Chapter Text
Loki was faintly aware that the seamstress was talking to him. Her words floated around his head in a nebulous cloud; void of meaning. Not worth the limited focus he had left. With each tentative hemming of his coronation robes, her bright eyes would flick up to meet his and ask what he thought of the fit. Loki subtly nodded before allowing his mind to sink once more into its pleasant fog.
Though a skilled seamstress, Kajsa was not very bright. She waited until she was bent down over her stitching before letting her youthful face become wrinkled with a scowl…a scowl which was displayed in various angles across the tri-fold mirror.
But her sour expression did not bother Loki. He was used to the sycophantic performances to his face while the corners of the palace stirred with whisperings of his name. Most everyone, servants and dignitaries alike had the same opinion of Loki; that he was cold and inaccessible, lacking in all social graces. He might offer a ‘beg pardon’ when running into you in the halls, but it was often half-hearted and shouted over his shoulder as he continued on his way.
Thor though knew the truth.
“Brother! Were you out in the gardens today?”
Loki looked up into the reflection of Thor’s eyes across the room. His brother, the reason for all the fuss, had three seamstresses working diligently on his coronation robes.
Well, working was a misnomer. More accurately, they were fawning over the handsome king-to-be while passively placing a hemming needle here and there.
The question was coded so Thor did not reveal his brother’s secret. While Asgard knew of Loki's affinity to simple tricks, bending the light to create illusions, no one knew he was a true mage. One who practiced his craft deep in the labyrinthine paths of the gardens. There, Loki would change the colors of the flowers, call birds from the trees, spin water up into ice sculptures and create heatless flames in the palm of his hand.
Odin was the most vocal about Loki keeping his magic hidden. The main reason being a fear that their enemies would learn of Loki’s power and use it against them. The smaller reasons were petty ones; that magic was more often aligned with women, and it was the tool of what Asgardians considered ‘the others’: the other creatures that inhabited the Nine Realms. Elves, Dwarves and the dreaded Jotuns all employed magic in training their warriors. Asgardians prided themselves on being warriors of strength and not relying on trickery to win battles.
There was also an unspoken hinderance to Loki’s magic. He had been cursed with the type that depleted the user’s stamina the more it was used. Loki’s focus would become lax, intuition about his body would fade. If too engaged with his magic, Loki would find that when his senses returned, his clothing would be cold and wet from the release of his bladder.
Which might have been something Thor was anxious about…
“No, I spent the day in the high tower library,” Loki lied, stiffening his posture.
“Did you now? And pray tell, what did you learn about in the library?”
Though drained from practice, Loki had enough of his wits about to shift the subject in his favor. Earlier that day, he had seen the caravan of the warriors three, Thor’s idiot friends who he liked to do idiot things with, entering through the south gate near his garden. They had been out fighting some beast of no consequence for the last week and no doubt they had come back with treasure to share with their prince.
And knowing the warriors three, they were not at all quiet about it.
“It was a bit hard to concentrate on my reading with all the braying I heard below in the courtyard,” Loki said with a huff, “I could not make sense of it; laughing, crying, just an awful cacophony of noise!”
Thor’s eyes went wide with delight.
“Aye! I forgot to tell you! Volstagg, Hogun, and Frandral are back from their battle with the dragon of Gudmunder! They returned with many fine weapons, including axes for throwing. We had quite a good time out at the targets!” He then rambled on about his friends and relayed their exploits to his captive audience of seamstresses…forgetting all about Loki’s lie.
“Brother,” he said after the stories were spent, “Perhaps this evening you might come join us at the targets? Throw an axe or two? I am sure Hogun will have new songs for us to sing around the fire!”
Loki made a noise of consideration. He could not help but to assume the invitation was one sent out of pity. Thor had a misplace sense of brotherly duty that forced him to loop Loki into all and every activity he participated; as if Loki was a little doll on the shelf that had to be forcefully dragged along to this and that. He could not consider the possibility that solitude was something Loki chose for himself.
“We shall see…,” Loki finally said with a long sigh.
“You seem distracted,” said Thor. Teasingly, he added, “If not the gardens, then perhaps you had too much cider at last nights feast?”
Both men knew Loki did not care to imbibe, but in addition to wanting his brother to be more social, Thor also wanted to keep him protected. Ages ago, he devised the excuse of alcohol to explain Loki’s mental lapses, late mornings and mood swings. It worked to sate more curious parties who often wondered why the younger prince was so…unpleasant.
“I am not distracted, I am merely considering Kajsa’s suggestions,” said Loki.
“Oh, yes, your majesty,” Kajsa stood suddenly, seeming thrilled to finally engage with her model, “I was thinking that perhaps this one be sleeveless,” she began to slip the heavy fabric down his arms, “the day will be warm and the rest of the royal family-”
“No!” Loki gripped the sleeves, “I said I was considering it; and I find that it is not to my linking.”
“Yes…your majesty,” Kajsa began to re-pin the sleeves back to the vest. As she came around the back, making sure there was enough slack for Loki to comfortably move his arms, she thought to ask: “Your majesty, I beg you to not think me rude. But I must ask; why do you shave the hairs of your underarms if you do not wish to show them?”
“That is not a question for you to ask,” Loki said curtly. More of his irritation came out in his tone than he would have liked, but he was so tired. And, inexplicably, exhaustion always made Loki teary.
“His majesty will wear his traditional headdress?” Kajsa then asked.
“Yes,” Loki sighed. The gilded horns he wore for ceremony had a lengthy history among the Asgardians. Something to do with an ancient hunt, a golden stag…a myth that probably had no basis in reality…
“And your hair, it will be…?” The touch of Kajsa’s finger s running over his hair brought Loki back to reality. He blushed slightly, knowing he was expected to groom himself before leaving the royal quarters. Odin had deemed Loki’s curls to be childish and not appropriate for a prince.
“It will be straightened, yes,” he bit back at the seamstress, “bother me no more with your prodding!”
Loki sniffled slightly and his vision blurred. It took all his concentration to try and steady his breath, to self-soothe to a point that his eyes did not boil over with tears.
Kajsa did as she was told and worked in silence. Only the conversations among Thor and his admirers could be heard. Loki took a moment to consider his reflection. His face was lean but baby soft; not a hint of shadow nor a single bud of scruff could be seen. He was often asked how he managed such a clean shave with his jet-black hair. But the truth was, Loki had never been able to grow a beard…or even a mustache. Puberty came and stretched his legs and deepened his voice, but the hair never came. Not on his face, not under his arms.
Nowhere.
That was something only known to his mother. More than embarrassed, Loki’s inability to grow manly hair had him worried. His own brother and father had great, brambly beards, and chest so hairy they could shame a bear. So, why not him? To be the reserved, bookish son that shivered in Thor’s great shadow was difficult enough…but this? Just thinking about it made Loki’s stomach twist itself into knots.
“Aye! The halls will be red and gold in your honor!” Haldora, an older, heavy-set woman working on the embroidery of Thor’s cloak cheered. “Tis been a giants age since we had a new king! And Mighty Thor; what a fine king ye shall be! Red and gold, red and gold,” she hummed, “may never a day come that the halls of Asgard won’t boast the royal colors of Mighty Thor!”
Annoyance overtook Loki so quickly he did not have a moment to process it. His robes, his robes were red and gold! Thor’s coronation be damned! He did not like red; he never had! Without a shred of consideration, Loki angrily gestured over his robes, the colors changing to those of his banner: black and forest green.
Kajsa let out a yelp of surprise and hopped back
“Y-your majesty! Your robes! What has happened to them?”
“Aye, tis a witch about!” Haldora spit on the ground and waved at the air, “Away with ye! Leave the young prince be!”
“There is no witch!” Loki turned angrily on the dais, “I have decided that my robes will bear my banner colors!”
“But, um,” Kajsa looked to the more senior woman for assistance, “it’s Thor’s….”
“Spoiled child,” Haldora scolded, “tis not your day of celebration!”
“But it is mine,” Thor said, stepping down from his dais, “and if my brother wishes to wear his banner colors, he may.” Thor nodded to Loki’s stern reflection in the mirror.
A small smirk, one only Thor would know to look for, curled Loki’s lip.
“I had heard rumor that Prince Loki could make magic…,” one of the young women who had been working on Thor began, but Thor shot her a warning glare she sunk down behind the other women.
“Aye brother; do you grow tired of this fitting nonsense?” He then asked. Loki did not need to answer. “We shall return tomorrow then,” Thor said to the women. “And do not dare speak of what has happened here. If I hear any whisperings about my brother’s trickery, you all will find yourself among the black stone caves of Svartalfheim!”
The women all wordlessly bowed before exiting, their faces pale and expressions full of fear. None of them had ever heard the affable Prince Thor speak so harshly before.
Thor took a moment to look at his brother; the strange creature who appeared one day in their mother’s arms…despite Thor having no memories of her belly being swollen with him. It was as if Prince Loki had arrived from the Æther, fully formed from stardust and moonglow. And when he began to use magic? Thor was ecstatic; often he daydreamed about the day he and his warrior-mage brother would cause chaos around the Nine Realms.
But the day never came.
Beneath Loki’s harsh exterior, beneath his biting quips and cruel (often snake-themed) pranks…he was still that little babe in Frigga’s arms…looking up to his brother with his big green eyes; asking for protection.
Loki let out a groan that sounded like it wanted to be words.
“Brother, you must not lie to me,” Thor went to him, “were you in the gardens today?”
“Don’t scold me as if you are father,” Loki’s voice was so adorably juvenile, it was hard for Thor not to smile. Just the same, he made a more conscious effort to keep the accusatory tone from his voice.
“I do not care if you practice your magic – tis a fine skill to have! But you must be mindful; if you were too tired to come for the fitting, you should have said so.”
Loki looked to his older brother and sniffled.
“The old maid was right; it is your day. I did not want to disappoint you…”
“Disappoint me?” Thor smiled, “Never. Like I give a damn about any of this anyway,” he pulled the half-formed cloak from his shoulders and tossed it to the ground.
“If I must be truthful,” Loki began, a sly tilt in his voice, “had I known the new outfit that was being made for me was to bear your banner colors, I certainly could not have come!”
Thor broke out into a bellied laugh; the kind that could ease all tension. Loki loved his brother’s laugh. Warm and deep, it welcomed all to join in. Which Loki did, with his own modest chuckle.
“You like your green and black. So, green and black you shall have.” Thor reached out and tucked some of Loki’s hair behind his ears. Instinctively, Loki looked away. Anything regarding his hair filled him with shame. When he wore in natural, he was told that curls were for children. When he let Frigga pull it into multiple braids and adorn it with silver trinkets, he was told such a style was for women. To save himself the grief, Loki would slick is back with rosemary oil and pulled into a tight braid, sans any flare. Simple, sophisticated, boring.
“Would you like me to take you to mother?” Thor asked in a whisper, as if he and Loki still had an audience to guard themselves from.
“I do not wish to bother her…,” Loki said. He ached though deeply for Frigga’s embrace, for her sweet fragrance of spring roses. He often found that when his magic was spent and he had nothing left, it was Frigga and Frigga alone that could bring him back to his senses.
“You are no bother to her,” Thor said as reached up to help Loki out of the robes. “Come, we shall pay her a visit!”
Loki liked the way Thor said ‘we’; that they were doing it together and it was not just the baby brother running to cling to his mother’s skirt.
Loki re-dressed himself in his daywear; a sumptuous emerald green tunic that reached down to his boots. Across the back, Haldora had stitched a common folk motif of stags and pheasants beneath the eye of the Allfather. Traditional knot patterns flowed down the long sleeves that flared out into a bell. Hidden there beneath the hem was a fine assortment of silver rings, hammered from by the blacksmith dwarves of Nidavellir
The walk to Frigga’s private room was long, always longer when Loki was ‘in one of his moods’ - as the royal family called it. Quiet voices and a slow pace were best to keep Loki’s temper in check.
Frigga’s private room was just a small library tucked deep into the royal quarters. It was a place not even Odin was allowed, but of course her sons did not even need to knock if they wished to enter.
“God ettermiddag, Mother!” Thor greeted. Frigga looked up from her book, her face beaming with delight.
God ettermiddag, my sons,” her expression fell though once she saw her youngest child. “Loki, my dear, is everything alright?”
“Loki is in one of his moods,” Thor said, giving Loki a nudge in the side.
“I am merely tired. This palace has been restless for the last fort night with Thor’s coronation festivities.” The excuse did not stop Frigga from approaching him and placing a hand on either side of his face. “Mother…”
“My treasure,” she rubbed noses with his, “you know you cannot lie to me.”
“I wish to be excused,” Loki broke with her touch, “I will return shortly…”
Thor just shrugged as Loki hurried away.
“Your coronation has made him more irritable,” Frigga said, her keen ears listening for Loki’s footfalls to fade completely. Then, in a sympathetic voice she asked: “Did he soil himself?”
“Not this time…”
“Come, sit with me,” Frigga went back to the tufted seating area near the window. “Tell me everything.”
“He performed magic in front of the seamstresses,” Thor said as he took a seat, “changed the colors of his robes right before their eyes.”
“Why did he do that?”
Thor laughed
“Apparently, he does not like my banner colors.”
“I feel he’s getting weaker,” Frigga said, somewhat grimly. “I watch him in the garden; even his magic seems to be losing potency. He used to make colorful flames that could dance in the palm of his hand. I have not seen such a trick in many, many moons.”
“What do you know of Loki’s magic?” Thor asked.
“I know only what I have seen,” said Frigga, “his skills are quite varied; it seems he has an affinity for many different elements and styles.” For a moment she hesitated. Thor watched her toy with her agate stone necklace. “Odin has always believed Loki could use his magic in battle,” she then said, “to defend Asgard against any threat. It breaks my heart to say it, but my baby was never anything more than a weapon to him. He’s never had a sense for what a sweet and deeply sensitive man Loki is.”
“Asgardians don’t use magic for fighting…”
“But Jotun do,” said Frigga, “as do Dark Elves.”
“And when did we last battle them?” Thor asked with a laugh.
“Odin does not think that way. In his mind, he has an idealized notion of what it means to be Asgardian. A way of life that is the envy of the Nine Realms. He is not afraid to use your brother’s magic to keep up that illusion.”
“Even if we aren’t magic workers…,” Thor sighed and shook his head. “It is good father is stepping down.” He then looked to his mother with great seriousness, “I do not think of Loki as a weapon.”
“I know you don’t.”
“In fact,” Thor’s face broke into a smile, “I still clearly remember the day we were in the royal chambers entertaining guest. I was eight, Loki five. Right in the middle of father speaking about this or that treaty, Loki crawled up onto your lap, pulled down your blouse and began to nurse right then and there!” The two of them laughed at the memory, sharing how afraid they both had been to even look at Odin.
“I was in shock! I had made certain to nurse him right before the meeting so that he would behave.”
“I think of the memory often,” said Thor. “Loki, he is so determined to get what he wants…and yet, so often he seems like a child seeking comfort…”
“And that is what has always frustrated Odin. Loki is not what he expected…”
“He need not expect anything from Loki; I am here to take his place.” Thor nodded stolidly to his mother, “I am of Odin, and Loki is of you. That’s all there is to it.”
“Aye,” Frigga smiled.. She was proud of her son in that moment. Though simple, his heart was as deep as the ocean and twice as wide.
The door of Frigga’s chamber opened once more, and a somewhat reticent Loki entered.
“Do you wish to rest here with me?” She asked as he approached. “It is quiet here; I never hear any of the noise from the palace.”
“If I may…”
Frigga moved so Loki could lie himself down, folding his arms under his head. In an instant, the young prince was asleep and snoring softly.
“I shall take my leave,” said Thor, “he has no need for me now.”
“Not true, my love,” said Frigga, “Loki will always need you; and do not misjudge his role in your life. Nature is full of duality: the sun to the moon, the sea to the land. Winter and summer,” she looked back at her sleeping son, “mother and child.”
“You are a wise woman, Mother,” Thor gave her a respectful bow. “Someday, perhaps, Asgard would consider a woman-king to rule.”
“Someday,” she sighed, “but not this one. Go my son, celebrate your kingship.”
Laufey pulled the fur-lined cowl up around her mouth and nose as another biting wind ripped through the tundra. Her vision was almost nil. All she could see through the endless white was the twisted shaped of the barren trees ahead. Intuition forced her to keep walking; something was calling her to the trees. What, the mage queen could not say. She was without any tools of soothsaying. No bones, no stones, no dancing flames. All she has was what was in her heart and her heart kept telling her to walk.
It felt like an eternity had passed before Laufey could brace herself against one of the trees. Being a Johtunn did not mean she was immune to the cold, only that she could bare its cruelty longer than most.
The further she pushed into the trees, the easier her trek became. Soon, Laufey could hear a babbling brook breaking through the ice.
In dreams, water meant change. Water in winter meant a life believed lost would return again. Laufey knew better than to feel hopeful. Past dream quest had danced around her desires but never delivered. And after so many years…was there really a chance he was still alive?
Laufey paused in a clearing. All the air was still. Her heart was racing.
A twig snapped and she turned, her ruby eyes focusing on something in the distance.
He stood, a shade of white purer than snow. A towering stag with antlers reaching to the sky. His black eyes lined in sickly pink looked to Laufey and wordless whispered the truth she had been aching to hear. As the dream quest faded and reality began to melt in, Laufey felt tears burn their way down her weather worn cheeks.
“He’s alive…,” she whispered, “my baby, my kærleika…”