Odin,” Frigga said in between servants, when enough attention had been diverted from the high table. “Odin, Loki…”
She trialed off, unsure of what she had planned to say. Of what she needed to say.
Frost Giant has long been a delicacy in our parts–
Jotnar feasted upon the humans in the villages they captured, eating them alive–
The younger they are, the sweeter the meat–
Papa, I don’t want them to eat me either–
Odin took her hand under the table and squeezed. “He’ll be fine.” He looked at her, and in his eye she saw an exhaustion she hadn’t seen since the war. “He never has to know.”
Frigga nodded. She speared a bit of vegetable on her fork as servants cleared away Thor’s unfinished platter.
The smell of roasted frost giant flesh lingered on.
ii.
“And of course, we have seats of honour prepared,” the stiff, white-haired servant told Loki as he lead him up the twisted, stone-hewn staircase. “It is not so often that Asgard’s princes and their friends grace my lordship’s land with their presences.”
Loki smothered a yawn before he replied, “We are pleased your lordship welcomed us for the night, despite the lack of warning.” Though it wasn’t as if anyone on Asgard could truly refuse the princes, no matter how meagre their food stores or how poor their dwellings.
Luckily, this lord hadn’t been disheartened to find two sopping wet princes and their four equally-drenched companions knocking on his doors. In fact, he had rather too delighted, in Loki’s opinion. Once the lord had been fetched by a servant, the man had only stopped talking long enough for introductions before going on the most long-winded speech Loki had heard – and Loki had sat in on Father’s court. Apparently the lord’s name was Ullr, and he rarely had visitors to his humble home as it was so far from the palace and so sheltered by the mountains, but he was incredibly honourned to host the young princes, and did they know that he hadn’t seen them this close since they were barely more than babes, though of course he had gone to Prince Thor’s coming-of-age ceremony, which was quite the event if he did say so himself…
Loki had started nodding off on his feet around that point. He had discreetly propped his head against Volstagg’s fatty shoulder, though from the sounds of his heavy snuffling, Volstagg too seemed well on his way to slumber. Of course, once Loki had begun peacefully drifting, he had been rather rudely awoken by Hogun loudly and pointedly clearing his throat; the noise also violently woke Volstagg, who almost knocked Loki to the ground when he jumped attention.
Fortunately, Lord Ullr broke from his prattling to look questioningly at Hogun, and as Volstagg apologetically righted Loki, Thor seized the chance to ask for rooms so that they might retire (in Loki’s opinion, that had been one of the smartest thing Thor had done all week). When at last Ullr called for a servant to show them to their quarters, Loki had hoped to strip out of of his wet clothes before crawling into bed, but Ullr insisted on giving them a proper feast first.
Loki desperately wished Ullr wasn’t the type to linger long after his meal, or else Loki might end up falling asleep on his plate. Somehow, Loki doubted his wishes would be answered.
But if Ullr was offering him a soft, warm and most of all dry bed, Loki would endure the lord’s chatter until his ears fell off. For the past week, since they left Asgard, they had travelled in a rain that went from light drizzle to pouring with no warning at all, and once they’d started journeying through the mountain passes, more often than not they’d had to lead their horses instead of ride them through the wet, rocky passes.
When the six of them left Asgard to hunt a nest of drakes that had hatched on the far of Asgard’s mountains, the morning had been bright and sunny. Yet soon enough, the skies grew overcast and rain began to pour. It had put a damper on the mood, until Thor had hoisted Mjolnir, the great warhammer that Father had given him when he had come of age about a decade ago. Thor had been enchanted with the hammer ever since Father had gifted it, practising with it day and night, but rarely had Loki seen it used for its other purpose, beyond the storms that sometimes came crashing down on palace when Thor was having a tantrums. That day, though, Thor had decided on more practical use of the hammer’s ability.
Despite himself, Loki had been entirely enthralled when his brother raised Mjolnir to the sky; he could feel the power in the air, taste the seiðr on his tongue like he could taste the droplets of rain. It was emanating not only from Mjolnir but from Thor as well as he directed his will through the hammer, a power that was as primal as the land they walked. And as Loki watched and felt, the clouds had shrunk, breaking apart and drifting away in a matter of seconds, like watching thundercloud build up but in reverse. Then all that remained in the sky the bright sun, shining down on them; the birds once again began to sing, their chirps erupting from the trees, matched loud squawks from larger birds.
Thor had laughed and said a drizzle was no match for the Mighty Thor and Mjolnir. Even Loki couldn’t begrudge him a small compliment, as much as he was sure it would only puff up Thor’s head until he was danger in floating off with the clouds. And sure enough, Thor had soaked up their praises like the cloaks had soaked up the rain.
Until the rain returned a few hours later.
Thor had banished it again, growling under his breath as he raised Mjolnir to the sky. A few hours later it started again, the rain coming down much harder than before. Thor tried again, and again the rain defied him, streaming down in sheets that had drenched through their cloaks in a matter of minutes.
Around evening, the rain returned thick enough that it felt as if they were standing underneath a waterfall, and their horses were distressed and trembling. But Thor didn’t take the hint.
“Thor, no,” Sif groaned as Thor took Mjolnir from his belt again. “It’ll just come back again.”
“No, it won’t,” Thor growled, that stubborn look on his face that Loki had seen far too many times.
“We’re all going to drown,” Fandral moaned, desperately trying to rain from ruining his carefully coiffed hair, though it wasn’t as if anyone were likely to see it in this gloom.
Drawing his horse up to Thor’s side, Loki put his hand on Thor’s wrist before he could raise Mjolnir any higher. When Thor stopped, Loki said over the rain, “It’s only backlash, brother.” At least, he guessed it was – he would have to more reading when he returned to the palace. “Nature probably needs to run it’s course first.”
Thor scowled, but finally, he nodded and lowered Mjolnir, albeit reluctantly. And soon enough, the rain thinned from a deluge to a just downpour. Still, when they made camp under a pair of windswept, dripping trees, Thor sat under edge of the hide they had stretched between branches. He placed Mjolnir before him and stared at the hammer mournfully, barely lifting a finger to help set up camp. So as Volstagg tried to start a fire and roast a hare that Sif had managed to scrounge up, Loki took a seat beside Thor – though he laid down his cloak first, so he wouldn't get mud on his trousers. Staring at Thor, just loud enough to be heard by his brother but not the others, Loki said, “You just need practice, is all. The hammer is certainly strong enough.”
Thor snapped his head around to glare at Loki, looking away from the hammer since the first time they had set camp. “But you don’t think I am?” Thor asked, heat in his voice. But there was a despondent look in his eyes that even his anger couldn’t banish.
Loki raised a eyebrow. “How long did it take you learn how to summon Mjolnir without smacking yourself in the face on the recoil? Or your chest? Or someone else?”
Thor scowled, but even in the gloom Loki thought he could see a smile. “I suppose…that’s true enough. But I didn’t hit myself that often.”
Loki scoffed. “Even if you weren’t a poor liar, I saw enough of those bruises to judge for myself. Luckily, rain leaves a few less injures.”
Thor began to smile, like a sun coming out behind clouds. “No, it tends to drowns us.”
With that, Thor was coaxed to reattach Mjolnir to his belt and move closer to the centre of the hide, where it was slightly less muddy. And though Loki had been trying to cheer Thor up, the sentiment was no less true; the hammer was more than strong – it was magnificent, and he didn’t need seiðr to see it. In time, Loki was sure Thor would be as good as banishing the rain as he was with bashing in skulls.
Idly, Loki wondered what Father would give to him when he came of age. It was almost a century away now, and if Father had given to Thor Mjolnir, one of the greatest prizes of Father’s vault, then there had to be something equally magnificent that he had in mind for Loki. Or at least something nearly as magnificent, and not built just for hitting things. Maybe something else from the vaults–
“Here we are, my Prince,” Loki heard the servant say, dragging him from his thoughts. He blinked, and saw that he had in fact arrived before the banquet hall, a stone-worked room with high ceilings, despite its small length. There were windows and torches placed every few metres, and the sound of the wind and rain clattering against the windows were at odds with the warmth of the room. Stretching its length was a wooden table with enough to hold twenty, though only seven places were set. Six of which were currently filled.
“Loki!” Thor greeted when he saw him, a wide grin stretched across his face. “I almost thought you had gotten lost on the way here!” He sat in the chair meant for the guest of honour, which was to the right of Ullr at the head of the table. On Thor’s other side was Sif and Volstagg, and opposite them were Fandral and Hogun. Which left the seat to Ullr’s left – for the second, less-honourable guest of honour – to slide into.
“I apologize,” Loki said as he took his seat, barely noticing as the servant slipped away. “The bath was so warm I mistook it for a bed.” That drew a few chuckles, though it wasn’t much of an exaggeration. After Loki had scrubbed the mud that caked on no matter how many cleaning spells he tried on the road, the warm water seemed to leach away all the aches and pain from the week. He had settled his head against the side of the tub for what he had thought would just be a moment, and had only woken when the servant had sharply rapped at his door, asking, “Is my Prince ready for the feast?” Still, when Loki emerged several minutes after his shout of, “In a moment”, the servant hadn’t been the slightest bit ruffled .
Luckily, no one except perhaps Volstagg and his rumbling stomach looked annoyed at his tardiness. Lord Ullr even plastered a smile across his face as he said, “I am glad you are enjoying my accommodations. Now, that we are all settled, it’s time for us to begin.”
He clapped his hands, and servants began setting platters down on the table. As soon as Loki caught a whiff of the food – roast venison, stews, fresh fruits, and so much more – his mouth watered and realized he really was hungry.
He began piling onto his plate whatever was in reach, then dug in. He was right that Ullr did talk throughout the meal, but at least the only replies he needed were a few nods of the head here or a grunt there. Most of the chatter was directed at Thor anyway, leaving Loki to eat in peace and Thor to distractedly answer questions in between mouthfuls.
Midway through the course, Ullr abruptly stopped talking, and Loki glanced to the side to a servant came by and whispered in Ullr. The lord nodded and then stood.
“My noble guests,” he announced, smile wide enough that it looked as if hurt his face, “in honour of your arrival, I had the cooks prepare something suited to this special occasion.”
He gestured to the door, and two servants walked through, carrying a large gold platter with a lid hiding whatever was nestled underneath.
“This cut was very expensive,” Ullr continued, “though luckily I managed to acquire it at a cheaper price than most. You’d be lucky to find any these days, after the war. It’s a delicacy which has not been tasted within the walls of Asgard’s palace for hundreds of years!”
He gestured again, and the servants lifted off the lid.
It crashed over Loki like a wave. At first, he couldn’t even tell what was choking him, why it felt like a pillow had been pressed over his face as if someone was trying to smother him. Then he breathed in.
The smell. His throat burned with it, and nausea twisted his stomach as something prickled along the back of his spine, something that sent his head spinning. The smell of burnt skin and fire and–
But that made no sense; it was only cooked meat, nothing more.
Coughing, he covered his nose with his hand as if that would make any difference. Behind him, the windows jumped and banged as the wind and rain battered against them “By the Nine, what is that?” he asked, voice muffled behind his fingers, before breathing in. He abruptly realized his mistake when he began coughing again.
Ullr just chuckled and said, “I apologize, I should have warned you the smell can be something that needs acquiring.”
“No need for apologies,” Fandral said amicably, though Loki thought he looked as if he was trying very hard not to breathe in as well. “Our prince here simply has a rather delicate sense of smell. Anything less sweet than a rose makes his nose wrinkle like a maiden’s.”
Loki stepped on his foot, driving his heel into the toes of Fandral’s boot, and was glad to see Fandral wince. Loki would have to think of better payback later, when he wasn’t attempting to breathe without actually taking in any air. He wasn’t fond of Fandral’s or the other’s mocking at the best of times – though they only called it teasing – and certainly not in front of one of Father’s lords.
But Sif said, “No, I admit, I find the smell…odd.” She frowned down at platter of meat as if it was a particularly vexing puzzle – and of course to Fandral she neither counted as a maiden, or a target of mockery, or else he would end up with a sword at his throat. Looking back up at Ullr, she asked, “What beast is this meat from, exactly?”
“Aye,” Thor chimed in, looking vaguely offended, though he had a frown similar to Sif’s as the servant cut slices off the haunch. “What beast could be so rare that the palace hasn’t prepared it in so long it, yet you have, Lord Ullr?”
Ullr chuckled, his over-wide smile growing wider still. “It is truly a rare find, as you say, Prince Thor. It comes from a very rare beast on Jotunheim. Ever since the war, no one has been able to bring one over, but I’ve had this cut for a while. But do not worry, it keeps very well when frozen.”
“From Jotunheim?” Hogun asked suspiciously, cocking his head.
From Jotunheim, Loki thought. That would explain it – he doubted anything that came from that realm, even the animals, would be anything but terrible on the senses. But why did it smell like fire, why was his head was spinning and something like fear crawling down his spine–
(It was wrong, something was wrong, and–)
“No wonder it smells,” Thor snorted. “I can’t imagine Jotunhiem’s beasts are much better than their keepers.”
Even Volstagg was looking at it dubiously. “Are you sure it is safe to eat? Jotnar will eat anything they can get their claws on, but that doesn’t mean we can.”
Loki heard Fandral whispered to Hogun, “It seems we’ve found something that even the voluminous Volstagg quails at eating.” Hogun grunted in return, though if it was just a grunt of acknowledgement or something more, Loki did not look to see.
“Of course it’s safe – I’ve feasted on many times before,” Ullr said, no less put out by their reaction. Loki thought his smile was now vaguely forced, but it was hard to tell with his head spinning, with the burning sending tears to his eyes. “I promise, it is much better to taste. Now, my Princes–” Ullr spread out his arms to Thor and Loki, seemingly oblivious to Loki’s choking sounds. “As my guests of honour, shall we take the first cut?”
He gestured to a servant to start cutting slices off from the haunch, laying pieces first on Thor’s and Loki’s plates, then Ullr’s. Loki couldn’t help recoiling when the meat slapped down on his plate, and he felt his gore rise and the fear claw at him. He wanted to run, to get away because something was wrong–
What was the spell to stop filter out scents – after the time Father had made him and Thor clean out the stables for some mischief or other gone awry, he knew he had found one–
Fandral laughed, catching Loki’s flinch. “Loki, the beast this came from is long dead. It’s not going to bite you.”
Loki scowled. Finding the spell, he quickly fixed it in place over his nose and mouth, then removed his hand.
“Well, perhaps you would like to try it first,” he said as sweetly as the could manage, breathing in fresh, scentless air. He grinned as Fandral blanched.
The fear began to melt away, though the nausea stubbornly remained, and he breathed in clean (not wrong) air, behind him the windows banged and clattered like someone was pounding on them, and Loki almost thought he heard a raven’s quork. But no bird would be foolish enough to be outside in this weather.
Ullr was already cutting into his slice, and popped a piece in his mouth. He made a noise of appreciation that Loki had head often from Volstagg’s mouth. “I miss these delicacies ,” he said, chewing. “It has been far too long.”
Thor was still staring at his slice rather suspiciously, though he began to carve off a chunk – it would be an offence to refuse, they both knew. And if Thor could manage it, then Loki could as well (and who else but the most fainthearted of cowards quailed at a slice of meat?)
One bite, he thought, and that should be enough to appease the lord.
Slowly, Loki cut off a piece and slid it onto his fork. Behind him, the window banged as if a frost giant had come to take back his stolen beast as Loki held his breath shoved the piece of meat into his mouth.
The window burst open, sending rain blowing in cold, wet gusts into the room along with a drenched, cawing raven, just as Loki swallowed.
The raven landed on top of the haunch of meat, and Loki frowned at it, thinking that despite the open window, the room felt uncomfortably warm of all of sudden.
“I think that’s one of Father’s birds,” he heard Thor say distantly, and Ullr seemed to go very pale and very still.
“I, er, believe it is time we departed for our chambers, don’t you think? Past time, perhaps, as you have all had rather tiresome days – Yes, I believe I will call the servants to clean this up…” Ullr’s nervous chatter trailed off as the raven – Huginn, Loki thought – flung himself into the air, screeching with a raucous squawking noise Loki only heard from the ravens when Father was in a rage.
Then the room seemed to slow, narrowing down to a point. The world turned upside down as heat and cold flashed through him.
Loki gagged, leaned over, and vomited on Fandral’s lap.
When Ullr fled from the room, Loki barely noticed. Nor did he first pay much attention when Huginn alighted on his shoulder, until the bird began croaking softly and brushed his wings lightly against the side of Loki’s head. Loki couldn’t remember the last time the ravens had favoured either him or Thor with such treatment, but even as his stomach twisted and he felt he might retch again, he thought it felt…soothing. Like how he felt peaceful whenever Mother had smoothed back his hair when he was a child.
Or like how he sometimes it imagined it would feel if Father ever sought to comfort him.
iii.
Thor scrabbled at the rocks, searching for the opening. He knew he had felt the movement of air, the whisper of a breeze, somewhere around here. Sooner or later he would find it, and he preferred it to be sooner.
“Bring the light closer,” he ordered, pressing his fingers along the seams of the rocks.
The white light at his back didn't move.
“I said bring the light closer,” he snapped.
“Well, if you asked nicely...”
Thor's hand went to Mjolnir as he turned, settling on her haft. Glaring past the light, he growled. “Light. Now.”
He couldn't see Loki roll his eyes with the light nearly blinding him, but Thor didn't doubt that was exactly what Loki was doing. After a second, where Loki must have decided whether or not he was truly stubborn enough to pitch himself against Mjolnir, Loki finally deigned to move closer. The rock in his hand, the fifth one so far that Loki had lit up so that they could see in this accursed place, shone on the cave wall. But not close enough to actually see anything – only to cast the rock face deeper in shadows.
Growling, Thor yanked on Loki's wrist, ignoring Loki's squawk of displeasure as he brought Loki's arm to the rock face.
The white glare of the light was strong enough to make Thor's eyes water, but that didn't deter him from leaning over and inspecting every crevice he could find. Thor still couldn't see anything that looked like an opening, though. Maybe it had been farther up the wall...
Thor didn't notice he had loosened his grip until Loki snatched his hand back, taking the light with him. Twisting his head around, Thor was already glowering when Loki spat, “Here, if you want it so much,” and let the rock go. Thor scrambled to catch it, before he realized it wasn't falling but remained floating in the air where Loki had left it.
He shot Loki a look, but Loki just backed away to lean against the cave wall and crossed his arms. At this distance, he stood far away enough that Thor would have to stride over to grab him back, and close enough that the rock threw the harsh light across his face so his pale skin looked paler and the shadows of his face darker.
In this light, Loki almost looked a corpse.
Again.
Thor wrenched his head back towards the rock-face just as he wrenched his thoughts away from that memory. Despite the anger that rose, he couldn't help the pang of loss. Loss for what exactly, he was not sure these days. He found it better not to dwell.
Silence lay between the two of them, the cave's emptiness making it feel that much more vast. Thor didn't bother asking Loki to help, knowing that the gesture would be futile. Loki only helped when he wanted to, as Thor had learned in all the time they'd been down here.
However long that had been.
Down here in the dark, in the endless tunnels of rock, there was no way to tell when day had passed to night and back again. Though from the growling of his stomach and the weakness that was beginning to pervade his limbs, Thor knew it must have been close to week, if not two.
And he couldn't have been stuck with worse company.
Thor had found out scant months ago, when he had stumbled upon Father in the Odinsleep, furs covering him and a golden glow over his unmoving form. And yet another “Odin” had still walked Asgard's halls, Gungnir in hand and not the slightest bit weary. Thor had put it all together then, all the little tics and words that seemed strange to his father, but a perfect fit for Loki.
Somehow, Loki had known when Thor figured it out. He had run before Thor could catch him, and then evaded the warriors Thor had sent to search for him for months, in both the Nine and the realms beyond. And all the while, Father slumbered on, his sleep lengthened by some curse from Loki. And Thor intended Loki to break it, whether Loki was willing or not.
When Thor had eventually had reports of a sighting on some barren world well beyond Yggdrasil, he had decided to come himself, taking along a cadre of Einherjar to ensure Loki would not escape. But it turned out he wasn't the only one hunting Loki.
Thor had found Loki fighting off a swarm of mismatched aliens – Chitauri, Sakaarans, Badoon, and so many more, none of which should pose a match to a god. Yet despite these species' frailty, Loki had barely acknowledged Thor and his retinue when they joined the fray; he preferred to remain spending his efforts fending off the horde with a ferocity Thor might have called desperation, if Thor still believed he knew Loki well enough to judge with any certainty.
Thor wasn't sure which of the aliens' weapons had caused the blast, though he supposed it hardly mattered now. The blast had set off a chain reaction, crumbling the ground beneath their feet and sending alien and Ás alike into the chasm as rocks tumbled after. Thor had had the luck – if Thor could call it that – of being close to Loki when the ground collapsed, and both had ended up relatively clear of the debris. He didn't know if he could say the same of his own warriors.
Apart from Loki, Thor had seen no once since they fell. For all Thor knew, his warriors could have died in the collapse, or still be lost and wandering like them, or maybe they had found their way out and were waiting for him to return. Asgard was waiting for him. And so was Father.
If Thor had to work with Loki now to find his way out, he would.
As much as he sometimes wished to fit Loki with a gag and chains first.
He knew it was a risk allowing Loki his magic, but without it Thor would be stumbling around in the dark. Yet he also knew Loki wouldn't try to run, or try to kill him while his back was turned. At least not now. They both knew that there was the chance Thor would need Mjolnir to break their way out at one point, and Loki, even with his magic unbound, could hardly match Mjolnir's power.
Still, Thor took his precautions where he could. Whenever they slept – or rather whenever Thor decided he to needed to sleep if he wished to keep up his strength – Thor would first place Mjolnir on one of Loki's hands (Loki had stopped protesting after the first time, when Thor placed it on his chest after repeated warnings for Loki to shut up). Then Thor would sleep as far away from Loki and the light as he dared, his back turned from its glare.
He didn't know if Loki slept while he did or chose not to, for Loki was usually awake after Thor lay down and before Thor arose again; the one time he'd caught Loki sleeping was what Thor judged to be yesterday; he'd woken to find Loki curled up awkwardly on his side, face turned towards the rock's white glare with his pinned hand twisted behind him. Behind his eyelids, his eyes had flickered and raced, and when Thor had been about to shake Loki awake, he thought he had heard a moan. At the sound, Thor hadn't been able to hold back a spark of worry, born of a thousand years of brotherhood and not quite smothered by the past few. Yet the moment Thor's fingers touched him, Loki snapped awake, alert and snarling at Thor to keep him hands to himself.
Thor did just as Loki asked, for the most part (excepting Loki's deliberate aggravations). Though if they found their way back to the surface and no impassable obstacle presented itself to be smashed apart...well, Thor still had a pair of shackles that he planned to put to good use. But until then, Thor needed Loki for his light, and Loki needed him for his strength. Thor figured that was the best truce they could hope for.
Although Thor still found it difficult to stay his hands when Loki sighed and said, “You know, brother, it'll probably just be another cave that you find. Like last time. Or it'll turn out to just be your imagination. Like the time before that.”
Thor didn't bother looking around from the wall. “Or it could be a way out,” he said flatly.
There was a delicate snort. “Unlikely, this far down. I don't know why you're bothering now.”
“Maybe because I have a reason to leave,” Thor snapped.
The guilt struck a moment later when he heard the sharp intake of breath, quickly silenced. He could almost see how Loki's face grew blank, shuttering over. Except for his eyes. Loki's eyes would glitter like ice under moonlight, and appear just as cold.
“I suppose that's true enough, King Thor,” Loki said, as softly as a snake's hiss before the bite.
The guilt vanished as quickly as it had come, squashed by the reminder that Thor wouldn't be king if Loki had not struck at Father. Loki had burned those bridges, those reasons to go back, by himself. He'd done it first on Midgard, then again on Asgard when he'd let Thor believe he had died a noble death, when all he'd done was scurry back to Asgard and hide.
Thor braced himself for Loki's anger, ready to strike back with just as much ferocity, but the bite never came. Instead, Thor heard Loki shift away from the rock, then light footsteps against stone. The footsteps didn't stop until they reached the far end of the cavern. From a quick glance around, Thor saw that Loki, his outline barely visible in the light, was leaning against a small outcropping. His head was turned towards the rock face, facing downwards.
For a moment Thor thought he would finally have peace while he searched. Then he heard the steady scratching of fingernails against rock and had to bite back a curse. He briefly wondered if Loki was actually helping or just trying to annoy him, though quickly decided on the latter.
Adjusting the rock's light, Thor went back to searching, trying to ignore both the scratching and the low throb of fury in his chest. A fury that echoed with the loss and pain he had felt since Loki let go. Ever since Loki had seemingly died in his arms.
He still didn't know how Loki managed to survive, but it didn't matter now (he told himself each time he wished to ask that it didn't matter now, that Loki would only lie). All that mattered was finding out how to cure Father. Thor didn't trust Loki to tell the truth if asked, especially if he thought a lie would mean Thor would allow him to go free – depending on exactly how foolish Loki thought Thor really was.
Although Thor couldn't help himself from demanding the cure at least once, to which Loki had answered snidely, “What makes you think the old man didn't just keel over himself?”
Thor had stopped asking after that. If he let his rage loose down here, neither of might make it to the surface.
And it was the surface he should be focused on, not Loki, Thor reprimanded himself as he crouched down, taking the light with him. He looked over every rock, listening for the smallest whisper of wind as Loki's nails went scratch scratch, scratch against the rock. Thor knew if he told Loki to cease, it would only encourage Loki further.
He was standing to peer up at the higher parts of the rock face when the heard the quiet words float over.
“We won't starve, at least.” From the tone, it sounded as if Loki were musing through some difficult problem.
Thor knew he shouldn't take the bait, since Loki was doubtlessly only trying to get a rise out of him, but the ever-present growl hunger in his belly fed his curiosity. “Why?” he coldly. “Did you find a garden while you were off sulking? Or maybe a rat's nest?”
“No. No rats for us, unfortunately.” Strangely enough, Thor thought Loki actually sounded disappointed. It was probably just the echoing effect of the cavern.
Abruptly, the scratching ceased. Just as softly as before, Loki said, “But we could eat each other.”
Thor stopped. He blinked, then frowned, trying to make sense of the words.
Had he misheard? With the way the cave echoed, it was possible. With what Thor thought he had heard Loki say, it seemed more than possible but probable, the only real explanation because otherwise it was too absurd–
Slowly, he turned and looked at the dark outline of Loki's body. “What,” he said.
Loki shrugged, the movement barely visible. “Not all of each other, just bites here and there. It wouldn't even be cannibalism.”
Thor stared at the back of Loki's head. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Distantly, he wondered if this was supposed to be some sort of trick, or – or –
“You're insane,” he choked out at last.
There was a laugh, bitter and quiet. “No, not in this.”
Thor continued to stare. If this was meant as a joke, he was completely lost.
Or maybe Loki had truly lost his mind down here in the dark, quietly, and without Thor's notice.
Loki pushed away from the wall, but he didn't walk straight towards Thor. Instead, his steps took him in a curve around the edge of the light, running a hand along the stone walls whenever they were in reach it.
“Did you know,” Loki began as he walked, “that a few thousand years ago in Alfheim, some of their enclaves willingly ate the flesh of Jotnar? They abolished the practice of course, claiming it a barbarity...I read all about in one of their libraries when I went to study there. You remember those years, right, brother?” Loki head jerked up, eyes flashing in the light before they turned away. “They must have been some of your happier years.”
Thor did remember. He also remembered them being restless, drab years; even when Loki came home to visit it was not the same, with Loki too caught up in telling the rest of his family – well, mostly Mother – what he had learned in his studies to want to go adventuring with Thor, and they usually couldn't spend more than an afternoon together before Loki had to go back.
But Loki had never mentioned learning about this.
Maybe Loki had made it up on the spot, or in the darkness these ideas had seeped into his head.
“All the realms committed barbarous acts in the past, Loki,” Thor said, trying to keep his voice steady, yet couldn't help the uneasiness that bled in.
Loki hummed, but otherwise didn't acknowledge Thor's words. Thor watched, turning his head as Loki reached the midway point of the cave, near the entrance. Hand reaching into empty space, Loki paused and his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. But a second later, he continued on.
“Much later, when perusing some of the Allfather's records–”
Thor ground his teeth together at the implication of the time Loki had spent as Father, but Loki didn't seem to hear or see. Voice calm, Loki said “I found some interesting stories, all kept tucked away. Almost hidden. You have to imagine my surprise when I read that for thousands of years after Alfheim had stopped the practice, Asgard permitted the sale and consumption of Jotnar meat.”
Thor froze. It felt as if ice had crept over his heart, his lungs. He couldn't breathe, could barely think – Loki couldn't mean – No, that would be impossible–
Loki didn't seem to have Thor's trouble. “Of course, Odin banned it a few months after he scrounged me up from Jotunheim. He must have thought it in bad taste, to eat the flesh of a Jotun while his wife held another at her breast. And twice in our childhood, he decided to break up black markets that sold – amongst other valuables and unmentionables – fresh Jotun meat.” His smile was a slash of white in the dark, like the Cheshire Cat in the film Darcy had made Thor watch with her.
Thor finally found his voice, and he said the only thing that made sense – the only thing that could make sense of this, unless Loki had taken leave of his senses entirely. “You're lying,” he bit out, more a hope than anything else.
“Oh no, you can check yourself when we get back.” In the light, Loki's eyes flickered around the cavern. “If we get back.”
Loki continued his walk, but Thor could only stand there, numb. It felt much colder down here than it had a minute earlier, and his body shuddered with it.
(But it wasn't the cold that shook him, was it?)
“Don't feel too bad, though.” Loki was making his way towards Thor, the light finally solidifying him into more than a shadow. “It makes good payback, seeing as Jotnar have been snacking on Æsir since Ymir popped out of the ice. Remember old Hœnir and his stories? The ones about the war, where he and his band of brave warriors would always stumble upon frozen, half-eaten corpses, with bite marks that 'came from no four-legged beasts'? And then there were the ones our nursemaids told us. There was that one who said that if we didn't settle down for bed, the frost giants would come and gobble us up. When I asked why they wouldn't eat her instead, if they were so intent on eating people, she said, 'Because the younger meat tastes better.'”
Thor did remember. He remembered how Loki would shiver and shake, his skin would go pale, his eyes would grow so wide they seemed to take up half his face. Thor remembered how Loki would run and jump in Thor's bed after the nursemaid had disappeared.
Thor remembered that the stories had also frightened him as well, even though he hid it better. But when Loki seemed on the verge of tears and huddled in Thor's bed, Thor pretended to be braver than he felt, and told Loki that no frost giants would take him away while Thor was around.
Finally, Loki came to a stop metres beyond Thor's reach, but close enough for the light to touch his features. They remained as bland as if Loki were discussing the weather when he said, “So it's not unnatural, you see – especially not for one of my kind. Although I do not believe it would not be the most delightful experience for you. Everyone knows Jotnar are only good for one thing, and it's not eating.”
The only thing Jotnar are good for is killing. Thor knew the saying. He couldn't remember if he said it himself or not.
The words still sent pain lancing through him, like a cold-burnished knife thrust into his gut.
Voice strangled, Thor asked, “Do you – do you actually want to eat...to eat an...”
“Ás?” Loki shrugged again, but even in the poor light the motion didn't look entirely smooth. “I'd probably enjoy it. It's what I'm supposed to do, isn't it? It's just what Jotnar do.”
Thor stared, mouth gaping. He could do nothing but. He couldn't tell if Loki actually believed what he was saying, or if this was some cruel way to twist Thor's thoughts – but to what end? Why was Loki saying this?
“Loki, you – you...” Thor struggled to make sense of Loki, of his words, of everything. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“What makes you think you of all people would enjoy it? You wouldn't even eat venison until Mother asked a servant to slip it in with boar's meat. I don't think you've ever once touched fish, and you still won't eat veal.” If Volstagg ate everything on his plate, then Loki would pick through every cut and leaf like a bird, searching for only the best pieces.
“Have you ever thought maybe that's because they aren't meant for the likes of me?” Loki's face remained neutral, but his eyes burned with something strange, and his voice sounded wrong. “Maybe it's because I'm meant to feast on other meats. Not just Æsir, but Vanir too, and humans and Ljósálfr and Dökkálfr and Dwarfs, maybe even Eldjotnar, if Jotnar could stand the heat– ”
“Loki–” There was a nauseous feeling in Thor's stomach, along with the knife twisting in his guts.
“Humans still have stories of giants feasting on them, did you know that?” Loki's burning eyes were looking somewhere beyond Thor, though Thor didn't think the question was really for him anyway. He thought Loki just wanted to say it out loud. “They probably still remember, after all this time. It's probably better I didn't conquer Midgard then – a king shouldn't go around eating his subjects.”
“Loki–” Thor said again, but stopped.
He realized that Loki sounded as if this wasn't the first time Loki had thought of this. It sounded as if this had been on Loki's mind for a long time. Maybe for years
Maybe this since he first learned the truth.
Loki didn't continue to speak, though. He glanced away, worrying at his skin of his thumb with his teeth, as if Thor had disappeared into the dark that seemed closer to swallowing Loki.
He hadn't seen Loki biting his thumb like that since they were boys. He thought Loki had broken that habit. Or maybe got better at hiding it.
Thor didn't know what to think about that. About Loki's worrying, about the words that sound like they've run Loki's head until they've beaten a path through his mind, about of this – this madness...
He had always tried to ignore thoughts of Loki's heritage, not only because it because it seemed strange to think of Loki that way, but because he also feared he might begin to blame Loki's actions on what he was, if Thor let his mind linger too long on Loki's true parentage; what Loki had done was because of Loki, not because of anyone or anything else, despite what Loki liked to claim.
(Or at least some days Thor prefers to think of it that way. Some days he doesn't know, but he repeats it to himself anyway. Because it's easier.)
“Loki,” he tried again, though Loki didn't bother looking up. “Loki, no one is eating anyone.” The order sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but no more ridiculous than this whole conversation.
Loki took his hand away from his mouth, but kept his eyes averted. “Maybe I'll want to do it,” he said tonelessly. “A beast cannot hold back its instincts.”
“You are not a beast.”
“I am Jotun.”
“Which does not make you a beast.” Thor felt like hitting something. He did not think that something was Loki, unless he could somehow pound the words into Loki's head.
Loki still didn't even look at him. “Most of Asgard would disagree with you. Most of the realms would disagree with you.”
Already, Thor could feel Mjolnir responding to his anger, reaching upwards into the sky far, far above them and stirring up a storm.
But that hardly did them any good down here
Thor reached behind his back to his belt, and grabbed one of the knives he had confiscated from Loki when they first fell; he was surprised Loki hadn't stolen them back yet, but Loki must have decided it was futile when Thor wold just take them away again. In any case, he was glad he held them now.
“Fine,” Thor said as he unsheathed the knife.
“Fine?” Loki finally glanced towards him. “What do you mean – what are you doing?”
Loki's voice rose in pitch as Thor drew the blade across the front of his palm and down towards his wrist, careful to avoid any veins. Blood spilled out, welling across his palms and through his fingers, dripping to the ground. Striding forward, Thor held out his bleeding hand and said, “You want to eat this? Fine, go ahead. I can't imagine Jotnar would enjoy cooked food in their realm, so they must eat it raw and bloody.”
“Stop – you can't – Thor –” Loki stammered as he retreated away from Thor until his back touched the wall of stone. He looked like he was about to slip away to the side, but Thor caged him in with his free arm.
“Show me that you can't hold back your 'instincts'. Go on. Eat.” Thor flourished the hand in front of Loki's face.
Loki stared, eyes wide (taking up half his face, like when he was scared of the monsters hiding under his bed and only Thor could protect him). They flickered from Thor's hand to his eyes to the floor and back.
Thor didn't relent. “You said you'd enjoy it, and if you're as hungry as I am then you must want to–”
“Don't.” Loki's voice was small, like a child's. He shook his head almost helplessly. “Don't – please, just don't.”
Thor looked at his brother for a moment, at the fear. Whether it was from what Loki thought Thor might do, or from what Loki thought he might do, Thor could not tell.
Then Thor wiped the blood off his hand on his pants and sheathed the knife. Gently, he placed his uninjured hand on the back of Loki's neck, and could feel Loki's pulse as it raced beneath his skin. “You are not a beast,” he said quietly. “You are Jotun, but you not a beast, and we will not starve because we will get out of here. Understand, brother?”
Loki met his eyes, and for once, since those few moments when Thor had seen Loki in his cell with belongings strewn and illusion parted, the lies and hatred, the evasions and the masks, all vanished.
Thor saw Loki in those eyes.
Thor saw his brother.
Loki nodded.