Chapter Text
In pain, exhausted, and trying her best to ignore the tiny and loud creature in the corner, Lofnheid continued to pull and twist at where the chain of ice went from the metal band around her wrist to the stone wall. The ice was as hard as iron and the stone felt solid, but she was stronger in the unnatural shape that he’d forced on her. She’d heard the quiet cracks as she’d worked at it for a long time. Lofnheid didn’t know for certain how long: days, weeks, perhaps even months. Time ran together in the dark and cold world. Only the arrival of food and increasingly rare visits from her captor marked time’s passage. She’d long since stopped counting and focused solely on escape. Nothing else mattered.
She pulled and twisted at the chain, ignoring the creature that she’d left in the furthest corner of her prison, prayed under her breath to her people’s gods for the end of her captivity, and dwelled on all that had gone wrong that brought her to such a cruel fate.
The plunder of a successful raid and the new thrall to the leader of the Frost Giants.
Lofnheid knew that there were more than just her world and her people. There were gods and monsters who came from beyond the stars from across a rainbow bridge or along secret paths. There were numerous stories. Some were learned directly from the gods when they visited briefly the different villages and shared their knowledge of their homeland, but some of this knowledge came from witches looking towards the future. Not all could read the weave of fate, just as not all could learn the power contained in runes. But they shared the glimpses that they caught with other people and the long winter nights were often filled with drinking and telling stories about the gods.
She knew quite well that there was far more beyond her village. Gods. Giants. And magic. Not just the reading of the future, but other enchantments. Her father, Hreidmar, had been a sorcerer. Normally considered woman’s work and shameful for a man to perform, but he’d held enough power and wealth that no one questioned his manhood after the he killed the third person to try insulting him in such a way. Lofnheid had grown up surrounded by magic in a fine home with glittering gold and jewels. She was not a simple and sheltered child.
But then it had all fallen apart. Ott, her brother and the one who took after Father the most when it came to magic, had died in an accident. And nothing had been the same after. In time, greed began to grow in her other two brothers like a sickness. It festered until Fafnir and Regin had given into it and killed their father for his riches. And while her sister, Lyngheid, might be conflicted about what type of sister would kill her brothers even to avenge her father, Lofnheid had known that she could not remain under the same roof as kin turned against kin. She had intended to seek out someone to intervene before more blood could be spilt.
She had not made it to the next farm. She had not even made it far enough to seek out one of the stronger thralls to assist her. As soon as she stepped out of their home into the winter evening, Lofnheid had seen them. Across the field and nearly blending into the falling shadows and snow, but obvious to her sharp eyes. Nearly twice the height of a man with blue-gray skin and red eyes like blood, they were covered in strange markings with protrusions around the face and standing nearly bare in the bitter winter air.
Frost Giants. Not a full army of them, but a few scouts or at least a raiding party. Even now Lofnheid didn’t know what their original intentions were that day.
But as angry as she might have been at her siblings in that moment, she had chosen to protect them the only way that she could. She’d ran, trying to lure the Frost Giants away. She had expected to die. Frozen or perhaps a more violent cause. She had no hope of outrunning the creatures with such long legs and strides. She had not expected the large hand to clamp down on her arm, making her scream as the sheer cold burned like fire. She could still see the wide scar caused by the instant frostbite of his touch, even in her current unnatural shape.
What had followed had been an incomprehensible chaos of pain, cold, and fear. But Lofnheid had pieced together most of what happened. The one who grabbed her was Laufey, King of the Jotunns. And though they were a strange and ugly people, something about her caught his eye. Perhaps her speed or attempt to distract them from her family had intrigued him. Or perhaps they liked pretty things, regardless of how different from their people.
Lofnheid knew that she was attractive. The young men of the village had always called her beautiful. Her hair dark like her mother’s had been, wearing silver broaches, and garbed in dresses made of expensive materials. Father had been in early talks with a few neighbors before he was killed, not quite at the point of official betrothal negotiations until he was more certain.
And despite being king, Laufey apparently did not yet have a queen.
Lofnheid did not know for certain if she was meant to be a thrall or a concubine, but she had no wish to be either. Not to a monster. Being the bedwarmer to a creature too cold to touch and nearly twice her size had not appealed to her.
But the Jotunns were also familiar with the ways of magic. Laufey brought her a beautiful gold torc necklace, the large rigid neck-ring larger than what a human might wear. Not easily removed, but easier than the restraints that he used to keep her in the chamber of his fortress-palace. And he bid her to wear it when he came for her. In order to make her duties to him more pleasant to bear. Though he also warned that he would make use of her regardless of whether she chose to heed his advice or not. She quickly learned that when she wore the heavy necklace, Lofnheid became a Frost Giant in form as well.
Larger, stronger, better able to see in the dark world that she was trapped in, and untouched by the cold. But a monster. She hated the change. Lofnheid would remove it and bury herself in the strange pelts that he left on the stone floor for her instead. She would have rather been human and constantly freezing than be a monster any longer than necessary. She would huddle in the pile of pelts and the primitive fur dress that seemed to be the garb of a Frost Giantess until the king arrived to make use of her singular purpose.
Even in her transformed state, his attention was not pleasurable to bear. She could merely survive the cold and his size when she was also a Jotunn.
His visits had become sporadic. Fast and distracted affairs. Those that brought her food had spoken of a war. It had given her hope. But soon Lofnheid could no longer bear to stay human. Her womb had swelled and filled with a biting cold that threatened to freeze her from within. It hurt too much to bear. She had finally given in and resigned herself to the shape of a monster.
When Laufey realized what had begun to grow, he had seemed very interested. It had led to his longest visit since the whispers of war had begun. The idea of what she carried had left him very eager and insatiable.
But if she was to be trapped in the shape of a monster, she had decided to use its strength. She had worked at her escape. Trying to break the chain free. And she had kept going as the passage of time continued, the unwanted creation continuing to grow inside her. She did not give up or pause until her body turned against her. Demanding that it was time to birth Laufey’s spawn.
The sounds of her pain and struggles followed by the creature’s wails had been swallowed by the battles beyond the stone walls. And as soon as the monster was out of her, Lofnheid had left it in the corner to return to her work.
Another sharper crack brought a fierce grin to her face. Lofnheid gave the ice chain another sharp yank. She could definitely see it loosening from the wall. Getting a better grip and bracing her feet against the wall with her knees bent, Lofnheid pulled with all her strength while pushing with her legs. Her muscles strained and shook with the effort. But she could feel it. The tiniest, slowest movement until—
Everything broke free at once, leaving her collapsed on the floor panting. But only for a moment. She scrambled to her feet and tossed the dangling chain over her shoulder to keep it out of her way. It was still attached to her wrist.
Lofnheid hesitated a moment before snatching up the tiny creature. She wanted nothing to do with it, but she did intend to deny Laufey the beast. Before the ninth day, leaving a child exposed to the elements was not murder. It was the honorable way to deal with it.
She would not be able to return home. Lofnheid knew that. But she could leave the creature somewhere that Laufey would never find it in time. Then she could run as far as her legs could carry her. Anyone she encountered, she could try to strangle with the ice chain. Otherwise, she would run until she no longer could and then remove the enchanted necklace, allowing the cruelty of Jotunheim to take her as a freewoman. Either way, she would deny Laufey both of his prizes.
Odin may have once embraced war full-heartedly like any true Asgardian would, dreams of ruling the entirety of the Nine Realms at the edge of a sword and the tip of a spear filling his head. Dreams of glory and victory that would overshadow the tales of his own father’s campaign against the Dark Elves. Dreams of forging an empire.
They had filled Asgard with gold and tribute from the battles won as they brought the other realms under their control. Vanaheim had fought the hardest; unsurprising when they were essentially the same species who were merely from a different culture and world. But even they had eventually fallen under Asgard’s heel like the others had, one way or another.
But eventually the fires of youth had cooled enough for him to acknowledge the cost of his ruthless warmongering. The lives sacrificed for glory, riches, and power. The possibility of his actions uniting various worlds against Asgard as a shared enemy. Odin had many reasons to have a change of heart back then. But perhaps the main catalyst for his realization that it was time to stop was when his pursuit of war and conquest led to the deaths of his brothers, Vili and Vé.
Unfortunately, Hela had been less inclined to stop.
She had been his greatest advantage in battle. Odin’s first-born child. Daughter of Rinda, who did not live long after the infant’s first breath. Born out of death, foretold that her powers would draw strength from Asgard itself and that she would be unkillable as long as it stood, and raised by a warrior father to be a weapon to expand the reaches of their realm, Hela was not made to surrender. She would not give up the ambitions that he’d spent centuries fueling even before her first battle. Hela would have continued their conquest. She would have turned her attention beyond the reach of Yggdrasil. Hela had refused to listen when Odin declared the war over.
Like a horse refusing to be broken to the bridle, running wild and uncontrolled. A spirited and admirable creature, but dangerous. When denied her ambitions, Hela had tried to overthrow him instead so she could continue. She had left him with no choice. If she would not obey and could not die while the realm remained strong, then Hela had been locked away where she could cause no further harm.
And even that solution was imperfect. Over a thousand years later, she nearly escaped her entrapment. It had cost the lives of Freyja’s Valkyries to keep her contained and Odin had been forced to craft a new binding enchantment, one linked to his own life. But at least Hela would not escape. Not while he still drew breath.
Hela had been a mistake in every way. A dark reflection of what he had needed to change. Odin had done everything possible to erase that particular chapter of Asgard’s history. And he’d set aside his own desire for the glory of battle to instead establish a new legacy. One of honor and wisdom where Asgard used its might to serve as peacekeepers of the Nine Realms and the various protectorates like Nornheim, Gundershelm, and Ria.
Glory could come in many varieties. He could build his reputation with wisdom, knowledge, and leadership over a more stable realm instead of further warmongering.
But even as peacekeepers, it sometimes became necessary to maintain that peace through violence. And when King Laufey of Jotunheim grew bold enough to indulge his people’s desire for conquest, expansion, and power, they tested Asgard’s declaration of protection. They brought their forces and their magical artifact against the primitive, short-lived, and vulnerable people of Midgard. A target that few would care about with little to offer except its central location within the Yggdrasil, but also one with few defenses against Frost Giants who wished to remake that world in a reflection of Jotunheim’s icy wasteland. But Asgard had a duty and they had no choice except to intervene.
A wise king never sought out war, but he must always be ready for it.
Odin and General Tyr lead the Einherjar against the Frost Giants, driving them off Midgard and back deep into their own territory. Many lives were lost on both sides. Ruins and desolation were left in the wake of the battles. The Jotunn were formidable opponents, but the Asgardians would only accept victory or Valhalla. Blood of both people stained the snow.
Victory finally came to Asgard. A duel between kings high within the tower of Utgard, their fortress-palace of stone and ice. And while Odin was no longer in his prime as he was when he fought Surtur, he left Laufey on the ground helpless and with no choice except to yield. Odin lost an eye, but the Frost Giants lost far more.
With his only other option being the complete slaughter of the remaining Frost Giants at the risk of the countless more Asgardian lives that would be lost in the process, Odin established a truce with the Jotunns. Or rather, terms of surrender if Odin wished to be less polite and diplomatic about it. They could keep their lives and remain on their cold, dark, and bleak world. But they could not leave or have dealings with the other realms. And to ensure that they remained compliant, the Asgardians would take their greatest artifact of power.
The Casket of Ancient Winters. A blue-glowing box that channeled the power and icy rage from the deepest depth of Jotunheim’s harshest winters. A weapon, a tool of transformation, and the heart of the people. Taking it limited their ability to cause further harm and destroyed their morale enough that they were unlikely to ever rise up again.
It was the wise and tactical decision. Far more merciful than continuing the war and wiping Frost Giants out completely like the Dark Elves. Sacrificing more Asgardian warriors until not a single Jotunn survived. Man, woman, and child. No, this was a kinder fate. It was what a true king would choose rather than a warmongering conqueror.
For the good of Asgard and the rest of the Nine Realms.
But many good men had been lost for this victory. Many fine warriors had fallen in this war to ensure peace. Wives and children would now be left without husbands and fathers. Battle may be a necessary part of being a proper Asgardian, but even he could grow weary of so much death.
There were few places that a king could be alone within the conquered lands of an enemy. The Einherjar were still ensuring that no hidden patches of Jotunn warriors were still lurking, hoping to mount a counterstrike despite their defeat. They would prefer that he not go too far, despite the fact that he was still one of the greatest warriors of Asgard. Even the loss of his eye was little hinderance to his prowess in combat, though he should certainly see Lady Eir upon his return. And while Frost Giants could never claim to build architecture marvels to match those of the city on Asgard, the structures of stone and ice had suffered damage from the battle and many were unstable. Adding more places that he shouldn’t wander alone.
But Odin needed a moment alone. Away from the death and loss. Celebrating the glory of victory would come later, when the blood and pain from those who fought painted a less vivid portrait in his mind. For now, he needed a chance to breathe and remember that there was more than this dark, cold, and desolate world filled with the dying young warriors that he’d brought there. A chance to think of his beautiful wife, Frigga, and his young son, Thor. They were waiting for him to return home and he would see them soon. Odin needed to settle his mind and thoughts. He needed to remember the bright sparks that made life meaningful beyond the battlefield.
That was where his mind tried to drift as he found his feet leading him into a temple. The Jotunns built them in order to honor their ancestors, believing that those who came before could still protect their descendants if properly respected and honored. And Odin and his men knew better than to risk attacking a temple unless there was no other option, meaning that the structure remained intact. It should have been far darker inside except the Frost Giants would use ice prisms to redirect their faint sunlight into their buildings rather than using torches. But it was still dim to an Asgardian’s eye. He could barely make out the carving of Ymir, the first of the giants.
Odin didn’t see anything unusual in the abandoned temple as he let the peace and calm sink into him, trying to ignore the throbbing pain from his ruined eye. He only realized that he wasn’t alone when he heard the smallest sound. A quiet and miserable whimper. And as Odin turned to find the source, the whimper shifted towards a heartbroken wail. As if they had no hope of anyone comforting them, but couldn’t keep silent.
He followed the sound easily. A sound that Odin recognize as a father. That didn’t stop him from being surprised when he found the cause of the noise.
Lying on the cold stone floor, without even the decency of the simple pelts that his brethren wore, was a crying infant. The blue skin, raised markings on his face and body, and the red eyes marked him as a Jotunn baby. As if any other species could survive prolonged exposure without a blanket or clothing. But he was small. Smaller than what he would expect from a Frost Giant’s child. No larger than an Asgardian baby. He even sounded like one, wailing in utter misery. So much like Thor in those days if Frigga didn’t pick him up immediately when he was upset.
Odin picked the baby up, a father’s instincts compelling him. The bite of the cold immediately sank into his already chilled flesh, but the small Jotunn didn’t share the same intensity as an adult. There was no freezing burn of frostbite on contact. But the crying began to ease the moment that Odin picked him up. Comforting the infant with his mere presence now that he was no longer alone.
And like ice melting away to reveal spring, the baby began to change in his hands. His skin shifting from that icy blue to a warm and healthy pink. The red eyes fading to something less intense. Trying to mimic the one who found him instead of those who left him. And instead of a Jotunn, Odin was holding an Asgardian baby that he swiftly wrapped in his cloak to protect against the cold.
A natural shapeshifter. It was the only explanation. He could change without the need for a spell or artifact.
Cradling the bundled infant against his breastplate, Odin vaguely wondered why such a rare gift would be left alone in the temple. He couldn’t be more than a day old. There didn’t seem to be any explanations that bode well for the child. A temple might provide protection from the battle, but being left alone without anyone around spoke of other possibilities.
Death by exposure to dispose of a weak, unhealthy, or otherwise unwanted child. Not a common practice on Asgard, but the Midgardians that they’d visited lived a harsh and difficult life. Sometimes hard decisions were made. Such a practice might be common on Jotunheim as well; the desolate world was an unforgiving place.
Or perhaps a sacrifice to their ancestors, seeking their aid in the war. Desperate people might attempt anything. Even cruel acts against their children.
Regardless of the reason, he had clearly been abandoned to suffer and die. Maybe Odin’s heart was simply too heavy from the death and suffering to bear any more. Maybe it was the familiarity of holding a small newborn so similar to how he held Thor barely over two hundred years ago or Hela even further back. Or maybe the way that the baby had shifted into an Asgardian and stopped crying the moment that he lifted the infant from the ground felt like a sign.
Finding a spark of life among all the death had to be a sign. One that he couldn’t ignore. He couldn’t quite explain his intentions even to himself, but Odin walked out of that temple with the small infant and half-formed plans already filling his thoughts.
He left General Tyr in charge of finishing their work on Jotunheim, organizing the Einherjar as they prepared to eventually withdraw now that the terms of the truce were established. Odin needed to return to Asgard promptly. Before anyone could glimpse the small bundle that he carried.
Odin did not pause to seek out Thor on the training ground or possibly spending time with the other children around the palace grounds. He’d originally intended to see him upon his return, needing to see his son after so much time away, but it would have to wait. He immediately sought out Frigga in her chambers.
Her chamber shone with gold and was a bright space. The open balcony past the columns were up a few steps, allowing plenty of sunshine and a cool breeze to fill the room. A raised pool of water took up part of the room with seating built around it. Decorative engravings on the doors, vases, and padded benches added to the beauty of the space and made it Frigga’s domain. Elegant, but not overly flashy. Just like her.
He found her weaving. Gold threads twisting around green, creating a beautiful pattern. Frigga often chose to spin thread, weave, or sew when she needed to gather her thoughts, settle her emotions, or calm her mind. Especially when she wanted to glimpse the future. She was raised among witches and knew how to read the twining of the threads of fate. But she never spoke of what she saw. Because when someone knew for certain what the future held, they were bound to that path and unable to change.
Frigga stood as he entered, smiling as she greeted his return. Her smile lifted a heavy burden from his shoulders and his heart. Soothing those invisible wounds like a balm. Healing him as he knew that her presence would. Their marriage might have been a necessity for the good of Asgard and the security of the throne, a king unable to be without an heir forever, but the bonds between them were strengthened by a real and powerful love. Frigga was strong, deadly, clever, and beautiful. But she was also insightful, gentle, kind, and compassionate. A softer touch to balance out the harsher requirements of being a king.
As her gaze moved up to his face and she caught sight of the ruined mess that was once his eye, Frigga covered her mouth in horror. The pain no longer bothered him greatly. Odin smiled reassuringly before reaching up with one hand to take her own. Her skin was softer than his own combat-rough palm, but he could still feel the calluses from her textile work and her mastery with a sword. Odin pulled her hand towards him to press a kiss to it. Then he turned her attention down to what he held in his other arm.
Frigga’s eyes widened at the sight of the sleeping infant wrapped in his cloak. The child was in her arms within a heartbeat. Motherhood was an undeniable part of who she was; her title was Goddess of Marriage, Foresight, Love, and Motherhood, as declared by the Norns. The sight of a newborn in need was not something that she could ignore.
“I found him, abandoned and alone,” explained Odin. “He was too small to leave there. Before I picked him up…” He paused briefly, brushing his palm against the infant’s head. “He was a Frost Giant when I found him.”
“A shapeshifter? That’s very rare,” she said softly, rocking the baby as she swayed on her feet. “I suppose with him being this young, he does not quite know himself yet and his shape was influenced by what he saw. He became an Asgardian because he saw you and he does not yet know that he is a Frost Giant.”
“Does he need to know?” he asked.
Frigga looked up with the smallest frown at his words. But Odin already knew that she would agree. He’d seen the look in her eye as she gazed down at the child. She would do what was best for him. She already loved the small one.
But then, it was easy to love a baby. There was nothing but untapped potential when it came to a baby. When they were innocent, fascinated by the world around them, and absolutely adoring towards those who took care of them. That unwavering and unconditional love that came so easily to both parent and child. It was easy to love a newborn because they could be anything that you might want them to be. You fall in love with the idea of what the child might become.
It was only as they grew up and failed to live up to that vision that the unconditional love might find its limits. Odin remembered how he once saw the boundless potential of Hela before reality shattered that dream.
“He was unwanted,” continued Odin. “A child deserves a family who will love and raise him. And if he believes that he is an Asgardian, then there would be no need for him to ever doubt that he belongs. He would never need to question his place within the family. And letting the truth be known could be dangerous to an extent if he should stay in this realm. With how many warriors were sent to Valhalla during the war against the Jotunn and the raids that they attempted before that, Asgard would not be a welcoming or kind place to a Frost Giant within their midst. It will take time to move past those prejudices. A true peace between our people is in the distant future and unlikely to arrive before he is grown. And he would suffer during that time for something that he cannot help. No, far better to let him be another Asgardian youth.”
Turning her gaze back down towards the baby in her arms, she said, “I do not completely agree that hiding his origins will serve him best, but there is some truth to your concerns. Do you truly intend to keep him then?”
“There are other possibilities if that is what you wish,” said Odin. “Perhaps another family could take him in if we claim his parents were lost in the war and childbirth respectively, leaving the child as an orphan. It is close enough to the truth that none would question it.”
“You taunt me, dear husband.” Frigga’s voice held no sharpness, only a hint of playful teasing. “You knew what my decision would be when you brought him here. I would never turn away a child in need of a home.” She smiled fondly. “I am certain that Thor would be pleased to have a sibling. Though explaining his mysterious arrival in our family when I showed no signs of pregnancy yesterday will require some creativity.”
“You have always been a clever woman. I have faith that you will weave together a suitable story.”