Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Solness: Now tell me what it is—the loveliest thing in the world—that we two are to build together?

Hilda: Castles in the air.

Solness: Castles in the air?

Hilda: Castles in the air, yes! Do you know what sort of thing a castle in the air is?

Solness: It is the loveliest thing in the world, you say. 

Hilda: Yes, to be sure it is, castles in the air – they are so easy to take refuge in. And so easy to build, too.

—Henrik Ibsen, The Master Builder

* 

“I mean it, Thor, I’m going to be sick.”

“You can’t be sick, stupid, you haven’t eaten in three days.”

“I had supper last night!” Loki protested. 

“You had a piece of cheese and four dates; I counted. And if anyone asks, you also had two pieces of bread and some fish—”

“Don’t talk about fish!” Loki wailed. 

“—and an orange and almonds this morning. That’s what I told Mother, and it’s the only reason she hasn't sent Eir after you with that drink you hate.”

Loki leaned over and dry-heaved. Thor stomped across the room and grabbed him by the shoulders, the strength in his arms and hands already much stronger than any other ten year old’s. 

“For Norns' sake, Loki!”

“I can’t do it,” he moaned. Thor drew his brother upright and straightened his court finery. 

“Why are you sweating so?”

“Thor, I can’t do it.”

“Why? What ever are you so worried about?”

“It’s the Council.” 

“They’re Father’s friends. You’ve spoken with them often enough.”

“Not in their chambers. And not with the Chancellor.” 

“What is all this fuss about the Chancellor anyway?”

Loki moaned. “Why are you such a fool?”

“Why are you such a quim?” Thor used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his brother’s brow. “Honestly, all this needless fretting. I’m going to be right beside you. You don’t have to say a word, and anyone who tries to make you, I’ll teach them their place.”

“You’re so stupid.”

“You’re stupid. Would you just tell me what’s the matter?”

“The Council is important, Thor. The Chancellor is second only to Father.” 

“The Chancellor isn’t more important than we are.”

“Yes he is.” Loki leaned against the wall, letting the stone’s cool seep into the back of his neck. “They’ve known Father since he was a boy. He trusts them to be in charge of everything. And they’re all going to stand there and judge us.”

“So? When I’m King I’ll banish them all if they upset you. You’ll be my Chancellor.”

“You can’t have your brother be your Chancellor!”

“Why not? Father’s best friend is his. You’re my best friend. It's not my fault you’re my brother. Plus I bet you’re smarter than the whole lot of them, even now.”

“It’s not what’s done.”

“Can’t Kings do what they want? I want you to be my Chancellor, so you will be. Then you’ll be in charge of the Council and you can fire anyone who makes you nervous. Besides, if you do all that than I can still go hunting and battling and you can spend all day in the library and everyone will have to listen to both of us.” 

Loki shook his head. For the the life of him, he couldn’t understand how Thor was his older brother. “If all you want is to hunt and battle than why do you want to be King?”

“So I can see everything like the Allfather can. How fun will that be?”

“Heimdall can see everything. How fun do you find him?”

“Heimdall has to look at all the bad stuff. I won’t.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Maybe not now. But we’ll be able to do as we please.”

“No we won’t.”

“Fine,” Thor rolled his eyes. “No one’s making us do anything today anyway. We just stand there and look well-behaved. You are well-behaved. So you really don’t have to do anything.”

“They’re sizing us up.” Loki wiped sweat from his forehead. Thor made a tut-tut noise that sounded exactly like their Mother and patted his brother’s hair down into place. “I’ve been reading about it…when there’s more than one son, the Council chooses the King they think they can be in charge of.”

“No one’s in charge of Father.”

“The Chancellor is in charge of all of them.”

“No, Father is. And we’ll be one day. We’re Princes. They’re Nobles. Plus we can fight. They’re old.”

“You're ten!”

“A fierce and mighty ten!” Thor started doing kicks and punches around the room. “You watch, brother, it’ll be soon that I best Tyr, and then I’ll turn my wrath on anyone who makes you so nervous you skip your dinner! ‘A delicious drink, you say, Eir? To Muspelheim with your drink!’” Thor made a striking motion, than a gushing sound waving his hands about to indicate splatter. “See? The evil drink, vanquished!”

“I hate you,” Loki said, smiling in spite of himself. His brother was horribly stupid, and arrogant, and naive, and utterly maddening…and oh how Loki loved him. And hated him all the more for knowing it, like now, when he’s grinning wickedly and pleased that he made his brother happy, even for a moment. 

“You see? There’s nothing to fear. You’re smart, I’m strong. We can do anything together, brother, I know it. Just trust me, you’ll see.”

Loki couldn’t help but smile again, while Thor beamed at him like it was the greatest day of their lives. Then the heavy golden doors opened to the Council Chamber and Odin emerged, his face somber. Thor moved quickly and gave his brother a light pat on the back.

“My sons. Princes of Asgard, heirs to the throne of the Allfather and my Father before him. I present you now to my Council,” Odin declared, extending his arm to invite them in.

“It is our pleasure, Father,” Thor said, prodding his brother along. 

“Indeed,” Loki managed. 

“Lord Chancellor, you know our sons, the Princes of the Nine Realms: Thor and Loki Odinson.”

“Lord Chancellor,” Thor beamed, giving a noble nod. 

“My Lord,” Loki managed. 

He stood before them: Lord Alaric, dressed in the standard white robe with the thick, golden chain of the House of Odin around his neck, indicating his unique status. “It is an honor for me to welcome you to the Royal Council of Odin Allfather, Your Graces. We welcome your presence in the Council Chambers whenever you choose to attend upon our daily business.” The Chancellor smiled warmly. “I remember the first time I attended such a meeting, of the Council of your King Bor, your Grandfather. It was quite intimidating.”

“The Princes of Asgard are not so easily intimidated,” Thor said. Loki swayed slightly. 

“Mind your tongue,” Odin warned. “Ruling is not always a battle of the field. What takes place in these Chambers is what truly makes Asgard the heart of the Nine Realms.” The King placed a hand on either sons’ shoulders. “Each of these men holds the title of Minister, as you well know. Each has his own individual committee and a host of assistants. I trust them to speak on my behalf, solve problems in my stead, and bring to my attention critical issues of the future. You will need to learn as much as you’re able about what they do and how they report it if you are going to rule effectively.” 

“Go on then,” Thor said, nodding toward the men assembled. “Speak of what you do, my Lords.”

The Chancellor exchanged an amused smile with Odin before nodding to cleanly shaven man with a balding head. “This is Lord Heggr, Treasurer of Odin Allfather. Without him, I daresay none of this would exist at all. Beside him stands Lord Vakr, Head of the Security Council—the hand he lost was in battle with Jotunheim.”

“A high honor,” the man said, giving a slight bow of his head and revealing a solid streak of silver along his still dark hair. 

“Lord Porsi is Minister of Agriculture and arguably the reason all of us may feast. Lord Eisnarr is Minister of Trade, an ever-expanding discipline from the days when this Council first began; Lord Rœrekr is Minister of Arms and the Royal Fleet. He personally oversaw the production of Your Graces’ training weapons and armor.”

“A high honor,” the man said with a dutiful bow. It struck Loki, for the first time, just how same they all were: varieties of hair and beards in gray and white, aging warriors with the Allfather’s wrinkles and manners. They dressed similar, spoke similar, answered similar…it reminded him far too much of lining up with all the Noble children, with their light hair and sunny-browned skin, and how unlike them he always felt. Thor always told him it was because they were Princes, so they were different, but he was already the a shining example of everything an Asgardian could be: confident and handsome, golden and fierce. Loki felt like little more than a sliver of a shadow beside him at times, and standing amongst all these archetypical Nobleman, he felt it all the worse. Even their names sounded the same. 

“Lord Feykir is the Minister of Diplomacy—and arguably my right hand—who will personally oversee your instruction on the history of other realms’. Lord Sighiálmr is Minister of Health and Sciences—he spends a great deal of time in the laboratories. He is also the reason you will one day learn to pilot ships.”

“I look forward to that day, Your Graces,” the man bowed. 

“And by no means the least, Lord Durinn is the Minister of Education, for both children and adults, and arguably one of the wisest men you will ever meet. All invention, research, literature, history and instruction go through him. I daresay he has read nearly every book in the Grand Citadel and, even more alarmingly, remembers their titles and authors.”

“My Princes,” he bowed. “I have personally overseen your education and look forward to continuing.” 

Loki swallowed. Thor nodded. “My Lords, my brother and I are delighted to meet you all. You will have to forgive us if I struggle to recall your names. My brother is the clever one.”

“We’ve heard the honor belongs to you both,” the Chancellor said. “Please know we are always happy to serve, or answer any questions. As your education progresses, we do hope you will join us at the Council table, or visit us to discuss issues of interest. All of us benefitted greatly from the wisdom of our predecessors. It will be the highest honor to aid in the education of Asgard’s Princes.”

“We look forward to it,” Thor said. Odin gave his younger son a pointed look. 

“Loki, my son, have you anything to say to the High Council?”

Alaric turned and bestowed a warm smile on the Prince. “Any questions, Your Grace? You are free to speak as you wish in this Chamber, and to any of us, your Father's Ministers.”

Loki, Prince of Asgard and the Nine Realms, Son of Odin the Allfather and the Goddess Frigga, learned of several tongues and learning of ever more, looked to his Father, looked to his brother, looked to the greatest advisors in all of Asgard: and vomited at the foot of the Council’s table.

“Now you’ve done it,” Thor hissed at the Ministers, hands fiercely gripping his brother’s shoulders. “Guards! Take the Chancellor to the dungeons and enslave and decapitate him! He made my brother, your Prince, ill!”

Odin sighed and placed his hands on his sons’ backs. “Thank you, my Councilors. Let us leave it there for the day.” 

Chapter Text

When his brother disappeared down the Allfather's portal, Loki stood and stared. 

He knew their Father was angry—and he was right to be. Loki’s angry too, that his brother can’t stop being a warrior long enough to be a King, that he regularly ignores Loki’s counsel, that he can be so foolish and reckless.

But Thor is young by the Monarchy’s standards, and Loki knows from history that even Odin was reckless in his youth.

Besides, despite Thor's hunger for battle, Loki knows just how big his brother’s heart is. It’ll only grow, and patience will come with it. 

Loki looked to Odin, fully believing he’ll say “he’ll be back by dawn” or “it won’t last long” or “you know it’s just to frighten him.”

But then Mjölnir disappeared down the portal after this brother, and Loki realized this is more than a harsh punishment that would last an hour or two. Thor wasn't going to be back where he belonged, enduring the Allfather's wrath until the two Princes are released. He and Thor will not limp back to their chambers and drink too much wine and collapse together in one of their beds and, though their visit to Jötunheim will still shame and hurt when they remember, it won’t seem as bad in the morning. 

Thor was gone.

“Father—” Loki began to plead, but Odin slammed Gungnir to the ground, shaking the observatory and Loki’s very core. 

“Call the Council,” Odin demanded. “They’re to be in chambers immediately. And thank the sacred dead of Vallhalla, my son, that your talents are needed, or you would be falling down a wormhole of your own.”  

*

“Your Grace,” Chancellor Alaric bowed, in that way that makes Loki’s skin crawl. He’d never possessed his brother’s hatred of the Chancellor—a hatred, Loki believed, was mostly based on Thor’s resentment of being given orders from anyone other than the Allfather—but he also recognized false devotion and performance when he saw it. 

“Lord Chancellor,” he allowed. 

“A truly terrible day, my Prince. I am sorry for it.”

“The Allfather has summoned the Council.”

“We are here already, attempting to understand how so grievous a breach could have occurred, during a coronation no less—”

“The Crown Prince has been banished to Midgard.”

For the first time in his life, the Chancellor seemed genuinely startled. “Midgard?”

“We must bring him home, at once. I will raise the issue with the Allfather. You must back me.”

“Your Grace…I can not go against my King’s command.”

“Thor would be your King if it weren’t this invasion. Asgard is in danger. Its greatest warrior has been cast out. His absence is a security risk. You must see that.”

Alaric stared at him for too long a moment. “My Prince, I—”

“Are the Counselors assembled?” Odin demanded, striding toward the Chamber. 

“Assembled and ready to serve, my King.”

“Good. Loki, be seated at my left,” the King said, striding past his son with clear anger. The Council were already standing at their appointed seats, papers and diagrams strewn about and their faces somber. They bowed their heads in silence as Odin took his seat at the head of the table and waved at them to follow suit. "My sons and their foolish group of friends paid an ill advised visit to Jotunheim. We sit on the brink of war, and I have seen fit to banish the Crown Prince to Midgard. Hopefully Laufey will accept this as fitting punishment, at least for a short time."

"The Council trusts your wisdom, Allfather," Alaric said.

"In the Crown Prince's absence, are we to assume the Lord Chancellor will serve as Asgard's regent?" Lord Feykir asked with practiced innocence.

Quite a promotion that would be for you, wouldn't it? Loki thought. The Chancellor on the throne and, you, the second-hand, wearing the Chancellor's Chain.

"Nonsense. We have laws of succession for a reason. If I sleep before the return of Thor, my son Loki will serve as King."

All eyes turned; the sudden shock and resentment in the room was palpable. Loki's own eyes widened. "You can't mean that," he blurted out.

"Why would I not? You are a Prince, same as he. You've had the same instruction. Despite your failure in preventing your brother's scheme, you made a true effort. You've sat with this Council and it's Ministers regularly. What excuses you from the duty of the throne?”

"Allfather...you can't mean to leave the Crown Prince alone on Midgard. If the Jotunns or anyone else discovers that he is outside of Asgard, and mortal—"

“He needs to learn the value of life. There is nothing shorter, or more fragile, than that of the mortals'. To send a guard would be to undo this lesson.”

"And that's how he is to learn his lesson? By losing his life?"

"The greatest danger to your brother is his own immaturity and short sightedness. Making his way without his gifts will do a great deal to improve both."

“He is the heir to Asgard’s throne!”

“He has proved himself unworthy of that title ten-fold! He dragged his friends—Asgard’s mightiest warriors—into danger. He dragged you, his younger brother, into danger. He broke the laws of the realm and may have started war. The people and the armies of Asgard will suffer if Jotunheim seeks retribution. He is unworthy of our protection.”

“He’s your son—my brother!”

“And I am your King! And you should be glad, my son, that I did not cast you down a portal after him! If it weren’t for the service your magic would bring us, you too may very well have found yourself abandoned on Midgard.”

Loki fought the sting in his eyes. “I sent the guard—I tried to stop him. When I couldn’t, I wouldn’t let him venture alone. We nearly left in peace.”

“But you did not leave in peace. Your brother I can excuse for acting a fool, but your sense of duty should be far greater. You are the second son. I’ve always relied on you to remember your sense of purpose over the glory of the throne.”

Loki felt the all too familiar heat of jealousy and hurt swell up in him. Despite his centuries of courtly training, a millennia of preparation, and his general disposition, he began to tremble. “And if I resent that glory and purpose and seize upon the opportunity to remind you that I was never meant for it, suddenly I am at fault?”

Odin pointedly turned away. “Chancellor Alaric, you are to mobilize our forces. Prepare our strongest defenses; we will proceed as if an attack is imminent. Lord Vakr, I would like you to assemble the Security Council immediately. You will take over the investigation into our defenses from the Lord Chancellor. Lord Rœrekr, I would have the Council of Arms and Fleets to assist the Security Council in any way they deem fit.”

“At once, Your Grace,” Roerkr said. Vakr nodded.  

“All will be done to your will, Allfather,” Alaric proclaimed, “but if I may inquire…what exactly are the conditions of the Crown Prince’s banishment?”

“He will need to prove himself worthy in order to return.”

“May I ask how he is to do so?”

“Thor is no longer your concern. The safety of Asgard is all that matters.”

“I agree entirely, Allfather, but if I may be so bold, the safety of the Royal Household is always first and foremost in our security concerns.”

“As it should be—it is the Royal Household that was invaded. Your focus must remain on preventing that from ever happening again.”

“My King," Loki began, "I beg you—”

“You," Odin hissed, "will take as many of Asgard’s strongest soldiers as you require and you will find and seal any portals that remain. You will ensure the Bifrost remains closed and you will adhere to the advice of my Council if I am to fall into sleep and leave Asgard in your hands. Do you accept these terms?”

Loki forced his jaw to still and set in determination as he raised his eyes to Odin. “I do, my King.”

“Good. Then you may yet be spared your brother’s fate.” The Allfather slammed Gungnir to the floor. “If I feel you are not at work in less than an hour, I will reconsider my justice. And don’t believe for a moment you’ll be cast down near your brother—you will face the loss of your power, home, and family alone. Now begone and serve your realm, lest I also make you an example of those who do not.” 

*

Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg and Sif are standing outside the Council room. The look on their faces tells him they know what the Allfather’s justice looks like, and they’re not at all happy.

Just seeing them made Loki so very, very tired.

“Come along then,” he said, and let them follow him to the common room of he and Thor’s chambers. He doesn’t have a chance of sleeping tonight—he doesn’t know when he will again. No one can fill the large room like his brother does, with his booming voice and grand enthusiasm, but at the very least, having their friends in it keeps the loneliness at bay a little longer.

“Loki,” Sif said, before the door even closes. “You must go to the Allfather and convince him to change his mind.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Loki snapped. “You think I want to be stuck in a Council meeting while my brother is stranded on Midgard?”

“The Allfather can’t mean it. Not for long,” Volstagg said. “The Odinsleep is still forthcoming.”

“Along with a hidden passage for the Frost Giants and a banished heir!” Loki gripped the back of the sofa for support. This time yesterday, he was obsessively editing a far too inadequate speech for his brother’s coronation dinner: now, Thor was gone, the Frost Giants had breached their greatest defenses, and the handful of friends he’d thought he had were standing and staring like he’d done all this. “I love Thor more dearly than any of you, but he’s reckless, he’s arrogant, he may have started a war and now he’s gone.” He had to stop—if he doesn’t, he’ll be crying, and based on the blank looks the warriors are giving him, they don’t care, or believe, his pain.

And in that moment, Loki truly hates his brother. He doesn’t know how to do this: how to inspire loyalty, issue commands that are eagerly obeyed, be a pillar of confidence and authority when he’s deeply unsure of what’s happened, and more importantly, why.

“You can change this,” Sif pleaded. “You can convince the Allfather to bring Thor home.”

“That is what I’ve been trying to do! If the Jotunns found a way to penetrate our deepest defenses while my Father was vigilant and awake, what will happen if they choose to invade now? You think I want Asgard’s greatest warrior absent?”

“Then you must go to him.”

“I can not. I have to find and seal any portals that could let our enemies through.”

“Surely the Allmother is capable of that?”

Loki felt rage in his gut. “That’s what you’d have me do? Send my mother, our Queen, to investigate and seal portals where our enemies may appear at any moment? Leave our country with the Allfather on the verge of the Odinsleep?”

“You are brothers!”

“We are also Princes! We have more duties than that of ordinary siblings! I can not leave Asgard vulnerable, no matter how much I may want to go to Thor’s side!”

“So you mean to leave Thor unprotected on another realm,” Hogun said, as flat and grim as ever. 

“Of course not.” Loki took a moment to slow his breathing and stare at the notes on his desk—his daily work, once so ordinary, now seeming like relics from a far more peaceful life. “Hogun and Sif…you will go to Midgard. I trust your discretion. Heimdall violated my Father’s law by allowing us to go to Jotunheim—he will right that wrong by permitting you to go to Earth without telling the Allfather. You will aid and guard Thor until I’m able to speak with the Queen. She may succeed where I can not.”

“Why them and not us?” Fandral demanded. 

“Because you and Volstagg are incapable of not making a scene, and I need warriors to accompany me to any unsealed portals and help organize our forces. If the Jotunns make good on their promise, we need to have our defenses ready.” 

“Surely it would be beneficial to have Thor accompany you,” Fandral said. 

“If my brother were here we would not have having this discussion!” He reared on them. “I am risking treason for the second time in a day to try and protect my brother despite my duty to my home, a home in grave danger of war with an ancient enemy. What more would have me do?”

Sif was glaring at him with pure disgust: Loki was used to that face, however much it hurt to see. He knew what she was thinking—that he was a traitor to his brother, that he should be sacrificing the realm to get to Thor, because that’s what she would do. 

But Sif was in love with Asgard’s greatest warrior, and as much as Loki loved his brother, he was also a Prince, trained to love his country. 

And it wasn’t fair that Sif and the Warriors laid claim to Thor and seemed to discard Loki’s place in his brother’s affections—he was Thor’s first friend, set to be his most loyal subject, and now his greatest ally. 

“We should make for the Bifrost,” Hogun said.

“You won’t be going by Bifrost. Dress as discreetly as possible and meet me by the palace gates. I’m taking you to a pathway between the realms.” 

*

Thor’s fall is long, dizzying, hopeless, and hard. The earth he lands upon is cold, packed, and sandy, far from the soft, rich earth of Asgard’s heavenly planes. Thor lay dazed, staring up at the stars—or what he thought were the stars—and then he stumbled to his feet, calling for Heimdall, for Odin, for Loki, until two twin lights are bearing down on him and he’s sailing back into the air and earth of Midgard once more.

*

“So these pathways can’t be seen by Heimdall?” Volstagg asked.

“No,” Loki muttered, trying to focus his seidr. 

“Does the Allfather know of them?” Fandral asked. 

“Some. Some my mother knew of. Some close and reappear at random. I’ve never felt one to or from Jotunheim though.”

“How do you feel them at all?”

“Magic calls to magic.”

“So can’t you calleth forth some magic?” Volstagg asked. 

“I am trying,” Loki sent a pointed glare at his friends. Volstagg huffed while Fandral absently twirled his sword. Loki closed his eyes, trying to shut out as many distractions as he was able, raised his hands, and sent forth orbs of seidr, casting them out toward the mountains  and over the sea, seeking any other ports of magic. Casting so many at once required intense concentration, to be both in so many locations and also guiding so many pieces of himself.

He could feel the calls of Odin and Frigga by the palace, and the ever-present gaze of Heimdall as small green orbs past the observatory. The pathway to Svartelheim was ever present, but no new shimmer indicated that it had been used. He checked the known path to Vanaheim next, but that too, had only traces of his own seidr. He was surprised to find a recently closed path to Alfheim nearby, but it was so weak and small no one could have made use of it. 

“What exactly is he doing?” Fandral grumbled.

“Norns only knows,” Volstagg sighed.

“This is folly. It is we who should have gone to Midgard.”

“Loki is right when he says we’d raise more attention.”

“If all he needs is someone standing around being silent while he casts little lights everywhere, Hogun and Sif would do.”

“It’s magic. We don’t understand it.”

“No, because we’re fighters, not tricksters.” 

“You should be grateful. He saved our lives. All of ours, including Thor’s.” 

“You do realize if Odin passes into sleep, he will be King?”

Loki’s concentration dissolved. “You do realize I can hear you?” he snapped, whirling on them. Volstagg’s eyes grew wide, but Fandral just stared. 

“We meant no wrong, my Prince—” Volstagg began.

“No? Did you not just say you dread me on the throne?”

“Not at all. You must forgive us, today has been so unexpected—”

“For you? I’d thought to have been toasting the start of my brother’s reign right now, celebrating a new era for the Nine. Instead we are facing war and invasion and my brother is gone!” Loki’s eyes welled up, though he loathed them for it. “He is a realm away with no means of returning and I can not go to him! I was to be an advisor, little more, and now I am faced with the prospect of the Crown, on the brink of an invasion, and Thor is not here, and I don’t know the means of his return, or if he will return, and then what? I stood in the observatory and watched him fall and couldn’t stop it…what if that is the last we see of each other? What must he think of me? He’d have thrown himself down that portal in pursuit of me, and I stood there disbelieving! What if I never see him again?”

Fandral’s eyes had widened, and Volstagg’s were bulging. Loki shook his head and wiped frantically at his eyes with trembling hands. 

“Nevermind—you’re dismissed, both of you! I’ll go it alone, as I always have—”

“Oh, Your Grace,” Volstagg said, and stepped forward, engulfing him in his huge arms against his giant torso. “My friend—my Prince—you are not alone.”

It was taking every ounce of physical strength Loki had not to sob. “My brother is gone.”

“And he will return. Thor’s rash, and proud, and all the things you said, but he loves us all, and he loves his home. He will find his way back.”

“The Allfather could sleep at any moment. What do I do?”

“Rule.” Volstagg puled back, two great hands on Loki’s shoulders. “You are more than prepared to do so.”

“As an advisor.” 

“You are every bit the Prince your brother is, and no one believes in you more than he does. I will not leave your side, Your Grace. I swore my life, and my ax, to the House of Odin. You are in need of them. Let me serve.” 

“I need Thor.”

“And Thor needs you to close the portals and protect his home, so he can focus on learning his lesson and returning to us. I am a weak substitute, I know, but I have known you since you were a child, and though none of us can love you as only a brother can, that does not mean we do not love you." He smiled. "No harm will come to you while I am at your side, and I shall not leave your side.”

For the first time during this horrible day, Loki felt the slightest ounce of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered; any louder and he feared he’d be weeping. He cast his eyes to Fandral, who set his chin and looked at him. “Lord Fandral, you are dismissed. If you wish to join Sif and Hogun in Midgard, you are welcome.”

“I wish to remain with you, Your Grace.”

“That is not an option.”

“Go,” Volstagg commanded, turning on his friend. “The Prince is under my protection.” 

Fandral glared, gave a curt bow, and stomped off. Volstagg sighed. 

“Truly, Your Grace, he meant no harm.”

“I don’t care,” Loki sighed, rubbing furiously at his eyes. “The Allfather has charged me with a purpose…and I can barely focus on that purpose.”

“Command me, my Prince. Tell me how to aid you.” 

Loki turned away in an effort to hide his tears. As mad as his brother could make him—and oh how he made him—Thor did not take Loki’s vulnerability lightly: and, as much as he hated it, Loki was vulnerable when he focused all he had on his magic. He could cast and fight easy enough, but sending out scouts of himself was another matter, and one his brother would treat with a gravity he never treated anything but his family’s safety.  

“Follow me,” Loki managed. Volstagg nodded, solemn, ax and the ready, and strode beside the Prince into the dark.

Chapter Text

Six orderlies, four nurses, two doctors and a lot of drugs later, Thor Odinson, the almost-King of Asgard, was lying almost placidly on his hospital bed, staring in wonder and bafflement in the corner, where a glowing box displayed a series of aliens, chatting and pulling objects out of a series of increasingly large hats. 

“What…means of magic…is that?” he demanded. 

“What…Sesame Street?” the man answered. 

“The Street of Sesame passes through this room?”

“It’s the TV. You want the news or something? I thought I’d milk this high I got going with the Muppets. It’s magic day.”

“That’s magic, you say? My brother’s is far superior.”

“Oh cool, is he like Chris Angel or something?”

“I know not of whom you speak.”

From the glowing box, a strange purple being in a black cape reached into a hat and pulled out a small white rabbit by its ears. 

“I have here one rabbit!” he declared, before reaching in once more. “Two rabbit! Could it be…yes…three rabbits!”

“So the hat is the storage unit of his seidr? My brother keeps weapons in his.”

“Conceal and carry, huh?”

“It’s always useful to appear unarmed.”

“Well, that would be way cooler than the rabbits.” The purple man had moved on to pulling bouquets out of hats and counting them.

“Mr…Thor?” a nurse asked. “You have visitors.”

“You may show them through.” 

“Your name’s Thor? Like thunderbolts and lightning?”

“Indeed. I am Thor, Son of Odin, Crown Prince of Asgard, God of Thunder and wielder of the mighty hammer Mjölnir.” 

“I want what you’re on, bro,” the dude chuckled. 

“Hippies,” the nurse groaned, and stood aside to allow the two large figures to pass. 

Lady Sif wore the dark cloak she’d brought to Jotunheim, though it was clearly too warm; Hogun was wearing one of lighter brown. His friends’ eyes were as cutting and suspicious as ever, though even Hogun appeared to smile ever so slightly when they laid on eyes on each other. 

“My friends!” Thor boomed. 

“Your Grace,” Hogun nodded. “You are well.”

“It took us some time to find this place. We apologize,” Sif said. 

“Not at all—by what means have you come?”

“Loki showed us to a path between the realms. Heimdall aided him in bringing us close to you.”

“Listen,” the nurse snapped, “I don’t know if this is some Comic-Con or LARP bullshit or a bunch of trippin’ ball nonsense, but one more disturbance and it’s back to the restraints and your friends are going to lock-up. Understood?”

“I understood not a word of your warning, woman, but I vow to behave as it befits my station,” Thor said solemnly. 

“This is the best day ever,” Thor’s neighbor chuckled. 

“It won’t be when your probation officer gets here,” the nurse reminded him before she stomped off. Thor was too thrilled to see his fellow warriors to care.

“How is Asgard?” he demanded, struggling to sit upright. Hogun found two chairs and pulled them close while Sif helped Thor lean dizzily against the headboard. 

“Well and safe,” Sif assured. “The Allfather has the defenses prepared. The Council is working constantly. I’m sure the Allmother will be comforted when she learns we’ve been sent to look after you.”

“And Loki? He wasn’t cast out as well, was he?”

“He was not.” Sif felt the all too familiar spike of resentment hit her hard. She knew it was wrong—Loki was her Prince and brother to her future King—but as hard as Loki tried, he wasn’t a proper Asgardian: he relied on tricks before talent, manipulation and lies before strength and honor. Even his fighting style relied on dodging and dancing circles around his enemy instead of engaging them face to face. She had always assumed Thor and her fellow warriors felt the same, but although when the elder Prince mocked the younger, and permitted his friends to do so, no matter what invitation was extended, his first reaction was always “let me get Loki,” or “I’ll ask Loki,” or “of course, you may count on my brother and I!” 

As children, Sif had thought this a kindness or a duty to his younger, more quiet brother. But as they grew and Loki’s talents emerged, she saw it was something deeper: though she and their fellows couldn’t understand how the mightiest warrior in all of history could be so deeply devoted to one who practiced tricks and dwelled in libraries, no one could unseat Loki in Thor’s heart. 

“The Allfather has charged him with locating and sealing any stray portals.”

“Who’s with him?”

“Vostagg and Fandral,” Hogun assured him. “You needn’t worry. They will protect our Prince.”

“He tried to speak for me.” Thor’s eyes filled. “He looked so frightened as I was cast out. I never should have brought him. You were right…all of you were right. We should never have gone to Jotunheim.” 

“You don’t need to worry about Loki,” Sif said. “He’s home. You’re the one that’s vulnerable.”

“He’s home where a war may be coming—as are my mother and father. Of course I have to worry! They were in the weapons’ vault of the palace…our home. Odin is weary. My mother and brother will be left to shoulder Asgard alone. My father was right—I’m selfish.”

“You had no way of knowing you’d be banished.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Hogun agreed. “Even Heimdall felt it right.”

“He shouldn’t have. I realize that now. Had he refused to open the bridge for us, Asgard would have no heir. How is that upholding his sworn duty to protect the realm?”

Sif’s large, serious eyes grew wide. Hogun set his jaw all the harder. 

“We all shoulder the blame in this,” he said seriously. 

“We have to get home. We have to find Mjölnir. If we do, my power should be restored, and we can return. I can make things right.” 

Sif smiled at that. “A quest on another realm is what we do best,” she said. 

“Thor?” a new voice asked from the doorway. Thor turned to see the young woman he’d only briefly encountered before succumbing to an unknown strike from a second woman’s weapon. “Hi…I’m Jane Foster. They said they were releasing you, and I wondered if I might buy you some breakfast and ask some questions.” Her eyes widened as she took in Sif and Hogun at his bedside. “I have…a lot.” 

*  

“This is getting us nowhere,” Loki fumed. 

“Your Grace?”

“You may drop the formality, Volstagg.”

“Loki?”

“I don’t believe they came through a path between realms at all. I believe they took one outside them all.”

“What…you mean from the world unknown?”

“I know not. But I know where we should be,” Loki spun on his heel and made back through the darkened trees toward the palace. Volstagg hurried along, even his wider gait struggling to keep up with Loki’s swift step. “The Chancellor will have sealed off entry to the weapon’s vault. When we return to the palace, I will go ahead and say that I come on behalf of the Security Council. Give me a moment to hear their arguments, than approach and say the Allfather sent you to watch over me as I investigate the vault. They may deny us an order on behalf of one, but not both.”

“I must admit, It’s a bit odd seeing you like this,” the warrior admitted. 

“Like what?”

“So…official.” 

“Official?”

“Political. It strikes me as terribly restrictive.”

“Have you ever wondered what it is I do all day?”

“Ride, hunt, practice tricks—”

“My ‘tricks’ as you call them, serve a purpose. My practice of magic serves a purpose. Hunting, riding, fighting, sparring—these are the currencies of Asgardian popularity. It is why my brother will be a beloved King. I pride myself in being quite skilled at them, but they are not how I spend my days.”

“I meant only that you have a reputation as a rather…free spirit.”

“You don’t think very much of me, do you?” Loki asked, whirling on him. 

“I meant no harm.”

“No, you never do. Nor Fandral, nor Hogun, nor any of my other so-called ‘friends—’”

“Your Grace—”

“—nor the Nobles, or the servants who chuckle or the guards who ignore my order, nor my very own brother. Well I hope all of you know that the feeling is entirely mutual. You may find me odd or stuffy or dull, but I find you all dreadfully simple. Including my dear, Kingly brother. Allow me, friend, to impart some much needed wisdom to you.”

Loki turned and began walking again. “Remind what it is the Midgardians call me?” 

“God of Mischief?” 

“Mischief, chaos, lies. Born to a royal family and charged with the sacred duty of protecting the realm and ensuring the security of my brother's throne. Where would one such as me find an outlet for that love of chaos and mischief?”

Volstagg looked slightly confused. “Muspelheim?” 

Norns alive, I am surrounded by fools. 

“No, friend. Government. The Council, the Court—there’s no greater home of lies, mischief, and chaos than a group of individuals clustered together and vying for power. Uncovering a few hypocrisies and misdeeds is like a skirmish. Larger plots are like grand battles. And the Chancellor himself, Alaric…he is my King Laufey. The unvanquishable foe even Odin couldn’t conquer.”

“I confess I’ve never understood this hatred you and Thor bear the man. He has served your family well, yes?”

“I don’t hate him at all. I daresay I respect him, and he me. He’s quite cunning and clever. If destiny hadn’t anointed us rivals, we may have been great friends.” 

“Well once your brother takes the throne you needn’t concern yourself with any of that. A Prince should be out showing his strength to the people.”

Loki let out a huff of exasperation. “Who would you say is the most powerful person in Asgard after the Allfather?”

“Thor, I imagine. Or the Queen. And yourself as well,” he said hastily. 

“We are strong only because my Father loves us. But when the Allfather issues a decree, or commands aid be given to a supplicant, what happens next? Who carries that order through?”

Volstagg frowned. “I…hadn’t thought of it.”

“Well, allow me to instruct you. The command is recorded and given to Lord Feykir, Minister of Diplomacy, Alaric’s assistant, who presents it to the Chancellor. The Chancellor then assigns the appropriate Minister to pass it to their committee who assigns it to some lower Noble or other to accomplish. If the Chancellor wants to alter the Allfather’s order, he can. If he wants to ignore the order, he can. If he wants to give it to some new Noble eager to court his favor, he can. Unless it is large, Odin will not notice.”

“That’s treason!”

“Is it? The Chancellor is given the freedom of rule by my Father’s command.”

“You don’t truly believe Alaric seeks to undermine our King?”

“That is not the purpose of this lesson. You said that I must show myself as physically strong to show power, as Odin did, and his father before him. That is certainly how Thor has won the hearts of the people. But the nobility is fond of him because he spends his days as you and the other warriors—hunting, skirmishing, sparring, voyaging to other worlds on great quests. 

“Despite my brother’s youth and intemperance, they were eager for his reign, for a new, young leader with limited political experience is one who is easily controlled and manipulated. They would encourage their golden warrior to go about his ignorant ways and leave them free reign of Asgard. I object to that on principle. As the second son, it is my birthright to torment and manipulate my elder brother. I will not have my role usurped.”

“I can’t imagine anyone greater at that than you, Silvertongue.” 

“And I aim to make sure it stays that way," Loki smirked. "The way I see it, there are two paths for my brother to take: he can continue merrily down one of ignorance and battle, or he can be swayed to use the intelligence I know he possesses and take the reins of his own rule. It would take a great influence to dissuade him from his current path. When I realized this, I made certain that Alaric didn’t take notice that there was a second shrewd and clever ruler in Asgard, one who is just as effective in the shadows and has my brother’s best interests at heart.”

“Who is that, then?” 

“Who do think, you grand buffoon?” Loki shook his head in disbelief. “Me.” 

*

“Another!” Sif, Hogun, and Thor smashed their cups in tandem. Darcy’s small device was going off in rapid fire while Jane apologized and moved to sweep up the glass. 

“Relax, dude,” Darcy said, “we had to pull a second table over for all the food. This is going to pay Izzie’s rent for the month." 

The three Aesir continued to eat as though starved—which they practically were. It had been nearly two days without food in their time, and a grand battle had been in the mix. 

“So,” Darcy said, “what you’re saying is you need to find this hammer, Moo-Moo—”

“Mjölnir!” Thor protested, but with his mouth stuffed the name sounded even more impossible.

“—and then you can power up and go home to Iceberg?”

“ASGARD,” Thor, Sif, and Hogun their mouths similarly full. 

“And if you get your power back…you’ll be able to open the Einstein-Rosen Bridge?” Jane asked. Darcy rolled her eyes—her boss was like a pitbull clutching an Einstein-Rosen bone. 

Izzie swung by with more coffee when Jane’s phone rings, signaling news from Selvig. 

“Hey, Erik. I’m here with…'Thor' now.”

“Good—we need him. I heard from a colleague that he wasn’t the only thing that landed in the desert last night.”

*

Loki adopted his most serious and intense look as he approached the two guards stationed at the door of the weapon’s vault. 

“Good evening, friends. I’m sure you’re aware that the Lord Chancellor has assembled the Council in an effort to discover the grievous reason our defenses were so terribly breached.”

“Indeed, Your Royal Highness,” one guard said. 

“Lord Vakr has assembled the Security Council to aid in this investigation. It is at their request that I re-examine the weapons’ vault, to see if my magic may reveal what their technology could not.”

“I apologize, Your Grace, but we have been placed under strict orders not to permit anyone into the vault until further notice.”

“The Lord Chancellor has issued these orders, but as I explained, I have just come from the Council Chambers on his behalf.”

“I understand, my Prince, but if would probably be best if the Chancellor could come himself to authorize your entry.”

“The Chancellor is obviously consumed with the investigation and the political fallout of an invasion in the midst of a coronation. Surely you don’t mean to pull him aside so he can approve a Prince of Asgard following through on an order he himself gave.”

“I do beg your forgiveness—”

“YOUR GRACE!” Volstagg boomed, rounding the corridor at a half-run, ax outstretched. The two guards started and moved as if to shield the Prince from his friend. “Thank the Nine I caught you!”

“What is the meaning of this, Lord Volstagg?” the second guard demanded. 

“Odin Allfather has charged me to accompany the Prince into the weapons vault while he conducts his investigation.”

“The Allfather is kind,” Loki said, “but I will be perfectly safe with the Destroyer at my back.”

“I can not disobey a command from my King, Your Highness. I fear the Allfather was already quite furious that the Chancellor would dare send you unprotected to a potentially active portal.”

“I shall respect his wisdom then.” He turned back to the guards. “If you’d please?”

The two exchanged anxious looks, but then the first nodded reluctantly and drew the door open. Loki lead the way, Volstagg close behind him, ax at the ready. The Prince didn’t turn until they reached the foot of the stair. 

“You embraced your role mightily, my friend,” he chuckled. 

“It was great fun!” the elder warrior beamed. 

“Adding the Allfather’s displeasure at Alaric was a lovely touch.”

“The guards will share that rumor. It will be give the Chancellor some difficulty. I thought it would please you.”

“You learn fast. The next lesson will be on subtlety, though I imagine you’ll take after Thor on that one.”

“Aye, my Prince, I feel stealth is best left to those of more reasonable sizes, such as your own.”

Loki felt a warm, genuine smile spread across his face and lead the elder warrior deeper into the cold, dark chamber. The smell of smoke, cold, and destruction still lingered, and though the bodies of the Jotunn invaders had been removed, the icy pools they had frozen remained unmelted. 

“It smells of Jotunheim,” Volstagg murmured. 

“I didn’t realize ice had a smell until today,” Loki agreed. 

“The very stone froze under their touch.”

“They are conquerors; that I will grant them. They can transform an entire world to suit their needs. Even the Allfather couldn’t do so. Had they gotten their hands on the Casket, we would all most likely be statues.”

The Casket of Ancient Winters sat safely anchored on its perch. Loki moved toward it, casting as he did, seeing just how close the Jotuns had gotten to taking it back. The pale blue light swirled in time with his seidr, and the eerie memory of his armor blasting away under the Giants’ frozen touch—and the horror as his arm quickly shifted to match—came back to him. He’d shifted since he was a young child, first given seidr by Frigga, but he had never undergone an unwilling transformation. Whether he had somehow been cursed or his seidr had simply responded to the threat by shifting to protect him from it, he wasn’t sure, but there were far more dire things at hand before he could fret about a little blue skin. 

Loki turned, raised his hands, and cast his scouting orbs once more. They all hovered for several seconds before racing back around the corner, deeper into the very heart of the vault. Loki followed them, Volstagg at his heels, as the orbs gathered together in a square cluster against the far back wall where no soldiers patrolled. 

“That’s the door,” Loki said, and stepped forward. 

“Your Grace, please—let me go first.” The warrior strode ahead of him and assumed his fight-position, great ax in hand, before nodding for the Prince to approach. Loki brushed his fingertips along the frame, feeling the remnants of aether and cold. He closed his eyes and viewed the portal through his seidr, surprised at how many different colors remained over the entry. 

“This was not the work of one sorcerer,” Loki realized. “It was the work of several.”

“Do the Jotunns have such sorcerers?” 

“I’m not so sure it’s them.” The Prince stepped back and one of his doubles emerged, attempting to enter through the darkened doorway. 

“My Prince—Loki—please don’t!”

“It’s alright: it’s just a duplicate. Stay by my side,” he soothed, and let the clone move into the darkness beyond. 

Where he emerged was unlike any place he’d ever been: unlike the other portals, which began as solid passages before transforming to their own mini-BiFrosts, this path opened directly into a place Loki could only describe as other—dark, cold, adrift in the universe. A faint sparkle drew his attention, and he saw similar echoes of the various seidrs that lingered behind him. Two portals then: the first, to bring the Jotunns to this strange not-place: the second, to bring them directly into the weapon’s vault. 

Although his clone stood in the portal, he felt a deep chill of dread and wrongness sweep over his body. He didn’t want to be here. The not-place was coated with dark energy and malicious intent, and his seidr was urging him to flee. 

Instead, he sent the double forward, ensuring that the second portal had been properly sealed, and then added a coating of his own magic as a warning to anyone who tried to reopen it that they had been discovered. Satisfied, he allowed his double to dissolve and returned fully to himself, Volstagg at his side, still poised and ready. 

“The portal is closed. Now we attend to this one.” 

The Prince raised his hands, closed his eyes, and cast with all his might, feeding his seidr into the edges of the imagined doorway and forcing it in on itself. Since it was inactive it collapsed quickly, and Loki cast several heavy barriers to ensure that any attempt to open it would cause a great deal of time and alert him to the disruption. 

“It’s secure,” he said, stepping away. 

“Well that is a small blessing on this awful day.” 

“I need to speak with my Father.”

“I shall accompany you.”

“No, my friend—I must do this alone. And I daresay he may make good on his promise to cast me out as well. If that should happen, you must go to the Queen. She will put her own safety last, and if we are in the danger I think we are, she must have a full guard at all times. And you must trust no one, Lord Volstagg—not the Chancellor, not his Council, not his emissaries, nor even the Allfather himself. You are to treat them all as threats to the Queen’s safety.”

Volstagg’s eyes were wide. “You mean this?”

“I do.”

“What is it you saw in there that makes you think this way?”

“It isn’t what’s in there; it’s what’s here. How perfect the access point is. No guards pass by here. The Destroyer is not in position. Even the Allfather didn’t detect them until they made it close to the casket.” Loki drew a deep breath and hoped he wasn’t a fool for trusting the elder warrior with his thought. “I believe someone close to Odin himself aided the invaders.”

Volstagg's eyes grew wide. “Laufey said 'the House of Odin is full of traitors...'”

Loki nodded, rubbing anxiously at his lips, a bad habit from childhood he’d never fully broken. “He did.”

“If what you say is true…then you mustn’t leave us.”

“I certainly hope not to,” Loki sighed. “But if I do, I beg you—protect our Queen.”

The great warrior nodded solemnly. “She will come to no harm while I live, my Prince. I swear it on the Nine.”

“That…is some small comfort.” Above them they heard the great doors clamber open and the sound of ominous footsteps and an all too familiar metal spear. “And that…is my very angry Father.”  

*

Jane Foster was more than a little at sea with how to entertain three gods-who-weren’t-gods, two of whom had weapons out and their eyes locked on her in the rearview mirror, and one who seemed close to hanging his blond head out the window like a golden retriever. 

“So…three gods and a mortal get in a car…” she tried with an awkward chuckle. Silence met her. 

“Go on,” Thor said, smiling. 

“What?”

“What happens once they are in the car?” Hogun, the warrior whose face seemed incapable of forming a smile asked. 

“Well…I’m not sure. It was just an attempt at a lame joke.”

“We are not gods, as you believe,” the lady warrior—Sif—said calmly. “We are Aesir. Our superior strength, longer lifespan, advanced technology and great intelligence lead the mortals to believe we were gods.”

“I see.” Bitch. Jane was no great love guru, but even she could tell that Sif was not enjoying the presence of another woman so close to her “Prince.” “But you’re saying that your hammer, Thor…that’s real? You can summon lightning with it, and it’s indestructible?” 

“It is. And when I spin it really fast, it will pull me through the air and I can fly.” 

“But if you lost your grip, you’d fall out of the sky?”

“Mjölnir comes to my hand when I call it. Were I to lose my grip, nothing would stop her from returning to me. Were that another Lady so loyal!” he beamed. Sif glowered at him.

“And you guys…your weapons are similar?”

“I fight with a hridgandr,” Hogun grunted. 

“And I a spear,” Sif sniped. 

“Sorry, what’s a…what’s your weapon, Hogun?”

“A mace, with spikes, attached to a ball chain,” Sif supplied with a slight eye roll. 

“Oh, I see.” Mega bitch.

“Mjölnir was forged in the heart of a dying star,” Thor explained. “Only those who are worthy and strong can wield her. My Grandfather once did, and an Uncle, before he died. Spears are the most common weapon of our people. The Einherjar have them, as does Odin. My brother favors daggers; he’s quite adept with them, up close and throwing. Our friend Volstagg has a mighty ax. And then there are the archers…”

Jane plastered what she hoped was an interested smile on her face and deeply regretted not bringing Darcy along. Between the glares of Sif and Hogun and the oblivious enthusiasm of Thor, it was going to be a very, very, long drive. 

*

“This is what my sons do?” Odin roared, stomping toward the throne. “Disobey their King and drag their friends into their treason?”

“You ordered me to find and seal the portals.”

“Around Asgard!”

“There has been no disruption of the passageways off of Asgard, Allfather.” 

“Then where do you believe this infiltration came from?”

“A portal was opened into the vault itself from a pathway outside of any known realm. I have no way of knowing where it originated.” 

“That, my son, sounds like a weak excuse.”

Loki set his jaw. “The origin of the portal isn’t where this investigation should begin. There are only a handful of people in Asgard who know the weapon’s vault well enough to orchestrate such an invasion, and even fewer capable of providing the magic strong enough to dwell between the known worlds and cloak soldiers from Heimdall.”

“Only the most trusted in all of our kingdoms have access to the weapon’s vault.”

“Precisely.” 

Odin frowned. “I would take care how you speak, my son; those that sit on my Council have known me since childhood. We’ve fought together, mourned together, bled together. Whatever affection you and your brother share is little more than the shadow of a small child compared to the bonds between myself and those you question.”

“Laufey said 'the House of Odin is full of traitors. ' Assuming you have not betrayed yourself, Thor has not disrupted his own coronation, Mother has not secretly been conspiring to murder us all, that leaves me. And if you believe me to be Asgard’s traitor, I would ask that you not leave me to solve a crisis while you sink into slumber!”

Odin slammed Gugnir to the dais. “You forget you speak to your King!”

“My King is blind in more than one eye!”

“You must be starving for the streets of Midgard.”

“I am desperate for you to hear me—as my King, as my Father, as my teacher, and protector. We must bring Thor home. We must show the Council that they can not divide us. We must trust none of those who are closest to us until we can determine who would see us in ruin!”

Odin looked at him in disgust. “You think yourself so clever. You always have. Your heart is twisted with jealousy and mistrust, and you assume all the world’s hearts are too.” 

Loki felt a deep pull in his gut: pain that quickly turned to rage. “If I am jealous and mistrustful, it is because of this world you built. You told Thor and I that we were both meant to be Kings; was that some kind of cruel test? To set us against one another in a war for the throne? In a war for your love?”

“Kings fall every day with no children to succeed them; look where we are now and be glad I charged you with the same duties of my firstborn!”

“Glad? You want me to be glad that you cast my brother out on the eve of a war? Glad that my own family refuses to hear my advice? Glad that you plan to install me on the throne hours after my brother was supposed to be, so all of Asgard can look upon me as a traitor? Is my downfall to be part of his reward when he recovers his power and returns a hero? Am I to be no more than a war-prize you dragged home and locked in a vault?”

The color sank out of Odin’s face in a way Loki had never before seen. “What do you mean by that?” he murmured. 

“Father?” the rage drained out of Loki as quickly as the energy drained from the King. 

“You’re my son.”

“Of course I am.” Loki hurried up the steps to the dais as Odin swayed and sank slowly to the stair. “Father…I’m sorry. Please, don’t…not yet. I can’t do this alone, please!”

“No, Loki,” Odin murmured, reaching weakly for his son’s hand. “No, Loki…” and then his good eye closed. 

The younger Prince’s heart was racing. His hands shook as he reached to touch his Father’s hand, than his throat. He forced down a sob and screamed “Volstagg! Guards, help us!” 

*

A line of men dressed in identical dark suits stood outside a giant, hastily constructed facility. A man named Phil, the Son of Coul, introduced himself and said “heard you could explain where this immovable hammer came from?”

“Show me to her, Son of Coul, and I will move it,” Thor declared, but as he followed the Agent, Sif and Hogun at his back, he began to feel a rise of uncertainty and dread. The feeling was all too familiar these past few weeks, when anxiety had driven him to the foot of Loki’s bed and his stomach had rolled before he was set to walk the long aisle to the throne and say his coronation vows. 

All that fear hadn’t been misplaced…and he now wondered if this fresh wave of it would also prove valid. 

Mjölnir was there, buried on her side much as she had first looked when she lay dormant in the weapon’s vault. Thor knelt before it and prayed to the Allfather, to Heimdall, to the Norns, that they would hear his apology, accept his humility, grant him the chance to do better and make it right. He promised to make amends to his family, to protect his Mother and brother and realm, to try and right the wrong he’d done to Jotunheim. 

He carefully took the great hammer’s handle in his broad hands and pulls, praying for the rush of power and feel of home. 

Mjölnir wouldn't budge.  

* 

The Allfather’s room of rest was normally a place of calm and quiet, especially with the ever-presence of the Allmother, who brought peace with her very existence. Thor and Loki had spent many hours by their Father’s bedside, where Frigga would sing or read aloud or have her boys practice their foreign languages while their Father slept. 

Neither of the Princes were ever at ease with Odin lost to them, and he knew Asgard felt the same. The Chancellor had always assumed the role of Regent and served admirably, but it was little comfort when the most powerful being in the Nine was reduced to the helplessness of a child. 

“I remember when you and Thor were young, how you’d sleep at the foot of this bed while your Father rested,” the Queen smiled. “And you’d constantly wake each other up to make sure the other hadn’t gone into their own little Odinsleep.”

Loki could take no comfort in the memory: not with Thor’s recent habit of tumbling onto the foot of his own bed to soothe his nerves, and not with both his brother and Father lost in a day.

“How long will it last?” the younger Prince managed.

“I don’t know. It’s different this time…he’s put it off for so long,” Frigga murmured. “He didn’t want to leave your brother vulnerable and new to rule.”

“He’s left my brother more vulnerable than I ever dreamt possible,” Loki snapped. “These threats are coming from within our own palace, and he stripped Thor of his power and cast him to another realm.”

“There is always a purpose to everything your Father does. What he intends from this I know not, but I have faith Thor will find his way home.”

“The Council knows who did this, Mother. I’m sure of it. Father won’t hear me, but you must. If they wanted war on the first day of Thor’s reign, what will the fall-out be now that he is gone?”

“What would you have me do?”

“We must bring Thor home. We must close ranks if we are to survive. If war comes while Odin sleeps, my brother must be here to lead the army so I may try and ascertain who it is whose betrayed us.”

“I have every confidence that you will do so, my love,” Frigga murmured. Behind them, the door to the King’s chambers opened, and the Chancellor entered with two guards: in the hall behind them, the Council waited in line, hands respectfully folded, watching the guards carry the great spear of Gugnir forward and kneel before Loki with it in hand. 

“Your Grace,” Alaric said, and took to his knee, hand over his heart. “My King.”

Loki stared at him, disbelieving. 

“Your Father sleeps. Your brother is gone. Until one of them returns to us, Asgard is yours,” the Queen said. “You will make us proud, I’m sure of it.”

Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, Master of Magic, Serpent of Seven Tongues, the quickest and most deadly knife fighter in the Nine Realms, looked to his Queen, looked to his Council, looked to the great and powerful Gugnir—and vomited at the foot of the Allfathers bed.

Chapter Text

Jane had never been happier, or more grateful, for Darcy's utter obliviousness of others' discomfort; a trait she realized she somehow shared with this mythical space-man on a quest to recover his bizarrely immovable hammer. 

Darcy is exactly what they all need, and why Jane had called her and Eric and told them to "get the hell out here now, Thor can't lift his hammer, the space-gods are getting hauled in for questioning and if they make us take them back I am not driving alone." 

Erik was waving his arms, wide-eyed, ranting "you can't force them on us, we don't have the space for three giants and we can't possibly afford to feed them, breakfast alone was over $100 and don't tell me you'll reimburse us with receipts because I know all about what happens when Uncle Sam promises money back, the tax code alone favors—”

Jane moves off, observing the three interrogation rooms from the distance. Sif was every bit as calm and composed as ever, looking vaguely interested at the agent before her. Hogun had clearly taken a vow of silence and set his mouth in a grim line. Thor was sitting slumped over, bright hair obscuring his face, staring at his open palms, an almost cartoonish picture of loss and misery. 

She couldn't say she actually bought the three strangers' story...but she knew grief when she saw it. Whatever the truth was, the man in front of her was suffering, and that, at the very least, made him very, very human.

*

Loki set his shoulders and strode to the Council Chamber as if he’d been born to it, slamming the door as he went. The Chancellor and the group scrambled to their feet at his entrance, Volstagg striding casually at his back and taking a silent, stoic place by the door. 

“Your Grace, it’s an honor for the Council to serve,” Alaric began.

“Take your seats, my Lords.”

“If we may inquire into your health?”

“My health is perfect, Lord Chancellor.” It wasn’t, Loki noted, a complete lie—he had almost the same adversarial relationship with food as he had with sleep. His body never could keep pace with his mind. 

He quickly took the seat at the head of the long table and forced a relaxed and easy pose against it. “First and foremost, it is my life’s highest honor to serve alongside you on Odin Allfather’s Council, though I regret the madness that has lead us all to be seated together. We may have our individual differences, but we share a love of Asgard, and it is the security of our realm that dominates our business this day. I would first hear how your investigation progresses.”

“Lord Vakr has the Security Council out with General Tyr, personally reviewing our defenses. Lord Rœrekr has taken the Council of Arms and Fleets to take stock of the weaponry and rally the smiths to their forges in the event of repairs or additional supplies required.”

“And what of the Weapon’s Vault?”

“The Weapon’s Vault was deemed secure by the Allfather this afternoon and was sealed at his request.”

“I found the Vault to be far from secure, Lord Chancellor. In fact, I found an unsealed portal, the very one the Jotunns must have used.” 

The additional Council members stirred: even Lord Feykir’s normally smug expression wavered as he looked to Alaric. 

“I fear we haven’t your talents at investigating such mystic elements, Your Grace. We have always relied on the Allfather to do so.” 

“It is my pleasure and my duty to assist my Father and his Council in such investigations, yet I received no clearance to enter the vault.”

“It is a great blessing that you were able to circumvent the Allfather’s order,” the Chancellor smiled, with real, genuine warmth that reached right to his eyes. “I daresay we and all of Asgard are all the safer for it. Perhaps with the terrible distractions of the day and the Destroyer’s excellent performance, the remnants of the invasion were overlooked.” 

Loki smiled back, coaxing warmth up into his own eyes: it was a trick he prided himself on, and the very height of a skilled liar. “I do hope my tone is not accusatory. Despite my time in these chambers, I can’t hope to understand the inner-workings of this Council as you, the most trusted of Odin’s advisors do. I must endeavor to try during my hopefully brief turn as Regent.”

“We serve at your pleasure, as always.” 

“May I say, you Grace,” Lord Eisnarr interjected, “on behalf of your Ministers of Trade, that we welcome you as our King, and wish only that the station had fallen upon you in more agreeable circumstances.”

“I second the motion, my King,” Lord Porsi agreed, “on behalf of your Ministers of Agriculture. We are more than happy to assist our fellow Councilmen in anyway you see fit.”

“And of course,” Lord Heggr chimed in, “the Treasury is yours. No expense will be denied you in your quest to secure the Nine.” 

“I thank you all,” Loki beamed, feeling like his soul was shriveling. How his Father and brother endured these overblown displays of favor was unfathomable. They may as well be stray cats mewling up at Loki as he taunted them with a half-rotted fish. 

At least the Chancellor was decent enough to use his charm as a means of diverting Loki’s attention from the real issues at hand. The others were simply using theirs for Loki’s attention. 

Dullards and simpletons. Are these really the men my Father chose? 

Although…dullards and simpletons are terrifically easy to control.

“Now my Lords, we must turn our attention to the second, but no less critical security issue—the Crown Prince’s protection on Midgard.” 

“I think I speak for us all, Your Grace, when I say we honor your judgment in sending three skilled warriors to his aid.”

Loki had to school his expression to hide his surprise—it was an emotion he rarely felt. He prided himself on being prepared for just about anything. He could feel Lord Feykir grinning like weasel that had a rabbit cornered, but Alaric remained calm and friendly. 

“We can not have the most powerful warriors of Asgard off-world at a time such as this. I give you the courtesy of disclosing that it is my intention to retrieve the Crown Prince and return him to Asgard. He will remain in the palace until his power is restored.”

“As Minister of Diplomacy, Your Grace, I always seek a peaceful and swift resolution,” Feykir said. “However, as a citizen, I daresay there is much cause for confusion regarding the Crown at this time.”

“How do you mean?”

“It is the middle of the night, my King,” the Chancellor reminded him, “the invasion and failed coronation caused a great deal of unease. Come dawn, word will spread that Odin has taken his rest and you sit the throne.” 

“The people were well aware my Father’s time of rest was at hand.”

“Indeed, and they had thought to have a King who had officially been crowned by the Allfather.”

“I will spare you all the discomfort and acknowledge what we all are thinking: the people have long expected Thor to take the crown or, at least, sit as Regent. I do not expect the news that the duty has fallen to me to be well received: I expressed as much to Odin. I believe it even more necessary that the Crown Prince be returned to Asgard to alleviate the worry of the people, and demonstrate that my brother and I have no quarrel with one another.”

“I fear it will raise the question of the succession, and who, exactly, the people are to support.”

“We have had some confusion ourselves,” Lord Feykir admitted. “In our decision to support your initiative to provide Prince Thor some protection, we all risk defying the will of the Allfather. The less conflicting orders given, the more at ease the realm will be until Odin awakes.”

As loathe as Loki was to admit it, they made a far too valid point. He had defied his Father’s orders at least three times that evening, before the Allfather slept. It was unfair of him to ask the Council to be complicit in his defiance and risk the wrath of Odin, or deny Loki and risk the wrath of their Regent. 

“You are wise, my Lords. I thank you for your honesty and encourage you not to fear speaking openly with me. Pray I rule only a few days, but I will need your wisdom for every moment of those.” He rose to his feet, the Councilors rising with him. “Thank you for your counsel, my Lords. Chancellor Alaric, if I may speak to you in private?” 

Lord Feykir opened his mouth as if it protest, than glanced at the Chancellor and changed his mind. Alaric smiled graciously as the rest of the men cleared out of the chamber and the younger Prince gave a reassuring nod to Volstagg, allowing him to close and presumably guard the door from the outside. 

“May I fetch you something, Your Grace?" the Chancellor asked as Loki resumed his seat. "Wine, or water?”

“You are kind, my friend. I am well. Please help yourself if you are in need.”

“I daresay I have far too much practice with the long hours,” the Chancellor chuckled and took his seat.

“You have served as Regent countless times, including during the great war with Jotunheim. I dearly hope I can rely on your advice and wisdom above all others.”

“I serve the House of Odin, my King. There is no higher calling for an Aesir. I will deny you nothing.” 

“You already have.” 

The Chancellor sighed. “It gives me no joy to insist the Prince serve out his sentence in another realm. I declared both of you official heirs on your respective Name Days, before the entire Kingdom. I was the first to visit the Queen in her private chambers to view you and your brother: as part of my official duties, yes, but also as a true friend of my King. The Allfather himself paid visit to my own wife at the birth of each of our children, and personally anointed my eldest son a Lord in his own right. The love I bear your family is beyond the call of my official duties. 

“As, of course, is the love you bear for your brother. I see the wisdom behind your desire to restore him to Asgard. But as Chancellor, I fear that undoing Odin’s final, and so firm, a command as the beginning of your own regency is impossible.”

“Is it?” Loki asked. “Or is it merely against your wishes?”

“You must establish yourself as Odin’s next authority. To have the Crown Prince suddenly powerless and beside the throne will only cause more people to question you and your motives. Such questions can be terribly dangerous. Not to mention, if we are to attempt to restore the truce with Jotunheim, we must show Laufey that some measures were taken to punish those who crossed into his realm.”

“But I am one of those who did. I am every bit as complicit as my brother.”

“It will go a long way if you are to make clear that you were against the trip from the beginning, and went so far as to attempt to stop it.”

“That is your suggestion, then? That I blame the entire mess on my brother and allow him to endure his banishment?”

“It is not what I desire, nor what I know you wish to hear. But I believe it best for you and Asgard at the moment, yes. You can not seek to undo Odin's good work in the first few hours of your rule.” 

“Nor will I,” Loki promised. He had thought the simple fawning of earlier had been trying, but it was nothing compared to this terribly reasonable, prudent advice. “I thank you, my friend.”

“It has been a long and terrible day, Your Grace. I beg you to try and get some rest. Come morning, we will have great need of you.” 

*

The drive back was agony: Hogun and Sif wouldn’t be separated from Thor, Jane refused to be separated from Darcy, and instead of Jane’s hope that they would spread the awkward Aesir responsibilities between the three of them, they somehow all ended up back on her with the over-enthusiastic intern, while Selvig undoubtedly enjoyed an untroubled ride with his favorite oldies station. 

The two warriors charged with guarding their Prince didn’t appear any more friendly or less hostile, but Thor seemed utterly devastated, forehead pressed to the window of the front seat, rubbing at his eyes several times, ignoring all of Darcy’s barrage of questions and near-constant nagging about the music choices. By the time they get home, all Jane wants to do is smuggle of a bottle of wine up to the roof and forget she’d ever heard of an Einstein-Rosen bridge, life’s work and Father’s legacy be damned, but they’re barely in the door before Darcy chirps out: 

“You know what we should do? Go to the bar.”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Jane sighed.

“There’s no quicker way to bond. Hey, grand warrior-space-gods, do you guys drink? Alcohol? Wine, beer, vodka, whiskey…ale?”

At “ale” all three warriors perked up.

“Darcy, you saw them eat, we can’t afford their drinks!”

Erik cleared his throat and waved a huge stack of cash. “Got an advance, for necessities. After the last few days…I’d say booze counts.” 

Jane was about to protest but she caught Thor’s hopeful expression and slight smile and felt herself cave. 

“Okay…but we’ve go to get these guys into some real clothes.”

“Cool!” Darcy said. “Syphilis, you’re with me.”

“It’s Lady Sif,” the warrior snapped. 

“Cool, yeah. With me.” She mouthed “bitch” at Jane, who mouthed “right?” 

“I’ll take Hogun," Erik said. "Jane…see what you can do with Thor.” 

“Right. So…my ex left some of his clothes…let’s see if any fit.”

*

“Will you allow me to send for something for you?” Volstagg pleaded. “A tonic for your stomach, or wine for your nerves. Even some simple bread and water.”

“You’re kind, my friend,” Loki sighed, rubbing shaking hands over his face. “But what I need can not be found in a cupboard.”

After his dismissal of the Chancellor, Loki had fled to his chambers, Volstagg in tow. The common room, filled with his books and grand desk covered in notes and spells and stacks of journals was always a welcome sight, a quiet sanctuary where no one would judge him, and he could relax his manners and his posture and just be himself, as much as was ever possible for a royal son.

But of course…the room was also full of Thor’s things. His brother’s own bookshelf, though much smaller than Loki’s grand one, was still there and brimming: Thor had a beloved collection of illustrated weaponry, volumes of military histories and battles, some epic poems lauding Aesir warriors, and the standard “Bor and Odin’s Mighty Conquest of the Nine Realms.”

But there was also the books Thor tried to hide—some from their childhood, a few of magical lore, a “Book of Wisdom for All Kings” Loki had spotted his brother reading several times in the last few months, and a giant tome of maps Thor would agonize over before they journeyed off-world. 

There were other things; two spare red capes, the giant fur throw his brother would burrow under in the winter, the sofa they were always bickering over—Thor wanted it up against the hearth, Loki found the heat unbearable—the art his brother had collected, mostly paintings of battles or hunts, but also a handful few landscapes he treasured, including one Loki himself had painted, a childish effort at best, but one his brother had delighted in. 

Art was a secret passion of his brother’s, particularly painting and sculpture, and while he had no talent with either himself, he knew a frightful amount about the work of others. It was a secret Loki delighted in keeping, knowing Thor only ever shared such non-warlike interests with him, certain Loki would never mock him for it.

Loki wasn’t the only one who relaxed in these rooms. Thor softened, quieted, was less the brash, boasting warrior and more the kind, sensitive, and even thoughtful man his brother hid from most of the world. 

Although Thor had a maddening habit of slamming their door open and bellowing "Brother!" as if they had a reunion months in the making, even if Loki had left him only minutes before. It had annoyed him endlessly, but now, in the terrible silence, he regretted every moment of snappish, petulant irritation.

“Your Grace…Loki. I never properly thanked you for sending the guard. I know you saved our lives,” Volstagg said.

“There’s no need for that,” Loki sighed. “I still failed us all by not talking Thor out of it in the first place.”

“None of us supported you, and we should have.”

“My brother is hard to say no to—believe it or not, I’ve struggled with it myself. It's that big, dumb, oafishly enthusiastic smile. It's a dreadful weapon."

"Is that affection I hear?"

"I've no knowledge of the word."

Volstagg chuckled, but then his expression grew more somber. ”Something you said has stayed with me—that we think very little of you, and you of us."

Loki dropped his eyes. “I beg your forgiveness, my friend. Even if I’ve let the emotions of the day get the better of me, that was unkind."

“No, my Prince, and it wasn’t quite wrong… though perhaps not how you think. I am older, although certainly not wiser, and I can say with confidence that your brother has taken great pride in you since you were children. When we venture somewhere without you, he speaks a great deal about how he wishes you were there to enjoy or aid us in our quest. And he loves telling stories of times you spun circles around some poor fool who thought to outwit you. He’s quick to point out that you’re the most skilled magic practitioner in the realms and the greatest knife fighter, and he delights informing the court that you are the ‘Serpent of Seven Tongues,’ while he is fond of saying he’s barely mastered the two we are all fluent in.”

Loki felt heat in his cheeks. "Sentimental fool," he said fondly.

"When you say what Asgard's currency is that is very true. And very insightful. Though I think you have misunderstood some reactions. I did not perform well in the classroom, Your Grace. Nor did Fandral. He was forever behind in maths and histories, and our teachers would often mock him in front of us. Hogun received very little formal education, as you know: he was working and training from a young age, and attempted to maintain his studies on his own at night. Sif had to become a warrior just to earn the right to even lift a sword and not suffer the education of other courtly women. And I...well, it is the greatest and deepest shame of my life to admit that I can hardly read."

Loki was rarely shocked; but that startled him. "How is that possible? Did no one aid you?"

"They tried. I was able to pretend, or ask questions to cover my ignorance. I threw myself into training and by age nine I was singled out as an exemplary fighter and spent nearly all my days in the sparring pits, with only an hour or two devoted to too study. Rather than admit how impossible I found the task, I simply pretended to be above it."

"You are brave to have shared this with me, my friend. I would be more than happy to aid you when this terrible mess is behind us. There is no shame in it, and I will keep your counsel."

"That is not the purpose of this lesson," he teased, with a warm smile. "I share this with you to show my trust, but also to apologize; I fear my admiration twisted into a desire to protect myself from my ignorance being uncovered. It is habit for those of us who lack your gifts of the mind to inflate our gifts of the sword. Perhaps some of what you mistake as our dismissal of your talents is really an effort to cover our own shortcomings. If we have done you this disservice, than I hope my sharing this will give you comfort."

Loki smiled and clasped his friend's great vambrace in both hands. "You are a great deal wiser than you credit yourself, my friend. And of the finest character. I could not regard you higher than I do at this moment."

"Then my honor is restored." Volstagg grinned. "Now...tell me what comes next.”

Loki sighed and looked around their room, his loyal desk and papers at the ready. This was where he thrived—where he could take all the knowledge of the day and strip away the courtly artifice until only the truth remained. This was what he needed to do now.

“I need to do what I do best,” Loki said. “Think.” 

* 

Jane had to hand it to Darcy…even Selvig was putting them away. Jane had started out drinking some cheap white wine, but quickly caved and joined in on the pitchers the Aesir, Erik, and Darcy were putting away so fast, the waitress had started bringing three at once. 

The sullen silence of the long rides was gone: Thor was booming enthusiastic stories, with Sif rolling her eyes and correcting facts and even Hogun daring to smile and chuckle at times and pipe in with a few well-placed details of his own. 

She knew they were drawing looks—the ragtag team of scientists suddenly with three new faces, all of whom could be models, all of whom spoke like they were method-acting Shakespeare. Jane herself had spent a good ten minutes wondering how exactly Hogun and Thor were so perfectly, flawlessly muscular in their borrowed t-shirts and jeans and Lady Sif was like a runway model armed with Photoshop in her skin-tight (and far too short) yoga pants and t-shirt, and yet they could put away alcohol like it was shot glasses of water. 

“It was a battle like no other!” Thor said. “We had a great company of soldiers, and we friends, and of course, my brother. We were outnumbered, horribly, but then Loki availed us in smoke and sent an army of conjured ravens from above and snakes from below—”

“Loki?” Darcy asked. 

“My brother—he’s a Master of Magic. And speaks seven languages, and is the finest knife fighter in the Nine realms. He said we’d be outnumbered, and then we were, and he just looked at me and said ‘well, now you’ve done it, brother,’ and started casting left and right, so we could fight our way to the high ground. And Norns how we tore them down when he lifted his enchantments! We feasted mightily that night, but Loki lectured me a great deal the next day. Were I at home, he’d—” and like that, Thor’s joyful buzz abandoned him, and his face fell from enthusiasm to grief. Hogun placed a great hand on his friend’s shoulder while Sif sidled up close, pressing her flawless figure against his. 

“The Prince is safe,” Hogun said. “Your family is safe. Asgard is safe.”

“And you have not been abandoned to endure this trial alone,” Sif murmured. “Loki made sure of that.”

“He always thinks ahead. And he’s always so frustrated when I do not. He must be so angry with me right now.”

“I imagine the Prince has far greater things on his mind than frustration with you,” Sif soothed. 

“Indeed,” an all-too-familiar, voice called. “For instance, just what will he do with two the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif on Midgard?”

The group turned to see yet another giant, muscular, blond man stride in, dressed in full armor and cape, make a sweeping gesture to the room before seizing one of their pitchers and drinking directly from the side. 

“What is this, a space-god-cosplay-clown-car?”

“I’m calling Phil,” Erik grumbled. “He’ll have to drive out here himself, the bastard.”

The new man polished off the pitcher and roared “Another!” slamming it to the floor; the cheap plastic made it bounce harmlessly across the room. 

“Sorry!” Jane called, racing after it and depositing back on the bar. “Um…better make that four more pitchers?” She lowered her voice. “Your tip will be at least half the bill, promise.”

“Fandral…what are you doing here?” Thor said, the delight back in his face. 

“I heard there were drinks!” he said, wrapping an arm around Hogun and attempting to one to Sif, who gave him a look that said try it and die. Darcy maneuvered in and said “can I get in on this?” and was clasped heartily in the warrior’s embrace. Jane made her way back to the table and gave a small wave, to which Thor enthusiastically announced,

“Jane, meet Lord Fandral, another wonderful friend and warrior. He was very much a part of the grand battle I was previously detailing.”

“My Lady,” he bowed, took her hand, and pressed his lips to it. 

“Hi,” she said, withdrawing it quickly. 

“And I am the Grand Lady Darcy,” Darcy chimed in, offering her own hand up. Fandral dutifully took it while Sif rolled her eyes. “You know I outrank Lady Jane, right?”

“How did you come here?” Hogun asked, any trace of lightness gone.

“Loki cast me out.”

“Oh Norns,” Sif murmured.

“Cast you out how?” Thor demanded, his own joviality vanished. 

“He told me to leave his presence. He said I was free to join you.”

“Why?”

“He claimed me a distraction. He was casting ridiculous orbs all about and sniping at our conversation.”

“Those ‘orbs’ are scouts; he can send them out and see as they do.”

“Well we weren’t making any progress. Even he didn’t feel it was necessary to the investigation.”

"Who’s with him? Who’s protecting him?”

“Volstagg remains.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“He told me not to.”

“Why were you distracting him? Don’t you understand the focus that takes? He can’t scout dozens of areas at once and fight.”

“There was no fight.”

“He was looking for portals that let our enemies through, that’s why he needed you at his back to begin with!”

“You needn’t worry,” Fandral said, beaming as their new pitchers arrived. “The Council is running smoothly, the Allfather has the investigation well in hand, Volstagg has taken the Prince under his personal protection, and the defenses are well prepared.”

Thor frowned at his friend and cast a glance at Sif and Hogun—their gazes were equally grim. “My friends…I am grateful that you came to my aid. But you must return to Asgard at once. I am among kind people here, with a government watching over me. Our home is in need of you.”

“We can’t return; the Bifrost is closed,” Fandral reminded him. 

“Call to Heimdall and explain. Have him speak with the Chancellor if not my Father.” 

“Alaric won’t lift a finger. If Loki’s so truly worried, perhaps he will lift your banishment when he takes the throne.”

“Loki?” Sif asked suspiciously. 

“You know as well as I do he was appointed Regent by Odin. The Allfather can’t be long before his rest. Once Loki is King, perhaps he will recall us.”

Jane frowned and cast her eyes around the table, but only Darcy seemed to be equally suspicious. Fandral was clearly striving for casual, but he came off like an acting student from Central Casting. The ploy to sew discord between the brothers was plain, and yet it looked like the Asgardians were going easily along. 

Thor seemed torn between anger and sadness and reached shakily for a glass, draining it with real desperation rather than enthusiasm. 

“Loki’s always been jealous of you, Thor,” Sif murmured. “We must all be careful.” 

“And it was Loki who told the guard to go to the Allfather and prevent us from reaching Jotunheim,” Hogun added. 

“Were it not for him, we would all be at home,” Fandral agreed.

“Were it not for him, we would all be dead,” Thor snapped, slamming his glass to the table. “May I remind you, you speak of your Prince. And you speak to your Prince. If war is to come, Loki and Volstagg will be shouldering the burden alone.”

“Tyr can command the forces well enough, and Alaric is a far more experienced Regent than anyone else could hope to be. Volstagg is more than capable of looking after the Prince, and I was reminded of just how skilled Loki is without his magic when he struck down the giant coming for my head.”

“You know—sometimes the second string can surprise you,” Darcy chimed in. “Henry the Eighth wasn’t meant to be King, or Elizabeth the First or the Second, or Catherine the Great, or Gerald Ford, and a bunch of the Caesars…”

And just how many younger brothers killed or had killed the elder to make their own way to the throne? Jane wondered. Even worse…how many brothers turned on each other after the whispers of false or prejudiced friends?

“I’m going to find Erik and get the check,” she announced. “Darcy, you’re in charge of sleeping arrangements.”

“I’m a ‘Grand Lady,’ Lady Jane.”

“And I sign your college credit forms, ‘second-year-senior’ Darcy.”

“Fine. Fandral, you can share with me, because this whole Robin-Hood-frat-boy thing you've got going is a lot, but I'm into it. Hulk Hogun, you can have the couch. Lady Syphilis can have the guest room so she doesn’t live up to her name. Thor—”

Jane shook her head and took off toward the back room. Whatever negotiations Erik was making, they weren't going to be enough. 

* 

Alaric, Feykir, Heggr, Vakr, Rœrekr, Porsi, Loki scribbled. Endless Ministers and Nobles and Nobles under the Nobles, and all of them undoubtedly spreading the word as fast as they were able that the sun would rise with the Second Son of Odin on the throne, not the first. 

To control Thor, all the Council had needed was to encourage his brother to remain who he was: to control Loki, they would have to do the very opposite. Alaric’s mysterious knowledge of Loki’s smuggling the warriors to Earth was sign enough that the Chancellor was every bit as clever as Loki had suspected, and was already hard at work making sure the younger Prince was under strict observation. 

Even worse, all the points he’d made were valid—it wouldn’t take much suggestion to get all of Asgard up in arms that their beloved, golden Crown Prince had been replaced by his dark-haired, shape-shifting younger brother, the silver-tongue serpent, the trickster god of mischief and lies, the smaller, slighter, weaker second son. And with Loki’s friends and brother on Midgard and his Mother refusing to leave Odin’s side, there would be no allies for him but the Council, whose favor and support he’d desperately need to simply survive. 

Loki stood and hurled his pen across the room, wishing destruction could sooth his nerves as it always did Thor’s. At the moment he hated his brother. For being stupid, for being reckless, for being cast out and abandoning him with all this horror. Thor was vain, arrogant, ignorant, and proud, and Loki had suffered under his callousness and bitterly envied the adoration he inspired in everyone around him. 

But for all that he so deeply resented those parts of his brother…there was also the quiet, private Thor, who held his younger brother when he had nightmares, sprawled over his mattress in the night when he was anxious, rubbed his back to wake him when he’d fallen asleep at his desk, brought him platters when he’d neglected meals, asked how he thought he looked at his coronation and if Loki would be by his side when he took the throne. Thor was both the obnoxious warrior who taunted the Jotunns as he struck them down for sport, and the ferocious big brother who slaughtered anyone in battle who dared to harm the younger Prince. 

For all that there were two Thors, there was also two Lokis—the Loki who was bitter over his brother’s glory, spiteful with his magical tricks and envious over the endless adoration his brother received. And there was the younger brother who looked up to him, was grateful for the protection and the casual, easy warmth the golden elder bestowed on him, the way he rejected everyone’s criticism and bolstered his brother’s confidence without a second thought.  

For all their faults, Loki felt, deep down in his soul, that Thor was the only person in the entire universe who would always come to his aid, no matter how spiteful the past or brutal the present. Be it pride or vanity or true affection, Thor would never let anyone harm his brother: and Loki could feel, from all sides, that there were many, many people who wanted to do him harm.

So there was only one place to go. 

Chapter Text

Homesickness, Jane had explained, didn’t actually mean there was sickness in one’s home, but more than one missed their home so much, it felt like an illness.

It made Thor think of how Loki always managed to to deprive himself of food and sleep when he was overly-anxious, essentially making his body manifest his nervous state, but thinking of that made him miss Loki. He missed their shared rooms, his brother’s giant desk and bookshelves, the begrudging way he’d begin to explain something before melting into enthusiasm, the way he’d tossed his feet onto Thor’s back when Thor had thrown himself at the foot of the bed, a gesture that could be seen as demeaning but Thor knew was his brother’s way of showing support. 

His thoughts drifted too often to the desperate way Loki had tried to plead with their Father, and the fear and shock in his face as Thor had tumbled backwards and disappeared down the wormhole. 

He wondered what his Mother had done, when she’d heard. He couldn’t imagine her shame, embarrassment…and the hurt. He’d failed her terribly, taken the trust and faith she had in him and been rash and stupid, abandoning her to mourn him, fear for her husband and youngest son, and leave the realm unguarded. 

And his Father…he couldn’t even bear to reflect on that final conversation. The rage Thor had felt that the once great Odin refused to acknowledge the threat to his own home, the cruel things he’d said, the reckless way he’d behaved, the hurt and fury in his Father’s face.

And then again…he missed Loki. His brother would lecture him endlessly, but Loki was never personal, never cruel as Odin had been. When Loki broke things down in his cool, calm logic, even his wrath felt understandable, and just, in a way Odin’s only ever felt caustic. He couldn’t imagine just how angry his brother was with him, or frightened with the prospect of the throne: no matter what Fandral said, Thor knew his brother better than anyone. Loki may crave acknowledgement, and acceptance, but he didn’t want the attention the throne would bring—he’d always enjoyed vivisecting those in the spotlight, sorting out every inch of their motives and delighting in watching them play out his theories. It was never his brother’s way to want to be the most visible figure in all the Nine. 

“You okay?” Darcy asked. She had set them up with the strange box of illusions from the hospital, explaining that this was a hugely popular Midgardian epic involving a boy wizard attending a famed citadel. Thor couldn’t claim he understood it all, but what he could only made him all the more homesick. 

“My brother…he would love this,” the God of Thunder said, attempting cheer. “An entire school of sorcerers…he’d have too many friends to name.”

“Doesn’t your brother have friends?”

“Of course he does. He’s a Prince of Asgard.”

“Yeah, but…friends like him. Wizards, sorcerers, magicians, whatever you call them…are they around?”

“We are warriors, not wizards,” Hogun explained 

“That doesn’t mean we are not friends,” Sif snapped. 

“‘Cause with friends like you, who needs enemies?” Darcy chirped, and raised both her thumbs. Thor couldn’t understand the gesture, or the reference, but he’d learned Midgardians had an exhausting amount of names for everyone, and seemed even more fond of similes than the Aesir.

“Our mother is a Master of Magic: it is she who gave Loki her gifts.”

“So Mom as a best friend? Not sad. Not sad at all.”

“Darcy!” Jane called. “Can you come take a look at this?”

Thor turned to his friends: Hogun and Sif were sitting with him, but Fandral had wandered off and was sparring with invisible enemies just outside the tall glass windows. He wanted to ask what they thought of the ‘film’ Darcy was showing them: and then he knew what they’d think. That it was the story of students, not warriors, that they were tricksters, not heroes. It suddenly bothered Thor that, were he not missing his brother, he’d have agreed with them, and ignored what appeared to be a very important Midgardian custom, where the practitioners of magic were lauded and celebrated. 

Thor had received so many celebrations in his life: Loki had received next to none, save for his Name Day traditions. It made him wonder what would be different if Asgard had other Mages for his brother to befriend. 

The homesickness felt so very worse right then, making his chest and throat and eyes ache all at once.

“Thor!” Darcy called. “Some dude who looks like a Mormon or Encyclopedia salesman and another dude who’s basically Hagrid in a business suit is here to see you.”

“What?” the god of thunder asked, again bewildered with the endless Midgardian names, but then Darcy stepped aside, and Loki was there—his white dress shirt was ill-fitting, and dark tie still strange, but he was shyly smiling, and Thor couldn’t reach him fast enough. 

“You’re alright,” he beamed. 

“You’re alright,” Loki snapped, and then Thor had him in his arms and mortality be damned, he very nearly thought he’d crush him. 

“Brother,” Loki finally gasped, “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you well…but we should probably speak. Alone.”

“‘Brother?’” Darcy asked. Thor pulled away and clapped Loki on the shoulder. 

“My new friends—please meet Prince Loki of Asgard, Serpent of Seven tongues, god of mischief, finest knife fighter in the Nine Realms, and my brother.”

“Loki will suffice,” the man smiled, and Volstagg stepped forward, dressed similarly to Loki—though several sizes larger—and wielding an umbrella. 

“My Prince!” he bellowed, and seized Thor in his giant grip. “It is so good to see you well!”

“No, no, no, no! No more, I’ve had it!” Erik cried, waving his arms as he ran from his office. “We can’t possibly take in any more of you!”

“You won’t have to,” Loki said, as Thor started to protest. “I’m here to bring all the Aesir home.”

“Even me?” Thor asked tentatively. Loki’s face fell into sympathy. 

“Please, brother…could we speak alone?” Thor felt like he’d been struck, but he nodded. Jane pointed off and said “take the guest room” and Thor lead his brother in, closing the door behind them. 

Loki brushed his fingers over the bed, the wall, the dresser, the lamp, than gazed up at the skylight in wonder. “Midgard is…not so different from home than I imagined. Though the customs and weather are unpredictable.”

“Indeed—you furnished Volstagg with an umbrella?”

“His ax is beneath the glamor; I didn’t know how better to disguise it.” 

Never before had Thor felt so uneasy with Loki, even when he expected his brother to lecture him. “I missed you,” he blurted out. Loki’s cheeks colored. 

“And I you,” he murmured. “I don’t understand how this happened…how we found ourselves here.”

“Are Mother and Father well? Is Asgard well?”

“Asgard is well defended, Mother is her perfectly strong self. Odin has fallen into sleep.” Loki turned, slowly, clear fear in his face. “The burden of the Throne has fallen to me now.”

That sent a harsh tug though Thor’s chest: but not as he thought. His normally pale brother looked all the paler in a white shirt, it hit him just how young Loki looked. He was always slight by Aesir standards, but now he seemed even more so, bare of leather and armor—vulnerable, and he was standing there with Asgard and the Nine on his shoulders, and no one to help him hold it. 

“Can I come home?” Thor chanced, trying hard not to give away his pounding heart. 

“The Council has advised that my first act as King, however temporary, should not be to undo the last action of my predecessor.” Thor’s heart sank. His brother smiled. “It seems they don’t realize, brother, that I’m terrible at heeding orders.” 

To his utter humiliation, the once-god of thunder felt tears sting his eyes. Loki took a step forward, and Thor was overcome with the urge to embrace his brother again: he settled for grasping his forearm instead. 

“I can not restore your power,” Loki said. “I haven’t the strength to undo Father’s spell. But at least you'll be safe in Asgard.”

“I promise, I’ll serve you well.”

To his surprise, his brother snatched his arm away. “I don’t want you to serve me,” he hissed. “I want you to help me.”

“That’s what I meant.” He reached for him again. “I’m sorry,” he managed. The words were hard: Thor couldn’t remember the last time he’d said them. Loki mustn’t either, because his eyes widened once he did. “This was supposed to be my burden, not yours.” 

The younger Prince looked away, his eyes dampening. “Mother isn’t sure Father will wake,” he murmured. “She said he’s put it off for too long…that he’s deeper than she’s ever seen him. If that occurs, and you don’t have your power back, the throne will pass to me. Maybe I can restore your gifts, and then step down…” 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Thor promised. “I won’t challenge your rule.”

“'My rule.'” Thor expected anger, wonder, or maybe Loki’s normal, serious contemplation: the look on his brother’s face was terror. “I don’t want this. I don’t want the throne. My talents, if I have any, aren’t inspiring the people with speeches or leading the army to battle. The people are behind you, the warriors and nobles are behind you.”

Thor hadn’t thought it possible for him to feel worse, but seeing his normally stoic brother’s frantic expression nearly crippled him. “And I’m behind you,” he promised, raising his hand to grip the back of his brother’s neck. “Behind, beside, before, if you are my King for an hour or a lifetime. I’ve failed you terribly, but I vow to try and ease your burden in any way possible.”

Loki nodded, than managed a smile. 

“First things first brother: we must get you some proper clothes.”

*

The weight of his own armor was crippling in his mortal form, so he wound up in a fine leather tunic and cloak. Loki kept pacing back and forth and rubbing his lips, telling the servant helping Thor dress to tailor the clothes with more and more bits of gold or a strip of scales to resemble armor until Thor was ready to strike him, mortality be damned. 

“What are you so worried about?” he finally snapped. 

“You need to look Kingly.”

“I’m going to look like a pirate, dripping in spoils.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but a knock at the door brought Volstagg and the Warriors into the common area and Thor thanked the servant, saving himself from any further alterations to his attire.

“My Prince—you look like yourself again!” Volstagg boomed. Thor gave a ‘told you so’ look to Loki, but his brother was making furious notes at his desk and not paying attention. 

“I’m assigning you each a Minister to shadow,” the younger Prince—now the King!—said. “Volstagg, I am forever in your debt for your devotion and protection: I may have further need of it. But for the moment, I think it best if Thor and I make do as normal, as a show of confidence. I will inform the Council that I am appointing you as special advisors and you are to be briefed on all the security and defense updates.”

“And we’re to just…follow them around?” Fandral griped.  

“You’re to listen, observe, advise, and generally make them feel watched. And you’re to report back to me directly.” 

“I’ve done some of this,” Volstagg bragged. “It’s great fun.” 

“Subtlety, my friend,” Loki smiled fondly. “You’ll be with Lord Rœrekr, the Master of Arms and Fleets. He’s mostly going to be counting and pacing and trying to look official. The greatest challenge is keeping him away from Lord Vakr, the Head of the Security Council. Those two can get up to grand schemes together. Fandral, you will be his liason. Be as boastful as you wish, as long you can charm him. Flatter him terribly and beg to understand his reports. Pretend he’ll go to bed with you if you can get him boasting and remember every word he says. If he asks you to drink with him, have one for every three of his. Say nothing of Midgard or the Crown Prince—that goes for all of you. If asked, say it was a ‘grand adventure’ and you are all happy to be back where you belong, and relieved the Crown Prince can resume his formal duties.”

“This all sounds terribly dull,” Fandral moaned. 

“This is critical,” Loki snapped. 

“I’d beg you to remember you are speaking to our King,” Volstagg warned. 

“Our Regent,” Fandral grumbled. Thor felt his own hackles rise. 

“If you are incapable of carrying out such a simple mission on behalf of your ruling Monarch, than perhaps you are no true friend to the House of Odin,” he said. “My brother holds the throne and he has given you a command as part of a plan to secure Asgard. Do you refuse it?”

Fandral had turned red and shifted uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Your Grace. My King,” he said, meeting Loki’s gaze. “I will not fail you.”

“Thank you, Lord Fandral. Lady Sif, I am going to assign you to Lord Feykir. You will find him as insufferable as I do, only he will try desperately to impress you and he’ll assume your mind is second-rate at best, for he believes all women’s are. You can use this to your advantage—he’s Alaric’s second hand, and can give us more insight into the Chancellor’s plans than anyone else. Channel your just rage into getting all you can out of him and I vow to make you his executioner.” 

Sif smirked, but her smile was genuine. “I daresay this will be fun.” 

“If he attempts to touch you, disable him in the most humiliating way possible. I will delight in hearing his complaints. Lord Hogun, you have the greatest challenge, my friend—I’m assigning you to Alaric. You are to be yourself: silent and stoic. Alaric will soak up everything you tell him, so tell him nothing. I seriously doubt he will say a thing that will be of use, but your presence will thwart his efforts to coordinate with whomever he has reporting on my brother and I. That alone will be a great help.” 

“As you wish, my King.”

“You needn’t call me that,” Loki said with a wave, than hesitated, “well Fandral, you must, until you can pretend some respect, but the rest of you—no need for these formalities in private. Publicly, I need your help more than ever, friends—Thor and I both. We need you to spread the word that there is no conflict between the two of us, that this regency will be brief, the Allfather will wake, and Asgard is well and secure. There’s no doubt in my mind the Council is looking to take advantage of this chaos. You are well known to have personal insight into the House of Odin: we need you to convey that the House of Odin is strong and united. I beg it of you.” 

Volstagg clasped a giant hand over is breastplate and nodded. “I have pledged my life to your service. I will serve you well.”

Hogan added a fist and nodded. “I serve the House of Odin, and you, as my King.”

“I will do all I can to aid you, Your Grace,” Sif proclaimed. 

Fandral was the last to raise his fist, but he did so nevertheless. “For Asgard,” he said, and the group echoed the sentiment, though Thor noticed that it was an uncomfortably long time before Loki and Fandral broke their gaze. 

*

Thor had known, and attended, Council meetings, as a matter of his training, but never daily, and never the various sub-committees. Loki had attended far more, and now as acting Regent, shocked the court by informing them that the time he spent in the throne room would be limited to two hours in the morning and an hour in the evening, except on Wednesdays and Sundays, when supplicants would be welcome for the entire day.

“I am serving as Regent for but a short time,” he explained, one hand upon Gugnir, the other upon the giant arm of the throne, “and must take care not to overstep my bounds. In the meantime, I will immerse myself with the Council in assisting in the day to day business of the Nine Realms.”

Thor himself was uneasy with the decision, more so when he felt the eyes of the nobles in ways he’d never before: some judging, some longing, all looking to him instead of Loki, their ruling King. He did his best to keep his expression neutral and made a great show of kneeling when his brother rose from the throne, fist over his heart to convey his loyalty. Loki made for the Council chambers like he couldn’t get there fast enough, until Thor caught him and placed a subtle hand on his arm. 

“You must walk slower,” he murmured, keeping his eyes straight ahead and easing their pace. “You appear anxious when you hurry.”

“I am anxious,” Loki grumbled.

“Don’t let them know it. They’ll think the worst.”

Thor pulled back, laughed, and clapped his brother on the back, then lowered his head and respectfully drew the curtain aside to allow him to pass, following after him with a smile. “See? Showmanship. All is well, we are in perfect accord with one another and at ease with the business of Asgard. Which you will have to conduct from the throne, as its King.”

“How many times have you sat through an entire day of court?”

“No one sits through the entire day, save Father.” 

Loki gave him one of his withering looks, the kind that clearly said he found his brother to be one of the thickest creatures living, and began removing his cape. “I’ve made a habit of it. It’s dreadfully long and shockingly unproductive. Very few supplicants have any actual business with the Allfather: they’re merely attempting to show their faces and demonstrate their loyalty or intelligence in the hopes they’ll be granted a position. Lots of people bringing gifts or performing songs and Lords elbowing their way to the front to make comments. The business of Asgard takes place in these chambers, not out in that hall.”

“You’ve only just taken the throne, and not publicly. You need to show yourself to the Court and not displease them.”

“They may see me at the appointed times. Trust me—more will come, and with far less distractions.”

Thor felt a stab of genuine fear: his own almost-coronation had been filled with celebration and excitement. Loki’s own reception had been cold and confused. The elder Prince was nowhere near as studious as his brother when it came to history, but he knew enough to know how quickly and viciously an unpopular King could be removed. “Maybe I should speak to them. Make sure they understand that I’m behind you.”

“They’ll know it enough with you at my side day in and day out.” Loki had stripped out of his armor and resumed his regular court attire. His armor had always been lighter and thinner to allow him maximum flexibility; speed and stealth were his brother’s gifts. It allowed him far greater movement and kept him out of danger more often than not, but Thor felt suddenly, painfully aware that it also left him with far less protection. A fast moving weapon could easily break through the leather and metal, and if Loki was seated on the throne, he’d be powerless to avoid it.

Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to him just how much danger a King could be in, in the midst of his own court. 

As if he’d read his mind, Loki smiled at him. “Don’t worry, brother. If anyone is going to kill me, it’s going to be the men in here, not out there.”

“It’s not a joke!”

“Since when do you shy from a fight?”

“Since I lost the power to protect you!” Thor roared.

“Keep it down!” Loki hissed, gripping his shoulders. “I know you’ve lost a great deal, brother, but you haven’t lost that. It isn't your hammer or lightning that will aid me now. With or without your power, the men and women out there,” he gestured to the throne room, “love and fear you. And now we will face, together, the ones who do not.”

*

“I miss him,” Darcy moaned, flipping through the photos of Fandral she’d taken. Jane and Erik were too frantic with excitement at the readings, video, and photos they’d gotten as they’d witnessed an honest to God Einstein-Rosen bridge emerge from the sky and take their houseguests away. “You owe me big for that cock-block by the way!”

“I did you a favor," Jane snapped. "If anyone was carrying some foreign veneral disease, it was that clown. He’s like a space-god frat boy.”

“This is a workplace, young Darcy,” Selvig reminded her.

“‘Young Darcy?’ Is that the Shakespearian spacemen you’re imitating or the movie of the week?”

“Thor said they’d be back when things calm down,” Jane interceded. “By then your internship will probably be over and you and Fandral can spend the whole week in a Motel 6 like all great 'Midgardian' love affairs.”

“Oh, please, do not act like you weren’t two seconds away from using Thor’s abs as a loofa!”

“What’s a loofa?” Selvig murmured to Jane. “Is it gross?”

“I have work to do. And for once, you do too, Darcy. C’mon,” Jane admonished. 

Darcy flipped through the photos of Fandral kissing her hand to Volstagg brandishing his umbrella in various poses like his great ax, and then to the group gathering together at the bridge site. Thor and Loki looked nothing alike, but the way they stood, rigid, with perfect posture, eyes to the sky, showed their royal training. 

Prince-god-warrior-aliens and an Einstein-Rosen Bridge—this would be one hell of “How I Spent My Internship” Essay. She may even make Honor Roll. 

*

“Head high, brother,” Loki said as they walked toward the Council Chambers. “You will sit to my right, facing the Chancellor. Do me a favor and make him terribly uncomfortable.” 

“That I have always enjoyed,” Thor muttered. Loki chuckled. 

“You don’t really hate him. You hate being told what to do.”

“He’s never known his place.”

“I think he knows it exceptionally well.”

“You sound almost fond of him.”

“I very well may be. I’m not to easy to impress, as you know, but he surprises me. He gave me some wise counsel yesterday, though I chose to ignore it.”

“You said he was spying on you—that he knew you smuggled the warriors off world.”

“I should have known he had spies: it’s what I would do in his position. Don’t underestimate him, brother—he has centuries of experience over us. I’m sure he’s less than thrilled that he’s not sitting Regent right now, but he’ll never show it. We must do the same.”

The guards at the door stood to attention and placed their hands over their breastplates in fists. Loki nodded and they opened the chamber door, allowing the younger Prince in first, his elder brother behind him. 

The Council was already on their feet when Loki strode in, but their eyes widened at the sight of Thor at his brother’s back. “My Lords,” he said, taking his seat at the head of the table and gesturing to the empty chair to his right. “My Prince, please join us.” 

For the first time since his return, Thor felt a stab of jealousy, embarrassment, and bone-deep shame. He’d been so happy to return home, to see his brother well and the realm secure, that he’d managed to ignore the fact that this was to be the start of his own reign, and that he now sat the Council as second and mortal. 

“The Crown Prince has returned upon my invitation,” Loki announced, causing the shocked ministers to school their expressions. “I know I speak for us all when I say we are blessed that he is in fine health and good spirits, and kind enough to share his vast knowledge of military tactics and strategy with us all during this time of crisis.”

“If I may, Your Grace—” Alaric began. 

“You may not, Lord Chancellor,” Loki said cooly. “You have given me your advice. I have considered it carefully, and decided that it is in the best interests of Asgard to have its greatest warrior advising me during my brief time as Regent. The Allmother assures me that my brother’s banishment was never intended to be permanent, in which case it is invaluable that he be here assisting in governing during the Allfather’s time of rest.” 

“Indeed, my King, I see the wisdom behind your decision, and I am grateful to have the Prince home: I had thought to pledge my life and loyalty to him as our King but a few days prior. I have since pledged to you. I have, of course, long ago, sworn such oaths to the Allfather, and again to the Queen. I must say, however, that I fear this will spread confusion as to who the people are to support.”

“You must forgive me,” Loki said, “I can not claim to know the vows you took as a young warrior at Odin’s side, but the Crown Prince and I have attended the annual swearing in of new soldiers since our youth, and the vows, as I recall them, are a pledge to the House of Odin, consisting of the Allfather, Allmother, and their rightful heirs. Or am I mistaken?”

“Not at all, Your Grace.”

“Then I see no conflict, my Lords. The House of Odin sits the throne. Tell the people the second son will serve the regency at the Allfather’s request, and the Crown Prince serves as First Advisor. Word will have spread about our ill-fated off-world venture: they will put it together themselves why the natural order has been reversed. Make no mention of the loss of the Prince’s powers or Mjölnir’s absence. Let it be known that I consider such disclosure a direct threat to the Crown Prince’s safety, and therefore treason. That will at least silence some of the tongues.”

The faces of the Council were anything but welcoming, but no one spoke as Loki cast his eyes to each one individually, then gave a sharp nod. “Now, for the first order of business, I’d like to inform you that I fear for the safety of you, my friends and Councilors, and wish to aid in your efforts to secure the realm. You are aware the Prince and I keep the company of some of Asgard’s best warriors. I am assigning them as personal security for several of you. I beg you to make use of their knowledge as soldiers and leaders of the military: their position is unique, and their experience formidable. They will be great help to us all."

“Are we to welcome the Crown Prince as well?” Lord Feykir, asked, covering his jab at Loki’s secondary station with a gracious smile. Thor felt his face flush with rage and humiliation, but Loki’s own smile was razor-sharp. 

“Indeed, my Lord. And while you have the floor, perhaps you would be so kind as to inform the Council as to why you saw fit to reject Lord Yngvarr of Vanaheim’s proposal to wed his Grace, the Crown Prince, to his daughter, the Lady Margrit?”

The Lord flushed. “This is not a matter to be discussed in this assembly, Your Graces.”

“Forgive me, I am new to leading the Council, and certainly not born to the role of Supreme Monarch, but I seem to recall that the acting Regent has sole determination over the agenda. I can think of no greater business than the well being of my brother, our future King.”

“If I may, Your Grace—” Alaric began. 

“You may not, Lord Chancellor. I am awaiting a report from Lord Feykir.” 

The Council turned its eyes to Thor, who felt direly uncomfortable at being discussed as if he were not at the table; generally when he was present, attention, adulation, and his will was obeyed without question. It was a deeply humiliating lesson the Allfather had imparted on him to sit in silence.

“Your Grace…the Lady is an undeserving consort for our future King.”

“She has a formidable dowry; her Father served on this very Council for over a century.”

“He has not been to court since.”

“And when was the last time he was extended an invitation?”  

“No invitation is required for the nobility to pay respects to their King.”

“For the Aesir, that is. But you yourself co-authored a bill some seven-hundred years ago that forbade the entry of the outer nobility from attending court without a proper invitation…or am I mistaken?”

Thor felt his jaw agape and quickly closed it, chancing a glance at the other nobles. The mix of discomfort, shock, and resentment was palpable. 

“You are so very wise, Your Grace,” Lord Feykir said, his face near purple with fury. “The fault lies with me. I will extend an invitation to his Lordship at once.”

“You are most gracious, my Lord. I’m sure my brother, the Crown Prince, will agree with me that is of critical importance that we choose our brides wisely. For Asgard.”

“For Asgard,” the table echoed, but it was weak and dutiful. 

“Now,” Loki picked up his pen and began shifting through his many sheets of paper. “For the first order of business, I’ll have a report from the Security Council, Lord Vakr, regarding the breach of the Jotunns in the weapons vault.”

Chapter Text

Normally, the princes dined with the other nobles in the large group setting: at least once a month they took a meal with their parents in Odin’s chambers, and at least once a week they ate together, just the two of them, in the common space of their own. Thor was relieved to hear they’d be doing just that: he was too ashamed to show himself to the others and too tired to want to try. 

Even with everything, Thor’s appetite was undiminished, and the wine helped relax some of the tightness and anxiety in his back and shoulders. Loki was another story—he shuffled about the room, opening books, tossing aside sheets of paper, scrabbling notes, and staring off into the mid-distance with his fingers anxiously twisting. 

“Come and eat, Loki,” Thor coaxed. Pressuring him was nothing new: his brother often got caught up in his work, magic, or studies, and simply skipped meals. When they were younger, Thor would often take too much of what was being served and deliberately deposit the extra on his brother’s plate, when Loki was too distracted or anxious to bother accepting what was being offered to him. 

“In a moment,” Loki said. The elder Prince watched the younger; he’d swear on their Father’s beard that his brother hadn’t eaten the entire day. Possibly not since the morning of the ruined coronation. Thor sighed and rose, crossing to the table where he stood. 

“Asgard won’t fall if you pause,” he chided, but Loki was leaning over a large tome and writing furiously on a sheet beside it. Thor glanced down it and was surprised to find it was a family tree, one mapping one of the great family’s of Asgard. “What are you doing?”

“It occurred to me that every member of Father’s Council is pure-blooded Aesir.” 

“And?”

“You’ll be the first King with ties to another realm: Vanaheim, through Mother.”

“Relations with Vanaheim have been friendly for centuries.”

“Yet the Council has been pressuring Father for months to arrange a marriage with you and a pure-blooded Aesir before your coronation, and rejecting offers from the nobility in the other realms.” 

Thor started. “They have?”

“Mm,” he mumbled. “Father felt it best that you focus on the Crown before you focus on a new wife and family.”

“Odin told me we’d begin to explore my marriage prospects a year or two into my reign, and that we wouldn't address yours until mine was secure. Why did he not mention this?”

“Probably to keep peace between you and the Chancellor,” he muttered, moving back to the bookshelves and grabbing at another book, flipping for the index. 

Thor could see the point of that—Alaric was powerful and largely beloved, seen as the primary executor of the Allfather’s wisdom and a fair and just figure on his own. Thor knew he’d react poorly to his insisting he marry at a time of the Chancellor’s choosing.

“But Father told you of the Council’s plans?”

“Heavens no,” Loki smirked, then crossed back toward Thor with his eyes on the book in front of him. “But I deduced it soon enough when Alaric secured my own betrothal to the Lady of Starfall in Alfheim.”

“ALFHEIM?”

“Father said it—”

“I WILL NOT HAVE—”

“—would not be wise—”

“MY ONLY BROTHER—”

“To mention it to you—”

“SENT AWAY TO ALFHEIM!”

“—and it appears he was right.” 

“That snake!”

“I thought you liked snakes.” Loki finally raised his head and smiled, but Thor’s heart was thundering in his ears. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m hardly going to be wed before you.”

For a moment, Thor couldn’t think of anything but striding through the palace and throwing the Chancellor into something heavy and hard; to insist Thor marry quickly around his coronation was prudent, but he and Loki had never been apart longer than a day for their entire lives, save for Thor’s recent banishment. To have him a realm away was unthinkable.

“You won’t go. As your King I’ll forbid it.”

“As my King you’ll need to marry me off strategically, you must know that.”

“You’re a Prince of Asgard, not some milk-cow!”

Loki gave him one of those looks between amusement and pity, one that reminded him he was no match for his younger brother when it came to wit. “I’ll hardly have anything to do once you’re well into your throne. Alfheim has the largest and oldest Citadel in the realms and a weak economy. I’d be of great use to them.”

“You will do no such thing. You will remain here, in Asgard, as my Chancellor, as it has always been planned.”

Loki looked genuinely startled. “Your Chancellor?”

“Who else would it be?”

“I’d always assumed Fandral.”

“Fandral?” 

“He wouldn't be my first pick, but he’s charming, to some at least. He’ll make a gracious host and he has a softer touch than you do.”

“He’s a great fighter and drinking companion, he’s hardly fit for the Council!”

“Lord Abjorn then.”

“Who?”

“You remember him: he’s Alaric’s son-in-law. He’s long been rumored to be in the running. We received him in the Spring of last year.”

“That stuffy oaf with the ridiculous collar?”

“You certainly enjoyed speaking with his sister.”

“Have you gone mad?”

“Have you forgotten that we have an entire court waiting in line to fill those seats?”

“We’ve spoken of this since we were children!”

“No, brother, we haven’t spoken of this since we were children.”

Thor was reeling, yet again; he didn’t understand how the world could be so very different from what he’d believed it to be only several days earlier. “It was always my intent to make you Chancellor. You’ve always been smarter and more studious than me, and I’ll need your silver-tongue on my side with all the doings of the court. We’d be ruling together, like Father always intended.”

Loki’s face stilled in that way he had when he was hiding his thoughts. “I don’t believe that’s what Father’s ever intended.”

“It’s what I’ve always intended.” He didn’t care that he sounded desperate. “You can’t really mean to leave Asgard.”

“Father and the Council made these arrangements some time ago; Father said he’d speak to you, to avoid conflict with Alaric. I thought you knew.”

“It seems there’s nothing but things I don’t know these days, isn’t there?” 

Loki frowned. “You give yourself too little credit.”

“Father swore you’d be on my Council: you said you'd do this with me, remember?"

"I will be with you—I am now! What do you think all this is?” he gestured to his overly-cluttered desk. “Being a Prince entitles me to a seat on the Council. Being involved in Alfheim even more so. With the Bifrost I'll be in and out of Asgard with ease, and a stronger Alfheim will strengthen your throne."

"There's a time delineation with Alfheim. You could be gone for weeks!"

"It will be some time from now. I won't leave until you're well installed and your Council secure, I swear it.” Loki’s face softened. “I didn’t meant to upset you. It’s not important, not now. We have far more important things to focus on, wouldn’t you say?”

“Then why bring it up?”

Loki placed the book down with a sigh. “The Council has been up to something for quite some time. I just can’t determine what. They constantly encourage greater benefits to Alfheim and Vanaheim, but they fiercely reject your marriage proposals from them. They refuse to have any sort of relations with Jotunheim, even an attempt at establishing an embassy, but they've been pushing Father to send you and I to the All-Council in his stead.”

Thor stared at his brother in shock: the All-Council was no small responsibility.  They met once a year, at the hallowed ground of Ygradsill, and consisted of only two representatives from each realm; the top leadership, regardless of the state of affairs between the kingdoms. The agenda was solely devoted to cosmic threats from outside the Nine Realms, and when or if to handle them. What was spoken of was never shared, though Thor had the impression that constructive dialogue often broke down relatively quickly. Odin and Alaric had chaired the meeting since its inception, back in the time of Bor.

“How do you know all this?”

“Unlike you, I do attend Council meetings. Quite frequently. Sometimes as myself, sometimes as an…absent observer.”

“You’ve been spying on them?”

“I’m the god of mischief, brother. Besides, it’s nothing more than what Heimdall does. It’s hard to conspire when you have a man who can see everything in the employ of the King. They’re careful in their words and letters, but I can feel their deceit.”

“Spying on Council meetings is treason.”

“So is concealing Frost Giants with magic and smuggling them into the weapons vault!” Loki snapped. “How many people do you know who have access to that? You and I can’t even enter without Father’s permission. Only a handful of the Council would know the layout well enough to give instruction for penetrating it.”

“You think the Council did this?”

“I think they know who did. I think they may very well have hired who did.” He gestured to one of the books. “The kind of magic it would take to cloak their efforts and bypass all the security of Asgard is something far beyond what Mother and I could do.”

“Have you never hidden yourself from Heimdall?”

“I’ve tried, just to see if I could, years ago. He said it worked—for a few minutes. But it was draining. Mother said she lasted an hour once, but it exhausted her, and it took all her focus. Neither of us could possibly have maintained our invisibility and cloaked others…and even if we could, the moment we passed out of Heimdall’s gaze he’d know we were up to something. Whoever did this is powerful enough to remain in his sight and smuggle people beyond it.”

Thor felt his stomach lurched and suddenly regretted the wine. “Who could do that?”

Loki licked a finger and quickly shifted through his pages of notes until he found the correct one. “The Warlocks of Vanaheim; they work in circles to produce portals for travel, and they have access to black magic. Possibly a Chitari mage; there’s one rumored to be extraordinarily powerful. I don’t know enough about the magic of the Dark Elves of Svalrtelheim, or their relations with the Jotunns. That’s all I have so far.”

“Odin’s Council has been loyal to him for centuries. Many of them fought beside him in his conquests. Why turn on him now?”

“Because they’re loyal to him, not you. New rulers are always vulnerable, and none of these Councilors are young. When you come into the throne, they won’t be long for their posts. If they want to disrupt Odin’s legacy, the time is now.”

Thor suddenly felt exhausted, the way he had when they were children and Loki would begin to layout and explain how to solve a particularly complex physics principle or magical concept. His brother absorbed knowledge like a black hole swallowed light, and his mind seemed to constantly be pushing him forward for more. Thor had always been content to know what he did and rely on others to council him on what he didn’t. Loki had a compulsive need to know it all.

No wonder his brother was often quiet and brooding, pacing between shelves and the desk of the common area long into the night, fingers worrying at his lips, as he was now. An enormous responsibility had fallen on him, and Loki never took responsibility lightly, even when he drove those around him mad with jokes or sharp words or circumvented efforts to conformity, he always accomplished what was expected of him. 

An enormous amount was expected of him now, and while Thor may be of little use in terms of politics, he could still be a dutiful brother—it was the one thing he could offer that no other ever could.

He lay a gentle hand on the younger Prince’s back and forcibly pried the notepaper from his fingers. “There’s no need to solve this this evening,” he soothed. “You lead the Council, you lead the Nine Realms. You must eat, and rest, for all our sakes.”

Loki turned to him, clearly about to protest, but something in his elder brother’s gaze made him nod instead. “You’re right, of course.” And then, almost timidly, he asked, “will you tell me about Midgard?”

Thor beamed at him. “Gladly. I made an absolute fool of myself. You’ll enjoy it tremendously.” 

*

“You are to be my liason?” Lord Feykir nearly spat. 

“Our King has commanded that I am to ensure your safety, my Lord, and offer any insight and advice as a Warrior of Asgard,” Lady Sif said. 

“If I needed advice on how to get a metal corset made, I’d ask you. I’ve no need of you otherwise.”

“It is the King’s command.”

“This is punishment, isn’t it? That insolent little viper never has liked me.”

“I would have care how you speak of our Regent.”

“Honestly,” Feykir fumed, stomping around his desk like a child. “You may stand in the corridor, your Ladyship. Perhaps some of the Einherjar could use your advice on wooing their sweethearts. We will join Lord Vakr in an hour.”

Sif nodded and bowed her head, moving to the hallway. She would kill him so terribly, terribly slow. It would be her life’s greatest joy. 

*

“It’s an honor, Lord Fandral,” Vakr said. “Would you take a cup with me?”

“Not at the moment, my Lord. It is a critical duty our King has charged us with.”

“It is very kind of the Regent to worry after us. He has such a burden on his shoulders.”

“The weight of the Crown is formidable.”

“Especially when one was not born for it.”

Fandral couldn’t hide his smirk. “I suppose we all have our place.”

“Well I am deeply grateful yours is at my side. Will you take in the barracks with me?”

“It would be an honor.”

*

“May I fetch you something, Lord Hogun?” the Chancellor asked. “Water? Some fruit?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Would you care to sit?”

“No, my Lord.”

“You needn’t wear your armor in my office: we are well protected.”

“I must, my Lord.”

“Will you be terribly bored if I review these correspondences?” 

“No, my Lord.” 

“I do wish you’d be at ease.”

In response, Hogun release the latch on his mace that brought forth its spikes. The Chancellor shook his head and poured himself a goblet of wine. 

*

“Thank you for joining us, Lord Volstagg.” Rœrekr clasped the larger man’s hand between two of his own. “How fares our King?”

“He is well, my Lord. Enjoying a private dinner with the Prince. They are very happy to be reunited.”

“I imagine so. A terrible ordeal.”

“That is thankfully behind us. They are the greatest of friends, as always.” 

“Yes,” Rœrekr said, disappointment evident.

Volstagg glanced around the weapons area. “Is there a way I can be of service?”

“It would be quite a help if you could read off the notes and numbers on that sheet as we walk.”

Volstagg chuckled. “You must forgive me, my Lord, but I couldn’t possibly fathom a state document. Perhaps I could look over the smithy instead?”

“That would also be of great aid. I thank you.” 

The warrior gave a small bow and struck out, the all too familiar shame flushing his face. It had always been well-hidden beneath his beard.

* 

“A rabbit?” Loki asked.

“Yes,” Thor answered. 

“A living rabbit?”

“Yes.”

“How large is the hat?”

Thor took one of Loki’s stray pen and papers and drew a quick sketch. He’d expected his brother to be amused, but he seemed utterly baffled. 

“Why would the magician need the hat to conjure the rabbit?”

“Because it’s not magic, brother, not like yours. The rabbit is in the hat already.”

“Sorcerers on Midgard walk around with rabbits in their hats?”

Thor laughed. His brother was rarely confused; indeed, he relied on Loki to know exactly what was going on when he himself had lost his way in a conversation. There was something pricelessly sweet and childlike about his inability to comprehend the staples of Midgardian magic. 

“One day, when all of this has passed us, I will take you to Midgard for a show, and ensure the magician shows you how it all works.”

“I believe I’m needed to show them how magic works.”

“We should return anyway, with gifts for those who so kindly aided me.”

“I agree. Maybe when this is all behind us, we could allow Lady Jane and Lord Erik to Heimdall’s observatory, to examine the bridge. I daresay even Heimdall would enjoy their questions.”

“No Lady Darcy?”

“Heimdall would throw himself from the rainbow bridge after ten minutes with Lady Darcy.”

Thor chuckled and drained his goblet, surprised how drained he felt, and then remembered all too clearly his mortality. Loki noticed it too. “You should sleep, brother. I need you sharp.”

“You should too.”

“I will.” He smiled, a sweet innocent smile that lit up his eyes and meant he intended to do no such thing. 

“Have you had any rest since that day?” 

“Here and there.”

“To think they call you god of lies: brother, you’re transparent.” 

“I just want to examine a few more things.”

“I know what that means.” Thor got to his feet and held out a hand. “Come.” 

“You have gone mad.”

“It will help me rest. Please?”

Loki glanced longingly toward his desk, then let his shoulders fall. “At least let me change,” he mumbled, and got to his feet. 

Seeing his room as it had been felt strange. Part of him thought it would have been packed up, or draped in black to hide the shame of its occupant’s banishment. But with all that had happened, this, at least, was the same, and when Thor discarded his outer garments and sank into the bed in his tunic and pants, it was like being held. 

Loki came along a few moments later with a long green robe draped over his own underclothes. He had a book in his hand, and a pen, and he gave him a look that said ‘I’ll be here but I don’t like it,’ before he settled down at the opposite end and resumed his note taking. 

Thor leaned his head back and sighed, looking at the familiar light patterns on the ceiling, relishing the sounds of a quiet, peaceful Asgard below and his brother’s familiar shuffling off to the left. The Royal beds were large enough to sleep four—indeed, on several drunken occasions, they had slept four, the form of Fandral, Volstagg, Loki, and himself. He and Loki had frequently shared when they were young children, either because one was bothered or anxious or they merely wanted to lay awake whispering or carrying on a game that had been ended too quickly by their caregivers. When they were given seperate rooms, Thor would still pad his way across the common area to tumble into his brother’s bed when something was weighing on his mind, and Loki frequently took his books and notes and sat on top of the covers’ at the end of Thor’s in the early hours of the morning, leaning against the headboard and hard at work by the time Thor rolled over and mumbled sleepy questions at him. 

He glanced over to see his brother worrying at his lips once more, that strained and anxious expression unchecked now that he thought Thor wasn’t watching him. Thor felt a tug of sympathy deep in his chest. Loki had gone from a second son preparing to celebrate his brother’s ascension to the terrible, unforeseen burden of Nine Realms on his shoulders, with nothing but a powerless, unworthy brother at his side and a Father vanished into a void. Loki had always been a terrible sleeper: he couldn’t imagine how he’d be now. 

But Thor had vowed to help him, however he could, to make the fear and the struggle a little less. He may not be able to rule, but he could do what he’d always done best, aside from battle; warm and charm, and get his stern and serious brother to ease down and smile. 

“Do you recall the brawl you had with Volstagg in this bed?” he asked. Loki cast him a dispersing glare. 

“I remember you nearly drowning me afterward.”

Thor chuckled to himself. “‘I AM A PRINCE. I AM AN ODINSON. YOU ARE AN OAF. YIELD, YOU OAF, TO YOUR PRINCE.’”

“How terribly ungracious. I’d never say such a thing,” Loki snapped, but he was fighting a smile. It was one of several nights when, high on victory, the Princes had invited friends back to their personal chambers at the end of a feast, to continue the revelry and, having far too much to drink, ended up passed out, still in their armor; Thor on one end, Loki on the other, Fandral and Volstagg between them. The large and snoring Volstagg had, at some point, stretched his great girth and sent Loki to the floor, and the enraged and still drunken younger Prince had woken Thor by beating his fists on their friend’s back and howling his outrage at being displaced. Thor, still drunk himself, had carried his younger brother, still declaring his supremacy and heritage and swearing at the larger and utterly unconscious warrior, across the common area and deposited him in his own bed, wrapping around him to keep him from running back across their chambers to destroy his fists on their friend’s breastplate. 

Loki had flailed around, still swearing, and then his swearing took on a frantic tone, and before Thor could register what he was saying his younger brother vomited over them both. 

Loki certainly had a great deal more to say when Thor raised him, two-handed, over his head, and dropped him into the baths.

Now though, Loki smiled at him, soft and fond. “Go to sleep, brother. I’ll put my notes aside and join you soon, I promise.”

Thor didn't believe him, but he closed his eyes and surrendered anyway. 

*

He wasn’t sure of the time when he woke, but he could sense it was hours before dawn. Loki was under the covers on the far side of the bed, book still in hand, but asleep and facing Thor. Thor rolled to his own side to face Loki, the way they’d always slept together as children, and matched his breaths to his brother’s. It made the great gap between them feel a little smaller.

Chapter Text

The High Council met twice a day: once in the morning, an hour after the traditional opening of court, and once in the evening, after its close. The day was filled with sub committee meeting on economics, security, war, health, and diplomacy. They generally met simultaneously, and spent the afternoon answering correspondence and receiving reports not he activities of the kingdom, but this brother announced that this too, would change, and the Councils would each be given an hour of the day to meet, with him and his brother present, and then they would be dismissed to their work. This meant that at least one group of nobles would be unavailable to meet with the others, and none of them would have direct access to either of the Princes for huge stretches of the day. 

When Loki explained his plans to join them for these meetings, Thor had expected them to be alarmed. But the Council was utterly unimpressed with the silver-tongued Regent.

“If I may, Your Grace,” Alaric said, “the Allfather normally permits us access to him on the throne throughout the entire day, so that we may seek his input on matters as they arise.”

“You present crucial Council business to the General Court? Isn’t that a direct breach of our security protocols?”

“The Allfather grants us a private audience, of course Your Grace.”

“You will have your audience with the Crown Prince and myself at the time of your appointed meetings. Any urgent business may be cause for committee interruption, I assure you.” 

By the end of the second day, Thor wished the phrases “if I may, Your Grace” and “forgive me, my Lord,” were actual, physical creatures, so upon his recovery of Mjölnir, he could annihilate them in a frenzy. By the time they adjourned to the throne room for Loki’s promised closing hour of court, he could have slept standing, if his pride would have allowed it. As it was, he stood faithfully at the right foot of the stairs and made a great show of bowing his head and placing a hand over his heart when Loki had finished hearing each supplicant, and when his brother spoke to him he addressed him formally but smiled at him warmly, forcing himself to appear as relaxed and at ease as possible. 

He hoped no one else was near enough to see how his brother’s hands shook, even the one wrapped around Gugnir. 

Still, Thor couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy each time Loki smiled and said “forgive me, my Lord.” He’d been pinned under that fierce gaze and forced to answer questions his brother clearly knew the answer to, knowing full well Loki was enjoying making him squirm, far too many times to count—everything from broken toys, missed trainings, or cruel pranks were exposed under his brother’s critical eye and verbal sparring, and Thor knew just how claustrophobic it felt when Loki circled in.

The Council was clearly feeling it too. The depth and breadth of Loki’s knowledge was consistently astounding: his references, impeccable. It was all too clear why he spent so much time making notes and pulling books, though Thor wondered how he could possibly keep it all straight. He had to constantly remind himself not to appear startled or gape when his brother referenced some long-past action or remark or casually exposed a hypocrisy to the entire group, all with the false, sweet smile that the Warrior’s Three claimed made him resemble a viper poised to strike. 

And yet, there was something else—a feeling that wasn’t quite affection, or awe, or certainty, but it was a strange mix of the three, and it rose when he saw the command his brother leveled at the Councilors or the gentle way he encouraged a lesser Lord to approach the throne. It was becoming more and more obvious to the court that, despite his status as second son, Loki took to ruling as though it were his birthright, not Thor’s. He may not have the warrior’s powerful personality, but he was a force all his own, though far more careful with how he revealed it. 

It was toward the close of the week when he realized he no longer felt shame standing at the foot of the dais staring up at the throne: he was enjoying it. Watching his brother work filled him with that marvelous mix of emotions that left him feeling powerful in their own way.

It wasn’t until the close of the week when it occurred to him, with shocking clarity, what that feeling was—pride.  

*

Sif strode behind the Einherjar guard who had summoned her to the Council Chamber, waiting as he knocked twice, then entered, fist over his heart. 

“The Lady Sif, my King.”

“Thank you, friend.” 

Loki was already standing as she entered, placed her own fist on her chest and bowed. “My King.”

“Thank you for coming so promptly, Lady Sif.” He nodded to the guard. “We are not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

He smiled when the door was shut and pulled out a chair. “Come and sit. I’ve already poured you some wine. I fear you've need of it, after this week.”

“That is kind, Your Grace.”

“No need for that now that we’re alone, my friend. The gesture is appreciated though.” He handed her a goblet, which she downed in four large swallows, than slammed it on the table before him, dark eyes fierce. “Another?” he asked, and quickly refilled it. “I’ve three pitchers, just to be safe.”

“Why did you assign me to Feykir?”

“Because I know you can get information from him no one else could.”

“If you’d allow me to take him to the dungeons I’d be more than happy to extract a great many things from that vile beast.”

“And I’d love nothing better than to watch. But this calls for a more delicate approach.”

“That’s what this boils down to, doesn’t it? You want me to debase myself like all the other Ladies of the court, batting their eyes and giggling at nothing in the hopes for male attention?”

“Not at all. I’d go so far as to forbid it. You’d only confirm Feykir’s prejudices.”

“Then what will you have me do?”

“First—drink. I deserve all the undoubtedly treasonous thoughts you’re thinking of me, and I don’t blame you for a one of them. I ask that you be patient and hear me out.” 

“You are my King. I have no choice,” she mumbled, raising her goblet once more. 

“We know one another better than that, Sif. We have some shared habits, one of which is going into many conversations with a set opinion about our fellows. I’ll confess I envy my brother in that regard. He’s always willing to imagine the best intentions of those around him. You and I tend to anticipate the worst.” 

“If you’re expecting me to agree to being open to Lord Feykir, I must say I’d find the task impossible.”

“I’m asking you to be open to the idea that besting him is very possible.” He refilled her goblet and took one of his own. “When we were first beginning combat training, what were we told early on to look for in our opponents?” 

“Evaluate their strengths and weaknesses alongside our own: take on no one whose weaknesses were stronger than our own.”

“What, in your opinion, are Feykir’s weaknesses?” 

“Arrogance, prejudice, self-importance, intemperance, impatience.” 

“Qualities I am happy to say you do not possess.”

“It doesn’t matter. He won’t hold a conversation with me.”

“Because you have attempted to appeal to him as an equal. He will never accept you as such. You know well enough from the training pits that you will never have the muscle strength of a man, so you had to rely on your speed, accuracy, cool wit, and the element of surprise. My training with my Vanir War Master was very similar. Rather than chide me for not having the strength of my brother, he taught me how to use my speed and flexibility to best the Aesir. Engaging the court is very much the same. There are those who are no threat, those who are easily bested, those who require an alternative approach to get around them, and those you must never attempt to engage.” Loki leaned back in his chair. “I could have assigned you to Lord Vakr, and Fandral to Feykir.  Vakr has three daughters he dotes on: he’s no misogynist. Fandral may very well match Feykir when it comes to boasting—perhaps with a drink or five, he may have gotten something out of him.”

“Then why give him to me?”

“Because I trust you, my Lady. And I need your help. You may not take this as a compliment, but I believe we are very much alike. Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, Thor—they are great warriors, but when the fight is won, the battle ends. You and I simply move from one field to the next. Since we were very young, we behaved other than expected. You are a Lady who took up the sword: I am a Prince who took up the pen. We endure the discomfort, hostility, and disappointment of those around us, even those we love most. We haven’t the luxury of behaving rashly, or being ill-tempered, lest we be dismissed as children playing an ill-suited part. We choose instead to assess those around us, evaluate them, and choose our words and responses with care.”

Sif realized her hands were shaking and drained her wine. Loki dutifully poured more, than rose and returned with a tall glass of water to join it. She wiped hastily at her eyes and swirled her drink to try and steady her nerves. 

“I suppose I hadn’t thought of us that way,” she finally managed. 

“I’m sorry if I speak too frankly of what I know to be very personal. I do so because you are the only one in our group who I feel can help me help Thor.”

“By shadowing Feykir?”

“It’s a great deal more than that. My brother needs to learn temperance, patience, and foresight. From what I’ve read of our Father, Odin was not so different from Thor in his youth. The Asgardian histories paint him as wise and peaceful and just, but venture into the libraries of Vanaheim, Nordenheim, or Alfheim, and you will find some very different stories. Loss, age, children, and Alaric seemed to calm my Father: it has long been my hope that my brother would not need to endure such trials in order to change.”

“Alaric? Really? Isn’t he the primary reason for your mistrust?”

“What he may be now doesn’t erase the fine work he’s done. I believe he has been a true friend to Odin, and his temperament a strong influence. He was often left in power when Odin slept or went to battle, and he served Asgard well in those times. I’ve learned a tremendous amount observing him over the years. I don’t need to trust him to respect him.”

“But you believe he may have had a hand in the Jotunn invasion.”

“More than that…I will tell you my greatest fear, Lady Sif—that he influenced my Father’s decision to banish my brother. If he is able to sway Odin against his own children, especially his favored son, than there’s no hope of checking his power until Valhalla calls the Allfather to take his rightful place.”

“Perhaps all is not lost,” Sif soothed. “Perhaps Thor can learn those lessons you’d hoped for him during this time.”

“His banishment has sadly begun the process, and though I’d undo the loss of his power in a heartbeat if I had the ability, I need to take advantage of the situation to impart as much knowledge as I’m able while I’m sure to have his ear.”

“What of Thor’s power? Have you given any thought to how it can be restored?”

“A great deal,” Loki sighed, and took up his own goblet. “Sadly, I find my Father as inscrutable as the rest of us do. Thor has wielded Mjölnir for centuries now, including that terrible night in Jotunheim, so he must have been worthy then. Why now he’s not is as much a mystery to me as anyone. My hope is that, when the Allfather wakes, I can plead my brother’s case and explain how he aided me during this brief Regency, and his gifts will be restored. Although it is just as likely that Odin will see I defied his will and cast Thor and I both back to Midgard. Though after sitting the throne, I daresay it may be a blessed respite.”

Sif chuckled. “You’ve done a fine job, from what I can see. I can’t pretend to understand everything you’ve told me, but I think I get the idea…you want me to engage Lord Feykir by indulging his weaknesses rather than appealing to his strengths.”

Loki beamed. “Precisely.” 

“And you’d like me to encourage Thor to engage in the same practices, so that he may be better suited to dealing with the court when he comes to the throne.” 

“Right again.”

She smiled. “I daresay…this may be fun. Playing the trickster.” 

Loki grinned back. “The word you are searching for, my friend, is ‘politician.’”  

Sif laughed and raised her goblet. “Well…a toast, my King. I vow my all to try and make you proud.” 

“And I vow, my Lady, that if we are to entrap Lord Feykir, I will order you to kill him terribly slow.”

“Then you are the finest King the Nine shall ever know,” she proclaimed, and brought their goblets together before they both drank. They enjoyed a moment of companionable silence before she decided to risk asking the one nagging doubt that had weighed on her mind. “If I may?”

“Of course.”

“You speak a great deal of your desire that Alaric and the Council not control Thor. But…it strikes me that, in taking his learning in your hands, you would. I beg your forgiveness, but how are you different?”

“My end-game isn’t that he’d be under my power, but under his own. I’ve always wanted Thor and I to be equals. Perhaps it’s a foolish dream, but I have no other.”

“It all seems rather altruistic for you.”

“I won’t say I’m not enjoying myself. Ruining the Councilors’ week has been great fun.”

“You are in command now, Loki. I fail to understand why you’d surrender all of it, even for Thor.”

“Because, Lady Sif, though it is a dreadful inconvenience, thoroughly humiliating, endlessly frustrating and, quite frankly, often unmerited, the terrible truth that lies in the dark of my heart is this—I love my brother.” 

Chapter Text

The sun had just risen over Asgard and struck through Thor’s window when Loki announced “I think we should hold a feast.”

For a moment the Prince thought he’d dreamt it, than he rolled to his side to blink at his brother, fully dressed, legs covered with papers and open books at the far end of the bed. 

“Did you even try to sleep?” he grumbled. 

“I slept in perfect peace, for hours, as if laying on a cloud in Valhalla.”

“Lies.”

“I am their god. Did you hear me?”

Thor sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You want to hold a feast?”

“Want? Heavens no. I’d rather you strike my formidable manhood with Mjölnir. I said we should.”

“Why should we hold a feast?”

“Because it has been a week since that terrible ill-fated coronation day, and the realm has not collapsed, nor been invaded since. I feel we should give the court, and the people, some sense of normalcy. We’ll provide free wine for the commonwealth and a proper banquet in the Great Hall for the Nobility. I’ll speak on how grateful I am to you and the Council for ensuring my brief Regency has been effortless. And though I hate to ask it of you, you must speak too.”

“Loki,” Thor sighed. “That’s just cruel.”

“It will be just as terrible for me, I assure you. But it will go a long way in helping the people be at ease, and that will be a weight off both our shoulders. I’m going to go to Mother before court this morning and ask if she feels the Allfather stirring, but if she does not, and we are endure my time on the throne a little longer, it would be easier if the mood in the palace was somewhat more relaxed.”

“The only person in all of Asgard who never relaxes is you.”

“It is my life's curse to find leisure terribly dull. Though a great deal of wine helps. We will both need it, and I daresay we’ve earned it. The Nobles will be more comfortable approaching us in a less formal setting. I imagine many want to express their regrets and sorrow to you and try and establish whether this is all some grand scheme engineered by me. We must allow them.” 

Thor sighed. “Fine. But you must instruct me on what to say and be warned, if I ever do come to the throne, I shall force you to toast me weekly.”

“Don’t be angry with me. I’ve a truly wonderful assignment for you today. It appears our dear Lord Porsi has been using funds dedicated to farmers who are too old to work their fields as a way of paying for an impressive amount of brothel visits in Vanaheim. I’m going to give you the expense reports, and you will appear quite baffled as to the rapid deductions and beg him for an explanation. He will ask that the budget be reviewed at an Agricultural subcommittee, and I will order that he answer the questions of his Crown Prince. And then we close in as two cats upon a fattened rat.”

Thor chuckled and tossed an arm over his eyes. “My dear brother,” he mumbled. “How you spoil me.”  

“Go and make yourself the very picture of noble innocence so no one will suspect you’ve come to ruin their day. You may skip my dull opening hour on the throne if you’d like. I’ll see you at the Council.”

*

Thor arrived before Loki, stack of papers in hand, and gave the Councilors a warm smile as they rose to greet him. 

“The King is on his way,” he assured them. “He will have a report for us regarding the Allfather’s health.”

“What a blessing, Your Grace. The Allfather is never far from our thoughts,” Alaric said with a warm smile. 

“Nor mine. Though I do say my brother, our King, is my focus now.”

“If we may ask, how fares our King? I say he’s done a splendid job during this trying week.”

“He is in perfect health and high spirits. He has expressed to me on multiple occasions that he has all of you to thank for making the burden of this Regency far lighter.”

“It is our pleasure to serve.”

“And may I add, my Prince, that we are all blessed you were able to return to advise our King as the rightful Crown Prince,” Vakr said. 

“Indeed,” Rœrekr joined, “I’d go so far as to say that your resilience and generosity has proven to us all why you will be a great King.”

“Hear hear,” Lord Porsi said. 

“I can’t help but agree,” Lord Durinn spoke up.

“And I do hope you know that the Royal Treasurery will make any accommodations you require throughout this brief mortal struggle you must endure,” Lord Heggr chimed in. 

Thor held up his hand. “My own rule has no place being discussed here, Councilors. The Allfather justly judged me and rightfully promoted my brother. I serve him unquestionably.”

It occurred to him, for the first time, that a week prior, he would have soaked up the Council's praise: had anyone told him Loki would sit the throne, he’d have been enraged and disbelieving. It had only been a matter of days, but the shift in his feelings and values was dramatic. With home a privilege, not a given, everything else had seemed small. 

Though he knew without a doubt he’d resent the Council just as much for disparaging his brother, even if it's an attempt to flatter him. Thor couldn’t claim to be the greatest sibling in the Nine, but he’d always been protective of Loki. He was older, and stronger, with higher status, and he took those things seriously in regards to his brother’s well-being. 

Said brother chose that moment to enter, causing all to rise, and Thor made sure to place a hand over his heart and smile extra large at him. Loki’s eyes were bright the excitement of a good fight, and he said “Sit, friends,” before he’d even reached his own chair.

“I come with good news,” he announced. “The Queen says she feels the Allfather is not as deep in rest as he was a week ago. Though he has yet to stir, clearly his healing and restoration are going quite well.” 

“Good news indeed, my King,” the Chancellor smiled. The sentiment was echoed. 

“My brother, the Crown Prince, and I desire to host a feast tomorrow evening, as a way of showing the people that Asgard is secure and all is well in hand. I daresay we could all use a drink, or nine, after this trial.” The chuckles around the table were, for once, not forced. “Free wine for the commonwealth and a proper banquet in the Great Hall for the Nobility—Lord Heggr, can the Treasury carry the expense?”

“Indeed, Your Grace—money has accumulated this past week, with very little gatherings.”

“Wonderful. Lord Chancellor, I desire you to sit at my left: the Crown Prince will have the right. You may arrange the rest of the seating as you see fit.”

“An honor, my King. I will see to it.”

“Come the beginning of the week, if the Allfather still rests, we will begin to lower the defenses. The process will be slow so as not to alert any potential Jotunn spies that our guard is down. Lord Vakr, I beg you to make use of Lord Volstagg’s wisdom while coordinating this. Lord Rœrekr, order the smiths to forge fresh weaponry. They will be the last to close and I won’t have them bored. If we must we will sell their spears to Vanaheim. When all this dreadful business is behind us, the soldiers must have a feast of their own, and several days rest with pay. Lord Chancellor, please do me a favor and communicate as much to General Tyr: I’d rather not deal with his inevitable boasting that his soldiers have no need of food, drink, or sleep when we all know the only soldier that applies to is the Destroyer. The Crown Prince will host their celebration—don’t worry, brother, you need only appear, they will do all the toasting to your grandeur—and be sure they receive proper wages. Lord Durinn, what have the children been told by their teachers about the confusion of this week?”

“That we were attacked during a public celebration so our attention was drawn away, but that the Destroyer protected us, and the House of Odin holds the throne.”

“Good man. Please instruct the tutors that they are to communicate that the Crown Prince has personally ensured the safety of the realm by advising the Council and make no mention of my own status. Now, we will open with diplomacy, and then the Crown Prince has been kind enough to aid me by reviewing the Education and Agricultural budgets. Lord Feykir, the floor is yours.”

“Many Nobles of Vanaheim request updated to the Allfather’s status.”

“Tell them Odin is comfortable and on the way to being restored and Asgard is at peace.”

“The dwarves of Nidavellir wish to know if war will come with the Jotunns.”

“Tell them they are under Asgard’s protection and will be the first of our allies to know of war. Lord Vakr, Lord Chancellor—make sure they are the last to know of war. I don’t want them forging such powerful weapons before a formal declaration is made, it will only raise everyone’s suspicions.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the Chancellor said. 

"Lord Feykir, continue." 

“The Lords of Nordenheim also request the status of the Jotunns.”

“Tell them what I told the dwarves.”

“Then that is all, save one minor note, Your Grace—Lord Starfall of Alfheim hopes you will honor him and his family with an official visit when your time as Regent is complete.”

“Send my future Father-in-law my warmest wishes and tell him it would be my greatest honor.”

Thor felt a surge of rage, the good will swallowed up inside the warrior within. “My brother will not go to Alfheim.”

Feykir looked up, surprised: Thor felt the council turn toward him. 

“You must forgive the Crown Prince,” Loki said quickly. “He is anxious that I remain in Asgard during the transition between the Allfather and himself.”

“I can speak for myself, Your Grace!” Thor snapped, than whirled back on the Chancellor. “Why did you arrange this match?”

“Our Regent is a son of Odin,” Alaric reminded him. “It is the duty of this Council to arrange a marriage for him that befits his station.” 

“And there are no Aesir women who qualify?”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but it is expected that the marriages of the Princes of Asgard be of at least some political advantage.”

“My brother is not some clause in a treaty! He is not some prize you reward or bargain you strike or sperm-bull you offer up to breed!”

“My Lords, you must pardon the Crown Prince,” Loki intervened. “I fear his emotions may have gotten the best of him.”

“You do not speak for me!” Thor rose, eyes locked on the Chancellor. “You will not sell my only brother off so you can maintain your place on this Council!” 

“Thor!” 

“My Prince, I beg your forgiveness,” Alaric said, “but it was the Allfather’s command.” 

“The Allfather does not sit the throne now.”

“I do,” Loki said, his voice a deadly calm. “And I accept the wisdom of the Council and the Allfather in arranging a marriage that benefits the realm.”

“You will do no such thing! You will remain on Asgard, where you belong. You will lead the Council as my Chancellor. You will remain my closest confidant and whoever attempts to usurp your role will be justly charged a traitor!” 

The room fell silent for a long moment: too long. Then Loki pushed back his chair and rose, and the Council rose with him. 

“My Lords,” the younger Prince said. “His Grace, the Crown Prince, is overwrought. I thank you for your time and release you to your other duties.”

There were a great many murmurings of gratitude as the men dispersed and shuffled off. Loki remained standing, face impassive, until the last of them were gone and the doors firmly closed, then he slammed a hand on the table and whirled on his brother. 

“You can not contradict me in front of them!”

“They’re sending you away for a purpose!”

“Of course they are.”

“And you sit there and agree!”

“Allowing them to lie in the interest of politics is nothing short of expected. To expose their lies, the real lies, takes time, and knowledge, and intelligence.”

“And that’s what it comes down to? That I don’t have the intelligence to make the decisions as Asgard’s King?”

“You lack the temperament.” Loki leaned on the table. “They want me in Alfheim for a reason. They reject your marriage proposals for a reason. They want us at each other’s throats for a reason. And you just told them you know it and ruined our chances of determining that reason!”

“I did it to protect you.”

“You have not protected me!” For the first time in years, Thor fully saw his brother’s face morph into true rage. “If you had you would be on the throne, not me! You would be occupying them with great stories of war and drinking and I would be solving this on my own. All I asked is that you appear to support me, for the short time I’m forced to endure this regency, a regency that should never have been my burden!”

“It’s for the best your regency is short! You allow your own councilors to deceive you!”

“They are free to speak their lies. I encourage them to speak their lies. The more they share with me, the more I learn about why they’re doing what they’re doing. If you truly cared enough to listen to anyone, you’d be shocked just how much people share without saying a word.” 

“And you believe that will make you a good King?”

“I am not a King!” Loki shouted. “I am the second son, forced to endure you, your friends, this entire court’s worship of you and mockery of everything I am and everything I hold dear, and to have some place and peace, I have had to commit all of my life, and all of myself, to try and ascertain a way to hold your throne for you, while you run off and cover yourself and glory like a selfish, pompous, immature child!”

It hurt—it hurt harder and deeper than anything Thor had ever felt, anything they had said to one another. He was raw, he was wounded, he was mortal—and so he resorted to what he knew, which was to hit back all the harder. 

“Maybe if you’d done more than spend your days pacing away with books and learning little tricks, you would have had more support than me, your better and banished King!”

“Maybe I should have let you serve your sentence on Midgard.”

“I could have—I’d already made friends! I already had a government protecting me! It was you who dragged me back, powerless and humiliated, to pretend I was happy you were King over me. Why else would you do that?”

Loki raised his chin. “Because despite my better judgement, despite the good of Asgard, despite my pride and my arrogance and my certainty in my own intelligence, I am unable to stop loving my brother!”

The declaration left them both quiet and breathing hard. Thor felt the rage recede and realized, to his own horror, all he’s said, and to the only person in the universe who had never failed to support him. 

It seemed to hit Loki at the same time—but in a horribly different way. 

“All I’ve ever wanted was to be your equal.” The younger Prince’s eyes filled. “My whole life has been nothing but responsibility to you and your throne, and none of it matters. I’m only ever seen as strange or weak or, at best, a prop. One more stone strengthening the floor of the Great Hall. Trapped forever in the dark of your shadow.”

“That’s not true,” Thor murmured. “Brother—I didn’t mean it. I was hurt, and that makes me angry—”

“Everything makes you angry. Can you not see that? Do you not understand, that you can’t be a good King when your only reaction is to hit back ten fold?”

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded, moving toward his brother, only to have Loki move away. “Loki, I’m sorry. This past week has been a nightmare for me—”

“Not just for you! It’s always you!” Thor was horrified to realize his normally stoic brother was nearly crying. “Why can’t you ever consider what you say to me? Why can you never see what hurts me?”

Tears filled his own eyes. “Brother, I’m sorry—”

“You always are,” Loki nearly spat. “And I have to just…accept it, and forgive you, because you’re my brother and will be my King. But it doesn’t vanish, do you understand? I can ignore what the rest of them say, but you—”

“Loki, please, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” his brother snarled, and made for the door. “I’m sorry I was ever born to this. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me as the second son of Asgard. I’m sorry I ever collected you on Midgard!” 

“Loki!”

“Oh, sorry, brother,” Loki nearly spat.“I didn’t mean it.” 

And, like that, Thor was alone. 

Chapter Text

Thor hadn’t the heart to attend the subcommittees, even to confront Lord Porsi, so he walked off to the Royal Family’s private gardens, the place he and Loki had played for hours as children. He didn’t frequent it now, except to occasionally walk with Frigga, but it was the one place in Asgard he knew he was least likely to be disturbed.

There were flowers in bloom, and birds chirping, and the bright, cheerful sun, all at terrible odds with how he felt. He wandered to the center of the garden, where a series of stone benches circled a great tree, and sank onto one, resigned to feeling sorry for himself. He and Loki had spent countless afternoons here, playing “King of Asgard,” which consisted of one of them climbing to the nearest branch and looking down at the other, who played supplicant. 

They’d rotated the role for hours on end, each delighting in inventing more and more bizarre characters to try and cause the other to break—laughing, stuttering, or being slow to answer disqualified them as “King,” and forced them to climb down and play supplicant. By the final hour of their game neither one of them could keep a straight face, and neither of them wanted to be the King, too excited to show the other the wild courtiers they’d concocted. The game had been hopelessly lost for Thor once Loki learned to transform, and would appear at his brother’s feet as any number of wild enchantments or creatures, all with equally bizarre voices. 

They’d tried the game with their friends, but they were all too serious as supplicants, attempting to practice their courtly manners, for it to be any fun. 

He imagined the Norns were roaring with laughter in Yggdrasil, beholding him now.

He heard the all too-familiar footsteps come softly over the stone path toward him, before Frigga sat beside him, her familiar warmth and smell another stab in heart—he is still not truly home, despite his presence in the palace.

“I had hoped you’d come and see me,” she said, and stroked his hair back to better see his downcast eyes. “A whole week I’ve been without you. I’ve missed you terribly.”

“You've been at the Allfather’s side. I didn’t want to risk him seeing me upon waking.”

“He had should not have passed such judgment upon you without consulting me.”

“He was right to do it,” Thor had to swallow hard around the pain in his throat. “I won’t blame him if he banishes me again, but please…don’t let him cast out Loki. I never knew just how much Asgard needs him.”

“As it does you.” 

Thor turned to her, face burning with shame. “I’m unworthy, Mother.”

“Oh, my sweet.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know what all the Allfather intends from this lesson, but I know you will discover it. And we love you no less.”

“Without my power, without my hammer…I’m useless.”

“Are you? Or have you just grown to rely too heavily on them for your worth?”

Thor shook his head, losing his battle with tears. “All I’ve done is hurt people. I liked hurting people. It’s all I’m good at. I told myself it was to protect the people I love, but I’ve hurt them just as much.”

“If that were true, you would not be here. Loki had the opportunity, and the right, to leave you unprotected, and he would not. He had the right to leave you on Midgard, and he did not. He has an army of warriors to defend and kill for him, but he came to you, as a mortal, to aid his reign, however brief. That does not sound like a brother who has only ever suffered at your side.”

“He says that he’s trapped forever in the dark because of my shadow. What kind of man forces his brother into the dark and doesn’t even know it?”

Frigga stroked her son’s head for a moment. “If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to tell you something about the magic of my people, the Vanir.” Thor raised his eyebrows—his mother rarely spoke about her gifts with him. Those conversations belonged to her and Loki alone. “There are many dualities in the Universe—fire and ice, darkness and light, earth and water. When combined, they strengthen and nurture each other immeasurably. Too often people mistake one as being greater, or more good, than the other: for instance, people mistake the magic of night for being dark and deadly and dangerous. But it is not so.

“In the Sun all things are open and revealed, it’s true—it’s the light of fire, swift and fierce and without mercy. It can give life, but it can also too quickly scorch it away. That’s why there is the Moon, the beacon of the dark. Under its glow, that same world can look very different. What we believed to be true may not be so. We must move slower, and look deeper, and let our instincts feel for the unseen. Life thrives every bit as much in the dark as it does in the light. 

“There are the spells of the sun, and the spells of the moon, but the closer the two are together—the spells cast in the dawn or the dusk, on the equinox or the solstice—those are the strongest there are.” She tilted her eldest’s chin to look in his eyes. “You are a Child of the Sun. Loki is of the Moon. You will always be strongest together. No one in the universe will ever better understand your fears and your struggles, or be better suited to support your weaknesses. When Loki feels adrift in the dark, you must go and be his light. When you are intemperate or vengeful or too trusting, you must allow him to cast a calming shadow and evaluate how it affects what’s known.”

Thor was quiet for a long moment. “Do you think you could repeat all this to him?” 

“Who’s to say I haven’t?”

“The fact that he feels slighted. Being the Moon has made him far wiser. And his magical gifts just make him all the more formidable.”

“When was the last time you told him such?” 

Thor looked alarmed. “He knows I admire him.”

“Does he?”

“He knows he’s smarter than me. And he always pulls tricks to show off.” 

“Is that why he does them?”

“Mother, if what you say is true, than I am your terribly stupid Son of the Sun. Please just tell me what you want me to know.”

Frigga smiled and rolled her eyes in a way that reminded him far too much of his brother. “Asgard is built of Children of the Sun. You receive praise and admiration and devotion even when your acts are not thoughtful or just. Loki is often overlooked even when he is at his best. Living that way sows doubt and discomfort within him. I gave him my magic to try and offset that discomfort, and your Father gave him the training of a Vanir War Master to best even the likes of the strongest Aesir. But he still must carry those gifts alone, and you have seen yourself that they are rarely praised.”

For the first time in that horrible week, the sense of helplessness faded just a bit. Warmth, sincerity, sentiment—these were things that came easily to him. If that was all it took to bring light to his brother’s life, than perhaps Thor could, in fact, be more than just a tool of destruction. 

“Thank you,” Thor murmured, and kissed his Mother on the cheek. “The Nine don’t deserve you. You were made to rule Valhalla itself.”

“Who’s to say I won’t?” She kissed his forehead once more, then rose. “Now—go and see your friends. They’re worried for you. I’m going to hunt down my Moon-child and force him to eat before he faints clear off the throne.”   

Chapter Text

Thor was surprised to find all four of his friends gathered in the meal hall, where lunch had already been thoroughly picked over. They all stood to greet him, Volstagg clapping a hand on his back and Fandral gripping his vambrace, and the relief in their faces bespoke of the worry his Mother had warned him of.

“We’ve scarcely seen you this week!” Volstagg boomed. 

“I do hope you won’t tell the King we’re here,” Fandral said. “All our Councilors are in committee meetings, and we thought we’d earned a small break.”

“It’s been a trying week for us all,” Thor sighed, and grabbed a plate, spearing meat and fruit onto it. 

“Would you like a drink?” Sif asked. 

“Please.”

She chuckled and poured him a goblet from the pitcher the group was sharing. “Lord Feykir was thrilled that you two would be hosting a feast. It’s the first time I’ve heard him praise anything our Regent has done.”

“I feel we all are owed a night of over-indulgence,” Thor agreed and took the seat across from her. 

“I say this week hasn’t been so terrible for me,” Volstagg proclaimed. “Rœrekr is decent enough, just obsessed with numbers. I’ve actually learned a great deal about our ships from him.”

“And Vakr knows every stone of Asgard,” Fandral said. “He’s been quite driven to ensure the city’s safety. I’d go so far as to say he blames himself for the incursion.” 

“Feykir is the worst man in all the Nine,” Sif sighed. “If it weren’t for Loki promising me the role of his official executioner, I’d have murdered him already. How he wound up as Minister of Diplomacy, of all things, is beyond me.”

“Minister of Diplomacy puts him in line for Chancellor,” Thor explained. “I’m sure that’s what he hopes for.”

“But I can’t fathom why the Allfather would put someone of his ilk in such a powerful position.”

“Odin’s brothers killed his Father,” Hogun said. 

The group turned to him, wide-eyed. “Come again?” Fandral asked. 

“Odin’s brothers decided to duel for the throne. Feykir’s Father attempted to intercede. They cut right through him to get to each other. All died from their wounds.”

“That’s nonsense,” Fandral protested. “Odin’s brothers died in battle. We have statues and murals commemorating them.”

“Where did you hear this?” Thor asked. 

“The Chancellor has had many letters from Nobles here and from the other realms concerned about civil war. Feykir suggested he share the story as a way of demonstrating that the House of Odin is different from the House of Bor, and that he serves the Allfather absolutely despite what the Borson brothers did.”

“Who all has written?” Thor demanded. 

“The Lords of Nordenheim, the Dwarves of Nidavellir, and many in Vanaheim.”

“Feykir told us just this morning that those who were writing were concerned about a Jotunn war. He made no mention they were concerned about a civil one.”

“It’s good of him not to,” Fandral said. “Merely asking the question could be high treason. It’s his job to reassure them.”

“He didn’t disclose to his King that such questions are being asked,” Sif murmured. 

“Loki said to tell them all that they will be the first to know of war if it comes. He meant it for the Jotunns, but if that goes back in response to a question regarding a civil war…that looks terrible.”

“Loki’s been aware of this from the first,” Volstagg pointed out. “It’s why he’s taken such care to demonstrate, publicly, that you two have no quarrels. And it’s partly why we’re with the Ministers. I’ve told Lord Rœrekr repeatedly that you two are the greatest of friends, as always.”

“Except I just challenged my brother in a Council meeting…and then we spent ten minutes screaming at one another, right there in the Council Chamber.” Thor covered his face with his hands, shame causing a flush over his whole body. Unworthy.

“Over what?” Sif asked.

“He’s been betrothed to Lady Starfall in Alfheim.”

“Alfheim?” Volstagg exclaimed. “What’s he to do in Alfheim?”

“Improve their economy, I suppose. If anyone could sell an ancient library and citadel for Mages, it’s my brother.”

“We heard there’ll be a feast tomorrow,” Fandral reminded him. “That will go a long way. Make a nice speech, laugh and drink together, and they will see all is well.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Sif said. “The outer Nobility can’t see those things. They only have the word of Feykir and Alaric.”

“The Dwarves of Nidavellir asked if they should forge a weapon for Loki, as King, as they forged Gugnir for Odin and Mjölnir for Thor,” Hogun murmured, eyes on the floor. “They have a mold for one called ‘Stormbreaker,’ which they said could defeat the god of thunder.”

The five friends sat in silent shock.

“Well…” Volstagg finally said, “…damn.”

*

Sif wouldn’t consider herself a woman of prayer, but enroute to Feykir’s chamber, she found herself calling for the Norns’ aid.

Grant me patience. Grant me calm. Grant me wisdom. I seek, with pure heart, to aid my friend and King. I beg your support.

She braced herself at the door of the Minister’s office, setting her shoulders and framing her mind with the calm detachment she used in battle, then strode forward. 

“Good afternoon, my Lord.”

Feykir looked up from the papers on his desk and frowned. “I’d rather hoped I’d lost you.”

“I fear I’ve failed in my duties to you, Lord Feykir,” she said. “It seems my fellow Warriors have fared far better with their Ministers than I have with mine. I fear I have not expressed to you how great an honor it is to be assigned to protect such a powerful, influential member of the Allfather’s government. I know I pale in comparison to the Aesir males, but I have extensive battle experience, and I have vowed to obey our King in ensuring no harm comes to you.”

Feykir glared at her for a moment, then set down his pen and sighed. “It isn’t entirely your fault, my dear. Our King had hoped you’d serve as a spy. His play was shameless and unmerited. We are all sworn to the House of Odin, no matter who sits the throne.”

“I fear I haven’t the skills to serve as a spy, my Lord. I am a trained warrior, nothing more.”

Norns alive, Loki, if this fails, it will be you I torture in Asgard’s dungeons, I swear it on the Nine.

Feykir chuckled. “Yes, we are aware of you and your ventures as a Lady-soldier. You were even discussed as a potential consort for the Crown Prince, though I regret to say you were quickly dismissed. Asgard requires a Queen, not a Shield-Maiden.”

This ‘shield-maiden’ could have your head off your shoulders in seconds, Sif thought, but her mind immediately flashed to Loki, how he’d advised her and how he performed. His quick, charming talk had saved her and her friends' lives on more than one occasion, and nearly won them safe passage from Jotunheim. She thought of what he did when faced with an insult, and it was almost too easy—she smiled. 

“You are very insightful, my Lord,” she said, widening her eyes to look impressed. “I could never serve as the Queen Asgard deserves. It has only ever been my desire to fight as well as a man.”

“Then I grieve for you, my Lady. It is a dream that shall never come to fruition.” He sighed a true, labored breath. “But I do not wish to incur the wrath of our Regent upon you. Come and sit. Would you like a drink?”

“I don’t think I should, my Lord, when in the service of your safety.”

“You are kind, but my safety is guaranteed by the guard outside. Take a cup with me,” he said, rising to pour them two goblets. Sif kept her face pleasant while her blood was seething. 

“You are so gracious, my Lord. I regret that my service has displeased you.”

“It was never you, my Lady—it has been a challenge, serving the second son of Odin. I suppose the Norns have seen to it to test our vows of loyalty. I bear great love to the Allfather and his family, even if the Trickster vexes me as our Regent.”

“I have known him since we were children—I know firsthand how vexing he can be.”

“We must allow the Silvertongue his fun. It will not be long before he’s wed to his Light Elf, and then his days will be quite full of the business of Alfheim.” 

“You must forgive me, my Lord, for failing to understand their importance, but the Starfalls seem a bit unequal in status to a Prince of Asgard.”

“You are too hard on yourself, my Lady, for you are correct—even as high as they are in command of Alfheim, they are no worthy consorts for a Prince. But the proposal they have brought is very worthy. The Light Elves have the means to correct the poor atmosphere of Svartelheim, and the Trickster possesses the knowledge of magic to oversee and encourage such work.”

“That is wonderfully wise, my Lord, and I daresay a great service to the Realms.”

“The Chancellor entrusts me with such plans, my Lady. He does not trust easily.” Feykir took a deep drink and grinned. 

“I hope you don’t mind my addressing a sensitive matter that took place in a Council meeting, but Prince Thor expressed deep regret for his outburst this morning. I have been friends with both our Princes since they were children, and they have always been very close.”

“It is unfortunate that there are not more Princes or Princesses in the Royal Household, to alleviate his distress. The fact remains that Royalty who are not set to inherit the throne are great diplomatic assets. Were our Regent of a more pleasant disposition, he could perhaps be assigned a larger state role when the Crown Prince ascends to the throne. As it is, he will have to make due with the Light Elves.” 

“I imagine he’ll do well there. His magic will certainly be appreciated, and not at all unusual.”

“I imagine it will be a grand disappointment for him, to have his tricks no longer impress or frustrate his fellows. But it can’t be helped.” 

Sif felt heat creep up the back of her neck, a feeling she usually got when an enemy was behind her. This very conversation felt like it verged on treason, and she sent a silent prayer that she was able to explain to Loki before Heimdall reported it.  

“If I may ask…do you feel the people are ill at ease with their Regent? Is that why Loki asked us to watch over you?”

“You needn’t worry over such issues of State. The Council has been in place long before our current Regent and the King who will follow. We are prepared to prevent the young Princes from wreaking havoc on the realm.”

“I suppose I have one final question…though I beg your forgiveness, for you will find it childish.”

“Go on, Lady Sif,” he smiled that hated, condescending smile. She kept her own expression friendly, picturing his screams when she removed his fingernails, one at a time. “I vow to be gracious.”

“Prince Thor mentioned that the King has reviewed several marriage proposals for the Crown Prince from the Vanir Nobility, but he seems to feel the Council is against such a match. Yet you supported Loki's betrothal to a Light Elf of Alfheim.” 

“Yes, my Lady, we did—because it is that of the second son. The Crown Prince is very different. I have friends and colleagues across the Nine as Minister of Diplomacy, and I hold a great many of them to be dear, but when I lay down to take my rest, I must feel I have done my all to service my realm. And the truth of the matter is this, Lady Sif—the Aesir should rule Asgard.”

Sif put a look of what she hoped was wonder on her face. “Those may be the wisest words I have heard a long, long time, my Lord.”

“I daresay you’d hear more if you’d spend more time in court and less playing soldier. Though you must now, to keep our King satisfied. I hope I’ve given you some education. You may resume your place in the corridor.” 

Sif nodded slowly, to mark the solemnity of the moment, then bowed to him and stepped into the hall, setting herself in place with the Einherjar. One day they would write an epic for her, the Great Warrior Sif, and the frighteningly creative ways she tortured a Minister so it was days before the wolves of Niflheim came for his hide. 

*

“Lady Sif, you are the most brave, clever, fierce woman in the cosmos,” Loki proclaimed. “Were it not to end with your spear in my throat, I would lift you off the floor and spin you around this room like a commonplace courtier.” 

“I’m happy I’ve pleased you, my King,” she chuckled. 

“'Pleased me' is too small a description. I shall build you a statue. I shall decree you a feast day. I shall have portraits and murals painted and hung in every home in Asgard. I’m half in love with you at the moment. When this terrible Regency ends, we shall run away together. We will have an army of daughters, and they will fight as you and think as me. They will conquer the galaxy.”

She couldn’t help but feel a slight flush of pride and embarrassment—they held no romantic intentions toward each other, but seeing the cleverest man she knew excited by the knowledge she’d imparted was terribly thrilling. She could see why Loki had grown to love it. 

“All I did was bring you a bit of information on a long-dead land, my King,” she reminded him.

“You did far more than that. I’d assumed my betrothal in Alfheim was a ploy to keep me from taking control of the Council once Thor took the throne, and to do something about the Light Elves' inability to market their intelligence. I’d no idea they sought to colonize Svartelheim as well.”

“How though? Svartelheim is little more than a ruin with a handful of Dark Elf villages.”

“Svartelheim has rich soil, unusable because of its cloudy atmosphere. The Light Elves have means of righting that. Send me to Alfheim, charge me with strengthening the economy—it wouldn’t have taken much for me to suggest allowing the Elves to work on Svartelheim. Two new thriving economies would be a great success on their part and a grand addition to my brother’s throne.”

“Then why keep it secret?”

“That, my Great Lady, is now the question.” Loki beamed at her, and she felt a pang of guilt when she thought of the other news she’d come to tell him. 

“I hate to dampen your mood, my King,” she said, “but I feel it critical I share with you what Lord Hogun disclosed to us at lunch.” 

By the time she’d finished, she’d expected Loki to be pale, or shocked, or horrified: he merely looked thoughtful. It wasn’t until she mentioned Stormbreaker that his eyes widened, and he rose to his feet. 

“It’s good of you to share this with me, and good of Lord Hogun to report it. He and I are scheduled to speak after the close of court—I will have questions for him.”

“Volstagg says he has been doing everything he can to ensure Lord Rœrekr knows you and Thor are perfect friends.”

“That was sadly undone by my brother’s tantrum this morning,” Loki sighed. 

“He’s very sorry for it.”

“He always is.” Loki took his seat again, looking suddenly tired. “You needn’t worry, my friend—I suspected the Council would fuel the flames of civil unrest. It forces my brother and I to them for protection. Thor can vouch that I have spent the nights doing a great deal of writing: I’m happy to report that letters are going out all over the Nine, explaining to the outer Nobility that my Father requested I serve the Regency as an exercise to support my brother, and spare Thor the frustration and embarrassment of serving as King when he was not officially crowned. I also lauded him and the Council for their advice and service to the security of Asgard. Whether they’ll believe it or not is a game of chance, but at the very least they are receiving my words unfiltered by Alaric and Feykir.”

“Why did you not tell Thor? He’s beside himself.”

Loki rubbed his eyes. “I’d like to entrust my brother with everything—I used to, when we were children, before I realized how much trouble his temper could cause. Just this morning he battled the Chancellor over an issue far less dire than the two of us warring for the throne.”

“He takes the safety of Asgard seriously—and the safety of his family even more so.”

“But you and I both understand that safety doesn’t always equal brute force. Just because my brother can yell the loudest, strike the hardest, and move the fastest doesn’t make him right, anymore than Feykir’s belief that a woman’s slighter muscle structure makes her unfit to fight or govern.”

Sif nodded. “What should I do next, my King? How do I help you?”

“You’ve helped me tremendously already, my Lady. The dwarves making molds for weapons that could best Thor’s or my Father’s frightens me deeply. I am going to send word at once that they be destroyed, and that the Dwarves should forge or mold nothing for Asgard without the express command of the sitting Monarch. It may be worth paying them a visit and reminding them that their protection from us is conditional on them creating no weapon that could defeat Asgard’s King. And they did forge Mjölnir: maybe they will have some insight into what Thor must do to wield it again.”

“And what of the deceit of Alaric and Feykir?”

“While I’d love to grant you permission to torture them, I’m sure they knew exactly what they were doing. Any discussion they hold in front of Hogun will get back to me. This was either an intimidation tactic or an effort to entrap me into treason by raising a force against my brother, or he against me, if Hogun chose to warn Thor. Or perhaps it’s simply a test to see how I will react to such news.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Exactly what I have been doing—trying to stay several steps ahead of them. My letters have gone out, Thor and I will appear as perfect friends at a feast tomorrow, and if the Norns have any mercy, the Allfather will wake any day now and put an end to this uncertainty.” 

“You and Thor mustn’t appear as perfect friends—you must be perfect friends. Will you not speak with him?”

“We reside in the same palace. Our bedrooms are a half a moment apart from one another’s. Thor knows where to find me, and I him.”

“It has been a trying week.”

The Prince’s expression quickly darkened. “I think a great deal of you, Lady Sif, but I beg you not to defend my brother to me. If he is currently experiencing guilt or shame, I’d say it would do him some good. Maybe he’ll find the feelings unpleasant enough to avoid the mistakes that lead to them.”

“He is terribly fond of you, Loki,” Sif murmured. “I promise you that.” 

“I’d rather have his respect than his affection.” Loki smiled. “You’ve helped me tremendously. I’m in your debt. Enjoy an evening free of Feykir. It seems I have a great deal of writing to do.” 

She rose but then, almost on impulse, she said “I hope you know that we, your friends, are very fond of you too.” 

His expression softened. “That is kind of you to say. Don’t fear too much for Thor and me. We’ve great practice fighting, and even more forgiving. I know myself well enough to say my wounded pride will recover with a night’s rest and some time apart.”

“Then I wish you a peaceful evening, my King.”

“The same to you, my friend.”

She bowed and made to exit the Council chamber, glancing back to where Loki sat alone at the grand table, laying out pens and flipping through the journal in front of him. She’d seen him in similar poses countless times before—in the library, in his chamber, in the palace gardens—and never gave it a second thought. 

So it struck her now as odd that the sight made her so very, very sad.  

Chapter Text

When Loki was scarcely six, he had a nightmare so intense, Thor and their governess called for the guards. Thor remembered waking up to his brother’s choking and thrashing, his desperate, heaving cries for air, and the frantic way the adults crowded around, trying to get him to slow his out of control breathing. Thor had beaten at the guards’ legs, trying to get to the bed, sobbing with unmitigated terror. 

“Loki!” he remembered screaming. “Loki, don’t die! Loki, Loki!” 

His Father had finally had to pick him up and carry him screaming out of the room so their Mother and the healers could try and get an explanation out of his hysterical brother. Until that moment, the concept of death had been a fantasy, like war and magic and Frost Giants: the evidence of it was around them, but they were just parts of stories, used for their elaborately imagined games, and not an actual threat.

That horrible night, seeing his brother unreachable to even the most powerful adults in their lives, Thor realized Loki could simply not be. He’d never race him in the garden again, or kick him under the table, or show him some oversized book with sprawling maps, or hide under the blankets whispering about some courtly gossip. He’d never learn to fly a ship, or craft a spell, or travel the Bifrost. All the things they’d imagined for their lives would be gone, and it would just be Thor, remembering, alone.

The elder Prince had cried just as long and hard as his shaken younger brother, and it was nearly dawn before the Allfather carried him back to their shared bedchamber and deposited him next to Loki on his brother’s bed. They’d curled up together like they were babies once more, clinging and crying while their Mother smoothed their heads. 

“What was it?” Thor had pleaded, holding his brother as hard as he could. “Loki, what was it?”

“Just a dream,” their mother had explained. “A frightening dream. It’s over now.”

“What was it, Loki?” Thor had repeated. “What was it?”

“Awful,” Loki had whispered, fisting his hand in his brother’s shirt. “It was awful.” 

The Awful Dream, as they came to call it, wreaked havoc on them both whenever it reared up. Years could go by without it, and then a peaceful night would be shattered with Loki’s screams and wrenching, choking gasps. Thor would always sleep curled against his brother’s back for at least a week afterward, often staring at him long into the night, thinking breathe, breathe, don’t ever stop, you’ll kill us both if you ever stop.

But even in the bright light of day, days or weeks or even months afterward, when Thor or their mother or the healers would try and coax out of him what it was that caused him such horror and distress, Loki would recoil and shake his head and only ever say, “It’s too awful. Please don’t make me think of it.”

As they grew older, little bits seeped out: Loki doesn’t know where he is, it’s too dark, it’s too cold, he’s lost and too weak to find his way. But these confessions only appear in his first conscious moments, when he’s not yet free of the dream, before Loki will shut down. 

Between the ages of eleven and thirteen, the Awful Dream had vanished completely, and Thor had taken the word ‘awful’ clear out of his vocabulary in the hopes nothing would ever undo his brother so thoroughly again.

But then, the summer Thor had turned fifteen and the Princes had been set to relocate to their adult chambers, the Awful Dream had invaded like a force of Titans, appearing night after night and sending Thor racing through their darkened common room before he’d even fully wake. Loki had gone days without sleeping and Thor had quickly followed, staying awake to watch over his brother, hoping to wake him before whatever the awful thing is had taken hold. That summer they had both come undone from exhaustion and terror—Odin had forced them to stop training, fearing their utter lack of concentration and focus would result in serious injury or worse. Frigga had relocated them to her own chambers and sat up with them, casting soothing magic and singing soft, sweet songs like they were children once more, but nothing had prevented Loki from screaming and hyperventilating every time he had tried to rest properly. 

On the absolute worst night of it all Thor had woken to find the bed next to him empty and the room too quiet. He had found his brother on the balcony, leaning too far over the railing, and had grabbed him from behind in a panic and brought them both to the stone floor.

“Please, Loki,” he had begged, “you can’t give up.”

“I can’t bear it,” Loki had sobbed. “I feel it everywhere now. It’s dark everywhere. It hurts all the time.”

“We’ll fix it, brother,” Thor had promised, his heart pounding in desperation. “You can’t give up, you can’t—we love you, Loki. It will pass, you’ll see. This will be the Awful Summer amid many, many great ones.”

They had declined separating and remained in their shared chambers through the fall and winter and when the next summer arrived Thor had unceremoniously slipped through the common area and curled beside his sleeping brother as he had when they were children, letting the soft sounds of Loki’s steady, easy breathing take him down into his own dreams. When Fandral had cracked a joke about the Princes’ continued cohabitation, Thor had struck him for real, the only time he’d ever done so, giving his friend two split lips and a mouth full of blood, and warned him to mind his tongue when he spoke to his betters. No one had dared mention the brothers’ rooming situation again.

The Awful Dream had come off and on during the years, as vicious and random as ever. Loki had told Thor, in the horrible aftermath, that he wondered if it was a punishment for something, if he’s too proud or arrogant or jealous. Thor had assured him that wasn’t the case, but he’d often wondered the same thing—if the Norns were tearing down Thor, the mighty warrior, by tormenting his brother with an enemy Thor can’t fight or kill for him. If they’re reminding him how swiftly and easily fate could sweep away everything he loved and lived for. 

So it’s all too fitting when, at the close of the worst week of Thor’s life, the Awful Dream returned.

*

Thor’s heart was racing as he tumbled out of bed, caught his feet in the sheets and hit the stone, hard. Loki’s anguished wail got him up again, and he kicked himself free and got to his feet, the sudden distance between their rooms seeming impossibly far.

“Loki!” he bellowed, meeting his brother’s door shoulder-first. His brother was heaving and twitching in his bed, making the most horrid, frantic noises, sounds Thor had loathed since Loki’s nightmare had begun to rear its monstrous head. “Loki,” he repeated, trying to sound calm when he was eons from it. He leaned over him and took hold of his shoulders. “Brother, it’s alright. You need to wake up, Loki. It’s okay, I’m here. Leave what you’re seeing and come back home.”

The breath Loki took in was horrid, but his eyes opened and stared frantically and near-uselessly around him. Thor slid a hand beneath his neck and endured the frantic clawing of his brother’s trembling hands, before they fisted in his shirt and Loki gasped. 

“Thor?”

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Let me sit you up.” The younger Prince made a horrid, guttural sound, and Thor fought to keep his expression calm and hide his shaking hands by gently gripping his brother’s trembling form. 

“No one came,” Loki sobbed. 

“I’ve come,” Thor soothed, coaxing him upright.

“Where—why?” his brother was swaying, trying to get to his feet and failing. “I’m cold. I don't know where I am.” 

“You’re home,” he soothed. “It’s alright.”

Loki struggled when his brother tried to settle him on the edge of the mattress. “I won’t lie down—I won’t.” 

“Then we will sit.” Thor smiled and gave his brother a gentle tug toward their common room. “We have a whole palace of rooms for that purpose. Come along.” 

They were halfway to the sofa when Loki gasped and grappled at his chest. “Brother?”

“I’m here.”

“I can’t…I can’t see—it’s too dark. Am I awake?”

“Not yet,” Thor got his brother on the couch and crossed quickly to the hearth to stoke the fire—his brother never did like being too close. Loki was trembling when he settled back beside him. “You’ll feel better in a moment, I promise.” 

“Why…” Loki was openly weeping now.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, reaching for one of his spare cloaks and pulling it around his brother before slipping a hand around the side of his neck. “I have you.”

“I’m too cold.”

“It’s a dream.” Thor pulled his brother’s head to his own shoulder and embraced him with his free arm. “It’s your Awful Dream. We’ve fought it before. Look about you—we’re in our rooms.”

Loki made a strangled noise and breathed hard against Thor’s shoulder like he only ever did when the Awful Dream took hold. It’s not like his calm, collected brother to cling or whimper or babble in fright, but whatever it is that visits him in that horrible nightmare strips away all his pride. 

Thor tried to breathe deeply and slow his own racing pulse. Loki was shaking and Thor’s own hands were none too steady. Dream or not, he’d never get used to the sound of his brother fighting for breath, no matter how many times the Awful Dream appeared.

“You’re alright now,” he murmured, cupping his neck and rubbing behind his ear with his thumb. “Nothing can hurt you.”

“Why does no one find me?”

“I’ve found you.”

“They’re gone, they’re all gone. It’s too dark.”

“Look ahead, there’s plenty of light.”

“I don’t want to be here. They don’t want me. They’ve never wanted me. Why can’t they love us the same?”

Thor felt his chest ache: he didn’t know how aware his brother was, but Loki had never said anything like that before. There was never a ‘they,’ or a mention of what exactly was with him, other than the dark and the cold. He pushed his brother’s dark hair back from his face and forced himself to sound calm. 

“I’ve found you,” Thor repeated. “I always will. No matter how long it takes, or how far you’ve gone, I will come for you. I will bring you home.”

That seemed to settle the younger Prince for the first time since he woke. He shuddered but then, blessedly, his breathing evened out. Thor kept smoothing his brother’s hair, finding the repetitive motion relaxed him, helped him feel like he was doing something instead of just pleading with Loki not to suffer. 

It took a long time. Thor’s wasn’t sure if his brother had dosed off, or if he was fully awake, or if he had any idea the things he’d said, but after this horrible week he was content to just sit in the warmth and safety of their common room and hold his brother as Loki would never allow when he was lucid. 

It was easily an hour before the younger Prince sat upright and pulled away, fixing the cape tighter around himself, eyes on the fire. Thor kept a hand cupped over the back of his brother’s neck, thumb moving absently. 

“Thank you for waking me,” the younger Prince said. 

“It’s been years. I thought maybe it was done.”

Loki rubbed the cloak at his eyes. “It can’t be done until it happens. It’s fate. It must be, to be so clear and so unclear all at once. It can only be how I’ll die.”

“No!” Thor shook his brother, hard. “It’s horrible and frightening—no one knows that more than me. But this week has been horrible and frightening. So many things have happened so quickly, of course you’re having nightmares.”

“It’s not a nightmare. I don’t feel nightmares. They don’t walk with me during the day.” Loki shuddered. Thor tried to put an arm around him, but his brother squirmed away. “I’m alright now,” he snapped. “You should try and sleep. Your mortal form can’t be easy to endure.” 

Just like that, all of Loki’s fear and need and vulnerability were sucked back down into himself, and he was back to formality, back to the quiet, composed Prince of Asgard. It didn’t matter that Thor could feel that his brother was still shaking, still pale, and his eyes were damp—it didn’t matter that Thor was there, right beside him, offering comfort. Loki wouldn’t reach for it, wouldn’t reach for him, now that he’d recovered his faculties. Thor had always assumed his fiercely independent brother didn’t have need of such open affection, but he thought back to what Loki had said earlier, how Thor had mocked and hurt him, and it occurred to him that maybe, long ago, Loki had simply decided it was better to shoulder his hurt and fears alone rather than risk his brother’s rejection. 

It made Thor unbearably sad. 

“You were right,” he said. “Earlier. About everything, all of it. About me.” 

Loki swallowed. “I’m sorry I for what I said about leaving you on Midgard. I didn’t mean it, truly.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did.”

“Sif and the Warriors…they looked at me like I was a monster for not going to you immediately. But I couldn’t, not with the portals open.”

“You don’t have to explain.” Thor rubbed a soothing circle over the back of his brother’s head. “You did more for me than you were required, sending Sif and Hogun. And I can’t tell you how relieved I was that you weren’t cast out with me.”

“You have to stop and think once and awhile, brother. As a warrior, there’s no fight you can’t win. But being a King is more than being a soldier. Just as in battle, you have to take to the higher ground. Observe what’s around you, see all the ways someone can damage your position.”

Thor felt a rush of anger and, for the first time in his life, rather than giving in, observed his reaction as if outside himself. The words Who do you think you are, telling me this, when I’m your better? swelled up in him almost unbidden in a frantic desire to silence his brother so he didn’t have to face the awful truth of his own failings. 

How many times had he done that, almost casually, striking Loki down with insults or a cruel reminder of his secondary station simply because his brother was trying to point out a critical truth? How many times had Loki needed him and hidden that need so as not to risk being insulted or alienated? How many silent hurts did he have stashed away?

“You’re right,” Thor managed around the sudden lump in his throat. “You’ve been right all along. If I’d listened to you, we wouldn’t have gone to Jotunheim…or we would have left peacefully. Maybe it took being cast out to see, but you’re so much more fit to rule. You’re marvelous with the Court.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I mean it—you’re insufferable to them, but it’s because you’re right. You expose them for what they are. I could never have done any of that. I trusted them.” He felt his own face burn with humiliation and joined his brother in staring at the fire. “Maybe…maybe that’s what Father meant all along. Maybe that’s what this lesson is—that you’re better suited to the throne.”

“That’s nonsense and you know it. If that were the truth, your power would be restored, Mjölnir would be by your side, and I could hand over Gugnir and leave this terrible place for good.”

Thor’s head snapped to stare at his brother. “You can’t mean that. You can’t mean to leave Asgard.” 

Loki leaned forward, the cloak drifting to his lap as he rubbed his eyes with both hands. “I think…more than anything…I’d like to leave myself.” 

And that…that nearly broke Thor more thoroughly than any of his Father’s words could ever hope to.

“I believe I may have had something to do with that,” Thor chanced. Loki’s eyes remained glued to the hearth. “I know I’ve been foolish. I may have even been cruel…but I haven’t meant to be.”

“Of course not,” Loki said, but it was flat and automatic. 

“I mean it—you’re a born leader. You’re brilliant on the throne, brother. You’re not the only one who suffers from jealousy.” 

Loki finally turned his head. “What in the Nine could you have to jealous about?”

Thor was honestly baffled. “What do you mean? You’re the clever one—everyone says so. You’re called ‘Silvertongue’ for a reason—because you can talk your way out of anything, and so quickly. You’re Mother’s favorite and have her magic. You’re calm, even when things are terrible. You never let your temper get the best of you. And watching you with the Council…you’re ingenious. None of them are any match for you. Asgard would be far better served in your hands than mine.”

For the first time in their lives, Loki appeared utterly stunned into silence. Thor continued, “You’ve single-handedly saved us all from the terrible situation I put us in. I can’t tell you how proud I am to get to stand by your side. Your capacity for forgiveness is far greater than mine.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Loki sighed. “I wish I could say I was selfless bringing you back from Midgard…but I know my chances of surviving this Regency are far greater with you at my side.”

“That’s wise, brother. You’re our King. You need to protect yourself.”

“In the stories, when the unlikely heir is handed his chance, doesn’t he make the most of it? Doesn’t he prove himself an adept ruler? I ran straight to my big brother. I don’t recall any inspiring ballads where the new King does that.” 

“So? Write your own. You’re capable of it.” 

Loki smiled up at Thor, almost shyly. “You’re a hotheaded fool,” he said, his tone fond. “But Father was just as battle-hungry as you in his youth. Age and responsibly tempered that, and you’re already kinder and more willing to examine your mistakes than he’s ever been. I wouldn’t have anyone else as the future King.”

The elder Prince swallowed, hard. “I don’t yet understand all the ways I may have hurt you…but I’m sorry for all of them. I’ve always loved you, brother. I may have been terrible at showing it, I may have been cruel or taken you for granted, but no one’s ever been dearer to me. No one ever could be. And if I ever made you doubt that, then the fault lies with me, never you.” 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke: but then, almost fearfully, Loki reached out and touched the back of his brother’s hand. Thor flipped it over and caught his brother’s fingers in his palm with a gentle squeeze. 

“Then help me,” Loki murmured. “Please?”

“Always,” Thor vowed. 

Chapter Text

The Chancellor looked up from his writing, than rose hastily to his feet at Thor’s arrival. “Your Grace, it’s an honor.”

“Forgive me for disturbing you so terribly early.”

“Not at all. Had I been told to expect you, I’d have sent for some breakfast. May I pour you some water?”

“Please.” Thor shut the door: it was too early even for Hogun. Loki wouldn’t even attempt going back to sleep after the Awful Dream, and Thor wasn’t about to leave him. He'd also been wanting to share everything his friends had disclosed at lunch, so they’d spent the rest of the night on their sofa.

“I found out about our uncles years ago,” Loki had sighed when Thor had told him the dreadful story.

“How?” Thor had asked. 

“Every State Visit we undertake, I make sure to scour their libraries. The histories of Asgard aren’t to be trusted: nothing is published without thorough vetting by Lord Durinn and the Ministry of Education. Who reports directly to Odin. Disparaging their King is treason.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“For fear you’d take that dreadful hammer and destroy the library.”

Thor had felt his rage rise once more, a defense against the terrible fact that Loki was most likely right, but he looked at his pale and sad brother and forced it back down. “Why do you think Feykir brings it up now?”

“Perhaps as a warning to me, not to feel secure in my position. Perhaps he’d hoped Hogun would report directly to you, and you’d depose me. Or perhaps to remind us that civil war could kill us both.”

“They can’t believe we’d raise arms against each other.”

“We’d hardly be the first brothers to do so. Though it’s safe to say the fight would be easily won for you, even mortal. The only person in all of Asgard who might support my reign over your own would be you, brother—and that would make for a dreadfully dull war.” 

Thor had laughed at the time, but here, before the Chancellor, the threat seemed terribly imminent. If all Loki said was true—and more and more, it was becoming clear that his suspicions were true—then he needed to protect his brother without swinging his hammer, calling down lightning, or pulling a fist: all of which was frightening and new. 

“You must choose your words very carefully with Alaric,” Loki had warned. “He will soak in everything you say. He will know when you are pretending, and brother, you’re terrible at pretending. So be honest and reveal your heart, but very little of it.”

“I hope this early visit does not mean you haven’t slept well, Your Grace,” the Chancellor said, placing a goblet of cold water in front of him before taking his own seat. 

“I have not, Lord Chancellor. I’m afraid a tortured conscious kept me awake for some time.” That was no lie, though it had been what he’d said to his brother, not the Council, that had tormented him. “I owe you and the other Ministers an apology for my poor behavior yesterday.”

“We understood, I assure you. This week has been a terrible trial for us all, you and our Regent more than anyone. And I promise you, we have no desire to see you or our King unhappy, and neither does the Allfather. He expressed to me that he feels our Regent would thrive in Alfheim, and still be of great service to your Council.”

“My brother and I have never been apart for long stretches,” Thor explained. “I know it is a childish fear, but I was quite struck by the thought of it.”

“It isn’t childish at all, Your Grace. Family should be close. I have four of my own children, as you may know, all blessed by Odin himself. If any of them told me they planned to move off-world, especially those with children of their own, I know I’d be quite devastated. As Prince, Loki may be abroad for several weeks at a time, but no longer than that. He will maintain his chambers here at court, a place on the Council, and daily updates to the business of Asgard. And I’m sure you know how very intelligent he is—given a high position on Alfheim, I have every confidence that he will harness their magic and wisdom for the good of the realm.”

Thor hated to admit it: but he believed him. Everything he said made perfect sense. Loki would thrive on Alfheim, even Thor could admit that—but he was also thriving here, on Asgard, on the throne.

And that, Thor understood, could not come through. 

“I worry for my brother,” he said: that was truth enough. “This was a terrible burden thrust upon him, one he never expected to endure.” Also true. “I would like him to feel at ease, and at peace, with the Council behind him.”

“Indeed we are, Your Grace. It grieves me to hear you believe otherwise.”

“You know as well as I do, Lord Chancellor, that the discussions you hold in front of Lord Hogun will make their way back to us. Why did you not tell us all, in Council, that the Dwarves had molded a weapon capable of defeating me?”

The Chancellor sighed and leaned back in chair. “Because even speaking those words is treason. Regardless of your brother’s status on the throne, you are the Crown Prince. To threaten your safety is punishable by death. I believe the Dwarves meant no such offense, but thought only to provide a weapon suitable to a new King. It was their own misinterpretation that His Grace’s position indicated a potential rivalry in the House of Odin.”

“Why mold such a weapon in the first place?”

“The Dwarves are always attempting to create stronger, better weapons to serve Asgard’s Royals. They are a harbor in the Galaxy, Your Highness, and though Asgard is blessed to rule the Nine Realms in relative peace, the Dwarves know better than any of us the threats that lay beyond.”

“And the mention of our Uncles’ deaths? What possible good could that do?”

“That was a poor showing on Feykir’s part. I admire your friend, Lord Hogun, but he does not strike me as someone sensitive to others’ tone. It was in anger and sarcasm that he suggested he share that story with the other Lords. But I beg you to understand, as I advised your brother, that the recent turn of events has caused confusion and anxiety over the succession. 

“We had all thought this would be your first week as our new King, and you saw yourself the excitement the people had over the prospect. The sun set on a grieving kingdom fearing the start of another great war, and rose on the Allfather at rest and the second son on the throne. It was in the best interests of your safety that we did not disclose to the Court what Odin’s judgment had been, but that left the open question of why you are not our sitting Regent. It is a terrible position to be in.”

“And how is Feykir raising the threat of the Borsons slaughtering one another supposed to ease those fears?”

“He wasn’t attempting to ease them: he was attempting to remind me, without speaking treason, of what can happen when two sons set their sights on the crown. Feykir was only slightly older than yourself when his father was killed.”

“What he said is true? They decided to duel for the Kingdom?”

“I hesitate to disclose this history, Your Grace. The Allfather should share such matters with you himself.”

Thor eyed the Chancellor's heavy golden chain, the infinite triangles of the House of Odin linked together and decorating the shoulders and breastplate of Asgard's second most powerful man. Rivalries and wars and Kings and brothers--round and round in circles history goes. “The truth has been made plain to us," Thor said. "If he saw fit to hide such information, it has been a disservice to my brother and I. We shouldn’t have grown up admiring two Uncles we believed fell in battle when they sought to murder their own kin.”

“A King and his Council must be careful in the history they present. You’ve seen yourself this very week how we have had to limit or alter the truth in order to preserve your safety. Your brother has impressed us all with how well he performs that task.”

“He is known as the god of lies for a reason.”

“Lies has a negative connotation, Your Grace, one that is ill-fitting of our work in the Allfather’s service. I must beg Odin’s forgiveness and pray you do not think this story too treasonous, but perhaps sharing it will give you some reassurance that we are not, in fact, looking for such terrible events to repeat themselves.

“The Princes Vili and Vé had been rivals for centuries. I knew them when we were all young, and I can not recall any love between them. Odin and I became fast friends in the classroom, and I was blessed to enjoy his company in the palace. Though my cowardice is unbecoming, I was afraid of his elder brothers. They argued a great deal with each other, and even, at times, with King Bor. 

“When the Conquest of the Nine began, the sitting Council begged your Grandfather to officially appoint an heir and establish a formal line of succession, but the King was determined that the throne pass to the son he deemed the most worthy, though he neglected to share how he would measure that worth. The rivalry of the princes spilled onto the battlefield then. Those of us who were close to Odin feared greatly that one of his brothers would seek to harm him, to ensure their own claim was absolute. 

“When King Bor needed to take his own rest, he told Vili and Vé that they should decide between themselves which of them would serve as Regent. Moments after the King succumbed to sleep, the princes turned on each other. Their fight lasted for hours, destroyed parts of the palace, left a great many soldiers and even some civilians dead. Lord Feykir’s Father was a Lieutenant, and not the only one who attempted to get between them, but he was the highest-ranking member killed.”

Thor was sure his horror was apparent, and made no effort to hide it. “And what of my father?”

“Odin sought to contain the damage and evacuate any areas they appeared to be battling toward. He’d long given up hope that his brothers would ever make peace with one another.”

“And what of my grandfather? What happened when he awoke and saw my father was Regent?”

“I fear the Allfather was not sitting Regent, Your Grace,” the Chancellor said gently. “I was.”

“You?”

“I was Odin’s Lieutenant, his First Advisor, and his oldest friend. I’d sworn since our youth to love and serve him always. He is a grand warrior, a formidable leader and deeply wise, but he suffers the emotions of the rest of us. Odin was grieving, and grief can manifest in many ways. He was angry at his brothers and his father and thoroughly disgusted with the very thought of being King. When we looked to him, he forswore the throne and went to pay court to the future Queen, when she resided on Vanaheim.

“It became very clear that, in his absence, and with the two dead princes, that Asgard was in danger. The soldiers were backing various Generals, the Council was backing their sitting Chancellor, and there was no heir apparent. Lord Vakr, Rœrekr, Durinn, and myself remained faithful to Odin. I declared that, as his Lieutenant, I would serve the Regency on his behalf, for he was now the Crown Prince.”

“And that brought peace?”

“Indeed not. Vakr, Rœrekr and Durinn recruited a great many loyal to Bor and Odin, including Sighiálmr, who was serving as head of the healers. But Bor’s Council had their own loyal forces, and several of the Generals had designs of their own. Perhaps it will surprise you, but it was the now Lord Feykir who probably saved all of Asgard from civil war.”

“How?”

“He was a common soldier at the time, and so the Einherjar respected him. He declared himself for Odin and took it upon himself to visit the various camps and promise them that the third son of Bor was very different from the first two. The fact that he was suffering his own grief, but willing to keep faith with the House of Bor, went a long way. He recruited Lord Eisnarr to solicit help from Vanaheim, and secure weapons and supplies. He proved himself a diplomat before it was ever his title. We hadn’t realized it at the time, but we’d inadvertently formed Odin’s Council. We held his throne for him, and when Bor finally rose and summoned him home, he told Odin he’d always been the only one of his children worthy of the crown.” 

Thor was reeling. “Then why celebrate their memory?”

“To protect the Allfather. Asgard had not expected the third son of Odin to assume the throne, and to question his succession became treason. But there were those who had served the older Princes, so rather than bury them in disgrace, we celebrated them as military heroes. It gave Odin a chance to demonstrate his leadership, allowed those who had loved them to mourn, and gave the people a narrative that legitimized the House of Bor as heroes and the Allfather as a noble servant rising to his duty, which I daresay was true.” 

The Chancellor helped himself to a long drink of water. “Vili and Vé cast long, fierce shadows. Rather than try and match them, Odin cast their legacy aside and pursued a realm of peace. Serving at his side, I saw first-hand the danger and the good that can come from a second or third son. You may notice I’ve been very careful not to suggest that Loki, as King, behave on the throne as you would. You are very different men with very different leadership styles. You must do what comes naturally to you.”

Thor stirred his own goblet anxiously. “I have to say, I’m ill at ease with all this deception, even in the service of our family’s safety.” 

“History is never erased. There are many of us who remember what truly happened. We can not prevent the stories from spreading, but we can seek to contain them. You will sadly be forced, throughout your own reign, to make very difficult decisions, and you will have to rely on your councilors to advise you how best to present them, with the least amount of civil unrest. That is what we are seeking to do now.”

“Feykir suggesting my brother and I could damage the realm as our uncles once did does not seem a vote of confidence from the Council.”

“It is not he who raised the point: it was the Lords writing to him. It is his most dire fear, and he is frustrated with me that I did not pressure our Regent to at least keep you in your chambers, but instead welcomed your return to court. No others in Asgard believe such a conflict is likely. It has only been a week, Your Grace: things will settle.”

“I thank you for taking the time to explain all this, Lord Chancellor. I recall, when I was very young, that you encouraged me to speak with my Father’s Ministers and attend Council meetings. I neglected your advice, and I’m sorry for it, and grateful my brother did not.”

“I always welcome the opportunity to speak with either of you, as would the rest of the Council. Asgard is our life’s work. We came together out of a deep love and admiration for Odin before he was Allfather, and we dedicated our lives to building the peaceful realms he believed in. However long we are blessed to serve, we will continue to do our duty to your House and the Royal Family. You and your brother will rule the kingdom our children and grandchildren will live in: we want only to ensure its safety and prosperity.” 

“Then I am pleased to say we are all perfect friends again.”

“Always, my Prince. Please give my warmest regards to the King. I look forward to seeing you both in Council.”

Thor rose, the Chancellor with him, and was nearly to the door when he recalled the other question that had been nagging at him, “If you’ll forgive me…is it true that the Light Elves seek to colonize Svartelheim?”

“It is their hope, along with the Allfather’s, to correct the atmosphere and make use of the excellent soil, yes, Your Grace.”

“But it occurred to me last night that Svartelheim has no water sources.”

“The Light Elves feel their mages can conjure what is needed, at least to begin the process of a rain cycle. And we do have an eternal sea, my Prince.”

Thor nodded slowly. “Thank you again, Lord Chancellor.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

On his way to the throne room, it occurred to Thor it was the first real conversation he’d ever had with the man who had controlled so much of their lives—and it had been a pleasant one. He wondered just how different things would be now if he had begun to have them sooner. 

*

After Loki dismissed the Council to their sub-committees, he requested Thor remain. “We deserve some time off this afternoon. Take a walk with me, brother," Loki smiled. "I've scarcely been outside this week." 

Thor followed him out a side exit, down the winding stone stairs to the public gardens. There were a great many bows and whispers as they passed, and Loki smiled and nodded while Thor did his best to look relaxed. When they came to a more secluded path, Loki clasped his hands behind his back and said "Tell me about your meeting with Alaric this morning."

"Here?" Thor asked, startled.

"Why not? We've nothing to hide."

"He was very gracious, especially in accepting my apology."

"What did he have to say about Lord Hogun's report?"

Loki kept his gaze down as they strolled, making thoughtful sounds as Thor relayed the Chancellor's theory on the Dwarves and the horrible story of the Borson brothers. At one point he glanced skyward and said "What a dreadful business. I should perhaps be kinder to our dear Lord Feykir," before continuing on, eyes on the path once more. 

When Thor finished, Loki said "It was so good of you to serve as my liaison. What a relief to know we can trust such good men." And then, with a quick flash of seidr, he whirled in a circle and sent a dagger soaring into the bushes beside them and a second into the tree just in front of them.

"Loki! What—" Thor gasped.

There was a flash of blue from the bushes and white from the tree. A man dressed in hunting clothes crumpled onto the path at their feet, while a second landed just in front of them, both gripping at their shoulders where Loki’s daggers lay embedded.

"One for you, one for me, brother," Loki grinned. "I do love it when we're treated as equals.”

“Loki…?" 

Loki strode so he stood between the two soldiers, glancing them up and down. “Apologies, friends. It is terribly unfair of me to strike men down in the service of Asgard, especially my fellow magic practitioners, but it has been a trying week."

"I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace,” the man closest groaned. “The Chancellor only wanted to ensure your safety."

"I've a palace of guards, four warriors, and the god of thunder to ensure that. In the event all fail, I've these." Loki reached down and pulled the daggers from both soldiers’ shoulders, causing them to cry out and clutch at their wounds. "Now, be good men and report all you've heard to the Chancellor. Tell him I'm grateful for his well wishes and have thoroughly enjoyed uncovering his spies, but the game is at an end. If he does not wish for the bodies of his trackers to decorate our palace, he shall send no more of you. The guards and Nobles will report enough on my movements. Tell him you shall both have a week’s rest with full pay plus a generous bonus from my personal expenses. And tell him to be of good cheer, for he is to dine at my side this evening. Now run along."

Thor stood in stunned silence as the two men got to their feet and made their way quickly back toward the palace. Loki produced a handkerchief from his seidr and wiped the blood from his daggers. "I'm afraid several innocent squirrels and birds fell in my search for our spies. I shall order feeders constructed in their memory."

"What was that?"

"That was a message to Alaric that I don't appreciate his efforts to charm us into trusting him." Loki tossed his daggers in the air and vanished them once more. "You were going to say you found him sincere, were you not?" Thor felt his face burn with shame. "It's alright. I admire the honor and truth of your heart. It is partly what will make you a fine King."

"What did he lie about?" Thor asked, mind racing back over the conversation from that morning.

"Not a thing, save for the Council backing me."

"How do you know?"

"You aren't the only one with gifts, brother." Loki began to walk once more: it took Thor a moment to rally beside him. "You never did have an ear for music, though I remember thinking your singing could develop quite nicely if you'd have the patience for it. But do you recall how we were to tell if a note was in perfect pitch?"

"...there was a slight ringing after it was played."

"Precisely! A lingering vibration. That is what I hear when people lie. If I hear no echo, than I know it's truth. The only person I have never heard that particular sound from is our Mother, who was created in Valhalla itself."

"That's why you don't trust the Chancellor? Because of a ringing in your ears?"

"That ringing was quite deafening right before your coronation. It gave me a terrible time."

"...I couldn't tell. He seemed so sincere."

"He was sincere. The love he bears for our Father is pure truth, as is the love he bears for his children, and for Asgard. He tells very few lies: instead, he does what I advised you: reveals selections of his heart."

"Here I was thinking perhaps we should consider trusting him."

"That, my brother, is what makes him dangerous." Loki sighed and rolled his shoulders. "The air has been refreshing! I am so looking forward to a pitcher or twelve of wine tonight. Come along, brother mine. We've a feast to attend."

Chapter Text

Loki was right to hold a feast, Volstagg thought. 

The beginning had been tense and uncertain, but with Loki’s warm words of praise to the Council, the warriors, and his brother, and Thor’s rising to thank everyone for their support and ensure them that he remained the Crown Prince and was thrilled to know both his brother and the Council were able to support him as regents, should the need arise, the mood began to relax. 

It relaxed a great deal more when the wine came out. 

It had been nearly a week since Volstagg had seen his wife and children, and he very nearly teared up when they ran toward him across the hall, clambering up onto his armor. Hilde appeared tired but happy, and swooned a bit when both Odinson brothers stood and made their way over to kiss her cheek in welcome.

Hrolf, Leif and Rolfe, his sons, immediately crowded around Thor, while Flosi and Gudrun, his daughters, began whispering if they could ask Loki for some magic. When Rolfe asked if Mjölnir was nearby, Volstagg was relieved when Thor said “she’s resting in my room—she’s quite exhausted from her week!” and the children immediately turned to Loki, begging for a trick, while he shook his head and said “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Perhaps we should ask the wizard?” And in a burst of green light and rainbow sparkles, a large, gray-haired man dressed in glittering robes with a giant staff descended from the ceiling and called “a trick you say! I believe I have some to spare!” and began casting birds and butterflies about the room. 

The children shrieked in delight, and the Nobles applauded, while Loki turned to wink at Hilde, then used the hand not holding the illusion to cause flowers to spring up from the stone beneath their feet.

Volstagg spared a glance at Thor and found him looking at his brother with complete adoration, and felt his own anxiety ease. Whatever terrible business had happened yesterday was behind them now, and the storm could be weathered together. 

After that, the Princes were kept busy meeting the spouses and children of Council members who’d come—Volstagg noticed Alaric’s son-in-law and eldest daughter bowing to Loki, and Thor kissing the hands of several of Vakr’s daughters. Sif appeared to be chatting with Lord Feykir, than excusing herself to down several goblets of wine in quick succession before returning, and the other Nobles were beginning to approach Thor, encouraged by drink to express their regrets for the coronation and toast his health.

When his children began to tire, he kissed them and Hilde, though he was loathe to see them go. Normally on feast nights, his family would stay with him in his palace chambers, the children on the sofa and the set of spare beds they’d borrow, and he and his wife resting together. But he was still needed by the Princes, and though all appeared to be returning to normal, he couldn’t fully erase the feeling of apprehension that always lingered with him until the Allfather was restored. Asgard was never safe without Odin, and Volstagg would be a pathetic warrior if he wasn’t on alert when his realm was at risk. 

He strayed out onto one of the balconies, watching for his family as they left the palace and started down the road to their home. There were lights hung and fire pits aflame down below, the sounds of music and laughter floating up from the tables of free wine set up for the common citizens. The night was clear and calm with only a slight breeze, and the rainbow bridge sparkled over the eternal sea and the gleaming golden glow of Heimdall’s observatory. He sighed and drained his goblet, enjoying the peace.  

“Are you well, my friend?” Loki spoke from behind him, smiling and bearing two cups.

“Perfectly well, Your Grace.”

“I’ve brought you more wine. I insist you enjoy it.”

“I can not disobey you, my King,” he chuckled and took the goblet from Loki's outstretched hand. 

“Your children are delights. They remind me of Thor, when he was young. He was never not excited.”

“They remind me of you too, Your Grace. They devour books—we can’t get them fast enough from the libraries. At bedtime, they demand stories of science and history, and then half the time they correct us as we tell them.”

Loki smiled. “My poor tutors. I regret some of the difficulties I gave them. I’ve always found being right so dreadfully fun.”

“You were certainly right to order this feast. It feels like Asgard has begun to breathe normally again.”

“I appreciate you saying that. I’m not sure I ever will,” Loki sighed and took a drink. 

“I hope you know we are behind you, my King. Your friends, your brother—we’ve all realized that we’ve been naive when it comes to politics. We’re relieved you have not.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but in truth, I came to thank you. You were so very kind to me that dreadful night, and you made me realize that I have become as closed-minded as I accuse others of being. I give my brother a terrible time, accusing him of being too set in his ways, but I’m not much better. I envy how you and he can face hurt and difficulties and keep your hearts so open and kind. Sometimes I fear mine is nothing but suspicion, jealousy, and bitterness, like my Father accused.”

“I just watched you perform feats of magic that are quite beneath you to entertain my children. That is not the work of a bitter, jealous heart.”

Loki shrugged. "I enjoy children. They've yet to set themselves against magic."

"We adults enjoyed the show just as much."

"It's hardly as impressive as my brother's lightning."

"Your brother can't summon lightning into a banquet without killing us all."

"True. But I suppose I wouldn't mind it if he could summon it at all now." He took a long drink and stared down over the road to town. “I worry for Thor,” Loki murmured. “I’ve spent so long wanting him to change, but now I fear the things I cherish most about him—his warmth, his trust, his kindness—will diminish if he learns what I feel he needs to. A week ago I was so sure that I knew how best to instruct him, but now I fear that was my pride and arrogance talking. Maybe it would be best if I simply let him be how he is and keep to my own work to ensure he remains that way.”

“If I may, Your Grace, that sounds to me like you are doing exactly what you fear—not trusting that his good qualities will remain while he develops new ones. And I daresay, if your heart was so closed, you would not have sent protection to Midgard, or dedicated all this time and effort to understanding politics, or been so kind to me when I revealed a very personal secret.”

“Which I have not forgotten,” Loki said. “You have given me some very wise counsel, and I’d like you to know I value it. I will not forget your kindness or wisdom when this terrible Regency ends.”

“I regret that you feel it terrible, my King. I believe it has been good for us, Thor most of all. You’ve been able to demonstrate the lessons you have tried to impart to him, and all of Asgard has been able to see what happens when a Prince known for wisdom, not war, sits the throne. Such leadership would do us all good.”

Loki turned and smiled. “Lord Volstagg, I would very much like to pay you to simply follow me about with your insights all day, if I didn’t fear my self-importance would expand so greatly Asgard would fall beneath its weight.”

Volstagg laughed. “It’s my pleasure, my friend.”

They both turned back to the banquet hall: Thor was listing slightly, his eyelids looking heavy, and Loki made a fussing noise. “This mortal form is not easy on my brother. He tires far more easily, and I know he misses Mjölnir. He loves to fly.”

“Let me escort you back to your chambers.”

“No, my friend—stay, drink, eat, enjoy the evening. Too soon we will all be back at work. I’ve put my own off long enough.” He smiled, set his goblet to the side, and crossed to his brother, saying something softly before calling “My Lords and Ladies, it has been a great honor for the Crown Prince and myself to enjoy your company this evening. Please stay and enjoy until dawn.” And then, with an encouraging hand at his brother’s back, he lead them from the room. 

Volstagg resumed watching the city in peace for a time. The sounds of celebration were dimming below, and more and more Nobles were moving off to their chambers behind him. He eventually moved back into the hall to refill his goblet, smiled at Sif, who was drinking too deeply to see, and then noticed Fandral quite drunkenly speaking to one of the Lords from the Council, and headed carefully toward them.

“You can’t mean it,” the Lord gaped. 

“Oh I do—the Mighty Thor is little more than an in-shape mortal. Even his hammer remains on Midgard. Why do you think Loki was trundling Volstagg around with him everywhere? He knows better than the rest of us how loathed he is. He imagines that great oaf is some protection, but really, he was the first of us injured with the Jotunns.”

“Has the Allfather stirred?”

“Not yet. The Queen isn’t certain he’ll wake again. Can you imagine that? The throne would permanently pass to the trickster. How will the Council fare then?”

Volstagg charged across the room and seized his friend’s arm, spilling wine over them both. “Lord Fandral—I’d have a word.”

“Oh…hello my friend,” Fandral grinned drunkenly. “Do you know Lord Vakr, head of the Security Council?”

“My Lord, I must beg your forgiveness. I have urgent business with Lord Fandral,” Volstagg said, and hauled the younger warrior bodily away and out into the hall, Vakr eyeing them as they went. 

“Unhand me you oaf,” Fandral grumbled. Volstagg seized the cup and tossed it away, than threw him up against the wall of the darkened corridor. “Are you mad? Unhand me!”

“What all have you told them?”

“Nothing they didn’t already know!”

“That Thor is mortal? That Loki is uneasy on the throne?”

“All of Asgard knows that.”

“Did you tell him we were sent to shadow the Ministers?”

“They knew that’s why we’d come!”

“Did you tell them Loki suspects them of opening the portal and conspiring to let the Jotunns in?”

Fandrall looked suddenly abashed and shoved his friend aside. “What is this newfound trust of Loki?”

“He is King!”

“For a week at best!”

“You can not tell them such things! The Council—”

“The Council has served Odin, and Asgard, for centuries. They know their place and their business better than we could ever hope to.”

“Loki feels they were set on Thor because he was easy to control.”

“And now Loki controls Thor—have you not noticed that?”

“Thor supports his brother, as is right.”

“It is not right!” Fandrall snapped, shoving his friend with all his strength. “Thor should sit the throne—he is a proper warrior and will be a proper King. We should be at his side, planning a full assault and invasion of Jotunheim. Despite being outnumbered, we gave the Jotunns a great fight—how many of their men did Thor kill alone, with only Mjölnir? Imagine what he can do once he wields Gugnir as well!”

“Mjölnir is trapped on Midgard. You saw yourself the terrible aftermath of our failed fight—you were very nearly killed!”

“I would rather die a proper warrior’s death on the field then spend another day serving the Silvertongue! How are you so blind? You spent one day in his private service and forgot all Loki is, and all he stands for—tricks, lies, manipulation. And now he has us doing it alongside him.”

“You weren’t here to see him that night, when the Allfather fell to slumber. You weren’t here to see him after Gugnir was placed in his hands, or after his first Council meeting. He was frightened.”

“Children are frightened. Women are frightened. Cowards are frightened! Whenever have you seen Thor or Odin frightened?”

“I saw very real fear in both their eyes that night in Jotunheim! The Allfather was trying to save his children—Thor was trying to save us all. Loki is the only reason we survived!”

“Heimdall could have opened the bridge to us without Odin, and Thor would not have been banished. Since he was, Loki has all he could ever ask for—Thor at his side, you at his back, the Council at his feet, and the crown upon his head! And to make sure he keeps it, he has us running around chasing rumors and gossip like milkmaids, rather than rallying our support behind our rightful King and planning the final conquest of the realm that has tormented our people for far too long.”

“You don’t understand what your actions may bring!”

“And you do? You’re a politician now? What possible harm could a group of old men do to us? Pass an ordinance? Levy a tax? Hold a meeting?”

“What you are saying is punishable by death!”

“Then death it shall be! I would rather face the ax than another day lying to appease a false King!”

The elder warrior stared at his friend, placing shaking hands on his shoulders. “I pray you regret this in the morning,” Volstagg murmured. “If you even remember it. What you’ve done is disgraceful and dangerous, and it’s my duty to report it to the Odinsons.”

“Go on, then, Lord Chancellor Volstagg, Minister of Literature and Honor…or do both still give you trouble?”

Volstagg prided himself on being fair, just, and a man who never struck another outside of the battlefield. But when his fist slammed into his friend’s face and felt bones shatter, he understood the joy other men could feel when they struck for nothing. 

Chapter Text

Despite it being the middle of the night, Loki answered the door still fully dressed, all the lights lit in the Princes’ common room. 

“Come in,” he said, “would you like a drink?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“‘Loki’ is fine, my friend.” He smiled and stood aside, closing the door behind him. Thor was sprawled on the sofa, cape half over his shoulders, face mashed into the armrest, managing to both snore and drool at the same time.

“Behold—the next great King of Asgard,” Loki chuckled, expression fond.

“The sofa is dreadfully close to the fire,” Volstagg noted. 

“So I always say. You try convincing him to move it.” The smile faded when Loki turned to look at him. “You’re upset, I can tell. What is it?”

“Would it be outside my bounds to request that we wake the Prince?”

“Not at all.” Loki smacked his brother on the foot. Thor huffed in a frustrated breath and shifted. 

“Leave off, you black-haired bilgesnipe.” 

“Such a poet, brother. You must write an epic for me. ‘King Loki of the Long Week.’”

“To Muspelheim with your week,” Thor grumbled. 

“You must rise. Volstagg would like a word.”

“To Muspelheim with Volstagg!” Thor sniped, but he sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

“Move the seat away; I swear one day you’ll go clear up in flames. It’ll take the Casket of Ancient Winters to put you out.”

“If you tried to wield the Casket you’d turn into a block of ice.”

“The Odinson brothers dead by ice and fire! That would be proper poetry.”

Thor growled something in old Aesir that Volstagg was pretty sure would be treason if uttered by a commoner, but Loki simply rolled his eyes and pointed to where he wanted the couch relocated. Thor grumbled that he wouldn’t hear a word without wine, poured some for the three of them, and pressed a piece of bread spread with butter into Loki’s hand, despite the younger’s protest. The three settled, Thor and Loki on the sofa, Volstagg across from them, Loki dutifully eating the bread under Thor’s watchful eye while the elder warrior tried to formulate the best way to disclose their friend’s betrayal. 

“I’m afraid what I’m about to share is terribly upsetting to me,” he said. “And I do pray that you will bear in mind that our long-time friend was quite deep in his cups.”

“Go on,” Thor said, tapping Loki’s own goblet. Loki glared but took a drink, washing the last of his snack down. 

By the time he finished, Loki had gone white, Thor had gone red, and both seemed stunned to silence. The elder Prince had a protective hand on his brother’s back, and Loki was twisting the end of his brother’s red cape like he was trying to ring the color out of it. 

“We’ll have him imprisoned,” Thor growled. “I don’t care for our history—he’ll die in the cells beneath us.”

“There’s no point,” Loki sighed. “They know all they need to. Taking action against Fandral will only reinforce that everything he said is true.”

“Everything he said is not true,” Volstagg protested. “I was here with you during that terrible night, my King. I know this was no ploy for the throne.”

“Put him in chains, and all of Asgard will believe him.” Loki got to his feet and began to pace. 

“This is all my doing,” Thor said. “If we hadn’t gone to Jotunheim—”

“That was all our doing, brother, and it is behind us.”

“Let me speak for you. If I tell the people, the Nobles, that I am behind you—”

“They will believe I had convinced you, or bewitched you, or shape-shifted into you. No, the fault lies with me alone. I knew Fandral was untrustworthy, but to exclude him from our plans would send a message to the Council that he was vulnerable to their whims. I thought it best to risk it in the hopes the Allfather would not be so long in sleep. I played a game of chance, and I lost.”

Thor’s face fell. “Loki, come here and sit with us. We will talk this through as one.”

“It’s too late. If that was him drunkenly bragging in public, I’m sure he’s unloaded a great deal more in private. He knows enough about the investigation and our private lives to have done it in. Alaric’s shape-shifting spies have kept me from the weapon’s vault all week. I just put an end to them after tormenting the Council over things far less important than conspiring with Jotunheim. They’re going to have to prevent me from continuing.” The younger man stopped, standing apart from them, arms crossed, only the shifting of the light betraying the moisture in his eyes. “Lord Volstagg, you have proven yourself the most loyal and devoted protector the House of Odin could ever ask for. I am charging you with the sacred duty of escorting the Crown Prince off-world.”

Thor was on his feet faster than Volstagg could register the sentence. “Have you gone mad?”

“You will take whatever you feel is needed and will travel by ship to Nidavellir, the forge of the Dwarves. No one will think to look for him there, and it is under Asgard’s protection. You will remain at his side until the Allfather awakens and can restore his power, and therefore his safety, unless the Dwarves have some insight into what he must do to be reunited with Mjölnir sooner.”

“Drop the charade, Loki!” Thor roared, tossing aside his cape and striding across the room. “I am staying right here, in our home, at your side, as I swore.”

“You will not. As your King I forbid it. It is my duty to serve the good of the realm, and the good of the realm means ensuring the safety of the Crown Prince.”

“I will not leave you, brother. If you send me away, I will find a way back.”

“Then I shall send you away again, and again, until you tire.”

“I will never tire. I will never cease to find and return to you. I only ever thought to take on the burden of the throne because I knew you’d be at my side: I will not leave you to face this alone.”

“You are mortal.”

“And you told me that did not mean I couldn’t protect you.”

“Back when I thought I stood a chance against the Council!” Loki was clearly shaking. “Can you not see, Thor? I’ve failed you. I’ve failed Asgard.”

“No,” Thor soothed, slipping a hand onto the back of the Prince’s neck. “I know we can find a way, together.”

“No, brother, you don’t.”

“I do. Mother told me what we are—how we help and support each other without even knowing it. How we will always be strongest together. How the answers aren’t found with you or me, but with us combining our strengths to forge a new path made of them.”

Loki looked genuinely startled. “It’s nothing more than magical theory.”

“Since when do you dismiss magical theory?”

“It isn’t truth, or fact, or protection, brother—it’s just a way of justifying our differences.”

“It’s a map for all the good we can do when we trust each other. There’s no shame in it. Loki, let me help you.”

The younger Prince shook his head. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Nor I you.”

“You are mortal, brother—I beg you—”

“I will not leave you. Just as you would not leave me. It doesn’t matter who holds Gugnir, or sits the throne, or is called King—it is our burden, can you not see? Whether he meant it so or not, it is a blessing Odin bestowed upon us when he said we were both meant to rule: so that neither of us would ever have to shoulder the struggles alone. We stand together, and that is how we survive or how we fall.” 

“You’re a fool,” Loki sobbed. “You’re a fool, Thor. You’ll die a fool.”

“I’ll die your foolish brother, and you my clever one. There are worse ways to be remembered,” the elder Prince beamed, and wrapped Loki in his arms before he could protest. “Lord Volstagg, you will remain in our chambers as our personal guard. We will send word and extra wages to your wife and children.”

“It is my highest honor, Your Grace. And theirs as well.” Thor nodded. Loki had his face buried in his brother’s shoulder and didn’t answer. “If you’d leave us for a moment?” he asked, and Volstagg dutifully stepped aside, letting Thor smooth his brother’s hair and murmur to him softly without an audience. 

It was the least he could do for his Kings.

*

Court began as normal, Thor taking care to appear even more relaxed and pleased than usual. Loki had arranged for several common supplicants to open, to fulfill simple requests and avoid Nobles potentially planted by Alaric. Thor waited until he was certain the first Council meeting was well underway, then gave a deep bow to his brother, hand over his heart, making sure Loki met his eyes and nodded his approval for Thor to remove himself before he made for the Council chambers. 

All but Alaric started when he entered, and then there was the hasty scramble to their feet, chairs askew, but the Chancellor rose calmly with a hand over his heart. 

“Welcome, Your Grace. We’d thought to expect you later,” he said. 

“Sit,” Thor commanded: and took the seat at the head of the table reserved for the King. He watched their eyes frantically meet one anothers, while the Chancellor kept his pleasant smile and calm gaze on him. 

“To what do we owe the honor?” Alaric asked. 

“By now we are all aware that Lord Fandral committed grave crimes against the throne last night.”

“We are, Your Grace. It’s a terrible business—”

“The King and I disagree on the repercussions. My brother is very even tempered, and considers the formidable state of inebriation enough to wave the obvious punishment in favor of limiting the powers of his station and banning him from court.”

“A wise and generous decision.”

“Indeed. What do you think, Lord Vakr?”

Vakr flushed. “As head of his Majesty’s Security Council, I agree. Lord Fandral’s words do indeed pose a threat to Your Grace’s safety.”

“And what punishment would you recommend for yourself, for not discouraging them?”

The Minister paled and glanced to Alaric, but the Chancellor’s gaze remained on Thor. “Your Grace, I tried—”

“You not only permitted, you encouraged a drunken warrior to slander his King and reveal state secrets regarding my banishment in the midst of a crowded banquet hall. I can think of no greater security breach, save the recent incursion on the weapon’s vault.”

“Your Grace, I made multiple attempts to silence Lord Fandral and immediately reported his actions to the Lord Chancellor—”

“What punishment do you recommend, Lord Chancellor?”

“I yield to the wise and just decision our King is sure to make,” Alaric said.

“Then how fortunate you are, former Lord Vakr, that it is the second son of Odin who sits the throne, and not the first, for I advised the King just last night that you and Fandral should be executed this morning, without so much as a hearing.” Vakr made a strangled sound. “But my brother is far more wise and generous than I could ever hope to be. There is a ship waiting for you in the harbor, bound for Nordenheim. Two guards will escort you. Your wife and children will be well provided for here on Asgard, and may visit at their leisure. You will never see our realm again.”

“Your Grace, I beg you—”

“Guards!”

The door opened and Volstagg entered, leading a pair of Einherjar. “Is everything well, my Prince?”

“Perfectly so. Escort former Lord Vakr to his ship.”

“Please, Your Grace, I beg you—at least let me speak to the Allfather when he wakes!” The guards closed in, taking the Lord by the arms and forcing him toward the door. “I have known Odin since we were children—this is unjust! Grant me a hearing with the King! Grant me one with the Queen! I deny your right, and that of the Regent, to authorize this! YOUR GRACE!” 

Volstagg closed the Council doors behind the wailing Lord and shook his head. “A dishonorable resignation if I ever saw one.”

“No worries, my friend. The Council of our King finds him just as shameful. Do we not?”

“Terrible, Your Grace,” Porsi spoke up. 

“A disgrace,” Eisnarr echoed. 

“Treason,” Sighiálmr managed, looking horrified. 

“My Prince,” Lord Rœrekr said, “I do fear that a man so long in the service of Odin Allfather should at least be granted a hearing—”

“He was less than a week in the service of my brother, Odin’s son, and he betrayed him. To allow him to remain here is to permit that behavior, which strikes me as a true danger to our Regent.” 

“I believe he meant no harm—”

“I made a very poor showing of myself with my temper the other day. I regret my performance, but not the reason. I am the first born son of Odin, and thus the protector of those born after. Since I have but one sibling, those instincts are very focused. I have failed in my duty to Asgard this past week. I’ve no plans to fail again.”

“Your Grace,” Feykir said, face red, “this is what I have feared all along. It is unclear to the people who it is we are to support. We must have one leader in Asgard, not a cluster.”

“Who do you suggest I turn on, my Lord—my Father or my brother? Which would be more noble of me to betray?”

“I don’t want you to betray either, my Prince, I merely believe—”

“Loki Odinson is our King. He is currently hearing supplicants. Before he arrives, I’d like a full report of the correspondence from the outer realms, Lord Feykir and Lord Chancellor. Please know that select word choices, such as who we are to war with, the Jotunns or ourselves, will be considered treason, and Asgard has suffered enough traitors this past week. The floor is yours.” 

*

Loki arrived an hour later, beamingly happy, as if he took no notice of the profound discomfort in the room as the Ministers rose.

“Brother. How kind of you to warm my chair.” 

Thor smiled and pulled it out for him to take. “The Council serves at your pleasure, my King.”

“Not all, I see. Where is Lord Vakr?”

“Former Lord Vakr begged your forgiveness and said he was unfit to serve the House of Odin, and certainly unfit to ensure the safety of Asgard. He resigned from his post, forfeited his title, and boarded a ship to Nordenheim, hoping to find comfort in prayer and contemplation.”

“How dreadfully noble of him. We must make sure his wife and children want for nothing.” Loki drew his chair in and sat: Thor remained behind him, resting his hands on the back of his brother’s seat, appearing every bit the giant, formidable warrior. “Although I can’t say I’m pleased. There is a hole now in my Council table. It’s unsightly.”

“I can not abide your displeasure, my King. I shall fill it.” Thor walked calmly down the row of Ministers, fetched Vakr’s chair, and seated himself in the former Minister’s place. 

“That’s much better! The Crown Prince now serves as Minister of Security. Rœrekr, Feykir, be good men and brief him this afternoon. Send word to the Security Council that they are under new leadership and must do the same: the Crown Prince and I will meet with them following your briefing. Lord Chancellor, you will want to give him the standard introduction you give all Ministers. I will make an announcement to the court this evening.” Loki smiled warmly. “I daresay Asgard is safer already! Do you not all feel safer already?”

“I can think of no one better to serve as Asgard’s Minister of Security, Your Grace,” the Chancellor smiled. 

“I expect a great deal of good to come from this arrangement. Now, my Lords, to the business of the day.” 

Chapter Text

Loki looked up from his desk, grinning from ear to ear as Thor arrived in their chambers, a massive pile of books in his arms and an equally large smile on his face. 

“We may need a second desk,” Thor said. 

“My brother wants a desk?”

“Your brother wants a pile of dinner, because he all but missed lunch: your Minister of Security needs a desk. There are three guards and two pages coming with more.”

“You’re the most gorgeous sight I’ve ever seen. When you took Vakr’s chair it was all I could do not to forget our brotherhood and ravish you on the table in front of them all. If you intend to sit here reading I can’t promise to control myself.”

“Stop it,” Thor chuckled, placing the books down on the sofa. “I’ll have them commandeer a table from somewhere.” 

“Look at this!” Loki walked quickly around and stared at the pile, eyes lit up like a child faced with a table of Name Day gifts. “What all have you brought me?”

“Two year’s worth of correspondences, several personal journals, a stack of records I can’t make heads or tails of, and, because I’m the most magnificent brother in all the Nine, this,” Thor shifted through the stack until he came upon a small, leather-bound notebook he’d found tucked into the front of the former Minister’s desk. “From what I can tell, Vakr made a little note of all the correspondences he sends, to who, with a cryptic little reminder of what the subject was. And a week ago to this day—” he flipped through the pages and pointed to a line, handing it to his brother. 

“‘Nidavellir—forge and molds—ax.’” Loki nearly leapt at Thor, wrapping his arms fiercely around him. “You’re a gift from Valhalla itself, you brilliant, brave, beautiful God of All Things! No one in the universe has ever adored another as much I adore you, here and now.” 

Thor laughed and clamped a large hand on his brother’s back before Loki pulled away and began reading through the most recent lines. “I’ve only had a chance to review the first couple pages, what with all the meetings I’ve been in.” 

“How is our dear Lord Feykir?”

“I believe he could chew through Gugnir if you handed it over.” Volstagg opened the door then, letting the Einherjar and pages bearing the rest of the books and a cart with dinner to be rolled in. Thor instructed the books to be placed on the sofa. Loki looked like he could vibrate off the floor at any moment, shifting through it all. 

“His handwriting, his notes, his thoughts: so much of it, here! We should start with Alfheim—no, the Coronation. No, we should just skip straight to anything with Jotunheim. No! What we should really do is—”

“Eat, Loki. That is what we are going to do—sit and eat dinner.”

“Oh yes—Volstagg, you should go to dinner as well. Take your time and locate Sif and Hogun and bring them back here. We should all meet.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Volstagg gave a short bow and closed the door. Thor sat at their small dining table and started pulling food off the cart, but Loki made no move to leave his pile.

“Come along, brother,” the elder Prince said.

“I’ll never eat or sleep again. My body and mind are full of all they’ll ever need.”

“Well my stomach is not. And if you don’t sit and eat with me, I won’t tell you about my briefings with Feykir and Rœrekr.”

“You must. I’m your King.”

“You’ll have to imprison and torture me to hear, and the time it will take will be time away from all your new books.”

“Foiled,” Loki sighed, but he was still beaming. Thor couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen his brother this delighted: if he had, it had been centuries ago. “Very well, my beloved Minister. I shall hear your report over supper.”

Thor was relieved to see that Loki actually did eat—quite well, for the first time in at least a week. Normally his uselessly mortal body would have begun to tire at this point, but he found his own pulse was up with excitement: he wanted to examine all their new papers as much as his brother did. 

“I could see veins in Feykir’s neck pulsing. Our entire meeting basically consisted of him saying that I ought to just turn over anything given to me directly to him or Asgard will fall.”

“Hm,” Loki said, pouring himself some water. “I believe he’s going to be my next project for you. I’ll have to remove Sif and Hogun after last night anyway, and he most definitely wants you on the throne. Plus your tempers are actually quite similar. It will be a good exercise for you in controlling yours.”

“You want me to sit there calmly and let him insult my brother?”

“I’d love it. If you’re smart, you’ll join in a bit. It won’t take much to get him ranting. A quick boasting session with Sif got us Svartelheim. I’ll bet you can do better. Only don’t ask him any direct questions. Ask him about the conflict between our Uncles. Let him share his fears—I believe they’re honest and appear to be justified. Be your normal, warm, sympathetic self, and let him lead you to what you want to know.” 

“At least Rœrekr doesn’t seem so bad. He’s just terribly invested in numbers.”

“Rœrekr and Vakr had a complex relationship, one that I rather enjoyed. Rœrekr definitely coveted the Security Council Ministry—there’s only so many reports one can give on ships coming back and forth, and without war, keeping track of the armories is frightfully easy. But the two of them would always get up to schemes together: ways of promoting themselves or their families. Vakr was dead set on you marrying one of his daughters, and promised Rœrekr that, which ever one you chose, his two sons could have the others.”

“When did you find out this?”

“Back when I was doing my investigating about this Alfheim betrothal.”

“Spying.”

“If I take the form of a songbird to enjoy an afternoon in the garden, and they wander into my path, is that spying?”

“You stabbed two Mages the other day for doing that very thing!”

“So I did. Shall I stab myself next time?”

Thor chuckled and downed his own goblet of water—the long afternoon had left him ridiculous thirsty. “You do realize why they hate you?”  

“It’s the pride of my life. Besides, though I understand the importance of these royal matches, I don’t enjoy being discussed like a broodmare. Serves them right.”

Loki grinned and rose, making his way to the sofa—Thor followed suit. “Where do we begin with all this?”

“Grab an armful: we’ll take it to my room. It’s good we use that bed for something.”

“No—you’ll just use it as another excuse why you won’t sleep. Bring it to mine while we await our table.”

They split Thor’s hoard into two large piles: Loki laid out samples of the records and journals while Thor spread the correspondences across his side of the bed. The middle was a piled jumble as they sought to make sense of several years of state business.

“Anything that strikes you as odd, read it aloud to me. I’ll tell you if it’s deceitful,” Loki said. 

“I’m not quite sure what to look for, to be honest.” 

“They’ll be very careful about what they put in writing. Certainly anything about benefits to Vanaheim and Alfheim, anything about the Coronation or Jotunheim, any mentions of Svartelheim, anything about weapons or the Dwarves or all of us on Midgard—”

“So…everything?”

“Precisely!”

“This will take us months!”

“We’re fighting a war, my brother. This is a battle. Soldier on and let us begin.”

The elder Prince was more than a little uncertain, but as began to delve into the papers and filter through correspondence, he had to admit it was interesting. He had no idea the sheer volume of ships that went between the Realms on a daily basis, nor the amount of calls for the Bifrost that Heimdall declined, forcing those desired to visit court to travel through space, sometimes for months. 

“I don’t understand all these ship reports,” Thor admitted. “Isn’t this Rœrekr’s business?”

“All the Ministers get similar reports. A ship arrives, its goods are reported to Eisnarr and the bureau of trade; its log goes to Rœrekr; a healer examines the crew and reports to Sighiálmr; all of their reports go to Vakr, who clears them or makes a note if he suspects something amiss, which is then passed to Feykir, who does the same, and then gives it all to Alaric. Any alarms raised are reviewed by him, and then shared with Odin if he feels the need.”

“Is all this necessary, with Heimdall?”

“Heimdall keeps no written records, and though he can see all, that doesn’t mean he can remember it all. Besides, we can’t very well have a parade of lower Council Nobles riding over the rainbow bridge all day to ask about the cost of a hundred crates of lemons that came in on a ship four months prior.” 

Thor flipped back through the reports the year prior, comparing several, than pulling ones from this year and laying them out in a row. “Around the time the Allfather announced my Coronation plans, that’s when the cost of goods started rising from Vanaheim. And the tariffs lowered.”

“I’d pinned it at six months; that’s when they passed their legislation officially lowering their taxes.” Loki circled around the bed and looked at what Thor had laid out. 

“It looks to me like the costs remain the same, but then he added this little ‘more fee’ and a couple cents to each unit, so the price was gradually increasing,” Thor explained. “And then they’d pay the ‘fee’ out afterward.”

“So a sudden favor of Vanaheim, yet the refusal to admit their Nobles or consider marriage proposals from them. What were you up to, friend Vakr?”

“Heggr and the Treasury must be aware of this, right? And Eisnarr with trade?”

“I’m sure they all are, but this was wise—they’re paying these benefits out through the Security Council, not through trade. No one would ever deny payment toward the safety of Asgard, and the cost of goods looks the same on all the budget reports. Do you know what this is, brother? The thing I’ve been desperate for—proof.” Loki stood back, staring at the bed, his eyes suddenly damp. “I can’t tell you what this means to me. For years, I’ve been trying to figure them out based on their meetings and a handful of court appearances, and reading whatever public records I can find. This is straight from them. Vakr himself! This would still be useful if it was Durinn or Porsi or Sighiálmr—well probably not Sighiálmr, he’s dreadfully addicted to pain tonics and half asleep most meetings—”

“What?”

“I told you that, haven’t I? Nevermind, the point is, this is Vakr, and the Security Council. It’s all here, what we need to undo them, I can feel it. Just last night I thought, for sure, all was lost. And now…look what you did. Years I’ve been struggling, and you bested them in a day!” 

“We did,” Thor reminded him. “All the work you’ve done lead to this. I just happened to make the most sense to promote.”

“You did so wonderfully today. I was near bursting seeing you take that seat and command them all.”

“It was enormously satisfying. Vengeance felt good, and I didn’t even need to hit anyone. I hadn’t thought that possible.”

“I’ve only ever wanted us to work together,” Loki admitted, blushing slightly and refusing to meet Thor’s gaze. “Thank you. I’m going to find every last traitor in this palace and be the first to kneel at your feet when you finally get that throne you’ve earned.”

“I’d rather you stand beside me, to be honest.”

“I won’t. I shall prostrate myself and slither about the dais like the serpent they all call me.”

“That would be a sight,” Thor smiled. “And before you and your papers run away to your desk, you said we’d work together. I am your Minister of Security now. You have a whole new set of lessons to impart.”

“I’ve a lot to learn myself, to be honest. I’ve only ever looked at laws and a handful of correspondences. All these reports will be a whole new education.” 

“A quest we can undertake. I like the sound of that.” Thor met his brother’s slightly shy and fond gaze with one he hope matched. The elder Prince had never imagined he’d feel such an amazing rush of victory from something as apparently dull as a day of Council meetings and a night faced combing through old papers, but he felt the same sense of pride and accomplishment he did at quelling a rebellion or besting a fellow soldier in the sparring arena. He thought he’d be anxious as the responsibilities of the Security Council actually began, but he has such fierce faith in his brother that he knew he’d learn what he needed: Loki wouldn’t tolerate anything less. 

A guard knocked on the door. “Forgive me, Your Graces. A messenger has arrived via the Bifrost and has been cleared by Heimdall the Guardian.” 

Loki’s face lit up once more. “Thank you, send him through,” he said, walking back into their common area. Thor followed as a man in hunter’s attire knelt and presented him with a sealed leather scroll, which Loki eagerly took with a “Thank you, my friend, accommodations and all you can eat and drink await you downstairs.” 

Thor watched as his brother eagerly unrolled the leather, than the paper inside, looking at it quickly…and then Loki’s face fell. He started to crumple the paper and stalk toward the fire, but Thor interceded, gripping his brother’s wrist and prying the note from his fingers. 

“Brother, wait!” Loki pleaded, but Thor turned his back, preventing the younger Prince from getting his hands back on the scroll, and read the note aloud. 

“‘The worth of those who wield the hammer Mjölnir is solely determined by the one who holds the title Allfather and can be restricted or granted at his whim to his heirs.’” It hit Thor hard, and he swallowed, struggling to bear down the grief and the hopelessness the message sent through him. Loki crossed his arms.

“I thought they may have some insight for us.”

“They do,” Thor said, and folded the note carefully. “Father must have had a specific lesson or goal for me in mind when he sent me to Earth. I failed to discover it by returning here.”

“That was never my intent.”

“I don’t blame you, brother,” Thor smiled, knowing it was sad. “And you needn’t worry. This is my lesson to learn, not yours. But this was kind of you.”

“What kindness is there for you, for us, to have our Father judge our worth and not even tell us how he measures it? How is Odin any different from Bor, who let this own sons slaughter one another in a contest for his throne?”

Thor started. “My inability to wield Mjölnir is hardly the same as the two of us tearing down the palace in an effort to murder each other.”

“Is it?” Loki spat. “From when we were children, Father said we had equal claim to the throne, but his line of succession was set in age order by the Council before our births, to avoid what happened to Odin’s brothers. He gave you Mjölnir and said you were worthy, but you were only sixteen, and as I recall, you tortured a Dark Elf not long after, but never lost your power. You attacked the Frost Giants with no effort, brought down parts of their city and flew clear through their beast, yet moments later he took everything from you for daring to challenge him, and then handed me your throne for no reason other than he was irritated with you and he needed me to scout a handful of portals to prove his precious Councilors had nothing to do with the interruption of your coronation.”

“Alaric said there was no love between our Uncles from the start,” Thor reminded him, forcing his voice to be calm against his brother’s sudden rage. “You and I have always been friends.”

“No child is born hating anyone. I didn’t stab you until I was eight, because it took that long for me to hate you.”

“You never hated me. You were angry with me. There’s a difference.”

“I stabbed you!”

“You said yourself I was on my feet within the hour, and I had stolen your journal.” Thor smiled, but his brother only looked witheringly back.

“Who is Odin to decide what our worth is? Who is the Council? I begged Father to bring you home, his own son and heir, and he would not. He gave me the power of a King, but not the power to ensure the safety of our realm by completing the investigation and restoring your gifts. The Council turns our friend on me, seeks to control you, and Odin encourages it by keeping us in the dark to all his plans. It’s cruel, Thor! How do we know our Uncles weren’t the same? That Vili and Vé weren’t perfect friends until all the lying and scheming to get their chosen Prince on the throne drove them mad?”

Loki was shaking, almost as hard as he’d been the other night, when he’d realized Fandral’s betrayal. Thor slid a large hand on his brother’s neck and coaxed him down into his desk chair, crouching beside him with a gentle smile. 

“We did something incredible together today, despite my mortality and your reservations. Why does this upset you so?”

“This is the heart of it all—our Father. He built that Council, he built the throne and the Nine and there are lies around all of it. They call to me when I try to sleep—this whole palace echoes with them. And the truth is, he gets to determine what’s right and what’s not, what’s worthy and what’s not, and all the Realms have to fall in line and repeat his stories or risk treason.”

“We’re not Odin, and we don’t have to rule like him. We can build our own Council, and loosen the laws of treason so history can be discussed more openly. No one can make us hate or fight each other. Are you really afraid of me?”

“No,” Loki admitted. “It’s me I’m afraid of.” 

“What do you mean?”

A knock sounded and Volstagg opened the door, smiling. “Lady Sif and Lord Hogun, Your Graces,” he announced. Loki stood, instantly composed, while Thor cast an anxious glance and then smiled as his friends entered. Sif went straight to the table, scooped up a pitcher of wine, and began to drink out of the side. Hogun resumed a serious pose while Volstagg closed the door and glanced between the Princes and Sif as if he didn’t know who to protect.

“I take it Lord Feykir is in fine form?” Loki asked.

“He nearly destroyed his office. He broke his chairs and tore through a bunch of papers. I tried to help him pick them up, hoping to see or steal some, and he grabbed my arm to throw me out. I struck him in the face and laid him on his back.” She emptied the pitcher and slammed it down on the cart. “I will happily die for it, my King. It was worth it.”

“You’ve nothing to fear, my Lady, and you'll never have to deal with him again.”

“Is what they’re saying true?” Hogun asked. “Fandral has been banished?”

Sif took a seat next to Volstagg, but Hogun remained standing, eyes on Loki. Thor remained on his feet as well, beside his brother. Anger at his former friend flooded back when he recalled what Volstagg had imparted to them the last night.

“He has,” Loki said. “But only from the palace, not the realm. That honor belongs to Lord Vakr. Thor is our new Minister of Security.”

“Hence Feykir’s destroying his office,” Sif explained. “The Chancellor hasn’t gone about wrecking his?”

“The Lord Chancellor is always calm,” Hogun said.

“Alaric won’t have a thing to destroy. He’s too wise to put anything in writing that could compromise him.”

“Alaric didn’t even spare a glance at Vakr,” Thor remembered. “He said himself he was one of those who was loyal to Odin from the start. He didn’t even attempt to speak for him.”

“He wasn’t lying when he said he felt you best to serve that post. I’m sure he wasn’t when he said he felt our little scheme just either. I told Fandral not to drink with him—Vakr doesn’t have the charm of Alaric or the boasting of Feykir, so he relies on drink to do his interrogating. I’m sure he and Fandral had had a great many cups and chats this week, if our dear friend was so comfortable bragging about my brother’s state in public. Vakr should have made a grand show of silencing him, reporting him, and falling at my feet, and instead he thought it clever of him to let Fandral rant in the hopes he’d reveal something he didn’t yet know, and just like that, he lost the Council the Warrior who has the trust and insight of my other liaisons and the Crown Prince.”

“I always thought you and he got along well enough,” Volstagg admitted. “Was it just this week you didn’t trust him?”

“I’ve always trusted Fandral to fight well. I’ve never had any use for him otherwise. You may have found his boasting charming, but all I hear are lies, and not clever or crafty ones in service of some enjoyable mischief. Trust me when I say I find the sound of such conversation dreadfully irritating.” 

“But to go from bragging to treason is quite a fall,” Sif murmured, her eyes sad. 

“You may all remain friends with him when this ordeal ends. For obvious reasons I fear I will not. But it appears his betrayal may have been the best thing that’s happened to our little investigation, so I can’t bring myself to hate him. Hogun, any chance you were there when the spies I uncovered came limping in?”

“No, but Alaric imparted what they said to Feykir. He had them investigate the weapons' vault themselves. They told him that they examined the portal and believe it was opened from inside Asgard, not outside.”

Loki stilled and leaned his palms against the back of the sofa. “Go on.”

“That was all.” 

“Tell me exactly what was said.”

“Alaric told Feykir that ‘a Master of Magic could have opened the portal from anywhere inside the palace, even if they were not in the vault.’”

“He doesn’t believe that,” Loki murmured. “But you do.” 

Volstagg and Sif’s eyes widened and they looked to their friend. Hogun’s face remained impassive. 

“My Lords and Lady,” Loki began, words clearly measured, “here, in this room, when we speak as friends, there is no threat of treason. Had Fandral spoken to me, in private, the words he spoke to Volstagg last night, I would have simply removed him from Vakr’s service and the palace, until my Father awoke. He would not have been permanently banished, nor his title restricted. I can not serve Asgard if no one will tell me the truth.” Loki leaned forward. “Speak frankly, Lord Hogun.”

Hogun didn’t flinch. “If you had not sent the guard, we could have returned to Asgard without Thor’s banishment.”

“It was my intention for us never to reach Jotunheim, not for us to go and my Father to catch or save us.” 

“The Chancellor believes a single Master of Magic could bring three Jotunns into Asgard.”

“Again, he says that, but does not believe it. You do.” Hogun simply stared. Loki nodded. “Thank you. It’s important that I know. I’ve another mission for you. I’d like you to pay a seemingly normal trip to Vanaheim. See your family, connect with old friends and fellow soldiers. Gather all the information you can about what the rumors are about Asgard, my brother, and myself. Put them in writing daily and deliver them directly to Heimdall, then return.”

“As you wish, my King.”

“You have done us a great service. You have my thanks. Be well, and when the Allfather awakens and ends this, we look forward to your return.”

“Loki,” Sif murmured. 

“Lady Sif, I can’t tell you how high my regard for you has grown, and it has always been rather formidable. I must remove you from Feykir’s service—they’ve claimed two our of my four liaisons, and they know far too much to allow you any further useful information. I’d like you to report to General Tyr and help with the beginning of lowering the extra defenses.”

“I beg you not to send us away. We simply do not know enough about magic and its capabilities to judge what can and can not be done.”

“‘We?’” Loki asked, turning his gaze sharply on her. “Do you think me capable of letting Jotunns into Asgard?”

“I haven’t the knowledge of what you are capable of, magically, to say.”

“Allow me to rephrase. Do you believe I would use my abilities to disrupt my brother’s coronation as part of a plot to put myself on the throne?”

Sif set her jaw and raised her head. “No, my King—my friend. I do not.”

Loki’s face fell and his eyes grew damp. “You’re lying,” he whispered. Sif looked startled, and then her own eyes filled. Thor stared between them in shock. 

“Loki…” the elder Prince began. 

“Lord Hogun, Lady Sif, Lord Volstagg, you have your orders. You must excuse me now, I have not slept and I have much to consider. You are free to remain and visit with one another and the Crown Prince, but you mustn’t disturb me. I bid you good evening.”

Thor rose, but Loki strode quickly to his bedroom and closed the door, the latch clicking in place seconds later. Thor swallowed hard and found he couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes. 

“Thor,” Sif began, her voice trembling. “Listen, I beg you—”

“It’s alright…I’ll speak with him. He’s exhausted, and he won’t rest unless I ensure it. I’m afraid I’ll have to release you to your other duties.” He looked up then and managed a small smile. “It’s alright, my friends. This will pass us.”

Volstagg got to this feet and opened the door, giving both his friends an apologetic look as they passed quietly into the hall, then turned and stared wide-eyed at Thor. 

“My Prince…I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry on it. I meant what I said—Loki needs to rest. I’ll see to him. There’s a great many books, if you’re bored: my own shelves have many military histories. Eat, drink, sleep, just try not to let anyone kill us.”

“Rest easy, Your Grace. No harm will come to you or our King.” 

“I thank you.” Thor started toward his brother’s door. 

“But if I may…why did Loki not ask me what he asked the others?”

“Because, my friend, he already knows your truth,” Thor smiled warmly, then knocked harshly on his brother’s chamber. “Brother, you have until the count of ten to allow me passage before I order Volstagg to break in your door.”

Chapter Text

“Thor,” Loki gasped. The elder Prince startled awake, blinking at his brother.

“Mm?” he mumbled. It felt like only moments had passed since Loki’s breathing had finally eased down, and Thor had wrapped himself in a spare cloak at the foot of the bed and drifted off with his brother’s feet tucked against his side. He had no desire to move.

“Thor,” Loki repeated, sitting up and kicking at him.

“M’here. Did’you have the dream?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“No—something’s coming. The locks I put on the portals are breaking.”

Thor bolted upright. “What? How?”

“I don’t know.” Loki scrambled out of bed, eyes wide. “Get up, get dressed—we must wake Volstagg. We—” he grabbed his head and reeled, as if dizzy or in pain, and cried out. 

“Loki!” Thor surged forward and caught his brother as his knees buckled. Loki gripped him frantically back. 

“They’ve broken all my protections—Thor, the portal’s growing. There’s dozens of them at the ready, I can feel it. Volstagg!”

Thor steadied his brother on his feet, his own heart pounding. Volstagg kicked in the door, ax at the ready, only to have Loki fly by him. “What is it?” he demanded. Thor grabbed for his clothes, trying to pull on his tunic as he ran. 

Loki flung open the door to the two guards beyond. “You—” he said to the first, “the palace is under attack. Fetch twenty guards at least to protect the Crown Prince here and send at least twenty more to the Allfather’s room. GO. You,” he turned to the second, “go and wake Lady Sif. Tell her she is in command of the defenses. All of you are to obey her as you would my brother, myself, or Tyr. GO.”

He turned back to Thor and their rooms, then set his jaw and waved his hand. The books and papers covering his desk, their sofa, and their borrowed table vanished under a burst of green light—Thor didn’t need to see to know what they’d out in his bedroom was likely gone as well. 

“If they kill me, so be it, but even hell won't get me to give them back our evidence.” He waved a hand over himself and appeared then in his full armor. Then he saw Thor struggling with his clothes and cast a quick change over his brother as well. 

“Loki—the destroyer,” Thor said. “You can see and control it through Gugnir. Set it on them.”

Loki’s eyes widened and he grabbed up his Father’s spear in a shaking hand, closing his eyes and holding his breath in concentration. Seconds later he let out a cry of rage and pain that had Thor reaching for him, but his brother shook the great spear in desperation. 

“It won’t allow me!”

“Calm down! Focus your seidr and—”

“No, you fool, you don’t understand—it does not find me worthy.”

For the first time since that moment in Jotunheim when he’d realized they were outnumbered and up against a cliff, Thor felt true fear spike through him. There was the very real possibility that Odin’s staff was reacting to his brother’s defiance of the Allfather’s judgment…and Thor couldn’t help him. 

The sound of metal and footsteps drew their attention, and Loki raced to the doorway, Gugnir still in hand. 

"Here!" Loki called. "Protect the Crown Prince—any harm that comes to him will mean your lives!" A host of guards ran toward them. "Volstagg, with me—”

"Loki!" Thor grabbed his brother's arm. "You can't force me to stay here!"

"I can and I will. You will not die while I sit the throne. You must remain here, for the good of Asgard!"

"Your brother is under my protection," Volstagg assured. "No harm will come to him while I live."

Every molecule in Thor's being was screaming at him to run after his brother, to fight for his home and his family. But he was useless, powerless, and Loki was pulling away, determination on his face.

"It will be alright, brother, I swear it. Please, for once, just listen to me."

Thor swallowed, hard, and nodded. “Look after yourself, I beg you,” he murmured. “Asgard could not be in better hands. I've never doubted you, brother.”

Loki stopped, chest hitching, casting a long look at Thor, then turned and sprinted into the hall.

Thor wanted to cry, to scream his rage and helplessness into the void. This was beyond any torture he ever could have imagined. It was the stuff of nightmares, of Loki's Awful Dream, to have his entire family under attack and to be Thor, the greatest warrior alive, trapped in a mortal form with no way of protecting those he loved. 

He didn't know what to do...so he sank to his knees, humbling himself, and prayed. 

"Norns save their lives. Protect the Queen, my Mother. Protect the King, my Father. Protect the Prince, my brother. If you must have a life from the House of Odin, take mine. Take mine, and let my crimes be freed from Asgard. Take mine, and grant my brother an endless, peaceful reign."

Outside there was the sound of alarm, commotion—and slaughter. Sounds Thor knew like he knew the footsteps of his Mother, the thunder of Gugnir, or Loki's quiet breathing in the dark. He shot to his feet, looking for anything he could use to defend himself, as the door gel inward and to Einherjar entered with bloodied lances. 

"Forgive the interruption, Your Grace," one hissed. "But it seems those you call 'Frost Giants' don't take kindly to Asgardian Princes invading their lands and slaughtering their friends."

And the guard held his hand away and produced a great, gleaming sword of sharpened ice.

*

Sif emerged to a scene of chaos, guards scattering to fall into their rehearsed emergency formations. The guard Loki had sent to wake her came running back toward her, nearly trampled over in his efforts. 

“My Lady, we are short on palace guards because of the additional defenses that remain around the city following the previous attack.”

“Recall them at once. Activate our fleet to defend outside the palace. We need as many troops as possible in here overseeing the Royal Family. Where is the portal?”

“The Weapon’s Vault. My Lady…it has already been overrun.”

“Then why are all these fools not going there?”

“Standard procedure requires they secure the Nobles’ and Ministers’ chambers—”

“All of you!” She roared, “fall back and follow me! If you want to protect the lives of the innocent, you will fight the enemy at the root, not spread out in weakened branches!” She brought forth her spear and shook the blades out. “Recall the troops. You!” she shouted at a random guard. “Go and report on how many guards are watching over the Crown Prince, the Allfather, and the Queen. There should be no fewer than thirty. If there are less pull them from the soldiers returning from outside. You—” she called to another, “form a band of ten and locate the King. We will need his help to seal the portal. The rest of you!” she cried, raising her spear to the air. “We are to the vault, and Valhalla if needs be. We are sworn to the House of Odin, and tonight the Norns see fit to test our vows. We will meet them with the fiercely proud eyes of those who died a glorious death for their home and for their King. For Asgard!”

The soldiers roared back, stood aside for her to pass, and took up running behind her. It was the first time in her life, she realized, that not a single man questioned her presence among them. 

*

Thor backed up, eye on the icy sword attached to the guard’s arm, unable to fully comprehend how an Aesir was able to control such magic—and then it hit him that the solar was not Aesir at all.

The not-guard advanced on him, but the second stepped forward and seized his wrist. 

"Not him," he growled. "The other."

"He killed three of my cousins. He killed three of your cousins. He destroyed half our city."

“Not him.” 

"Don't worry, I don't mean to kill him. I'll merely take his hands. Watch him call for his beloved hammer with no fingers to grip its handle."

"If you're here for me, that's only just," Thor said, raising his chin in defiance. "I alone broke our laws and reignited this war. You may do as you wish to me but I beg you, spare my brother, Father, and Mother. They're innocent."

"Innocent," the first spat. "Your Father crushed our people for doing no more than he did—setting out to conquer another realm. He left us in ruins. He left Svartelheim in ruins. He slaughtered half the population of Alfheim so their magic could never overpower his own. And he brought down the wrath of the gods upon our people by permitting a hälfte geboren life."

"Enough," the second guard said. "He is easily harmed. You can not touch him."

"You do not command me. Maybe I can't do what I like, but I still plan to do a great deal.” He turned back to Thor. “You will see your family again, boy—frozen and blue with their insides pulled out and their eyes devoid of soul, asking the gods why they must die while you, maimed and mortal, are permitted life.”

The second guard finally cracked a grin of his own. “That, my friend...that I can fight for." He pulled back his right hand and cast an ice ax of his own.

Thor looked from one to the other, hoping fear filled his eyes as he backed slowly away, letting them advance. "Please," he said. “This fight is without honor."

“You have no honor, little Princess.”

“I have no mercy either,” he hissed, and in one sweeping movement he grabbed a pitcher of wine, hurled it across both their faces, stinging their eyes: and then, mortality be damned, he reached into the hearth, seized a flaming log, ignoring the shock and the rush of pain that shot through his arm, and hurled it at them both.

The alcohol lit up instantly, vanishing the glamour and leaving two writhing blind, blue bodies in its stead. A handful of other guards arrived, but Thor shoved past them, his hand pulsing in agony, calling "kill them!" Before racing down the hall to the Allfather's Chambers.

*

Loki had somehow collected a host of guards as he ran, past the Great Hall and the throne room, down the normally heavily guarded side stairs that lead to the great golden doors of the Weapon’s Vault. Those doors were opened flush with the stone walls now, the soldiers pressed together so tightly that they struck one another inadvertently as they battled the surge of invaders streaming up the stairs and into the palace. The fighting had already spilled onto the stairs and into the halls, and it was a matter of time before they broke through deeper into the palace, to the apartments of the Nobles, Ministers—and the Royal Family. 

“Norns,” Volstagg gasped in horror. From where they stood, Loki could clearly see that the Frost Giants weren’t the only ones emerging from the dark of the vault: there were Einherjar guards as well, striking at them from behind and merging in with their fellows—far more than would ever be allowed on patrol inside the weapon's room. 

He raised his seidr, letting the magic fill his vision, and could see, with clear horror, that half the giants wore glamours: glamours of the Aesir. In the chaos of the battle, they looked like reinforcements arriving from the walls to help the half-defended palace, rather than the enemies in disguise that they truly were. He couldn’t risk trying to wield the power of Gugnir without killing their true soldiers, and if he warned them they could all turn on one another. 

Rage rose in him: and a fierce determination with it.

“Forgive me, my friend,” he said to Volstagg, “I’m about to do something terribly foolish, and I must beg you to watch over me while I do.”

Volstagg moved to ask, but before he could, Loki was casting a duplicate of himself and charging down the stairs, through the soldiers, past the doors, down the steep steps of the vault, past the Destroyer’s booming efforts, and toward the corner where he had first found the passage between realms. Frost Giants and soldiers, loyal and glamoured, recoiled, some striking out, some moving aside, some staring in shock, as Loki’s copy tore through them, but he had eyes only for the portal, now twice as wide and streaming twin lines of enemies. 

The rainbow of various mages’ magic was now blindingly bright, sustaining the passage, and the seidr reacted to his presence, reaching out like it wanted to grab him and doing nothing but hitting the empty illusion of his duplicate. He leapt through the first opening, landing once more in the eerie not-place he’d encountered when first exploring the weapon’s vault a week ago. 

The lines of soldiers were there, waiting to enter the portal to the vault, and more were coming: from the second portal, the one that had been sealed when he’d first investigated. It too was wide open now, twice as large and pulsing with energy, and Loki set his sights on it, feeling weapons tearing uselessly at his seidr as he raced past his enemies and dove into the darkness beyond. 

Even in the illusion, he felt the bone-deep cold, heard the wail of fierce winds, and struggled to adjust to the eerie blue-black light of Jotunehim. When they’d first arrived, there had been nothing but silence and the air whipping high above them, in the icy peaks of the cities ruins. Now the realm was alive with hordes of giants disguised and undisguised, plunging through the gateway that landed them right in the heart of their enemies’ palace. 

Loki whirled, seeking out the mages who held it open, but saw none: no flashes of seidr, no circle of giants combining power, no light like that of the Casket. The portal existed seemingly on its own, there in the ice and snow, though Loki knew it wasn’t possible—he could see the magic living, working, and that meant there had to be sorcerers giving it life. 

A fury of wind blasted snow into his vision and shifted the drifts near his feet, and he saw flashes of light from beneath: a source. He’d gone through two portals already and his own magic was wary, reminding him that his focus was far from his body, and therefore his physical form was vulnerable. He had to place his trust in the guards, in Volstagg, in Asgard—and it was Asgard that mattered now, all of it, not one citizen, Prince or otherwise. Loki alone who could put an end to all this, and so, casting a quick prayer to the Norns, he drove his double down into the lights.

He was sucked at a pace even faster than the Bifrost, blasts of magic blinding him as he tumbled down through time and space and was spit out into a void: but, unlike the black aether of space, this one was clear, shimmering, and strangely solid. He pushed to his feet and found himself in what was, again, a not-world, but unlike the first that hovered somewhere outside of all, this was firm and real. Blasts of multicolored seidr bore down from above, and beyond, warped and twisted like figures underwater, he could see solid figures and hear muffled chants.

He was in a sorcerer’s circle, viewing them through their own power source—likely a gem or a crystal. While he himself couldn’t open or close a portal without being near the place he wanted to open it, this group had circumvented the issue by first conjuring views of the spaces they wanted to connect, and then amplifying their power through their device to establish those connections. He’d never been one to use stones or gems, though he’d learned about their abilities to concentrate and focus magic the way his brother’s hammer helped him wield his lightning. Loki had never found any stone that was strong enough to aid his power, and he preferred using duplicates and scouts of seidr rather than staring into flames or crystals.

He needed to break it. He needed to channel his own power and, somehow, destroy their portals from the inside out. He needed to discover what realm he had landed in, what faces looked back outside the protection of their glamours and their crystal. He—

“My King—Loki! You must return!” he heard, as if from a terrible distance, and before he had a chance to react, something massive struck him, and he lost his duplicate's focus, and was fully present back in Asgard, and hurling across the stone floor above the Vault. 

Volstagg was at his side in seconds, standing over him like a colossus, one great leg over the Prince’s waist while the other was over his shoulder, ax at the ready. 

They were outnumbered and overrun. The remaining Einherjar were fighting atop bodies of their wounded and dead, decorated with frost burns. Some had broken pieces of ice-weapons sticking out of their sides or chests: others were blue or black, some half-encased in blocks of ice or wrestling with frozen armor. Some of the guards had turned on one another, unsure of who was true Aesir and who was a giant under a glamour. False-soldiers were escaping up into the palace, and Loki cast his eyes about wildly for Sif, but saw no sign of her. 

He got to his feet: Volstagg seized his arm and helped steady him, his face grim. “We have to retreat.”

“We can’t leave the portal open!”

“We’re outnumbered. We have to evacuate your family and all the Nobles we can.”

“Send guards to do so. If we leave now they’ll pour down onto the city below. Where are the reinforcements?” 

“They are on their way, Your Grace, but I can’t allow you to remain here in such danger—”

“Something’s coming,” Loki gasped. He felt it in his chest, in the warnings his magic sent through him, in the way the hairs rose on the back of his neck and arms. There were great, rumbling steps coming up out of the vault, and the few frost giants remaining suddenly fell to attention, while the handful of clearly disguised guards did the same. 

Coming out, in full armor and undisguised, crouching through the doorway before rising to his full height and fierce, unapologetic strength, was the Jotunn King himself—Laufey. 

“They are even weaker than you said, my King,” one of the giants growled. “Without the boy-Prince and his hammer and the Allfather’s toy-spear.”

Behind them, the destroyer boomed, and Laufey snorted. “That machine of theirs keeps us from the Casket. Shut it down.”

He turned his great red eyes to the group on the stairs. Loki summoned his daggers to his hands and stood firm. 

“Hälfte geboren,” Laufey growled, his voice echoing in Loki’s chest. “Your every breath offends the gods. You were pledged to them long ago. It is time for you to go home.”  

* 

Sif realized, too late, that she had backed herself into a corner. 

She’d grown too used to fighting in a group: when she, the Warriors, and the Princes engaged, they formed a loose circle, allowing them to keep an eye on one another and prevent surprise attacks from behind. It helped that Loki and Hogun both fought with the training of the Vanir, and spun frequently, clearing out anyone who tried to come at their backs. 

And of course, having a hammer and lightning wielding Warrior by your side never hurt the odds. 

But the Einherjar weren’t her friends, and they followed their own training, engaging in hand-to-hand infantry combat without looking to their sides or backs. As she fought the false-soldiers down the hall, trying to prevent them from penetrating the palace proper, she realized she’d drifted from the main battle and was backing up toward a wall with no one at her back and more and more enemies closing in from her front. 

She set her jaw, refocused, and lunged forward, taking down two at once with two harsh jabs from either end of her spear. She was aware that the space behind her was left open, so she took up her shield and made a sharp turn, driving the end of it into the eye of one soldier before turning back to thrust her spear into the belly of another. 

The fighting from below spilled up top, and she heard the cry of several guards calling for her. “Here!” she called back, but her relief was short lived when a fierce rush of cold blasted from the side and she ducked, the flat of an ice-ax burning over her arm. She cried out and swung, breaking the weapon, but something hit her from behind and she lost her footing. 

The true Einherjar were battling somewhere beyond, trying to aid her, and Sif reached for her spear only to find a massive, icy blue foot already there and pinning it down. 

“Poor little Princess,” the giant rumbled. “In your next life, stay with your needlework.”

He raised his hand, a jagged ice sword emerging, and she seized her shield, preparing to hold him off: instead, a blade blasted through the beast’s throat, sending him to his knees with a gag. Several of the not-guards ran off into the hall behind her, the true Aesir giving chase, while others continued to beat at the ones at her side. 

She scrambled out of the path of the falling giant, managing to seize her spear, and rolled to her feet, gripping the wall to steady herself. 

A man dressed in Council robes and a breastplate had two hands on the sword’s hilt, pulling it from one side to the other before yanking it free with a sickening suction noise and turning to her with a grin.

"Lady Sif,” he greeted, and she gaped.

"Lord Feykir?”

“Don't look so shocked. If Asgard can let a little Lady like yourself pick up a sword, surely it can allow a bitter old Councilor.”

“Must you always insult me?”

“You think it charming when it comes from the mouth of our King.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I asked for General Tyr and they told me you were put in Command. So I asked for you and discovered no one was bothering to keep eyes on their Commander. Might I suggest, if you insist on playing soldier, that when you are given an assignment as critical as defending our home, your first order of business should be not getting yourself killed.” 

She shook her head in disbelief. “I must insist you seek shelter, my Lord. The people will need their Councilors.”

“Shelter is for civilians. I was a soldier first, and I pledged this sword to the House of Odin Allfather. I'm not going to watch that House fall to these beasts. Even if that vicious little Silvertongue and his arrogant oxen of a brother have retribution coming for all they’ve tried to take from their Father’s loyal servants, I will not yield my honor to them. They are sons of Odin, and I will die before seeing them come to harm.”

She nodded. "With me then," she commanded. “We need to intercept the returning troops and warn them about the glamours. And we have to find Loki.”

“Vallhalla calls, my Shield-Maiden. I do hope you’re ready for it.”

“I look forward to it, my Lord. Once there, no threat of treason will exist to stop me from beating you soundly for all eternity.” 

*

The guards outside the Allfather’s room were already skirmishing, some casting blades of ice while the true ones sought to push them back. 

“Open the door!” he roared at one, who, startled, did so, moving into position to shield him as he passed. 

Frigga was on her feet, her own great blade in hand, ready by her sleeping husband’s bedside. “Thor,” she said, relieved. “What’s happening? Where’s Loki?”

“Guards, here!” he called and made for the fireplace. His skin was raw and red and his hand still shook, but he reached into the flames yet again, seizing a log and brandishing it like a sword. 

“Thor!” Frigga called, but he ran at the guards spilling into the room and waved it ferociously at their faces.

All the guards flinched back but two of them roared, clearly burnt by the nearness of the flames, and Thor hurled the log into one’s chest and yelled “some are Frost Giants, glamoured! Grab logs, grab coals, grab candles—no one enters this room without being tested with fire! Kill them!” he ordered, pointing at the pair writhing on the ground. “Spread the word!”

The guards set upon the fallen and one took up Thor’s log, striking at a fellow soldier with a grand ice ax, and others began reaching for anything they could use as a torch. He grabbed a random guard and said “go to my rooms, fetch any soldiers sent to me and tell them what I’ve told you. Make torches and go to the Vault to help uncover them. Go!”

"Thor!" Frigga gasped, grabbing his arm. "You're burnt."

He couldn't lie—his whole body shook with the pain, and his hand was now raw, skin curdling where the flames had lain.

"I'm fine," he gasped. "I'll be fine. They're glamoured, Mother—the Frost Giants resemble our own soldiers. And—”

From a distance he heard a cry of “they’ve overrun us—to the Vault!” and the sound of soldiers running.

"Loki," Thor gasped, knowing his brother would run straight to the portal without knowing the guards around them may in fact be their enemies. “I have to warn him. I have to help warn the other soldiers.”

“You are mortal.”

“I’m the cause of all this!” Despair and determination mixed in one. “I will go. I can spread the word if I can not fight. I brought this upon my own home. I can not hide in safety while others die for my crimes.”

He looked to his Mother, expecting her to demand he stay, but her own eyes are wide with fear. “Go,” she murmured. “But be careful, I beg you. Do not enter Valhalla before me.”

He kissed her fiercely on the cheek, then turned and raced back into the chaotic halls to find his brother.

*

“Stand back,” Loki commanded to Volstagg and his company of guards. “That’s an order.”

“Your Grace—”

“Now.”

“They tell me you are King, child,” Laufey said, striding toward him. Despite Loki standing a floor above, the giant’s head is even with his own. 

“Regent. If you have come to negotiate—”

“I have come to take back what belongs to my Kingdom—the Casket of Ancient Winters, and the lives of two Aesir Kings.”

“Every incursion Jotunheim has made has only ever ended poorly for your people. Will you not think of them?”

“It is for them I have come.”

“No Kingdom can stand alone. Asgard is not made up of one people, but many. You can not hope to match us.”

“We no longer stand alone, little King. The hatred of Odin unites more than you imagine.”

“You saw what my brother is capable of. You know what Odin is capable of. You can not wish to bring their wrath down upon your realm.”

“I see neither Odin nor Thor before me. I see only you.”

“I regret that you will not for long.” 

Quick as a whip, Loki tossed two daggers into the Giant’s chest, than aimed one at his eye, but the King quickly deflected it. He swiped with one great hand and when Loki ducked and leapt out of the way, his second slammed down on him like a vice, lifting him off the floor with his arms at his sides.

“Pathetic child,” the King hissed, raising Loki toward him. The Prince beat the creature frantically with his legs, and twisting torso, but was unable to break the crushing grip. “You are as useless and weak as I’d imagined you to be.”

Thor, Loki thought reflexively. This is where his brother would fly in, hammer first, and destroy the threat. 

There would be no rescue now. 

“Hälfte geboren—half-born. Your kind are the disgrace of nations, the drain of resources and ender of lives. The puny, unwanted, unneeded, second son of Asgard. That is what you made of yourself. To think I thought your size the lone disgrace. I have done much wrong in my reign, but killing you—that will be an example for our people.”

He reached out then, giant blue fingers seizing Loki by the throat: and, like that terrible night in Jotunheim, the Prince felt his skin inadvertently shift, taking on the cold and the color of the giant who gripped him. He struggled desperately, but then Volstagg was there, ax at ready, bringing it down with terrible strength and fury and separating Laufey's arm from his body.

Loki landed hard, gasping for air, as Volstagg swung over and above him, battling the giant and those rushing to his aid. The other guards swept around them, driving their spears at the reinforcements while Laufey roared in pain, clutching the bloody stump of his arm. 

“Fall back, Your Grace!” Volstagg called as Loki scrambled to his feet. “Warn the other soldiers! You must—”

“Look out!” the younger Odinson screamed: a moment too late. 

Laufey had cast a massive blade of ice in his good hand and, in one easy move, brought through Volstagg’s armor and torso like it was little more than soil. He lifted the elder warrior as Volstagg squirmed to take the agonizing pressure off his chest, and then threw him, the inertia causing the Warrior to fly off the blade and crash against the stone floor, sliding backward with blood trailing behind. 

“NO!” Loki wailed, horror and grief rising in him. “You—you are no soldier, you are no King—you are a monster!”

“Odin is the monster,” Laufey declared. “He is the murderer, the thief, and the traitor. You’ve lived on stolen time, hälfte geboren. I have come to reclaim it.”

Loki had only ever used the power of the throne to toy with the Council: he used it now to summon Gugnir. Whether it found him worthy or not, the Allfather’s weapon soared to his hand as Mjölnir soared to Thor’s. But he wasn’t looking to use his power to control or wield the staff: it was his own strength he relied on. 

His Vanir War Master had taught him that his slender build could be his greatest weapon, both in the speed and flexibility it afforded him, and the element of surprise when he revealed his true strength. He didn’t need the enormity of his brother’s muscles to show his power—he was quick, he was accurate, he was strong, and at that moment, he was furious. 

He hurled Gugnir like a great bolt from a siege weapon, causing the giant to feint right and glance as the golden staff soared past him, turning his massive head and displaying his left side to Loki: and with deadly precision, the younger Prince summoned two more daggers and sent them, one after the other, into the eyes of the Jotunn King. 

The Giant roared in pain and stumbled blindly backward, and Loki called Gugnir once more as he ran and leapt off the stairs, planting his feet on the giant’s chest and driving his Father’s great spear through the Frost King’s throat. Below them were cries of horror, both Aesir and Jotunn—the Jotunns mourning for their King, the Aesir racing to aid theirs. Laufey collapsed backward, slamming into the wall of the Vault, and Loki leapt from the frozen body, hitting the floor and rolling, then on his feet in one swift motion.

He raised his hand and called Gugnir to him again: and in a horrible, sickening gush, the spear pulled sideways and cleaved Laufey’s head clear from his body. 

For a moment, both groups stood in shock staring at the massive blue body and the now seperate head. Loki moved first, his Father’s spear in hand, and raced for the stairs that would take him back up to Volstagg. 

“KILL HIM!” Someone roared, and like that, both sides sprang into action. Loki summoned daggers, realizing he’d lost count at how many he had left, tossing them into the throats of the handful of false-Einherjar who got in his way, but then the cluster of guards came down to meet him, circling around and blocking the stair as he reached the top and ran for the large, panting figure in the corner. 

“Volstagg,” Loki gasped. Volstagg gagged on his own blood, twisting beneath Loki’s hands. The portal behind him expanded without his focus, but Loki ignored it. “It’s alright, my friend,” he murmured, pouring healing into the wound. “All will be well, you’ll see.”

“Your Grace…this energy is wasted on me.”

“Hush now—”

“No,” Volstagg seized Loki’s wrist in his powerful grip. “You must seal the portal. You must save our realm.”

“I can save you both!”

“You have no obligation to me, my King. My life is sworn to the House of Odin—yours is sworn to Asgard. You must do your duty as I have mine.”

“Be still. You’ll see, I—”

“The Norns have already written my fate. If this is my end, then I am at peace. I die serving a true friend and King.” He smiled, blood coating his teeth.

Loki’s eyes brimmed and his hands shook. “I beg you, my friend—resist the call of Valhalla just a little more, and I will return to you.”

“Whether tonight or in the Great Hall of our ancestors, I will kneel to you again.” He coughed, blood dribbling down into his beard. “Now forget me, and save our home.”

*

Sif met a flood of soldiers as they stormed down the hall toward her and Feykir, clearly coming from the walls outside. 

“Wait!” she called, as several stormed past her. “Halt, I have your orders!”

“We already have our orders!” one called.

“Stop, you fools! You don’t understand!”

“To the King!” one called, and others cheered. 

“By order of Odin Allfather and Lord Chancellor Alaric, HALT!” Feykir roared, his voice booming off the stone around them. The soldiers drew to a sudden stop in confusion. “Hear this! Though no one more than me understands better the insult, by order of our King and his Council, Lady Sif commands the defenses. Though it is clearly a petulant act by the vicious little boy-King to humble us before a unqualified Shield-Maiden who can barely command her spear—”

“My Lord!” Sif snapped.

“—it is nevertheless his judgment, and we love our honor and our oaths above the whims of the trickster. To disobey her is to betray the House of Odin, and I will see you justly charged. My Lady, take command.”

“You are too good to me, my Lord,” she said, and he nodded graciously, as if not hearing the vitriol in her words. “Some of the Giants are disguised as our own soldiers. You may not see them if it’s too late. Look for their weapons, feel for their cold, try and draw them toward heat sources and—”

“THE KING!” someone shouted, and the soldiers hit their knees, revealing Loki and several of his own guards on the other side. Relief that he was still alive flooded her, though she saw blood on his hands and clothes and prayed he wasn’t wounded. 

“Lady Sif is right. Twenty of you, go to the Allfather’s room, twenty more to the Crown Prince. The rest of you, we must take back the vault at all costs. I can not close the portal without being near it. Listen closely—I will fight with you, but I will also cast duplicates. Many of you have seen these; they will be accompanied by a flash of green. Look for myself, for the Crown Prince, the Allfather, the Queen. Those that swing at the illusions, even if they wear the armor of the Einherjar, are our enemies. We can not fail and we can not retreat. Now go, for Asgard!”

The soldiers roared and took off once more. Sif ran with them until she could step out of the flow and stand with Loki. 

“Lovely speech, Your Grace,” Feykir said. 

“Lovely armor, my Lord,” he answered. 

“Loki, how do we close the portal?” Sif asked. 

“Get me down there. I can’t close it without being near it.”

“Where’s Volstagg?”

“Wounded.” His face twisted in grief for a moment, then resumed his composure. “Come with me: I’m going to cast as I said. It should help us pick them out. We will have to form a circle and force our way down the stairs.”

“The Chancellor told me a Mage can open or close a portal from anywhere in the palace,” Feykir said.

“Perhaps others could, but I can not, and certainly not one this powerful. I have to be near it, and I can not fight and cast magic that strong. While I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to see me dead, please wait until I’ve sealed our defenses before letting me be killed.”

“While I admit there’s a great many things I’d like to see happen to you, harm and death are not among them. To allow such things is a failure of my vow to Odin Allfather. You are wretched, ungrateful little viper but you are a son of Odin and appointed King. I will die before I allow harm to come to you.”

“Well that is...unexpected.”

“We must go,” Sif pleaded.

“Lead the way, my Commander,” Loki said, his hands readying green seidr. She moved past the small cluster of guards, adjusted her spear, and lead them back toward the battle.

*

Thor met the guards returning from his rooms, than two more groups: one sent for him, one for the King and Queen. He told them to grab anything that would burn and ordered the group sent to his side to rejoin the fight at the Vault. They grabbed what they could on the way, breaking chairs and setting them alight, gripping great candelabras fully aflame, grabbing curtains to burn when they reached their targets. 

The Vault was indeed overrun, and Thor’s group charged down onto a company of Einherjar coming up, ice weapons extended. They two groups fell on one another in a frenzy, and Thor was amazed how, despite his mortal form, his body had not forgotten its training or its strength. He was far from his full might, but he was still a powerful being, and rage only aided his savagery. He wielded his torch like he would his hammer, swinging it in great, vicious swipes at anyone with an ice weapon or anyone who didn’t cry “my Prince, I serve you!” It wasn’t in his heart at the moment to care: his only thoughts were to prevent the monsters from reaching his parents or killing his brother.

It was slow going, but the group began to push the invaders back down toward the vault, trampling both the Jotunn and Aesir dead in their wake. Thor couldn’t see over their own frenzied fighting, but he caught flashes of bright green and knew Loki must be up ahead, casting in an effort to aid their friends and soldiers. 

He set his teeth and roared “For the King!” relieved at the echo of determination that answered him. 

The Aesir were not about to lose Asgard. 

*

Sif could hardly believe it, but with Loki casting duplicates and hurling knives into the eyes of those who struck at them, and the arrival of soldiers with torches, they were beating the Jotunns back down into the vault. The guards found flame wherever they could, tossing it down into the glamoured faces, causing several of them to fall into the shallow pools and freeze over while others stumbled blind and screaming backward. 

“Push them back!” she called, as her feet, finally, hit the first few stairs that would bring them down into the vault. “Drive them to the Destroyer!”

Besides her, Feykir brandished his own sword like Thor brandished his hammer, swinging in great arcs and leaving trails of open throats as he went. 

“I’m killing—three for every—one of yours—little maiden!” he called. “I imagine—each is—an insult—from the—trickster. Think—what I’ve said—of you—and—KILL!”

Sif had to admit—the method was effective. 

*

Thor fought his way to the front of the group and could, finally, see the carnage in the hall and spilling up the stairs on both sides. The bodies were two or three high, the unglamoured giants taking up enormous space, and Thor caught a glimpse of Sif’s spear and his brother’s dark hair before they were disappearing down into the vault. It gave him a fresh burst of energy, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough—he was weakening. He was breathing harder than he ever had in battle or conditioning, sweat was pouring down his face and back, and he was vibrating with pain. Blows that normally would barely register were leaving him throbbing and stunned, and the burns on his hand and arm refused to be ignored. 

He should retreat, he knew: the soldiers were besting the invaders. Loki was nearing the portal. Sif had their forces in hand. 

But more than pride and stubbornness, more than hubris and vanity, something pulled him, hard after his brother. Thor had never given his own magic much thought, outside of what he used with Mjölnir, but he felt the vague stirrings of it now. Somewhere deep beneath his conscious, the balance their Mother had spoken of was calling to him to get to Loki, to lend the strength only he could, and it was a pull so strong, he couldn’t have fled if he wanted to. 

He took a deep breath, braced his feet, and let the enemy come to him instead. 

*

“With me!” Loki called and leapt from the stairway as soon as he judged he could without breaking anything. He hit the stone floor hard and took off for the portal, hearing the frantic sound of guards and Sif racing after him. 

“Loki wait!” she cried, but he ignored her, gathering his magic and throwing fog and duplicates ahead of him instead. The new intruders, unquestionably enemies, attacked in shock and confusion, and it only took a moment for Sif, Feykir, and the guards to catch up and make quick work of them. 

“Cut them down as they come forth,” he said, then set his legs firmly apart and poured every bit of magic he had into the portal. 

*

“Guards behind us, Feykir on my left. Protect your King at all costs!” Sif shouted, spear at the ready. The Destroyer bellowed and shook the floor beneath them as the roars of dying giants sounded from all sides. Loki was bathed in green light, drawing the yawning mouth of the entryway in, but a fresh wave of invaders poured out in pairs, meeting Sif’s blade and Feykir’s sword. 

“I should have spent more time sparring,” the elder man huffed. 

“I thought that’s what the Council did all day,” Sif snapped, stabbing an unglamoured giant.

“If we are to survive this, I will continue your education,” he said, thrusting his blade through the throat of a false-soldier.

“Do you truly hate all women?” she asked. “Did one break your heart?”

“I merely find them all dreadfully dull. I enjoyed your fist in my face, though. It occurred to me that that, at least, was deserved.”

“You are no diplomat, Feykir.”

“And you no soldier, Sif. But we play our roles rather well.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It is the closest I can come to one.” 

“Sif!” Loki warned and, too late, she realized an invader had ducked behind the one before her and was circling in on the side. A guard raced to help her, but she spun and drove her spear into the giant’s throat—leaving her right side completely unguarded. 

She felt, rather than saw, a giant weapon of ice bearing down toward her, but then she was hurled unceremoniously aside as Feykir drove his sword into the monster’s chest and the monster drove its own blade into Feykir’s. 

“No!” Sif screamed, in spite of herself, and took up her spear two bring down two Jotunns in one. “Guards, here!” she called, and crouched down beside the Minister. 

“No worries,” he coughed, blood running down into his gray beard. “This is what men do, my Lady—we die.”

“Guards to the portal! Protect your King!” Sif roared, than got her hands under the Minister and dragged him off to the side as the guards raced forward to take their place in front of Loki.

“My Lord, hold on!” Sif called, dropping to her knees. He rolled to his side, spitting out blood: she tore strips from the bottom of his robe to use as bandages and pressed them hard against the wound. “Hold still. I’ve a healing stone.”

“It’s wasted on me. Looks like you’re on your own, little Shield-Maiden.”

“My Lord,” she begged, gripping his chin and forcing him to look at her. “If your honor is as you say, if you are sworn to protect and defend the House of Odin, then I beg you, here and now, when treason can no longer touch you, to tell me—are there traitors on the Council?”

Feykir stared up at her, a flash of anger giving way to remorse. “I suspect. I know not who.”

“Did they do this? Did they plan this with someone?”

“I had thought not.” He coughed once more. “But now…”

“Loki has been trying to uncover them.”

“And look what has happened.” He spat blood at her. “If you want the Prince to live, he must marry his light elf. He must go to Alfheim. The closer he gets to the throne, the harder they will work to turn the Princes on each other. If they can not destroy them from within, they will from without. There will be no peace. They will never allow Loki to wear the crown.”

“Why?”

“Because, Lady Sif…the Aesir should rule Asgard.”

The man slumped backward then, taking several more heaving breaths…and then he stilled, the light leaving his eyes, his body going limp. 

Sif let out a cry of frustration and sorrow. In that moment, a terrible hopelessness washed over her: she had failed her friend, and King, and country, all over again, and the odds of there being a tomorrow to set things right suddenly seemed very, very small. 

*

The strength and power of the portal was unlike anything Loki had ever felt. Even with all his power focused on the edges, whoever was on the other side keeps pulling back his progress, the strength of so many resisting his individual efforts. 

Allfathers, he pleads, lend me your strength. Lend me your magic. I call upon the dark energy of space and time. I call upon the magic of the Vanir, my ancestors. I call upon the wisdom of the ancient mages. I beg you, help me save our people. I beg you, all who can, grant me what you are able.

Something shifted inside him, rising up from deep in his chest, and a feeling like flames pouring over his seidr washed over him, doubling and tripling the strength of his cast, and he knew, without turning, that his brother was near. It hit him like a blow from Mjölnir, the raw power he feels, and his mind flashes to what his Mother had told him years ago—his was the magic of the Moon: Thor's, the Sun. His seidr was responding to its mystic twin, growing fiercer and stronger in his brother’s presence, burning hotter as it left Loki’s hands. 

Around him, he could see the guards falling, overwhelmed and outnumbered. There is cold closing in at his back. He knows without question that he will not survive this fight—but Asgard will.

He didn’t think: he pulled, drawing Thor’s rage and fear into himself and feeling his own determination and desperation setting out toward his brother. Their magic was forming a loop, strengthening each time it passed through one and into the other, and Loki let it build, restraining it in his palms until they begin to shake with the excess heat and power. 

He closed his eyes, thought of Thor in battle, then at the Council table, then at his side in their common room, then falling to Midgard, than standing in the dark and cold of Jotunheim and brining down torrents of lightning. Then he felt a surge of certainty and strength and pushed all his seidr forward, blasting through the portal to the dark beyond. 

*

When he and Loki were young, Thor tortured a Dark Elf on Svartalfheim. 

His brother had lectured him endlessly about the political disadvantages of torture and cruelty. But when Thor thinks back, all he remembered is the terror of seeing his only brother crumpled and still at the foot of that sharp black stone, the Dark Elf striding toward him, proud of the pain he’d caused the younger Prince, and how, when Thor’s lightning caused that Elf to scream in agony, he’d felt a rush of power and justice.

He still remembers the smell of its flesh, the sound of its screams, the way its muscles contracted and spasmed, and Loki trying to stop him, trying to grab his arm and being thrown aside by the lightning he was calling forth. 

That Elf had tried to take his brother from him. He’d wanted nothing more than its eternal suffering as recompense. He’d have traded an eternity in Hel for the chance to torment the creature that tried to kill Loki. 

That is, until he’s halfway down the stairs of the Weapon’s Vault and spots a Frost Giant disguised as an Asgardian soldier with a spear raised over its head, prepared to destroy the heart of the second son of Asgard—and then all thoughts of eternity are gone. There is only one thing to trade, and that is his own life, and there is only one thing worth trading it for, and that is his brother’s.

Thor knows, he feels, his mortality. He knows he’s without armor, without power, without the healing powers of an Asgardian. 

He refused to care. 

He did this—he caused this, all of this, and he swore to help his brother survive it. 

Loki had collapsed to his knees, clearly pouring all his strength and life into sealing the portal. 

The ‘guard’ reared back, spear drawn, and Thor knows it’s going to pierce his brother’s back, explode out his chest and stop his heart. 

Norns take my life, he thought, his brother still too far, take my life and spare his. Take my life and let my crimes be freed from Asgard. Take my life and grant my brother an endless, peaceful reign.

“Thor!” he heard Sif cry. There were other cries of horror, but he saw only Loki, Loki who had crushed the portal down to an orb and was poised to die without a chance to save himself, and nothing mattered but getting between his brother’s body and that murderous spear. 

And when he does—when the blade comes down and strikes ferociously at his own chest, all he can think is thank you.

Chapter Text

Heimdall’s gaze fell daily on scenes of heartbreak, grief, rage, and violence. It was his job to observe such matters with dispassion and evaluate the threat to Asgard, not become invested in the lives of the millions he regarded. 

That said, through the years, he had his favorites. There was a female healer who sang the dying to sleep with a voice so lovely, some said she must be a reincarnated goddess. There was a hunter who could bring down a stag from an enormous distance but would only do so if the animal would die instantly and painlessly. There was an old woman who made little flowers out of fabric and sold them at the market in Vanaheim to help pay for her grandchildren’s education. 

And there was the Princes—Thor and Loki Odinson, who had spent hours in his observatory as children, pounding him with questions about his sight, the realms beyond, the workings of the Bifrost and the universe at large. Thor was brighter than most gave him credit for, though his patience was short, and Loki was more cheerful and playful than he was known for now. They picked and needled and teased one another as only brothers could, sometimes with legitimate frustration and anger, but never without true affection.  

And in the past week, he’d seen them separated, frightened, desperate, angry, vengeful, uncertain, and deeply connected.

And now, he was watching them fight for their lives: a fight that seemed more and more likely to be lost. 

The Destroyer has been overwhelmed and toppled by a group of Frost Giants. The Einherjar, armed with flames, had turned on each other, confusing the reaction of their fellow soldiers with that of the Jotunns. They were overwhelmed, outnumbered, and Loki was alone in trying to seal a powerful gateway opened by many. Lady Sif was begging a member of the Council to tell her how this had all come to pass, and failed to notice that the younger Odinson was all but unguarded: a fact that was instantly noticed by a glamoured enemy.

And the elder Odinson. 

No armor, no hammer, no godlike powers—Thor had nothing to fight with but himself, and it was with both grief and a strange sense of pride that Heimdall watched him step between his brother’s back and the Einherjar spear. It went clean through his chest, sending him toppling backwards, pitching Loki forward and causing him to lose his grip on the portal. Lady Sif was there, shouting for the guards and driving her own spear into the Frost Giant’s throat, while the younger Prince frantically squirmed out from under his brother and cradled his head.

“No, no, no—Thor—look at me. Look at me—it’s okay. I have you, brother, I have you—you’ll see, I’ll heal you.” He placed trembling hands over his brother’s chest while Thor’s eyes wandered over the ceiling of the vault, then landed on his younger brother’s frantic efforts. 

“S’okay,” he whispered, a small smile on his face. “It’s okay, little brother. I’m supposed to protect you.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” Loki sobbed. “I dragged you back home so you’d be safe. I tried to send you to the dwarves so you’d be safe. I told you to stay in our rooms so you’d be safe!”

“I’m safe,” Thor soothed, a strange whistle coming through his voice—his lung had been punctured and, though the Princes didn’t know, Heimdall could tell it was filling with blood. “I’m home, with my family, doing what I should have done all along: putting them first. Asgard will bloom under you. You were born to this.”

“Don’t you dare!” Loki wailed, clenching the sides of his brother’s head with shaking hands. “Don’t you dare leave me with this! You swore we’d stand or fall together!”

“We have.” Thor managed to move his hand and squeeze his brother’s arm. “Seal the portal, brother. You’re the only one who can. I’ve never doubted you, Loki.” 

The younger Prince was breathing hard, but he leaned down and pressed his forehead against his brother's. “Nor I you,” he managed. “Please, Thor, please just—”

Thor shuddered, jerked, and a strange gasp escaped him before his eyes drifted closed and he went limp, losing his grip on his brother’s arm. Loki pulled back in disbelief, and then screamed, bending over him, trying to lift him off the floor into his lap. 

“You fool, you fool, you monstrous fool!” he sobbed.

Sif’s own eyes were filled but she noticed something even worse: without Loki’s attention, the portal had begun to grow again. “Your Grace—the portal!”

“My brother!”

“The portal, Loki—you must seal the portal!”

The younger Prince looked up, seeing his work being torn open yet again, feeling enemies waiting on the other side. The Destroyer was down. The guards had turned on each other. Sif was all that stood between him and their enemies. 

And his brother was dead. 

But it was okay…Loki wouldn’t be long behind him. It was only natural that Thor go first, to lead the way like he’d always done. They’d stood together, and they would fall together, as it should be. 

“I’ll be right behind you, brother,” he murmured. “Promise.” Then he carefully lay the larger Prince down and rose with renewed fury to face the portal once more. 

Across the palace, in the Allfather’s chamber, a single tear slid down the King’s cheek. Frigga stood loyally by his side, her own blade in hand, and prayed and prayed and prayed for the lives of her children. 

Lady Sif took a harsh blow to the back that sent her forward, nearly knocking into Loki’s feet as he gritted his teeth and poured his rage and determination into locking the vault from its invaders for good. 

More guards were running toward the palace, but they wouldn’t reach the weapon's room near enough to save the lives of those already inside. 

At that moment, Heimdall noticed a furious light across the sky, as fierce and bright as the Bifrost, and quickly turned his gaze in time to see Mjölnir soaring over the eternal sea and racing toward the limp, outstretched hand of its assigned Warrior.

And the guardian did something he so very rarely did—he smiled.  

*

One moment, Thor was drifting, at ease and at peace despite the pain. It was a death he deserved for all he’d done, but he’d managed to it do while saving his brother. He’d fulfilled his promise: he’d helped him, fought with him, worked with him, and protected him. Loki would save Asgard, and Thor was content with that as his legacy.

But the next thing he knew, he was jolted upright, the spear flying out of his chest, caught up in a savage gust of light and heat. It hurt and shocked him infinitely more than being stabbed and dying had, and he didn’t even register the presence of Mjölnir, the return of his armor, the return of his power, in the confusion of the vault being awash in light, giants and soldiers shouting, Loki out of his sight and Sif shielding her eyes at his feet. 

One of the Jotunns had the Casket of Ancient Winters in his hands, and without even thinking, Thor hurled his hammer straight at him, hitting him square in the eye and sending the giant tumbling backward, the Casket falling uselessly to the floor. He caught Mjölnir easily and spun, rage and retribution ready to blast forth, but no sooner had he raised his hammer that he felt something inside him shift. It wasn’t peace that washed over him, but it was a strange, cool calm that quelled his normal, urgent blood-lust. His focus was sharper, and he felt before he even threw his hammer for the first time, that his accuracy would be even more deadly. 

It was Loki’s magic: the shadow of the moon, calming his desperation for vengeance and victory with strategy and clarity. He could see beneath the glamours, see the weak points of his enemies’ defenses, and feel the best and quickest ways to strike, and he could sense his command of electricity doubling and tripling, but without its usual frantic energy. 

He felt something else too: his own fire passing out of himself, across the vault and through his brother, but rather than draining him, each time one’s magic passed to the next, it seemed to return twice as strong. 

Thor knew what he had to do. 

He struck hardest and fastest at the glamoured soldiers near him, the ones closing in on Loki and Sif. He couldn’t call down lightning indoors like this, but he didn’t need to: he moved quicker and sharper than he ever had, fueled by the support of his brother’s magic. He could sense Loki burning the portal to his side, fueled by the fire of Thor’s own power, and it drove him to strike down the pretenders even harder. 

“HALT YOUR FIGHTING!” he roared at the remaining soldiers. “You’re killing each other!”

Half the soldiers had already stopped, in awe of the god of thunder’s return, and Thor barreled through them, sending those in a glamour toward the wall or the ceiling, faces and heads crushed as he moved. A fresh batch of soldiers poured down the stairs and Thor pointed to Loki and hollered “protect your King!” before turning and striking the false soldiers and unglamoured giants that lay along the path to the Casket. 

Two more Jotunns attempted to seize the relic, but Mjölnir made quick work of their efforts, and Thor was there to follow, striking down the still moving giants before setting his newly sharpened gaze on the glamoured ones. Off to the side he felt Loki setting locks far stronger than he’d set previously over the portal, and then, to his shock, he could see his brother casting protections over the vault, see beneath the flash of green light to the intricate molecules of the spells beneath, see his brother coating the walls and the floors in magical protections awash in the flames of Thor’s own fires. 

He turned again and again, hammer in hand, and could find no more living enemies. Sif got to her feet and called “Men—we must secure the palace, starting with the Royal apartments. WITH ME!” and took off for the stairs, guards clambering after her. Thor started toward the place he’d last seen his brother, breathing hard, feeling fully himself for the first time in a week—and then Loki was upon him, screaming and beating at his breast plate before he could even register the threat. 

“You FOOL!” he roared, pounding at the circles securing his cape. “You dreadful, simple, wretched fool! You just thought you’d die as some mad feat of strength? That you’d prove yourself superior in some suicidal sacrifice?”

“I thought I’d save my brother, and my King, and gift the Nine the leader they deserved, even if it was at the cost of my life.”

“Then you are the most wretched, stupid, arrogant, selfish Prince Asgard will ever know!”

“I am content with that,” Thor said calmly.

“You’re a fool, you’re a fool, you’re most wretched, awful, fool! I wish I’d abandoned you, I wish I’d forsaken you, I wish we’d never been born together, I wish I was alone, I want to be alone—”

Thor swept his brother into his arms and clutched him against his chest, even as Loki struggled. “I am sorry for your distress, my King, but as your brother, I regret to inform you that you’ll never be abandoned, or forsaken, or alone. If a thousand spears pierce me or a great flame sets me alight, I will fight my way to your side, and I will die happy to have protected you.”

“I hate you,” Loki sobbed. “I will hate you forever for daring to die for me!”

“Then we will see who outlasts the other—you and your hatred of me, or me and my love for you. I’m willing to bet I’ll win.”

“I despise you,” Loki sobbed, shaking fists tangling in his brother’s cape. “Oh, Thor—”

“I’m sorry,” Thor murmured, holding his brother away so he could look in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Loki. For all of this—for everything. Forgive me, brother.”

“Never. Never. I hate you, Thor, I hate you.” Loki allowed himself to be pulled back into an embrace and dug his fingers into the back of his brother’s armor, holding on with all the remaining strength he had. The elder Prince pressed his lips to the top of his brother’s head and breathed in the smell of safety and love and home, willing the momentary peace to wash over Asgard and last them all for years.

*

Frigga pulled them both in her arms, kissing Thor, then Loki, on the cheek, than pulling back to hug and kiss them individually. 

“Thor,” she murmured, placing a trembling hand on the side of his head. “Loki,” she echoed, doing the same. 

“We’re alright, Mother,” Loki said, forcing a smile, though it was clear he’d been crying. “Asgard is safe. Thor is truly home.”

“And you, my Moon, are burning with the magic of the sun,” she murmured, turning to touch Thor the same. “And you, my Sun, are steadied by the magic of the moon.”

“I swore I’d help my brother,” Thor declared. “My magic fulfilled that promise for me.”

“Not alone,” Frigga smiled, looking between them. “My children…there have been times when I feared you wouldn’t learn how to care for one another. Your Father and I will not be here forever, and loving someone isn’t the same as knowing how to connect with them. I wish it had not come about in this way…but you’ve opened yourselves as you never have. You must never close that connection.”

“Will Father wake soon?” Loki asked, turning away from her hand. 

“I know not, my sweet. But you have done well. More than we could have imagined.”

“This was never to be my burden,” Loki snapped. “I can bear it no longer. My brother died while I ruled. The Vault was breached, our soldiers slaughtered, Volstagg carted off to the healers unsure if he will live. I do not wish to be King.”

“You protected our people, raised a successful defense, sealed the portals, restored your brother. Your Father will be proud.”

Loki looked at Odin, sleeping, and whirled away in disgust. Thor gave his Mother’s hand a gentle squeeze and hurried after him, past the row of faithful—though clearly worn—guards as his brother stalked toward their chambers.

Sif was standing in the hall, looking every bit the fierce, proud warrior she was. “My King, my Prince, I am glad to see you are well.”

“As we are glad to see you, my Lady,” Loki said, only an edge of anger in his voice.  

“I regret to inform you that Lord Feykir is dead. He died with great honor, fighting for the family he swore his sword to.”

Loki’s face twisted in shock. “That…was not something I’d have thought possible.”

“He did manage to insult us all before his death…but he vowed he would let no harm come to the Royal Family while he had his life to give.”

“What did he say of me?” 

“It is disrespectful, my King.”

“Go on.”

“He referred to you as the ‘vicious little Silvertongue'…and Prince Thor as the ‘arrogant oxen.’ There is more…but we should discuss that in private.”

Loki smiled, sadly. “I admit…I did enjoy him. We will give him a grand funeral and a statue or mural as a memorial. Thor can oversee that. My brother has an exceptional eye for art.”

Sif nodded slowly. “You made me Commander of the Defenses. Why?”

“Because I trust you, my Lady. I asked for your help not long ago and you gave it. I knew you’d do the same now.”

Her big brown eyes dampened. “I doubted you this same evening. I can not tell you how sorry I am. I thought I had moved beyond those thoughts, and it troubles me deeply that I had not, especially when you kept your faith in me. Will you ever forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive, my friend. I must bear some responsibility for so many to think so poorly of me. It’s unfair of me to torment others for keeping secrets and have so many myself.”

She nodded. “I am very, very glad that you are well.”

“And I you.”

“Would it be treason if I were to embrace you?”

“It will be treason if you do not.”

Sif chuckled and extended her arms, wrapping them tightly around the younger Prince, then moving to Thor to do the same. “You look like yourself again,” she grinned when she pulled away. 

“I feel it, Sif," Thor smiled, "many times over.”

“I regret to ask this of you, my Lady, but come tomorrow I will need a report on the dead and injured. I already have envoys informing us on the health of Lord Volstagg,” Loki’s voice wavered, and his chin shook, even as he raised it. “The Crown Prince and I will need to promote a great deal of trainees and honor those who died a glorious death.”

Sif placed a fist over her heart and bowed, but Loki was already sweeping past her, striding surely toward their rooms. Thor followed, nodding to the guards, placing Mjölnir close at hand to their sofa, and trying to reach for his brother as Loki trembled and shook his head. 

“Don’t,” he mumbled, stumbling toward his room, “don’t…please.” 

Thor nodded, letting him go, the room feeling achingly empty without his brother. He took a deep, steadying breath, stripped out of his armor, found a fresh change of linen nightclothes, and took to their bath. His exhaustion, pain, and weakness were far gone and replaced with energy and life, and the ever-warm, soothing water helped him ease down and breathe again. He looked down at his chest, astonished at how untouched it was, when little more than an hour earlier, it had been impaled, his life ended…and he’d been at peace with it all.

It occurred to him then, that perhaps it was cruel, to be satisfied with his own conclusion without considering his brother’s. But when he thought back to that horrible moment when he realized Loki would die without protection, he couldn't bring himself to regret the choice.

He emerged after a time, dressed, and went to their common room, finding the smell and stains of the first false-guards’ death still lingering. He pushed their sofa closer to the fire and door, away from the mess, just as a light rapping at the door arrived and Thor called “come in,” relieved when Loki opened his own door and emerged, still fully dressed. 

A young healer bowed to them both and said “My Prince, my King, I bring word from the Lady Eir that Lord Volstagg will recover, though it will take time and require patience, healing, rest, and therapy.” 

“Thank you, friend,” Loki said. “Please send word to his family that they will be provided for for all their days, whether Lord Volstagg is able to return to active duty or not. And please send a large gift of meats, cheeses, wines, fruits, and flowers from my personal expenses to Hilde, and a seperate gift of toys, books, and sweets for his children. Replace the family’s personal furniture with palace-standard issue, and bedeck Volstagg's private berth with every luxury imaginable. Ensure he has at least one private healer at his side at all times, to monitor and alleviate any pain, and report to me every three hours if his condition is stable and immediately if it is not.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the healer bowed and moved off, the guards closing the door. 

Thor turned to his brother but Loki was already bent in half, breathing like he couldn’t get air in fast enough. “Loki?” he asked, starting forward, but Loki was shaking his head frantically. 

“Norns, oh thank you, thank the Norns, thank you, thank you,” he sobbed, and then did something Thor couldn’t remember him doing since they were children: he looked up, held out his arms, and stumbled forward. “Oh, Thor—”

The elder Prince had his brother in an embrace immediately, crushing him against his chest, murmuring “It’s okay, it’s alright, I have you. We’re okay, brother, we can get through this. We can do anything together.”

It’s the first time in years he’s said it, even when he’s always, fiercely, believed it, and it hits him then, that though his power is back, his learning is far from over. 

*

An hour later found them on the sofa, Loki slumped against the back, his armor discarded nearby. Thor had a supportive hand resting on his brother's shoulder, rubbing absently with his thumb.

“You’d have left me,” Loki finally said, true anger in his voice. “You’d have left me with your sacrifice. Never do that again. You swore we’d stand or fall together.”

“And so we did,” Thor murmured. 

“You had no idea death would restore you. Nor did I. It was cruel to do.”

“I’m the first born, brother. It entitles to me certain things, one being protecting you. I’ll never apologize for it.” 

“Which is why I hate you.”

“You’re free to do so.”

Loki reached out and gripped the end of his brother’s shirt, ringing it like he normally would his cape. 

“Laufey…he hated me, Thor. Not just because I was Aesir, or Odin’s son. He was specifically angry at me.”

“Of course he was—you are King.”

“No, it was more than that: he said I was hälfte geboren—half born, a disgrace to nations.”

“He’s a giant. We’re all small in comparison.” 

“You don’t understand. There was something personal there.”

“I understand,” Thor soothed, stroking his brother’s hair. “He’s a savage who was out to hurt our family, and Asgard, and he used the words that giants find the most offensive.”

“He was right…in a way. I was no match for whoever was maintaining those portals…and there were multiple portals.”

"How did your magic strengthen like that? I know Mother said we balance each other, but you use it around me everyday and I've never seen it that powerful."

Loki felt heat in his face. "Yes, well...I never asked for help before. I was calling out to anything that could make me stronger when you arrived. When my magic reached out, yours responded.”

Thor looked at him, shocked. "You mean to tell me, in all these years, it never occurred to you to reach out for my help?"

"Not mystically. I didn't know I could draw in the magic of others like that."

"You're lying. I don't need to hear a sound to know." 

Loki shrugged and continued absently twisting the end of Thor's shirt. "I hadn't need of it like that before."

"That's not true either."

"Don't be angry."

"If I am it's not at you."

"Don't...it does us no good. You need greater command of your emotions...perhaps I need less of mine. I've always felt I had to go it alone because no one would help, but I never ask for it either, so how is anyone to know? I was quite surprised with how everyone responded when I needed them this week. Perhaps if I was more open more often, people would trust me more in return.”

Thor slipped a hand onto his brother's neck. "I know it's hard, for both of us, to admit such things. But it terrifies me to think that you could be in danger of any sort, even if it's just your own thoughts, and won't reach out to me. It isn't just the burden of the throne or your safety that's worried me this past week: you haven't been caring for yourself as you should. Not eating, not sleeping. If your body doesn't collapse, your mind will.”

“I can’t help it,” Loki grumbled. “My mind races sometimes, and if I don’t give in and follow it’s trail I just lie in the dark agonizing over it.”

“Then perhaps we should revisit a sleep solution. What you gave me helped better than anything Eir gave me. Or perhaps you should spar. I know you mock me for my need for force, but it helps me focus and work off excess energy. Besides, I always love watching you spinning around the Einherjar.”

“So it’s a show for you then, is it?”

“It’s for you, but I’ll benefit.” Thor smiled. “Did I ever tell you how proud I was when you first beat Fandral? He was being such a pompous ass. He’d grown unbearable. And you finally whirled on him and said ‘To the pits. By order of your Prince.’ You had him down in less than a minute. I think you were up to seven wins before Tyr called you off.”

Loki looked at him with a frown. “I don’t remember you being there. I was training with Master Heimr and Fandral thought he’d heckle me.”

“Me, you, Fandral and Sif were to go riding that afternoon. He was there to meet up. When I saw him pestering you I was all set to put him in his place, but then you did it. I hid so you wouldn’t be nervous. I was probably too stupid and proud at the time to tell you how grand you were.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Loki sighed, but a soft smile lit his face. “Trying to lull me to sleep with bedtime stories. You’ve done it before.”

“I want you to rest, brother. I want you to eat, and sleep, and be at ease, at least for a few hours each day.” 

"Very well…I yield." Loki pulled away to the far end of the sofa and lay down, head on his brother's leg, yanking one of Thor’s spare cloaks tight around him. Thor chuckled and smoothed a hand through his brother’s hair. 

“The sun will be up soon,” the elder Prince pointed out. “You will need to speak to the Nobles and send messengers to the Commonwealth. And the Council will be half-mad: as will Tyr.”

"I've had it with all of them anyway. I proclaim you Prince Regent. You now have all the powers of the King and all the wisdom I’ve given you. You deal with the Court. I’ll be here for the next century or so.”

Thor laughed softly and moved to rub his brother’s shoulder as a knock sounded on their door. “Come in,” he called. 

A guard appeared and bowed deeply. “My King, my Prince, I am pleased to say that Odin Allfather has awoken and requests your presence in the throne room at once.”

Loki let loose in a tirade of languages: Thor wasn’t sure what all he was saying, but the bits he could glean involved astoundingly elaborate—and often scatological—acts of treason.

The elder Prince displayed his biggest, warmest smile and said, “My brother thanks you and says we will be there shortly.” 

Chapter Text

Alaric was standing in the hall, looking unusually somber. He gave a bow to Odinsons and said “A terrible night, Your Royal Highnesses. On behalf of your Father’s Council, you have the sincere and profound gratitude of the people for your great courage and wisdom. It is with immense relief that I see you both appear well.”

“More than well,” Thor said. “My power is fully restored. Mjölnir has returned to me. Undoubtedly the soldiers will spread that word, but the Council must also.”

“Indeed we will.”

“I’m sorry for the loss of Lord Feykir,” Loki said. “I know we had our differences, but he was a true hero tonight, to the House of Odin and to Asgard. We will personally have a monument or mural commissioned for him.”

The Chancellor smiled sadly. “I regret you only knew him in such poor temper. He was a devoted servant and a loyal friend. We will miss him terribly.”

“Have you briefed the Allfather?”

“A bit, yes. We were consumed with the current defenses and the efforts to identify and notify the families of the dead. There will be a mass funeral tomorrow evening, with individual memorials to follow in the weeks to come.”

“We will be a part of planning that,” Thor said.

“We’d welcome your support, my Prince.”

“I am Asgard’s Minister of Security, Lord Chancellor. I must be informed and involved in all official state business.”

“I welcome your presence on the Council, just as I do your brother’s.” He turned and looked intensely at Loki. “I know this week has not been easy, but I’d like to personally commend the skill and devotion you demonstrated on the throne, my King. You display remarkable gifts for one so young. I hope you will continue to attend Council meetings.”

“I am no longer your King. And I thank you, Lord Chancellor. You have given me great counsel.”

“I shall keep you no longer. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” He bowed, hand over his heart, and disappeared down the hall. 

Thor cast a questionable glance at Loki, who shook his head slightly. “Truth, all of it.”

“All?” 

“He’s remarkable. I warned you.”

“Well,” Thor sighed. “Let’s see if we’re both about to see Midgard again.” He gave a nod to the guard, who opened the heavy door to the Great Hall and allowed them through.

Odin was on the throne, reclined and well rested. Loki and Thor marched forward, pausing only to kneel: then Loki held Gugnir out in offering, and the Allfather raised his hand, the spear returning to its rightful owner.

“My sons,” he said. “I am very glad to see that you are in good health. I know this night has been fraught for you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve had several hours to adjust to the fact that I watched my brother die tonight,” Loki said. “Here I was thinking that his worth could be determined by his unwavering faith and support in my reign and his new interest and skill in politics. It turned out all he had to do was be murdered by a Jotunn.”

“Norns alive, Loki…” Thor muttered under his breath. 

“The lesson, as your brother I’m sure understands now, was of the value, and fragility, of life. The importance of sacrifice for your family and realm. There are many ways that lesson could have been learned.”

“By all means, if you’ve a silent test in mind for my worth, let us perform it. Sadly I have no grand weapon to restore me—though the Dwarves offered to forge me one. Strong enough to best my brother’s. Did Alaric brief you on that?”

Odin set his jaw. “I can feel your weariness, grief, and strain, my son. It is these things that keep me from punishing your tongue. But I will brook no further disrespect. The Chancellor has briefed me on some of the events of the week. Both of you have things to answer for, you most of all. Firstly, dismissing the head of my Security Council.”

“Technically Thor did that. I was hearing supplicants.”

“Nordenheim was your idea,” Thor snapped. 

“Promoting yourself was yours.”

“And whose idea was it to revoke your banishment and bring you back, mortal, to Asgard?” Odin demanded. Loki raised his chin. 

“You know very well that that was me,” the younger Prince said. “You appointed me Regent. Serving as such gives me the right to appoint advisors and do what a King would to secure Asgard. I did what I believed to be necessary.”

“You committed treason alongside your brother, disobeyed the order of my Council by infiltrating the weapon’s vault, and then took it upon yourself to undo my judgment and reinstate your brother as Crown Prince and dismiss one of my oldest Ministers and friends.”

“You neglected to mention that I also gave the ones remaining the absolute worst week of their lives by exposing them for the lying hypocrites that they are.”

“Don’t do us any favors, brother,” Thor moaned. 

“Your brother has proved himself worthy,” Odin proclaimed. “Name one reason why I shouldn’t cast you out to learn your own lesson.”

“Because I believe I know who opened the portals. And if I can prove who, than I can finally make my case for why.”

“I imagine your suspicions of my Councilors has not changed since we last spoke.”

“It has only grown stronger.”

“What proof do you offer?”

“None, yet. I have only what I saw tonight and a handful of notes. But I know where we can find more. I request that you send Thor and I to Vanaheim on a state visit. Their library has a far larger collection of magical texts and I wish to immerse myself in them, and I wish for Thor to thoroughly review their military, should we need to call upon them to protect ourselves from the Jotunns. I killed their King tonight—that will not be forgotten.”

“You forget I am the Minister of Security,” Thor said. “I have no intention of relinquishing that post.”

“Rœrekr, can fill in for you,” Loki replied. “He’s wanted it long enough. We’ll have reports brought daily via the Bifrost.”

“While we’re there, I want us to vet some Mages on our own. I don’t trust Alaric’s, and you can’t have our security solely on your shoulders. We must build a part of the Security Council that deals with magical threats.”

“That’s a wise move. And I daresay it may be fun to have some more practitioners about.”

“Have I been passed over now?” Odin snapped. “You, Thor Odinson, intend to serve as Minister of Security?”

Thor raised his chin. “I was promoted by the serving Regent. A week ago you deemed me worthy of the throne. Surely I am worthy of a Council position.”

“You’ve allowed your brother’s mistrust inside your head.”

“And I’m glad for it,” Thor gritted his teeth. “You were right—I was nowhere near ready to be King. I am not now. You’d have passed me off to your Council without any political experience. I’d have been their puppet on the throne.”

“You’ve had every opportunity to attend the procedures of Court. You chose not to take advantage of it.”

“That is not the behavior of a man who deserves to be crowned.”

“No, it is not,” Odin eyed him for a moment. “You have grown, my boys—both of you. Though I wish the circumstances had not been so dire for this to happen, I can not regret the outcome. I see before me two men I did not see a week ago. You have made your Mother and I very, very proud, and you will be great protectors and rulers of Asgard.”

“Will you send us to Vanaheim, then?” Loki asked. 

“If you wish. Thor, raise this in the Council Meeting tomorrow. Alaric will walk you through the standard procedures and reach out to Lord Njörd for your accommodations and schedules. The Security Council is always heavily involved for any Royal off-world business: it will be a good learning experience.”

Thor felt something release in his chest: the way Loki had spoken to their Father, he honestly thought he’d be back in Midgard by now. “When some of this chaos as passed, Father, I would like if you would allow Loki and I to travel briefly back to Earth to give gifts to those who sheltered me during my stay. And I would like to retrieve some books.”

“I would like to investigate their recording technology,” Loki admitted. “I’ve a thought on how to improve it.” 

“Of course you do,” Thor smiled warmly. Loki beamed back at him. 

“Very well, my sons,” Odin said. “That will be all for now. Loki, I forbid you from attending the Council procedures today. You’re in desperate need of rest. I’ll insist you have it.”

“You’ll hear no arguments from me. But, if I could have a few moments alone with you, Allfather?”

“Of course.”

He turned and smiled at his brother, whose ferocious stare bespoke of protection and worry, before he reluctantly nodded and left his brother and Father to the empty hall. 

“You served us all well, my son. You imparted many of the lessons I strove to teach your brother, but he heeded them coming from you.”

“Glad I could be of use,” Loki snapped.

“I mean to say, you were an excellent ruler, and proved a great teacher.”

“I suppose I should thank you and praise your wisdom and generosity, but I have something far more important to discuss. The night we undertook our ill-fated voyage to Jotunheim, a Frost Giant seized my arm, and it turned as blue as a Jotunn’s, with their markings. During the battle for the palace, when Laufey seized me, my form inadvertently shifted once more. If this is a curse, Father, than I beg you to tell me how to lift it, or remove me from those I may harm.”

“It is no curse, my son—it is a blessing of protection from your sedir. You were born with magic, just as we all were, but you developed yours to a Master level. When faced with the threat of physical harm from another’s skin, your form altered to protect you.”

“I’ve shifted many times and glamoured countless more, but never inadvertently.”

“You’d never encountered a being whose skin could bring you harm. Were you to lay your hand upon a demon of Muspelheim, you would undoubtedly shift to a being of fire. That is in no way to encourage you to test your sedir against various beings, lest you find one whose magic overpowers yours and you do in fact, end up a block of ice or wall of flames.”

“Laufey referred to me as hälfte geboren. Why?”

“It is a common insult among the Jotunns. It means ‘half born’ and refers to the size and strength of another. Children who are too small, even infants, are cast out to freeze, and even those born of full-strength and size are tested out in the elements. Those who do not survive are referred to as hälfte geboren. They frequently referred to the Midgardians as such, and they taunted our soldiers with it during war.”

“He said I was the ‘disgrace of nations, the drain of resources and ender of lives.’”

“Not you, my son—the hälfte geboren. The Jotunns' resources are scarce. To take from them and not provide, even as a child, is seen as a grave sin.”

Loki felt a sudden dread in his chest. He wished he hadn’t asked Thor to leave—he missed his brother’s fierce protection, knowing Thor would be furious that anyone would dare call Loki a name that would question his worth. Even when he didn’t believe it himself, it was nice to have his mighty warrior brother, with his unwavering faith, overbearing and unquestioning, at his side.

“It was the cruel words of an enemy, my son,” Odin assured him. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Though I may not show it, hearing your story fills me with rage and grief. Were I to tell your brother, he would tear Jotunheim to pieces, and I can’t say I wouldn't support him. We are born with no control over our outward appearance, our sizes and shapes, who we love and why we love. It took me thousands of years to learn that, and I regret every day I did not.”

“So that explains it,” Loki said bitterly, “you’ve no reason or knowledge of why you love me.”

“I have endless reasons, and it seems you surprise me with new ones nearly every day. But that is not truly what you’re asking.” Odin’s expression softened. “We are alone here, my child. Tell me what it is you fear.”

But Loki wasn’t sure himself—only that there was something floating on the very edge of his conscious that he couldn’t grasp, and, in truth, was afraid to try. “Nothing, Father…I think I am fretting needlessly.”

“You’ve had a terrible trial, and you’ve weathered it far greater than even I expected, and certainly beyond what your brother would have done. I’m proud of you, Loki. I hope you now understand that your role as second son was never meant to be less than your brother’s.”

“I am more determined than ever to make sure the throne passes to Thor. He can have all the glory he wants: I will happily make do tormenting his Councilors.”

Odin chuckled. “Alaric said he hopes you continue to do so. I believe he enjoyed you. You’re quite alike, you know.”

Loki smiled, hatred and self-loathing washing over him. “Believe me, Father. I know.”

*

Thor was relieved when Loki went straight to his bedchamber, pulling his armor off as he went. “I can’t believe you actually wore your nightclothes underneath that,” Thor chuckled. 

“I don’t care anymore. Banish me to Midgard. At least I’ll be in comfortable clothing.”

“I really thought he would, the way you were speaking to him.” 

“I watched you die tonight,” Loki snapped. “Because he felt you needed to ‘learn a lesson.’ All these long years, he never once forced you to sit through a day of court, or attend a week of Council meetings, or sit with the Ministers. Then one day he changes his mind, casts you out, promotes me on a whim, and is grateful we’re all not dead.”

“Brother…you need to sleep.”

“I will,” Loki grumbled, yanking back his blankets. “But first—Vanaheim. Tell the Council we want tours of all their facilities, and to sit in on one of Njörd’s Council meetings. Suggest to them that I might like a tour of the Temple of Mages and the Citadel.” 

“What’s this about you wanting to visit their library?”

“I could care less for their library, brother. It’s their warlocks I’m after. And you may enjoy yourself as much as you like with their soldiers, but what I really want is you to get eyes on their growth and skill.”

“And what of Hogun?”

“I meant that assignment for him regardless of how he feels about me. It occurred to me this week just how little we interact with the lower Nobles and the Commonwealth. We rely on all these layers of reports, unless a supplicant comes to the throne room, and of course then he or she is in need and frightened. For all we know the people didn’t think twice about this unfortunate week, and the Council is simply trying to make us panic.”

“Very well. Try not to worry further, alright?”

The first light of day emerged outside the windows, and the early morning birds began to sing. Loki sighed and lay back on his pillows, pulling the blankets over him.

“I need to sleep,” he mumbled. “Not just need to sleep: I want to sleep.”

“Well, this is the place for it,” Thor chuckled. 

“I thought you’d go flying. I know you’ve missed it.”

“I can’t right now: I’m the head of the Security Council, remember? I need to change and go to my meetings in an hour or so.”

“My brother going to a Council Meeting. I’ll never get over it,” Loki smiled. 

“I don’t think I will either.” Thor looked out the window to avoid his own embarrassment. “I wish you were coming with me, though.”

“It’s better this way. They’ll be more open with you. Make notes, soak in all you can, bring your reports back here, and we’ll start combing through this mess together.”

“Very well.” Thor smiled and gave his brother a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Rest easy, alright?” he turned for the door, but Loki gripped his vambrace, tentatively, the same shy grip he’d had when he’d asked for Thor’s help after his nightmare.

“Would you mind sitting with me for a moment?” he asked, carefully avoiding his brother’s gaze. Thor smiled and settled back at his brother’s side, combing through Loki's dark hair with his fingers before rubbing a broad hand on his back. 

“I hope you weren’t planning on being alone in this room anytime soon, because I plan on serving as your footstool for the next several weeks at least.”

“Hm,” Loki sighed, Thor’s ministrations clearly making him drowsy, “I’m too tired to object.”

There’s so much Thor’s feeling at the moment, so much he wish he could put into words—how proud he is of Loki, how lucky he was to have him during this week, how sorry he is how this all unfolded, how he’ll never, ever, let anything hurt him again—but when his brother relaxes under his touch and drifts off to sleep, he simply feels overwhelmed with honor, because Loki trusts him like he already knows. 

*

“Papa!” Rolfe cried, eyes wide with excitement. “There are two Einherjar here to see you!”

Volstagg attempted to shift his shirt and prayed he looked somewhat like a warrior, and not just the bed-ridden patient he'd been for the past week. “Best behavior now,” he cautioned. “Allow them in.” 

Two soldiers appeared, with their normal straight, serious faces: they carried a package wrapped in fine leather and golden thread between them on a small silver tray. 

“Lord Volstagg, Great Warrior of Asgard, Savior of the Nine Realms, Protector of King Loki of the Long Week and Prince Eternal—His Royal Highness, Prince Loki, begs you to accept this small token as gratitude for the sacrifice you made during the Battle of the True Warriors of Courage and Truth versus the Treaty Breaking Masked Cowards.” 

How do they come up with these bloody titles? the Warrior marveled. 

“Thank you. You may place it here,” he indicated the bedside table. The two soldiers placed the tray down and waited for him to remove the parcel before lifting it. He imagined both the Princes would be mortified at the grandiose display—Loki was never one for great ceremony or fuss, and the handful of times Volstagg had witnessed Thor give gifts, he announced what they were as they were given—“it’s spearheads!” “it’s a book!” “it’s a painting!”—too excited to wait for the reveal. 

“The Prince was at pains to stress that this gift is for your eyes alone.” 

“I shall treat it with the utmost solemnity.” 

The guards give a slight bow and leave, closing the door behind them. Volstagg can hear Hilde shuffling the children away. He carefully unwrapped the ties, then the leather, revealing a second wrapping of silk the smelled vaguely of the Allmother’s perfume, before revealing a slim, leather-bound book with gold embossing. 

He feels a pang of hurt and the usual shame at being unable to make sense of the simple shapes that glitter up at him, but he trusted there must be a reason Loki would have sent such a gift, so he opened to the first page. 

There’s a perfect reproduction of the royal family portrait that hung above the throne. Then there’s a telling green shimmer and the Loki in the portrait steps out, wearing more relaxed clothing, and eyes the painting of himself. 

“Do I not look like the embodiment of evil here? I couldn’t tell whether to have the artist flogged or sent to my chambers for pleasure when I saw this awful thing.”

Volstagg started. “Loki?” the Prince turned and grinned up at him. 

“I’m sure you find this alarming, but I’m not actually here. I must beg your forgiveness for the delay in this gift, but it required my brother and I to take a little journey back to Midgard so I could duplicate the technology they use to capture and record themselves. I then vastly improved upon it, of course. If you would be so kind as to turn the page?”

Volstagg did as he was told, and the fake-Loki strode in from the left. “It seems the Midgardians aren’t entirely witless. While I went to examine their lovely little devices, I also managed to do a bit of research into their education practices. And it turns out that the struggle you have so long born in silence is not at all unheard of amongst their people, and rather than disparage such children, there are many programs available to aid and support them. 

“I was quite taken with some of their tactics. I do plan on employing several in my grand quest to raise my brother up from simpleton to functionally dull.” Volstagg chuckled. “But for you, my dear friend—I simply can not allow you to live with even the slightest shame. It pains me terribly. As your Prince I forbid you to carry it a day further. We shall face this enemy as one until all the words of the universe are helpless before you. If I speak too fast, you need merely ask me to slow down. If you need me to repeat myself, command it. If you would like to review anything you see, you need merely turn the page backward or forth. 

“You will find each of these early leafs are devoted to a single letter, which we will attack from a great many sides until you are unable not to recognize it. And in the pages that follow, we will begin placing them together. Close the book at any time to silence me. You’ll be happy to know I’ve enchanted it so even if another happens to open it, they’ll see nothing but that wretched family portrait and blank pages to follow. Now, if you would be so kind as to turn the page once more?”

Volstagg did as he was told. Loki strode in once again from the left side and cast a flash of green upward so that an all too dreaded rune appeared above. As if sensing him, Loki turned and smiled warmly. “What a terrible looking thing, truly. Something like Fandral’s mustache collided with Sif’s spear, yes?” Volstagg was surprised to realize just how accurate the likeness was. “We shall remember it as such. And now, if you’ll indulge me, let us review some small words where it appears. Worry not for the other letters or the word as a whole; we shall merely treat this as a scouting expedition.” A number of other runes rapidly appeared. “Here, you see; these other letters are as mindlessly dressed as our dear Einherjar…but behold! Our letter emerges bedecked in the great and bold red of the Mighty Thor’s fashionable cape.” With a quick flash, the runes took on a pale brown hue while the one still prominent above the talking Loki grew bright red. “Now this rune is not so terrible, is it, when it reminds us of three friends? Shall we seek it further?” 

When Hilde returned to check on him, she was surprised to see that her husband looked as though he’d been crying. He shut the book he held so carefully in his large hands and placed it on the table as she approached him. 

“Are you in pain?” she demanded. 

“Quite the opposite,” he grinned and took her hand. “There are two things in my life that I can claim with absolute certainty that I have done right—swearing my ax to the house of Odin, and marrying you.”

The picture Loki refers to can be found painted above Odin’s throne in Thor Ragnorock: I literally had to pause the DVD and have a ten minute laughing fit because OMFG why does Thor look like Jesus and Loki like the joker IN THE FAMILY PORTRAIT. That alone justifies the first Thor movie. 

Also there are no other pictures of Frigga or Loki on the wheel, only Odin and Thor, just in case HALF the family gets it in their heads that they’re important too.  I wish we could get them on Dr. Phil.

Chapter Text

Thor had always known his brother to be light and quick, but seeing him up against another Vanir trainee was astounding. 

They both sped up as they grew to sense the others’ skill, twirling, ducking, leaping to avoid the others’ sparring spears. Loki tossed his in the air at one point, hit the ground, rolled, tossed a conjured dagger and grabbed the spear as it dropped in one smooth movement. His combatant was equally fierce, wielding his spear in circles as Thor twirled Mjölnir, dodging his brother’s conjured weapons and, at one point, catching the Prince mid-air and moving to drive him to the dirt before Loki shoved both feet against his chest and back-flipped out of his hold. 

They circled around and around like mad dancers, their breaths coming hard and fast as each attempted to gain some slight advantage on the other. 

“Come on, Your Grace!” the Vanir grinned, “all the stories we’ve heard of you as a cunning sorcerer…show me. Show me the trickster of Asgard.”

“Ah, but which one?” Loki asked, as his doubles broke and split. The Vanir lunged for the Loki who had been before him; and passed right through. “When your enemies can’t determine which you are,” another said, “we have a dreadful advantage,” said the third. 

“You split your focus, royal viper,” the Vanir spat, and then he was leaping and bearing down on a fifth duplicate, fiery certainty in his pose. The doubles all leapt up to meet him as one, and there was a great smashing of wood as the real Loki and the Vanir collided mid air in an explosion of green that skittered and smoked across the sand of the training ground. Thor clenched the railing so hard his hands ached. 

When the dust and seidr cleared, Thor saw his brother standing with a foot firmly planted on the Vanir’s chest and a dagger at his eye. The Vanir held his hands up in surrender, a huge grin on his face.

“That was the greatest fight I’ve had in years!”

Loki’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed. “Happy to oblige,” he grinned, spun his dagger before tucking it away, and offering a hand to the fallen soldier.

“The trickster lives up to his name…and bests his reputation. You’re in magnificent form, Your Grace.”

Thor let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The Jotunn invasion was still too close, and he'd never enjoyed watching Loki spar with equals. He was always so skilled in the field that Thor enjoyed his moves and trusted him to look after himself, but when an opponent of equal or greater measure appeared, it went against his instincts not to join in and help his brother. 

Loki looked up to where Thor stood and beamed at him; Thor applauded and took to the stairs to join his brother and the Vanir. “That was quite a spectacle, Sir…?”

“Simply Oron, my Prince.” The soldier grinned. “Your brother is a fearsome opponent.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Do you two spar?”

“On occasion.”

“He always cheats,” Loki griped. “He hits his damn hammer on the ground and we all go down before we get to start.”

“Ah. So I should not ask for a round with you?” 

Thor chuckled. “It appears you and my brother have destroyed your equipment.”

“I can not even say how. I’m not sure which direction you struck from.”

“You had it right, friend,” Loki grinned. “Even Thor here has never not fallen for that. You could show him a thing or two.”

The soldier clasped Loki’s vambrace. “This was the greatest honor, my Prince. To spar with Loki of Asgard is a dream of many of us who trained with Master Heimr. He always said we’d never best you.”

“Master Heimr is kind, but I believe he was merely obliging my station.”

“Since when have I ever obliged my little sidewinder?” a deep voice called. Thor and Loki spun around to see a tall, slim man with a salt and pepper beard standing peacefully in the arena entrance, a sly smile on his face. 

Loki gaped, and then broke into a disbelieving grin. 

“Forgive me, my Princes,” Oron said, “but he was rather insistent I not alert you to his presence.”

“I wanted to see my student at work without the chance to prepare for his old teacher.” He crossed toward them and opened his arms, palms held out as if to reach for Loki’s, but then the younger Odinson was flying toward him and embracing him fiercely. 

“Master Heimr!” 

The man embraced him just as tightly. “My brilliant, brave Prince—what a wonder you are! Even finer than I remembered!” He pulled back and placed a hand on the side of the younger Prince’s face. “How proud you’ve made me, my boy. All my long years and countless warriors, never has one bested you in my heart.”

Loki looked ready to explode with joy, and it suddenly hit Thor that he never saw his brother like this: exhilarated, celebratory, beaming with pride. Odin certainly never spoke to his sons like that, and the rest of Asgard—Thor included—tended to mock the Prince’s fighting style and magic rather than celebrate it. 

“You only say that because the Allfather paid you best.”

“Indeed not. Oron here is easily one of the finest I’ve ever had as well, and you took him to ground.”

“To be fair, he can’t cast.”

“Than that is his failing, not yours.”

Oron rolled his eyes at Thor. “This is all he ever says to us. ‘When I was personal Master of War to Loki of Asgard…’”

“Oron is a fantastic opponent. I recognized a great many of your teachings in him,” Loki interceded. 

“Sweet boy,” Heimr murmured, brushing a hand over Loki’s cheek. “You were so gentle when I was given to you. I feared for you terribly. And then I put a dagger in your hand and you came alive.”

“I was small. I was shy. I wasn’t as strong as the others. You were the first to ever tell me those things could all work to my advantage.” 

“And look what you’ve become.” The men gazed at one another in clear adoration before Thor cleared his throat. Loki started and blushed. 

“Oh—Master Heimr, you remember my brother, the Crown Prince?”

The elder man did a double-take. “My word! Thor Odinson? You’re practically a Titan!”

Thor chuckled. “It’s wonderful to see you, Master Heimr.”

“How fares Master Tyr?”

“He is General now for nearly two decades.”

“General! Should I fear an invasion?”

Thor chuckled. “To this day, when Loki and I quarrel, our Mother says ‘You’re no better than Tyr and Heimr.’”

“How he hated me. He thought all us Vanir beneath him. He sought to crush all of my Prince’s natural skill. And when the day came that I unleashed my little sidewinder on his behemoths and watched them fall…oh his face gives me such joy, to this day. He was near purple with rage.”

“We remember,” Thor grinned. “The Allfather and I certainly enjoyed it. That didn’t help matters.”

“Those great fools bumbling about, knocking into each other like drunken giants, trying to get eyes on my Prince—and all of that without a bit of magic!”

Loki was blushing, sheer joy on his face. “Can you stay and tour with us?”

“Actually I had hoped you would join me for a drink, if your schedule permits it.”

“Oh—the Crown Prince and I are set to tour the armory this afternoon, and then the shipyards.”

“Tomorrow perhaps?”

“We have a Council meeting in the morning, and then Thor will visit the smiths while I pay a visit to the Warlocks.”

“The Warlocks,” Heimr scoffed. “They may as well be Midgardians pulling rabbits out their hats.”

“You know about the hats?”

Thor put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You go. I’ll tour the armory.”

“But—”

“Oron will accompany me as a second set of eyes and ears.” The Vanir perked up.

“I’d be greatly honored, Your Grace—to spar with Loki of Asgard and hear the councel of the mighty Thor in one day! I believe I may enter Valhalla afterward.”

Loki locked eyes with his brother. “I feel I should be there…”

“I will be detailed and dutiful, brother. I swear it,” he said. “Go on.”

“Thank you,” Loki murmured. “And thank you, Friend Oron.”

“A great day, Your Grace.” 

Loki turned happily to his former teacher, who smiled warmly and put a hand on his back as he ushered them off.

“They appear so familiar,” Oron marveled. 

"Our Masters of War were responsible for more than our training with weapons or our conditioning; they also tutored us in military history and strategy. Tyr and Heimr sharing that responsibility was an education in itself.”

“Did you train under General Tyr then?”

“He wasn’t General at the time, but yes. Asgardians are trained in infantry fighting and defense. Odin worked with me as well, to help me learn to control and focus my power. It was far too dangerous to attempt working with lightning in the middle of a sparring ring.”

Oron smiled. “So was Master Heimr hired only for Prince Loki?”

“He was. What he said was true—Tyr was brutal on my brother, for being smaller in size and shy in combat. At first I enjoyed being doted on, but that quickly vanished when I saw how anxious and unhappy Loki was becoming. It’s not in my nature to allow my brother to be bullied and stand idly by.” 

“I was much the same, Your Grace. Not of royal or noble blood, of course, but I was quite shy and uncertain in my youth. Master Heimr taught us all how speed is its own strength, and to be shy is a great weapon of surprise against an enemy.” 

“I fear I’ve suffered none of those issues. If anything, my brother besting me in a fight was a terrible blow to my ego: and a necessary one. It certainly was not the last.”

Oron nodded. “Shall I escort you to the Weapons Master?”

“If you please.” Thor grinned. “And if I may ask a favor—please introduce me as ‘Crown Prince Thor Odinson, Minister of Asgard’s Security Council.’”

“Truly?” the soldier asked. 

“Truly.”

“Surely ‘Crown Prince,’ is a far more important role than that of a Minister.”

“Perhaps it is—but Minister is the only title I’ve ever justly earned. I want it known.”

“So it shall be.” Oron gave a slight bow. “After you, Prince Minister.” 

Chapter Text

The Vanir armory wasn’t so very different from those back home, with the exception of the large forges for weapons—the spears and blades used were provided by Asgard in limited quantities. Thor had learned as much in prepping for their visit, under Loki’s careful guidance. So he was alarmed when he saw just how packed some rooms were, with more than just spears: there were maces, glaves, scythes, metal-tipped whips, and what looked like remnants of old siege weapons. 

“I ask you to forgive the appearance of some of these rooms, Your Grace,” Lord Patrekr, the Vanir weapon’s master, said. “We often purchase excess weaponry from Asgard at reduced prices, and a great deal of this equipment is outdated. From time to time, Lord Eisnarr, the Minister of Trade on the Allfather’s Council, will request we send old weapons to be melted down and used by the smiths, so we hesitate to destroy it.”  

“I did not see these caches reported to the Security Council,” Thor said.

Oron raised an eyebrow as if to say well?

Thor was growing fond of the young warrior. 

“I regret that, my Prince. Perhaps it’s because it is so rarely used.”

“I’m sure Lord Eisnarr has copies. Prince Loki and I will attend a Council meeting tomorrow—I will raise the issue then.” 

“I had hoped we’d welcome the Prince as well. Though we always enjoy seeing Oron.”

“I was able to spar with him earlier,” the man boasted. “He’s even finer than Master Heimr always says.”

Patrekr smiled. “Well, my Prince, let me show you to our Mages’ quarters.”

“You have a Mages’ quarters in your armory?”

“Of course.” The man lead them up out of the darkened hallway to one with several windows overlooking the sparring pits below, than unlocked a set of heavy metal doors that opened inward to a large gallery, painted with murals and shining with stacked glass cases containing every crystal imaginable. Wands, orbs, cubes, pyramids, cut and uncut, clear and opaque, and in the center of the room, a long table covered with all sizes and shapes of scepter, empty of stones. 

“Many of our Mages have their weapons custom shaped for their preferred stones,” Patrekr explained, “but when they are going on specific expeditions, they often wish to bring crystals that could help enhance a particular power. If you see here,” he lead them down a row to a case of crystals ordered from from light to dark, “these are our weather crystals. The bright, pale yellows help with casting sun and heat, and at the bottom, the black are terrible, hurricane-like storms. And everything in between.”

“My sister often works with them on our parent's farm,” Oron said. “She gets dreadfully cross if we try and touch them though.”

“I’d no idea,” Thor gaped. “My brother never works with crystals.”

“I imagine the practice is different for a warrior who can also cast,” the arms Master said. “Prince Loki is spoken of a great deal here for that ability. We have a long and noble history of great Warriors and great Mages, but very few who attempt to combine the two skills. To master one takes tremendous focus and discipline, and to lose focus on one, in battle, is tremendously dangerous.”

Thor shoved the image of Loki sealing the portal out of his thoughts. “So your Mages have official military positions?” he asked. 

“Indeed, Your Grace. Even small scouting parties often bring a Mage along, to review the area from above disguised as a bird. Their magic is invaluable to our Warriors. As you see here,” he lead them away from the case to the mural behind, “our Masters of Magic helped extensively in the Jotunn-Aesir War for Midgard.”

Thor felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath him. The mural on the wall showed his Father, the Einherjar, the Vanir, and, on the hills behind them, rows and rows of Mages, hands outstretched and painted with seidr that shifted and glowed before his eyes: above them, the sun rose and poured down over the Frost Giant troops. 

“This…is never spoken of on Asgard,” the elder Prince managed. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but it is known that the Aesir are not so terribly fond of magic. But yes, the sunstones in that case right behind you, combined with our practitioners, delivered a terrible blow to the Jotunns. They counteracted the Casket of Ancient Winters and provided light and heat for the soldiers to ease their fight. It slowed the giants considerably and permitted large groups of civilians to evacuate.”

Father built that Council, he built the throne and the Nine and there are lies around all of it. They call to me when I try to sleep—this whole palace echoes with them.

Thor did his best to refocus, to remember what it was he was here to do, to put on a calm, collected appearance as his brother could. 

“Did you fight in war with Jotunheim?” he finally asked. 

“I did indeed, Your Grace.”

“Have you any knowledge of the phrase ‘hälfte geboren?’”

The General’s face fell. “Indeed, my Prince. It is a dreadful practice.”

“What does it entail?”

“It largely refers to babies who are born too small to survive…what we would deem as ‘runts,’ in a litter of puppies, for example. In their case, it is children who would only grow to be about the size of an average Aesir or Mortal. It is a child unfit for the harsh conditions of the Jotunn realm, and to give birth to a child of that size is deemed bad luck and a sign of displeasure from the gods. So the babies are abandoned, usually in the mountains. If several are born at once, they are cast at out simultaneously as an offering to the gods in the hopes the souls will unite and be reborn as an exceptionally powerful warrior.”

Thor swallowed, hard. “That is a dreadful practice…but I have heard of similar across the galaxies. Some Dwarf populations practice it, and several societies on Midgard.”

“I suppose the case could be made that it is a mercy not to raise a child who will know only suffering, though I admit to find it unconscionable myself.” 

“As do I,” Thor forced himself to focus on the task at hand. “Is the term used otherwise?”

“It is used to refer to children who do not return from their Trials of the Storm. Growing up, Jotunn youth are frequently taken into the mountains during bad weather and left to find their own way home. If they do not survive, they too are referred to as half-born. King Laufey referred to all mortals as hälfte geboren when he sought to conquer Midgard, and I heard the term from the mouths of more than one soldier.”

“Would a giant call another giant by that term?”

“Saying so is the same as declaring a fight to the death. If the one called half-born wins, it is seen as a great honor. If he loses, he too will be referred to as hälfte geboren.”

Thor shook his head. “Is that truly all there is to the Jotunns? Size and strength?”

“And endurance. They are a race of monsters, Your Grace. I thank the Norns daily that my realm will never again have to face them.” 

“As am I,” Thor said, and smiled. “This has been wonderfully informative. I hope you won’t mind if I bring Prince Loki back later in the week. Perhaps if some of your Mages could speak with him?”

“I imagine they would all want to be here, Your Grace. We shall have to see who the honor will belong to.”

“We had a whole day of sparring to select the warrior worthy of going to the pits with the Prince,” Oron beamed. “I beat down twenty men for the honor of being defeated by Loki of Asgard.”

“You mustn’t tell him that. I’ll never hear its end,” Thor chuckled. 

“Shall I accompany you to the shipyards, my Prince?” Oron asked. 

“Please,” he said. “And thank you once more, Lord Patrekr.”

“The military of Vanaheim is at your service, Your Grace.” 

Thor waited until they were at a safe distance before he spoke to the younger warrior. “Keep your eyes straight ahead, and listen to me carefully,” he said, putting a large smile on his face. “And look at ease.”

“My Prince?”

“Do you have access to the armory?”

“Of course. I frequent it for sparring equipment for Master Heimr’s students.”

“I want you to give me a full accounting of the weapons in those rooms. Tell no one what you are doing, put the numbers in writing, and deliver them personally to no one but me or Prince Loki.”

“It may take several days Your Grace.”

“We are here a week. If anyone asks say you are making a report for Lord Eisnarr and that I will be negotiating a trade deal on his behalf, as a fellow Council Member. Tell no one what I have asked you. I hope I do not regret trusting you.”

“Never, my Prince. It is the highest honor imaginable.”

“Prove yourself a true friend of ours, and we may have an official position for you…even if it requires you to behave somewhat unofficially.” 

“Master Heimr was right when he said we should never underestimate the Princes of Asgard,” Oron said, clear awe in his voice. 

“Pray to Valhalla that he was,” Thor murmured.  

*

The architecture of Vanaheim was older and more dated than Asgard’s, heavier on stone, with narrower passages and towers and smaller rooms, but it still felt close enough to home that the Princes had always enjoyed their visits to their Mother’s homeworld. 

The greatest difference, however, was the casual, common presence of Mages and magic. 

The stone columns of the palace were painted with vines of morning glories that opened and closed as the sun changed. The ceilings held birds, butterflies, clouds and stars that rotated and moved in slow, lazy shifts, and when Thor and Loki had left the banquet hall their first night to return to their rooms, the shadow of a man holding a large lantern fell into step beside them and illuminated the way. 

As he made his way across the courtyard to the palace now, he saw flashes of seidr—blue, red, yellow—as birds turned to courtiers or a courtier turned to a bird. There was a fountain that would sing if you dipped your fingers into it, and several deep black basins where courtiers would gather to pray or scry through space. 

While the Aesir tolerated Mages, the practice was uncommon, and he’d only known a handful of practitioners outside of his brother and Mother. There was the general opinion that magic was dishonest, the work of women and men ill-equipped to fight or earn a living honestly. Thor remembered how Darcy had asked him if his brother had Mage friends about, and he wondered what it would be like if they’d grown up in a place like this, where there would have been plenty of friends for them both. 

Thor shook off the thought as their host, Lord Njörd, bowed to him at the top of the stairs. 

“My Prince, I hope you have had a splendid day.”

“Indeed, my Lord. Prince Loki thoroughly enjoyed the sparring partner you appointed him, and I’ve found your armory and soldiers to be Asgard’s equals. And there simply aren’t words to tell you how magnificently beautiful your palace is.” 

“I hope your know the Queen, my cousin, your Mother, had a great deal to do with that. She planned the initial layouts of these very gardens and, as a young girl, enchanted the Fountain of Song.” The Lord extended his arm and walked with him toward the banquet hall. 

“Do you practice yourself, my Lord?”

“I’m afraid I hadn’t the patience for it. I was far more interested in accounting, trade, and history, even from an early age. Especially when it became clear that Lady Frigga would be marrying the Allfather, and as her cousin I would be the Warden of Vanaheim.”

“I wish my own interests had skewed in that direction,” Thor admitted. 

“You needn’t concern yourself with such business, Your Grace. You are the face of strength for us all. Your Council will handle the dull business of State.” 

Not so long ago, Thor would have agreed. It seemed more and more incredible that Loki had thought him capable of any of this—the entire Nine seemed satisfied with a dimwitted warrior holding the throne. It was more than a little disconcerting. 

A page bowed at the door to the royal dining room and said “My Prince, my Lord, I’ve been sent by Prince Loki with word that he will be dining with Master Heimr this evening.”

Thor smiled, cheer returning. “Thank you.” Casting aside duty to dine with an old friend was exactly what his brother needed—and the elder Prince liked to think it meant he trusted his older brother as a substitute. 

Although, as he dined with the family and their Councilors, he felt his brother’s absence almost as strongly as he’d felt Mjölnir’s. They were here to investigate, and Thor wasn’t at all confident that he could pick up on all the nuances and details that his brother could: and of course, he had no distant ringing to indicate when someone lied. He’d vowed to never let his brother down again: he didn’t want to break that promise a month later, on their first independent state visit. 

He excused himself early and walked across the courtyard to their rooms, enjoying the cool night air and pausing by the fountain to stir at his Mother’s old magic. Several nightingales sang nearby, and he wondered if any of them were glamoured mages trailing him. He supposed he could give them a light dose of lightning to find out, but then he imagined Nobles running outside and finding their gardens littered with dead birds and thought better of it. 

When Thor returned to his chamber he found a messenger from the Bifrost waiting with a large leather pouch full of the day’s Council reports. He thanked him and took the papers to his room, washing and changing into his sleep clothes before settling in to read through them. He still marveled that this was now how he spent at least an hour every evening: had anyone told him five weeks prior, he would have thought them mad. 

He heard the door open in the room beside his and the sound of his brother’s footsteps moving about, and then Loki knocked lightly before swinging open the door connecting their rooms. 

“There you are!” he said, as if Thor had been the one missing all night. 

“There you are,” Thor grinned. He could tell by the overly-large smile and slightly drooping eyelids that his brother was deep in his cups, a theory proved right when he crossed the room and sprawled across the foot of the bed, still fully dressed. 

“Oh brother,” he sighed, “I’ve had far too much to drink.”

“I can see,” Thor chuckled, the irony of him sitting up sober and covered in state papers while his younger brother lay drunk at the foot of the bed not lost on him. Maybe it was growth on both their parts. 

“I’ve missed Master Heimr so very much. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of him.”

“Really? You never speak of him.”

“What good would it do? He’s a realm away.”

“If you missed him that much, you should have gone to visit, or had him to court.”

“I visited,” Loki chuckled. “He even told me he knew it. I never could fool him. He’s so wonderfully clever.”

“What do you mean?”

“Over the years, I’d sneak off to Vanaheim, glamour myself as some new recruit, and go through the day’s training. Anytime I showed him my skill he’d always, without fail, say, ‘you’ll never be my Loki of Asgard.’ He told me he thought that the temptation would be too great, that I’d release the glamour and reveal myself. But the truth is, brother…I was so jealous of all those who were his students. I didn’t want to be sent away.”

“You never told me this,” Thor said gently. 

“I wouldn't be telling you now if I wasn’t so very drunk and so stupidly happy. He was my closest friend. He was my only friend, really, for so many years, outside of you. Only he and Mother ever saw my shortcomings as potential skills. When he said he was to return to Vanaheim, I cried for days. Mother had me shut away in the healing rooms, she was so worried. She told everyone I had a terrible migraine and mustn’t be disturbed.”

“I remember that,” Thor murmured. “I visited you, when you were asleep and all the lights down. Mother wouldn’t let me speak.”

“Did you? That was kind.” Loki beamed at him. “I felt I’d die if he left, truly. And then, of course, I had the Awful Dream, just as I knew I would.”

“You knew?” Thor turned his brother’s head to look into his eyes. “You think you know what triggers that dreadful thing?”

“I thought…that summer, remember? When the dream nearly did us both in?”

“Of course I remember—I was sick with worry.”

“It wasn’t until later that I realized…we were to seperate that month. I was excited, honestly, to fill my own common room with books and a huge desk and I could be as compulsive as I wanted about keeping things neat and no one would criticize me.”

“Our common room is overrun with books and your desk and I never criticize!”

“You just said it’s ‘overrun!’” 

Thor opened his mouth to protest—and then thought better of it. Loki was sharing things he never had, and Thor needed to hear them, not argue his brother’s version of events.  

“You think that’s what brought the dream on?” he asked instead. 

“Hm,” Loki sighed and closed his eyes. “I didn’t at the time…but it only stopped when Mother suggested we stay in our rooms for awhile longer. And then I thought back, and it all made sense.”

“What did?”

“The first time I ever had it, Father had taken us to the throne room and told us only one of us would be King, and you were first in line. Then I had it when I was separated for training…and again when Father rode off to battle in Nordenheim…and when Mother toured for the spring…and just last month, when you were cast to Midgard.” He tossed an arm over his eyes. “I’m alone in it. I need help and no one comes. It’s about abandonment.”

“Loki.” Something pulled hard in Thor’s chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wish I hadn’t. I’ll hate myself tomorrow if I remember it.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d snuck off to Vanaheim? How did you sneak off to Vanaheim?”

“Through the portals scattered around Asgard, the secret paths between the realms. I don’t know all of them, but I can feel them when I get close. You know I’m a terrible sleeper, so sometimes I’d transform to a bird and go searching. I actually found Svartelheim first, then Midgard, then Vanaheim. Father didn’t tell you?”

“Father knows?”

“Of course he does. Just because I avoided the Bifrost didn’t mean I left Heimdall’s gaze. The first time I snuck over, Odin was waiting when I got back. I was furious at Heimdall, honestly, because if he could see me sneaking off then he could also see how much I missed Master Heimr. He said it was his place to report threats to the Allfather, and my leaving Asgard unaccompanied was a grave threat my safety.”

“It was—it is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I had a glamour on. I looked like any other Vanir recruit.”

“I would have gone with you.”

“Even in a glamour, brother, you’re no new soldier. You were besting Tyr by the time you were sixteen.”

“You could have made me some old man then, watching.”

“I can look after myself. Besides, I thought you knew. Father and I had a terrible row about it, and I wouldn’t go near the Observatory for almost a year.”

“That’s why?”

Loki moved his arm. “Why else?”

“Father said you found our expeditions childish.” 

“Father said you and the warriors found me childish.”

Thor was stricken. “You? You’ve always behaved more maturely than me. Half the time the Allfather all but charged you with Nannying us.”

“No matter, I saw right through Odin. You were always overplaying every trip you took off-world, hoping to tempt me into joining you on the next one.”

Thor blushed: he’d truly thought that had been crafty of him. “I’ve never liked us being apart. I need your counsel, even when I’m an arrogant fool and ignore it.”

“I know.” Loki’s gaze softened. “Heimr and I were talking today, about when he and I first met, and the terrible fuss you put up over our being separated. I believe that’s when you began to hate Alaric.” 

“I can’t remember not hating Alaric.”

“I don’t think of him as having any consequence until he came to tell us that I’d be training with a Vanir Master independent of the rest of you.” 

Thor hadn’t thought of that moment in years, but it came back all too clearly now: the shock, the horrible anxiety of separation—their very first!—the rage that the Chancellor had the nerve to walk into a room and take Loki away from him. “We’d done everything together until then. Even when we fought, we’d sulk and glare in the same room afterward.” 

Loki chuckled. “I remember. But Alaric was just following the Allfather’s command.”

“Father should have told us himself, on our own, so I could have raged in private.”

“That’s why Odin sent him to take the brunt of it. Father always deflects blame. Have you noticed just how many conversations you and I have had these past few weeks when we realize he’s told us both vastly different versions of the same event?”

Thor had—but he’d been trying not to. He had lived his life in the certainty of the Allfather’s wisdom and justice in all things: he wasn’t sure what would happen if he lost that absolute. “The Chancellor’s always been too happy to do Father’s dirty-work.”

“I don’t recall him being happy. He’s always wanted you to love and trust him: he needs that to maintain his position when you come to power.” Loki tossed an arm back over his eyes, smile widening. “How adorably wrathful you were. You barely reached his stomach; you had no lightning or hammer or even a training spear, but you stood toe-to-toe with one of the most powerful men in all the Nine and ordered him about like an equal. ‘Take my brother from this room and I’ll have the guards throw you from the rainbow bridge, you wicked old bilgesnipe.’”

“How terribly ungracious. I’d never say such a thing,” Thor teased. Loki chuckled.

“I knew you were meant for the throne that day. I was so intimidated by the Chancellor and the Council. They were already yours in your fearless little mind.” 

Thor gave in to affection and reached out to pet his brother’s dark head. “You’ve always been my dearest friend. Anyone who seeks to challenge that should beware.”

“Hm,” Loki sighed. “How I’ll hate myself tomorrow if I recall telling you any of this.”

“I’m glad you did. You should get drunk more often.”

“Then I’ll be as mortifyingly sentimental as you.” 

“I believe you are, you just hide it deep down in that mysterious darkness you try so hard to cultivate.”

“Hm,” Loki sighed. “Perhaps.” He relaxed deeper into the mattress. Thor continued to run a hand over Loki’s hair, occasionally brushing his brother’s forehead with his thumb, until the younger Prince’s breathing was deep and even in sleep. 

Thor sat watching him for a moment, feeling more than a little unmoored. 

He hadn’t the faintest idea that Loki was lonely, or sneaking off to Vanaheim, or combing for ways to avoid the Bifrost, or longing after a teacher he saw as his only friend. He’d thought his brother happy enough, if more studious and moody then himself, but seeing the look on his face today, when his skills were rightfully lauded, made him realize just how far removed he was from understanding his brother’s true feelings. 

He felt stupidly mortal all over again.

Thor rose and pulled the blankets down, covering the sleeping younger Prince. He removed his brother’s shoes. He quietly moved a table close to Loki’s side, filled a glass with water, and told one of the guards outside their door to send a servant back with fresh lavender, which he then placed on the table by his sleeping brother. When Loki woke, he’d find the same ingredients he’d used to ease Thor’s hangover the week before his failed coronation. 

“Sleep well, little brother,” he murmured, then crossed to Loki’s chambers to take his own rest. 

Chapter Text

*

Thor was reading through Council reports sent by the Vanir Security Council when Loki stumbled in from Thor’s room, rubbing at his face and holding a glowing purple glass in the other hand. 

“I’ll never drink again,” he declared. 

The elder Prince grinned. “We both know that instinct will vanish when you’ve ingested your water there.”

“That was kind of you to leave,” Loki said, taking a long drink before crossing to sit in the chair opposite the desk. “My brother reading Council reports. I’ll never get over it.”

“Nor will I,” Thor chuckled, and held out the sheet of paper he had in hand. “The Vanir Security Council sent me some records, and I can’t make heads or tails of them.” 

“Hm,” the younger Prince shook his head and took it, blinking at the writing. “Oh. These are Ward reports. Locations of magical protections and warnings and if there’s any disturbances to them, and when they should be refreshed.”

Thor sighed. “You will come with me today, to the subcommittee, won’t you?”

“Of course. Until my appointment with the Warlocks, that is.”

The elder Prince frowned: they’d been debating this for weeks. “I wish you’d let me accompany you. If they are the ones who created the portals...”

“Then they’ll already be on edge having one Prince there, let alone one who also practices. Walking in with ‘the Mighty Thor’ is liable to send them into a panic.”

“And what do you think they’ll do if they panic?”

“Nothing, other than shut down and not share any of the information I’m hoping to get.” He smiled warmly. “They’re not going to hurt me, brother. Whoever they worked with certainly might, but not them directly. They wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to magically conceal themselves if they wanted to be known.”

“Just…be careful.” 

“I will.” Loki polished off his water and shook his head. “Norns, I lost track of time and drinks. Thank you for enduring dinner alone last night. I hope you weren’t too angry with me.”

“Not at all. You needed that.”

“I did,” Loki sighed and settled back into the chair. “It occurred to me, last night, that it may be time to forgive Fandral.” 

Thor startled. “Fandral?” 

“I’m sure he’s desperate to get back to Court, and he’s always been loyal to you. With Volstagg on possibly permanent leave and Hogun here, we need allies.”

“You expect me to keep company with the man who betrayed my brother?”

“I don’t expect you to ignore everyone who has a negative thought of me. You’ll have no Court if you do.”

“I’ve no wish to see him again.”

“I’m not talking about liking him, I’m talking about using him. He’ll obey you, and quite eagerly, wanting to prove his trustworthiness. Someone like that could be invaluable in negotiations.” 

Thor set his paper aside and studied his brother closely. “Why are you bringing him up now?”

“Because I feel we may need Vanaheim’s military support, eventually, and Fandral would be a great advocate and envoy to their troops.”

“And it has nothing to do with you reuniting with Master Heimr?”

Loki startled. “Of course not.”

“Really? You reunited with an old friend, so you think I should reunite with one of mine?”

Loki blushed. “Fandral’s hardly an ‘old friend.’ He was one of the closest until a few weeks ago.”

“When he betrayed you to the Council.”

“He was deep in his cups.”

“Loki. If you truly believe I value Fandral’s friendship over yours, then we should discuss it, no matter how difficult it is for us both.”

“I don’t,” Loki said. “Maybe once I did…but no longer. I feel we need to rally the support of Vanaheim, and he’d be ideal to help us do so.”

“I think we have a better candidate here—what did you think of Oron?”

Loki shrugged. “He was terribly flattering. Too much of that would irritate me.”

“He’s bright, and eager, and nearly besotted with you. I’d bet he’d be loyal.”

“Were you truly so taken with him? What did you two get up to yesterday?”

Thor filled him in on the armory, the ships, and his private request that Oron make an independent study of the weapons accrued in the stores. Loki frowned at that. 

“What concerns you?” he asked carefully. 

“I don’t know…it’s probably nothing. I wish you’d been there to see if he was lying.” 

“You have a warrior’s instincts,” Loki reminded him. “If you felt something was off, I trust you. We’ll see how Oron’s numbers compare with what’s been reported to us.”

“Well it’s safe to say you’ll have your pick of Mages. I couldn’t believe their equipment.”

“You mean a bunch of giant rocks. Do you really want me running around with one of those in my hand in the midst of a fight?” Loki teased. 

“If it’s useful.”

“Crystal work is complicated. The stone requires a lot of time and attention to align to the energy of the wielder. And they only respond to specific casts, so while it may be useful to cast sunlight, I couldn’t then cast duplicates or pull a knife.”

“What about in groups? Did you know they fought against the Jotunns?”

The younger Prince worried at his lips with his fingers, his common anxious habit. “Master Heimr told me that story once. I thought he’d invented it to make me feel better about my own interests. But it is a great use of magic. Crystals can be wonderful for combining and amplifying multiple seidrs.”

“Could we do it? The way we drew on each other’s magic that night in vault…could we combine ours in a weapon?”

“To what end?”

“Well…they have storm crystals. Some capable of causing hurricanes, he said. If you combined our magic through one of those, with my lightning—”

“We’d likely destroy a realm.” Loki chuckled. “For a moment I thought you’d actually developed an interest in magic.”

“Lightning is my magic!”

“Why do you want to make it even more powerful?”

“I just wondered if we could. Combining our power is probably what won us the battle in the vault.”

Loki smiled. “We can practice. It could be fun. Your lightning and my magic...if we could combine the two, we could be nearly unstoppable.”

Thor grinned back. “Do you think it’s worth it to have a weapon of your own? A scepter, or something? Maybe the Dwarves could craft something for you.”

“If this is about ‘Stormbreaker,’ you’re welcome to it. I’m not going to run around with one of those unwieldy beasts in my hand. And I daresay if you get an even larger weapon, people will start to wonder what it is you’re compensating for.” 

Thor huffed. “I was trying to have a serious conversation.” 

Loki’s expression softened. “I’m open to strengthening my magic, but not if it’s going to interfere with my ability to cast. I’m not just a Mage, brother—I fight. I need my hands free to alternate between my blades and seidr.”

Thor nodded and looked at the magical report. “I’m going to ask the Vanir Security Council for advice on how to establish a magical subcommittee for us. Will you head it?”

“Of course.” 

“What if we invited Master Heimr to consult with us? He and Oron know how the Vanir military is set up to include Mages.”

Loki’s expression instantly shuttered. “We can’t take Vanaheim’s Master of War and one of its top warriors in one bout. And Heimr’s family is here. He has two sisters and he’s very close with them and their children.”

“He wouldn’t have to live in Asgard full-time. He could just come once a month or so.”

“Stop it,” Loki snapped. “This is precisely why I never told you. I knew I’d regret it.”

“Loki—”

“No. I knew you’d either mock or pity me.”

“I’m not doing either!”

“Then quiet. I don’t wish to speak of the stupid things I said last night ever again.”

“I want you to be happy, Loki,” Thor pleaded.

“Happiness isn’t in our future, brother. There will be moments of it. Maybe even entire days. But we’re to rule, and that means making decisions that will leave us scarred. A joyous ruler is a foolish one.”

“You’re imposing that on yourself.” 

“It’s not in my nature to be otherwise.” Loki waved a hand at him irritably. “Now go next door so I can change. Pull any magical reports out and put them in a pile so I may review them. And also, if the weapon’s cache makes you nervous, you don’t need Eisnarr’s permission to purchase them. You can run it through the security budget and give him a copy of the report as a courtesy. If he makes a fuss remind him of the time he secured an enormous supply of what he thought was Uru and turned out to be Midgardian steel. Everyone was angry about that. If Alaric was ever going to cry, he probably did then.”

There was no use trying to change his brother’s mind when Loki got like this—Thor knew better than to try. Instead he gathered up his papers and said “call when you’re ready to go down,” and quietly shut the door between their rooms. He’d have to think more like his brother in order to slip happiness into Loki’s life without him realizing and resisting it. But of all the challenges he’d weathered the past few weeks, this one he truly looked forward to. 

*

Thor had just left the Smiths workshops and was heading back toward the palace when he saw Oron climbing up the hill from the training pits. He smiled and headed in his direction, relieved when the younger Warrior took the lead and bowed, a relaxed look on his face. 

“My Prince,” he greeted him. “May I walk with you to the sparring pits? I wondered if you might spare a few moments to observe our advanced recruits.”

“Of course,” Thor said, and fell into step beside him. “Are you well?”

“I had a sleepless night, Your Grace, but I believe you will be pleased.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He held out a hand, and the younger man slipped a carefully folded paper into it.

“You told no one?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Do you think you were noticed?”

“I hope not. I stayed all through the night, when no one was about.”

“I’m deeply grateful to you. And I know Prince Loki will be too.”

“The Prince is not with you?”

“He’s visiting with the Warlocks. They were eager to demonstrate their skill to a fellow practitioner.”

“They’re a rather dull bunch. Some of our Mages are far more entertaining.”

“Well, we have no such official groups in Asgard. There are very few practitioners and they all work alone.”

“There are no official Mages in the Royal Household?”

“Only the Queen and my brother.” Oron frowned to himself. “You said your sister is a practitioner?” 

“Oh yes. She's quite gifted. Our farm was very small and struggling when we were growing up. She arranged her own apprenticeship with a Mage several villages away. She’s helped our whole town since.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud of you, living here in the Capital, serving as a renowned Warrior.”

Oron beamed. “She is…but she’s younger. It doesn’t take much to impress a younger sibling.”

“Spend a day with mine,” Thor sighed but smiled back. “I’ll wait here; go down to the pits and get your trainees to perform some maneuvers. I am in your debt.”

“Thank you for your trust, Your Grace,” Oron bowed and took off to the stairs leading down through the armory. 

A servant appeared a moment later, holding a tray with wine and water, gave a bow and said “Lord Patrekr sent me from his private kitchen, as thanks for your observation, my Prince.”

“Thank you,” Thor replied, and took the wine, aware that he was, in fact, being watched. He was going to have to get Loki to teach him how he sensed the other Mages nearby. “Could you please convey a message to Lord Patrekr that my brother may wish to see the crystal room?”

“At once, Your Grace,” the servant bowed and made his way back toward the armory. 

The elder Odinson spent several moments observing, finding his heart speeding up: any further agitation and he risked generating a cloud or two. He forced himself to breathe and then carefully opened the paper, taking in Oron’s accounting. 

Last night, awake in the dark of his brother’s room, Thor had spent several hours wondering just what he would do if Oron’s numbers showed a much larger weapon’s collection than what had been reported. He’d thought it would help him weather the surprise, to be ahead with a plan in place, the way Loki always did. 

It didn’t. 

5500 spears. 250 ballistas. 200 scorpions. 4500 maces. 1250 scythes. 2000 glaves…

“There you are,” Loki said, coming up on his left side. Thor turned and started. 

“What in the Nine—”

“The Warlocks are terribly enthusiastic about potions.” 

“Your face…your eyes!”

Loki chuckled. “I know. I’m as blue as a Jotunn and my eyes about as red.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not at all. The drink would have been refreshing, had it been summer.” 

Thor reached out to slip a hand on his brother’s back, ensuring he was well, more for his own sake than for Loki’s. The younger Prince smiled, took Thor’s wine from him, and drained the goblet in several quick gulps. “Norns that was awful,” he grumbled, and gestured to the returning servant for more. The man bowed and disappeared down the stairs once again. 

“What all did they do?”

“Nothing I couldn’t have done with a few years of magic. Other than ply me with potions. Honestly, they’re about as strong as one of those ‘witches’ of Midgard: terribly invested in stones and herbs and rubbing oils on everything.”

The servant climbed back up the stairs, bowed, and handed them both fresh goblets of wine. Thor smiled at him. “Would you mind fetching my brother and I some ale, please?”

“At once, Your Grace.” 

Loki blinked several times. “Is it wearing off?”

“Gradually.”

“Neanderthals.” 

Thor made sure the servant was out of hearing before looking back down over the training grounds. “Well?” he asked.

“Individually they’re virtually powerless and terribly dull,” Loki reported. “But as a group, they’re quite strong; far more so than I anticipated.”

“Powerful enough to open a portal into Asgard?”

“Easily. Though their rituals are quite long. A great lot of needless ceremony and chanting. If we could get a spy in with them, there would be ample time to disrupt their spells.”

“Did you feel they would? That they were hostile?” 

“I feel that they’re hungry for recognition. As I said, they’re terribly unimpressive as individuals, but they’ve found a way to make themselves extraordinary as a group.”

“What would it take to get a spy in their midst?”

“To scout and vet a young mage, train them to cloak themselves and their true power, gain the warlocks trust and admission to their order…ten years? And that’s being terribly optimistic.”

Thor sighed and leaned against the railing. “Can’t you get in as a rat or something?”

“Of course I could, but how exactly is that going to coincide with my formal duties? Won’t they catch on that I’m absent from every royal appearance while vermin mysteriously infest their temple?”

“What if I were to take Mjölnir and smash the whole damn temple down?”

“Then I would ask you to wait until the mead arrives,” Loki smiled. “If I may suggest an alternative plan, one less entertaining but possibly more constructive?”  

“Will it take ten years?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “The warlocks have a large crystal orb they use to scry with. As a group, they can use it to observe anywhere within the Nine Realms. I imagine, when I tried to get to the source of the portal, that was where my duplicate landed. If I could spend a day or two with it, I believe I could copy the enchantments on the crystal and reverse the spell so we may observe them through a connection of our own.” 

“Would they allow you into the temple for that long?”

“Never. But they couldn’t refuse an order from their Crown Prince to allow a humble craftsmen into their rooms to try and copy the sphere for your beloved brother’s Name Day.”

Thor smiled. “I see. ‘My brother has scarcely stopped speaking of that lovely bit of magic since we departed Vanaheim.’” 

“And my dutiful brother would like a replica—it won’t be functioning, of course, but it will be a warm reminder of our splendid visit to this magnificent realm.” 

“And you are to be the humble craftsman?”

“Who better?”

Thor chuckled. His brother’s ingenuity never ceased to amaze him. “And you trust me to lie? Brother, I’m honored.”

“I trust you to write a glowing letter. You have a ways to go before you can appear less than honest in person.”  

The servant returned. Thor smiled, thanked him for the mead, and said “I’m terribly sorry, but could we have some fruit, please?” 

The servant looked slightly disheartened but replied with “At once, Your Grace,” and turned back toward the palace. Loki took a long, hard drink. 

“Should you be mixing potions, wine, and mead?” Thor frowned.

“Oh, most assuredly,” Loki grinned, then held the glass up to the light, trying to ascertain how blue he remained in his reflection. “I must say, I’m the handsomest monster I’ve ever seen.” 

“Bring me that potion, and I’ll show you how a proper Frost Giant should look.” 

“They also come in Dark Elf, Bilgesnipe, Dwarf and Faerie.”

“And Aesir?”

“Conspicuously absent.”

“But you think they could have cloaked the Jotunns in Aesir forms?”

“Most certainly. What I can’t quite make sense of is why? It’s one thing to want to show off: it’s another to threaten retribution from Asgard and Vanaheim by conspiring with the Frost Giants.” 

“Unless Vanaheim sanctioned the invasion.” 

“For what possible purpose?”

“Independence.” Thor nodded to the training arena. “Their army is twice as large as they reported. If they continue to build at this pace they’d match our numbers within the year. What they lack in armor they make up for in speed and flexibility—you know as much. We’re powerful as infantrymen, but our soldiers are slow to turn, and helmets limit visibility. I remember the endless fights you had with Father about removing yours.” 

Loki looked genuinely surprised. “They’re still no match for you and the Allfather.”

“Except the Allfather was asleep and I was banished.”

“And you think they’d ally with Jotunheim?”

“If you were going to raise an army against Asgard, who better to ally with? The Jotunns loathe us. If they could successfully strike first, turn our focus to Jotunheim, infiltrate our army with Frost Giants in disguise, then a strike from the Vanir would be devastating.”

The Servant returned with fruit. Thor seized his and his brother’s still full glasses and smashed them to the ground. “Another!” he snapped, sending the man scurrying backward. Loki raised his eyebrows.

“That was unkind.”

“There’s no peace here.”

“The Lords will be coming next: I’m sure some bird took off to tell Njörd you’re out here on your own. You must be calm.”

“They attacked our home. They assaulted our Mother and tried to kill our Father. They tried to kill you.”

“We don’t know that.”

“What else makes sense?”

“Thor, look at me—” Loki seized his brother’s arm and turned him. “We don’t know that. Put that in your mind and shove it down until your heart believes it. You show them any hostility or suspicions and you risk our advantage, do you understand?”

The elder Prince took a deep breath and nodded. He’d been watching his brother work for weeks—he could do this. 

“Assuming this is true,” Loki said slowly, “what do we do about it? Conscript them to Asgard?”

“No,” Thor said. “They’ll suspect we’re onto them, and the warriors will resent leaving their home. We must make it an honor. We’ll establish benefits: exceptional pay, superior housing, a private tavern or two, an elite force of the Asgardian army made up of our Vanir brothers. Oron and Hogun can be our envoys—Oron will collect all those who admire you and Hogun can appeal to the loyal Vanir that this is for the good of the realm. We’ll join the new recruits at a banquet as ‘the mighty Thor’ and ‘Loki of Asgard, the silver-sidewinder’ welcoming them to our ranks. The Council’s been eager to show favor to the Vanir, so we let them. You can come up with some benefit in exchange for taking their warriors. Put that silver-tongue to work.”

Thor turned to his brother, surprised by this expression on the younger Prince’s face: Loki was staring at him part in awe, part in bafflement. “What?” he asked. 

“Are you my brother? Truly? Strategizing, thinking the worst of our allies, planning for the future…when did this occur?”

“Somewhere between landing in the desert of Midgard and a monster trying to put a spear through my brother’s heart.” Thor glanced back; the Nobles were indeed coming, armed with servants carrying platters and trays in an obvious bid not to let the Princes alone. “Do you think I’m foolish?”

“Brother, I think you’re brilliant. I’ve been agonizing over this plot for nearly a year, and you may have put it all together in an afternoon. Were it not for our audience I could very well kiss you.” 

Thor felt a burst of joy: after all his failures, to make Loki proud felt like a blessing he’d never thought to receive again. “They’re coming,” he warned. 

“And we know none of this. Think it in your head, put it in your heart.” He turned and beamed at their hosts, ignoring the shocked gasps at his still reddish eyes and pale-blue face. “My Lords, we couldn't have asked for a more splendid day!”

Chapter Text

Thor was working on tying his trousers closed when Loki opened the door to his room with no warning. 

“Hey!” he cried. 

The younger Prince stood there in his official court-wear, face twisted in distress. “Am I still blue? I think I still look blue!”

“I’m not yet dressed!”

“Oh, stop fussing. We bathed together for several centuries.”

“I try not to think of that.” He reached for his undershirt. Loki stalked past him to his mirror and mourned over his face. Thor wanted to point out that if he opened the door and caught Loki with so much as half his stomach exposed, his brother would throw some serious magic and a great deal of anger his way. But per usual, he already knew it was a fight he wouldn’t win. 

“My eyes aren’t clear either!” the younger Prince moaned. 

“Everyone knows you went to the Warlocks. No one minds.”

“I wouldn’t have tried their stupid potion if I knew it wouldn’t fade even after a night’s sleep!”

“I highly doubt that.”

Loki traced several darker lines on his cheek and the light, crescent-moon marking on his forehead. “It’s funny…not all the giants had those markings. I thought perhaps it was paint of a kind. But it occurred to me, yesterday, that what I remember of Laufey’s face bears a resemblance to spell-work. But it’s as if it was embedded in the skin…or enchanted. As if their magic is hereditary.”

“Is that important?” Thor asked, buckling himself into his armor. 

“It’s just curious, is all. We know very little about them, really, aside from how they fight.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything more than that.”

“I’m sure they think the same of us.”

Thor thought back to his foolish incursion on Jotunheim and felt his temper rise. “Must you start in on me this early?”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m thinking aloud, about the length and potency of the Warlock’s potions. And I’m disconcerted resembling a Frost Giant. In case you’ve forgotten, I decapitated their King.”

“And we killed dozens of their soldiers, sealed two of their portals, and still hold their Casket. I can’t imagine they’re in a hurry to engage with us again.”

“We don’t have any way of gathering intelligence on them. Odin and Alaric won’t even consider establishing an embassy, or even trying to negotiate an official treaty.”

“I think those options are off the table after they snuck into the Vault.”

“But we won. Laufey is dead. There’s new leadership there, that or Civil War. It’s the best time to try and speak with them.” Loki rubbed absently on one of the darker blue stripes and Thor felt dread rise in his chest.

“I know that look,” he snapped. “Don’t even think of it.”

“What?”

“You’re thinking of getting your hands on some of that stupid potion, creeping off through one of the portals between the Realms, and trying your hand at spying.”

“I was thinking that, but the potion didn’t adjust my height. Maybe they didn’t give me the full dose, or additional is magic is needed to complete the glamour.”

“Maybe your seidr is resisting it.”

“I’d feel that.” 

Thor secured his cape and crossed the room, taking his brother’s shoulders and turning him from the mirror. “If you truly want an Embassy, we’ll raise it with the Council. Feykir still hasn’t been replaced: whoever takes his seat may be more accommodating.”

“Forget it—it’ll be Lord Abjorn.”

“Who?”

Loki rolled his eyes and tried to shrug free of his brother’s hands, but Thor held him fast. “We had this conversation, brother—Alaric’s son-in-law. Alaric wants him to be your Chancellor.”

“Loki, do not attempt to engage the Jotunns alone.”

“Stop fretting—any chances of that were ended when I killed Laufey.” 

“Promise me you won’t plot anything without telling me.”

“Stop fretting.”

“Loki!”

“I promise!” He squirmed again. “Unhand me. You act like I’m the one who got myself killed!”

“Don’t—” Thor pointed a great finger at his younger brother’s face and glared at the door when someone knocked. Loki took advantage of the moment to make his escape and let a servant in. 

“Forgive me, Your Royal Highnesses, but Lord Njörd requests your presence in the Council chamber. He says it’s urgent.” 

Thor felt his unease flare once more, but when he glanced to Loki, his brother looked calm. “We’ll be there momentarily,” he said, and then gestured for Thor to go first. “Go on, Minister of Security.”

“Don’t make light,” Thor grumbled. 

“I’m not,” Loki insisted. Thor stomped ahead of him, but a moment later his brother’s hand rested on his back, pressing against the armor in reassurance. “Look,” he said, and pointed to the ceiling. 

Normally the halls and public rooms would be decorated with bright blue sky and brilliant sun at this hour, with the occasional white cloud and the slow, lazily drifting birds and butterflies. Now, however, Thor noticed gray clouds had moved in, and the birds had flown to the sides of the ceiling as if perching on tree branches, peering down at them or calling silently to one another. 

“It feels your magic,” the younger Prince said. “Yours is of the weather, just like the enchantment that tracks the sky. It can tell you’re worried. And if you do this—” he abruptly smacked Thor across the back of the head with all his strength, causing him to shout “HEY!” and lightning to burst out across the painted ceiling, sending the birds silently flying in shock. “It’s amazing! I must learn it.”

“You slapped me!” 

“You are just fussing at everything today, aren’t you?”

Thor gaped at him as his brother gave him a sly smile and strolled ahead. Several weeks ago he’d given his life to save this man, and now he was fantasizing about multiple, graphic ways he could crush it right out of him. 

The clouds on the ceiling followed along as he walked, casting a shadow through the hallway. Loki met up with him again and fell into step beside him, and after a moment, Thor felt himself start to settle ever so slightly. He attempted to focus on his own magic and was surprised to feel his brother’s easing in, sending some of his own intemperance out into Loki while Loki sent calm back. 

“Your energy is powerful,” the younger Prince admitted when Thor looked at him. He was frowning. “It must be difficult, being full of fire all the time.”

“It was easier when I could go about hitting things all day long," Thor grumbled.

“You blame me for that as well?”

“I don’t blame you.”

“You’re lying.” Loki stopped and grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and turn. He felt his brother’s magic seep deeper into him as some of his own set out toward the younger Prince. “You are worried. What is it?”

Jotunheim. The Vault. War. Death. 

The past few weeks had been so packed with meetings, memorials, his brother’s careful lessons and the handful of stolen hours they’d used to comb through Vakr’s old reports, that Thor had managed to convince himself that everything was well in hand. But Loki was right—they had no true way of knowing, without any means of communicating or viewing the Jotunns, which is how they’d been so blind to both attacks in the first place. 

And preventing those attacks was now Thor’s ultimate responsibility. 

“If what you say is true,” Thor said slowly, “then we will continue blind with the Jotunns. I’ve assumed responsibility for Asgard’s safety, but I can’t do anything against the Chancellor or the King. What good am I then?”

Loki’s face softened. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Maybe you should be Minister of Security.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You understand more than I.”

“And I appointed you to that post, because I have faith you can manage it. I will copy the Warlocks' crystal, we will recruit some fellow Mages, and we will find a way to observe the Jotunns that won’t threaten anyone’s safety. If the Allfather continues to refuse an Embassy, we will find a way to get word to them that you plan to establish one when you come to the throne.” He gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s hear what they have to say. I bet you’ll be surprised how your instincts guide you. If they don’t, I will. And if I can’t, we’ll blame it on Alaric. That’s the gift of being a Minister.”

Thor managed to smile, genuinely: Loki looked up at the ceiling and beamed. “There you are!” he said, as the clouds grew lighter and blue appeared again. Loki fed him a little more magic, and Thor felt himself steady. “Come along, brother. Let’s see what our host is fussing over.”

Njörd was red-faced when they entered, standing at the head of his own Council’s table and waving his arms about. The other Lords rose hastily to their feet, and Njörd calmed enough to turn and bow to the Princes. 

“Good morning, Your Royal Highnesses. Forgive me for disrupting you so very early, but a security concern has arisen, and we thought it best to inform you.”

“We’re grateful to be included in your Council, my Lord. It’s an honor,” Loki smiled warmly. Thor made his hands into fists and leaned against the table. 

“Report,” he said, none of Loki’s cheer in his voice. He got a sharp elbow from his brother for that, but kept his eyes fixed on their host. 

“We received word last night from Lord Bodolf, who oversees the town of Hæthum, that there was unrest in the early evening. He sent several of his personal guards to investigate, and they were killed. During the night, a mob formed and appears to be rebelling against his rule. We have sent our finest warriors, and a scouting Mage, as well as a messenger to the Allfather.”

“Any idea of their numbers?”

“Less than one hundred, Your Grace.”

“And their weapons?”

“They appear to be no more than hunting and farming equipment.”

“A rebellion doomed to fail then.”

Njörd looked distressed. “We simply don’t have the resources and numbers of Asgard. Even small uprisings may endanger the Capital.”

Thor fixed his eyes on the Lord in what he hoped was his fiercest stare. “If that were true, my Lord, I would be concerned as well.”

Njörd flushed. “My Prince—”

“My brother and I will ride out and take a look,” Loki said. “If you’d be so kind as to point us in the correct direction.”

“I know you’re very skilled, Your Highness, but I can not permit my Princes to endanger themselves while you are here on a State visit.” 

“We’ve been on far more dangerous excursions.”

“I’ll fly out,” Thor said. “I’m the Minister of Security and the Asgard’s most powerful Warrior. I’ll coordinate the efforts personally.”

Loki glared but remained silent. Njörd looked deeply distressed, gazing between the two Princes, then gave a slight nod.

“I truly wish you wouldn’t, Your Grace, but I trust your judgment, in all matters.”

“Have you a map?”

Moments later Thor had instructions and was heading out toward the front of the palace, feeling Loki practically clawing at his back.

“Don’t you dare fly out of here without me,” the younger Prince said.

“You heard him—less than a hundred warriors. You and I have faced that alone and won.”

“Together.”

“I have Mjölnir back now. I’ll be fine.”

Loki grabbed him and spun him around. “Thor. Do not fly out of here without me.”

The elder Prince handed his brother the map. “Take a horse and meet me there.”

“You will take me with you or you will not go at all.”

“You hate flying. Last time you nearly strangled me. And the time before that felt like I was carrying a feral cat, only if I dropped it Mother would never forgive me.”

“You seized me from behind with no warning!" Loki snapped. "I thought a griffin had hold of me!”

“Would a griffin yell ‘stop fighting me, you fool, I’m trying to save your life?”

“How should I know what a griffin would yell, no one’s ever seen one!” 

Thor detached Mjölnir from his belt: Loki seized his wrist. “Don’t you dare.”

“It’ll be fine, Loki.”

“I will maim you, I swear it.”

“It’s less than an hour ride.”

“I will never forgive you!”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Thor spun his hammer and took off, Loki shouting behind him “DAMN YOU TO THE BOWELS OF MUSPELHEIM YOU DISLOYAL SON OF NIDHOGG!” A blast of seidr flew past his ear and another hit him square in the back, and Thor felt the fierceness of his own fiery magic in both. 

He was going to be subjected to a lecture that was liable to go on for days: that is, if his brother would even speak to him. But Thor didn’t mind a bit, because Loki was safe, and he’d stay that way. All other troubles faded in comparison. 

And that slap had hurt.

*

Thor hadn’t flown properly since before his coronation. 

There was a difference between using Mjölnir to make it quickly to Heimdall’s Observatory, or as a shortcut down to the shipyards, and truly taking to the sky, rising high above the treeline and spending extended time in the air, cape and hair waving in the wind, the world a healthy distance beneath him. It settled his nerves and gave him that old high of power and invincibility, a feeling he hadn’t had since their fight in Jotunheim. Though he was wary of his former arrogance, he indulged in the joy of just him and his hammer. He was embarrassed to admit he’d missed Mjölnir like a friend. 

Too soon, he caught the sounds of clashing metal and shouts, circled around a thick plume of smoke, and nearly collided with a robin, who flapped and sang and almost seemed to point in the direction of the skirmish. It took him a moment to realize it was no true bird at all, but the soldiers' scouting Mage. 

Thor let the hammer guide him down, taking in what appeared to be a lackluster effort on the part of the so called ‘rebels.’ The Vanir soldiers had at least a third of them on the ground, bloodied and either dead or wounded, while several others already had their hands up in surrender. 

“Prince Thor!” a familiar voice called, and the elder Odinson spun around to see Hogun, spiked mace in hand. 

“How’d you get here?” Thor grinned. 

“My cousin lives two villages over. Lord Bodolf sent out for aid.”

“What is it they’re after?”

“I’m not sure.” Hogun gestured to Mjölnir. “I see your power has been restored. I am very, very glad.”

“I’d thought to give them a taste of it…but I don’t want to harm your scout,” Thor smiled. 

“The Mages are everywhere,” Hogun griped. “They are a malignancy. No true privacy.”

Thor set his jaw, remembering why, exactly, Hogun was here and not back on Asgard. “I may not be able to summon lightning, but this may help.”

Thor reared back, brought Mjölnir high over his head, and slammed her down on the ground. The hammer’s magic ripped outward, feeling for anyone who meant him harm and taking them to ground, leaving his allies standing. 

It was surprisingly quick after that: most of the rebels surrendered quickly, and those that didn’t were easily seized by the Vanir. Thor approached a group of prisoners and lifted one’s chin with the corner of the hammer’s massive head. 

“What is it you wanted here?” he demanded. The man’s eyes widened: he was young, gaunt, and without shoes. 

“Bodolf neglects us,” he said. 

“How?”

The youth shrugged. An older man with a great belly, long gray hair, and a dusty eye-patch coughed behind him. 

“He does not care for the common folk,” the elder man explained. 

“So why did you not complain to Njörd? Why set your own village on fire?”

“It is no village of ours,” a third man grumbled.

Thor stepped back. “If you had properly reported your grievances—”

“Nothing ever changes, Your Majesty,” the youth said, but his voice sounded tired, not angry. 

“Not if you seek to solve your problems with violence.”

The man with the eyepatch laughed at that. “We hear violence is the only solution you have, Your Highness. Like Father, like son.”

Thor smiled and tossed Mjölnir casually overhead, causing the group to duck as she twirled and returned to his hand. “I suppose your long life in a dungeon will give you ample time to ponder Odin’s wisdom.”

“My Prince,” Hogun said. “May I have a word?”

Thor gave the prisoners a final glance and followed his friend away from the group. “They seem a lackluster bunch of rebels.”

“I don’t think they expected such a quick military response. Njörd is often slow to send troops from the capital.”

Thor felt the eyes of the other soldiers on him and smiled at those he noticed. Loki may be the Vanir’s beloved, but clearly his own presence was still cause for awe. “Do you have transport for the wounded?”

“We do, my Prince, but we’d like to know where to send them.”

“Use the local healers. Keep them under guard and when they are well transport them to the capital. We’ll let Njörd deal with them.”

Hogun nodded. “Prince Loki is not here?”

“He is enroute from the palace. I flew.”

“I hope he is well.”

“Much better now that the burden of the throne is no longer his.”

“And how is Volstagg?”

“On leave, but recovering admirably. I’d say he’s more than earned the break.”

“Indeed.”

A robin circled above, landed nearby, and, in a flash of bright orange light, appeared beside them as a full-grown man. Like Loki, he wore dark leather with strips of his seidr’s color woven in, and he possessed the lean, slim build many of the Vanir had from their training. 

“Your Royal Highness,” the Mage bowed, looking flustered. “I’m very pleased to report that I can see no further threats from the air, at least in the immediate vicinity.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Thor smiled. “What is your name?”

“Simply Vidar, my Prince.”

“Tree fighter,” Hogun supplied. The Mage blushed further. 

“That is the name’s meaning, yes my Lord. I was named for my Grandfather. He was a woodsman.”

“I appreciate your help and skill,” Thor said. “Hopefully I will be able to introduce you to Prince Loki before we leave.”

The Mage’s eyes widened. “That would be a grand honor, Your Highness. As it is to serve with you. We wish the Royal Family only the best here on Vanaheim.”

“So we have seen," Thor smiled. "We will have to journey here more often.”

“Fly ahead and alert Njörd that we are bringing prisoners,” Hogun ordered. His friend was always serious, but there was unmistakable dislike and impatience in his tone. Vidar bowed, and in another flash of light, appeared as the now familiar robin and took to the air. 

“You were unkind to him,” Thor said when he felt the bird out of hearing range.

“Growing up here was difficult. You never knew which animals were true and which were spies.”

“The Lord of Arms counseled that these Mages serve in official military posts.”

“So they do. But they will never be our equals.”

Thor felt his temper flare slightly. As grateful as he was to see his friend, he hadn't forgotten the mistrust that had sent him here in the first place. “It has occurred to me during this visit that perhaps we should revisit our attitude toward them on Asgard.”

Hogun’s face was as impassive as ever. “As you see fit, Your Grace.”

A soldier approached them, giving a stiff and slightly awkward bow, clearly nervous. “Your Majesty…I am Captain of this brigade. We would like to know what we should do with the deceased rebels.”

“Return the dead to the village so that their families might account for them. Tell the wounded and the displaced civilians that the Allfather will see to it they are compensated.”

“At once, Your Grace,” the soldier moved off. All seemed to have quieted down, and Thor breathed a weary sigh. Somewhere in these frantic few weeks, his taste for battle had tempered. Whether it was the exhaustion from all the politics Loki was cramming into his head or a step toward the maturity Odin had desired, he couldn’t tell, but where there once would have been excitement and glory there was only apprehension and homesickness. 

“I’m going to borrow a horse and have a look from higher ground,” he informed Hogun. 

“Shall I ride with you, my Prince?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He turned to look back at the hill he’d noticed earlier to see a familiar figure already there, dark haired and still. A wave of relief released in his chest: his brother was already ahead of him, perched above the fray and observing. If there was any merit to his feelings of uncertainty, Loki would already have it well in hand. 

The elder Prince found a now riderless horse, hooked his hammer to his belt, and rode out to meet his brother. He was relieved to see that any remaining traces of Jotunn had vanished: Loki looked fully himself.  

Thor smiled when he reached the bottom of the hill. The younger Prince grinned back at him, and the elder was mortified by how stupidly happy he was to see him. It was all he could do not to say “I missed you.” 

“Never thought I’d be so glad to see your face pale again,” Thor greeted him. 

“My stunning good looks are only a fraction of what makes me the kingdoms’ most eligible bachelor.”

“Second, anyway.” 

“You do look radiant. I believe you’ve lost two centuries. Battle agrees with you.” 

“It was hardly a battle,” Thor sighed, circling his horse around and pulling it to a stop beside his brother’s. “It was a skirmish, at best.”

“You ought to have waited for me,” Loki reprimanded. “I’ve had a good hour to construct the lecture I’ll be delivering to you, but I’ll wait until we are in our chambers so you can not claim distraction.” 

“You’re the most gracious brother.”

“So why did you leave me?”

“I wanted to take Mjölnir for a flight."

“And it had nothing to do with my visit to the Warlocks?”

“Of course not,” Thor raised his eyebrows. “I’d rather have you at my side with blue skin and red eyes over a hundred other warriors.”

“So you left me at the palace because…?”

Thor looked back down over the hill as the bound prisoners began their march, the Vanir soldiers guarding them. “I wanted your insight on the Vanir’s response to the rebellion.”

“You’d have gotten that regardless.”

“And I wanted to show myself, so they know my power has been restored.”

“The fact that you can lift that dreadful thing is proof enough.” 

“And…well, maybe I was being my usual selfish self, but I spent the last few weeks fearing someone would try and put a blade through your heart. Forgive me…but I dreaded the thought of you racing into an actual knife-fight.” 

“You forget I’m the finest knife-fighter in the realms.”

“I didn’t forget.” Loki rolled his eyes when Thor looked at him. “What did Njörd say?”

“A whole lot of apologizing and ‘Your Gracing’ and all the usual. He’s mostly been trying to get me to recommend his eldest daughter to you and hoist the second upon me.” 

“And she’s not to your liking?”

“When he introduced me as ‘His Royal Highness Prince Loki of Asgard’ she said ‘brother of the Mighty Thor?’”

Thor burst out laughing—a deep, genuine laugh the likes of which he’d missed these past few weeks. “She sounds better suited to me. She’s about as thick-headed.”

Loki chuckled. “Well, it’s a good thing I never expected to marry for love.”  

Thor’s anxiety spiked once more. That awful feeling he’d had at the palace was back, and this time, it wasn’t just the prospect of separation from his brother. 

“What is it?” Loki asked, taking in the apprehension on his brother’s face. 

“This was too easy. When has taking back a town, even a village, ever been that easy?”

“You said yourself the Warriors of Vanaheim are formidable. And being suppressed by their own countrymen probably doesn't make them as angry as when we Asgardians invade.”

“No, there’s something more. I feel it too…what you’ve been telling me. Something amiss that I don’t see, thinking like a soldier instead of a politician. A good King must be both.”

“You’ll be a good King,” Loki said softly. “No King takes the throne knowing all, but you’ve had quite an education.”

“I’ve had the most incredible tutor,” Thor smiled. “If you’d been in charge of my learning from the beginning, I may very well have not made such a mess of things before now.”

“Intelligence was never your problem, brother. Humility, perhaps. But I’m hardly one to speak on that, being the cleverest person I know.” 

“We need more like you,” Thor said, sobering.

“Impossible. I’m gloriously unique.”

Thor chuckled. “I mean, Masters of Magic, people who can disguise themselves among the other councils, people who are loyal to us on the other councils. You’ve laid the foundation for all the good that can be done. The next step is recruits.”

“You know the Allfather will never fund an order of such. It’s not honorable.”

“It doesn’t matter. I will, when I come into the throne. It will be one of my earliest decrees.” He looked deliberately ahead. “Your first needs to be something celebratory, something for the commonwealth. You mentioned that we ought to speak to the people more—I agree. Your first order should be to found a Citizens’ Council. Representatives from each of the realms, selected by their fellows, who we will meet with, to hear their concerns and grievances. It would establish your leadership as new and inclusive. Alaric would never dream of such a thing.”

He could feel his brother staring at him. “Is this about me being your Chancellor? You’re still on about that?”

“Brother, I never went off it,” Thor turned and locked eyes with him. “I should have told you sooner. I should have told you a lot of things, a long time ago. I’ve failed you more times than I can count. But I’ve always had more faith in you than anyone, from the Nine to Valhalla. I won’t take the throne without you with me, in Asgard, doing what you were born to do.”

“Serving you,” Loki said quietly. Thor remembered the furious reaction he’d had when Thor had offered him his service on Midgard; he thought he understood it now. 

“Helping me. Ruling with me. You can go to Alfheim, to Vanaheim, hell you could go to Midgard and thrive. You’ve proven our whole lives that you can survive on your own; you’ve proved it more these past few weeks. But I can’t. I need you by my side.”

Loki’s face slowly began to lose it’s calm as clear, unmitigated joy broke through. “Chancellor to King Thor of Asgard,” he said slowly. “I suppose that sounds better than Lord of Starfall.” 

“You will have to address me as ‘Your Grace,’” Thor reminded him, grinning wickedly. 

“I can live with that. But I draw the line at ‘Allfather.’”

“‘Brother’ suits me much better,” Thor felt his own face beaming pride and relief.

Hogun approached, his face its usual stone. “The prisoners are being transported to the dungeons, my Prince.”

“Thank you, Lord Hogun. All who fought will be well taken care of tonight.” 

“Will you return to Asgard?”

“Tomorrow. Prince Loki and I can hardly leave without a formal farewell.”

Hogun cast his eyes to the younger Prince. “Your Grace.”

“Lord Hogun.”

“It may not be my place to say, but you served Asgard well as Regent.” 

“That is kind of you,” Loki said, but his voice remained flat. Whatever progress Thor and his brother had made, the same could not be said about the tension between Loki and their friend. 

The elder Prince was surprised how little that mattered to him. 

“I’d have you in the vanguard,” Thor said. Hogun nodded, gave them a quick bow, and rode back down the hill. 

“When we get back, you ought to—” Loki jerked his head to the right as a soft whistling tore through the trees. The younger Prince was about to ask his brother if he’d heard it too when something smashed into Loki so quickly, he didn’t even have time to try and balance himself as he was thrown from the horse. 

It took several seconds for Loki to realize what had happened and rally to his feet, looking around frantically. “What was that? I—” 

Behind him came a roar that rattled the very heart of him. He whirled, half expecting to see some type of beast charging out of the treeline, only to be greeted with his brother’s red cape as he bent over on the ground. 

“Thor!” he cried. He’d never heard his brother make a sound like that: not when injured, not when savagely battling, not even when he’d been cast from the Observatory to Midgard. “Brother, what is it?” he pleaded, placing a hand on the older Prince’s shoulder. 

It passed right through. 

“What’s happened? Speak to me!” he pleaded, when his brother roared again, and pulled back enough that Loki could see what Thor was leaning over. 

The sight of himself was bizarrely fascinating. He’d always thought he had green eyes, but seeing them staring up at nothing, they struck him as far more blue. Blood was trickling out of the side of his mouth, and it was far darker than he thought it would be. He was just as pale as he’d always feared, though the blood loss had to contribute. 

And the blood…

His mind, always far too quick for its own good, slammed a picture together: the whistling he’d heard was the sound of a bolt, the kind equipped on siege weapons, soaring through the foliage. It had smashed into his arm and nearly torn it off, then blasted through his side and chest, undoubtedly decimating his heart and lungs before it pierced through the other side, where his other arm had only been saved as he’d raised it to brace his fall. He could see the thick black arrowhead pressing into his brother’s armor as Thor leaned over his listless body, grabbing at his shoulders and chest, trying to hold him and shake him and put pressure everywhere at once. 

“HELP US!” Thor roared. “HEIMDALL! THE HEALERS—THE BRIDGE! HOGUN!” The elder Prince looked over his shoulder, where a number of soldiers were riding hard and fast in their direction, Hogun in the lead. “Allfather!” he wailed skyward, then got a hand under Loki’s head and lifted it, sending more blood down his cheek. “Loki, stay with me—I’m here. I have you, brother, I’m going to get you home.”

“I’m dead,” Loki gasped. As if in agreement, his head slumped back in Thor’s hands, unable to support itself. Thor adjusted his grip, lifting his chin, trying to look in eyes that couldn’t meet anyone’s ever again. 

It had happened so fast, so instant…it wasn’t possible. In the plays and stories of Asgard, warriors had pages of death scenes, where they came to terms with themselves and their loved ones around them. They didn’t hear an odd sound and stand up as a spirit seconds later. They didn’t leave their brothers howling in agony with no chance of saving them.

A soft breeze blew around his feet, warm and sweet smelling, and he heard the faint sound of a harp and a soft, loving voice calling his name. He turned and saw that the hill was fading away, taking on a bright and golden glow, filling with a warm, gentle light promising safety and love and home. It was Valhalla. 

Terror struck him. 

Behind him Thor roared for Heimdall once more, and then demanded Hogun and the soldiers give over any healing stones available. Loki stumbled closer, making a frantic grab for his brother, useless hands passing straight through, as the loving light of eternity came ever closer. 

“I can’t,” he pleaded. He couldn’t go into Valhalla alone, not when he’d always assumed they’d go together, fighting for the good of Asgard, or that Thor would go first, to pave the way as he always had. “Please…I can’t. My brother needs me.”

Thor was sobbing—deep, shattering sobs. Hogun had shifted behind Loki’s body and lifted his head. There was a soft glow from the healing stones, but it was a useless effort: even if the magic could take effect, the bolt was through his heart and lungs, rendering them unable to revive.

“Loki,” Thor was pleading. “Loki, no! Come back, you have to come back! Loki! ALLFATHER!”

Home, the sweet voice sang again. Valhalla was on his heels, and if his soul surrendered to that warm light, there’d be no hope of return.

“Loki,” Thor sobbed. “Breathe, you have to breathe. Breathe, my brother. Loki!”

“Forgive me,” he murmured, hating to abandon Thor in this state, but the light was coming to consume him, and if he ever had a chance of rejoining his brother in life, he had to get away.

So he turned and fled.

Chapter Text

Odin had seen many, many terrible things throughout his long centuries: war, famine, terror, panic, torture. Many things haunted him: things he’d done, and things he’d failed to do. He’d learned to carry them. 

But this…nothing could have prepared him for this. One child still and sightless, with no warmth or light of his soul remaining, and his other, his eldest, his fierce and mighty warrior, nearly mad with grief and panic. 

“Father, help him!” Thor howled. His hands were coated in his brother’s blood, as he grappled frantically at Loki’s impaled chest. “He’s not—he can’t breathe, we can’t—we can’t get him breathing!”

Hogun looked up at him knowingly, his ever-grim face pale. The guards around them were dutifully attempting aid, but it was clearly a show for his desperate eldest. Loki was gone. 

His child had been murdered. 

This was not a death in battle, just and honorable: Loki had not been in battle. Heimdall had reported that the fighting had ended nearly an hour prior. His youngest had been seated on a horse, speaking with his brother, as he had nearly every day for centuries—and someone had believed it their right to end his life. 

Odin dismounted his own horse, leaving Gugnir standing, and walked toward them. Thor’s eyes were red and running, and the hope and desperation at his approach tore deep in the Allfather’s chest. 

He knelt beside them and put a gentle hand on the side of Loki’s face. The skin was cooling. His son’s bright blue eyes stared up at the sky, vacant. His mouth was open just slightly, as if he’d started to speak or exclaim. The black arrowhead that lead the bolt scraped against Thor’s breastplate as he held his brother across his lap while Hogun supported Loki’s head. 

“Let me take him,” Odin murmured, and slid his right arm beneath his youngest’s neck. He drew him in as he had as an infant, deep in the dark and cold of another realm, another world, when the starving and suffering baby had transformed to a soothed and joyful soul at peace in his father’s arms. 

There was no peace in his son now. When Odin reached out to him, he could feel that Loki had not taken his appointed path to Valhalla. He was just as desperate to return to his body as they were to have him back, only his body could no longer hold a soul, and without a soul, it could never hope to heal. 

The Allfather wiped blood from his youngest’s cheek and carefully placed his fingertips over the staring eyes, coaxing them closed. Then he cradled his son's chin and coaxed his jaw to shut as well. He was well-practiced in forcing down his true emotions to maintain the perfect, stoic illusion of the King of Asgard, but looking at his bright, curious, and ever-eager son’s face so silent and still ripped at his defenses. 

As did his elder son, breathing hard, waiting for a miracle. 

Odin stroked Loki’s pale cheek, permitting himself a few seconds of weakness, trying to memorize the feeling of his son’s weight, the exact colors of his hair and face, the way he felt in his arms. He wanted to so badly to sink to the grass and remain there with his child, but this was not the time to mourn—his family, and his kingdom, needed him to guide them all through a loss he had only just suffered himself. 

“Guards,” Odin said, brushing his son’s cheek one last time. “Lord Hogun. You will need to carry the Prince’s body as we travel the Bifrost.”

Thor let out a roar of anguish and launched forward, clawing at his father’s arms. 

“Give him to me!” he begged. “Give him to me, give him back to me!”

“Courage, my son,” Odin murmured. 

“No, no—don’t touch him!” he raised a hand and Mjölnir whisked into it, causing the guards to back up. 

“You will not strike them.”

“Heal him!”

“I can not.” 

“Then take my life—take my life and give it to him!”

“Were that I could—he could have my own.” He looked into his son’s wild eyes. “Courage now,” he repeated. “We must be strong for your Mother.” 

Thor stared, stunned and heartbroken, down at his brother. Odin nodded to the guards to approach, but Thor shook his head, secured Mjölnir to his belt, and held out a hand to stop them. 

“Please, Father…give him to me. Let me be the one to bring him home. Please…I promised I’d always bring him home.” 

Odin nodded and extended his arms: Thor took Loki just as carefully and gently as if he were still an infant they were passing between them. Thor pulled his red cloak around and tucked it over his brother’s impaled chest and side, then leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I have you, brother,” he whispered. “We’re going back now.” 

Odin rose carefully to his feet; the guards and Hogun rose in turn. The normally unshakable warrior looks stunned, and the soldiers seemed unable to determine what to do. 

“My Prince,” Hogun chanced, “please, allow me to help you bear him.”

“No," Thor said firmly. "Go to the palace, order the Einherjar who traveled with us to pack our things and lead them to the Bifrost. Inform Lord Njörd of what’s happened and that Asgard will be sending reinforcements.” 

Thor rose, unassisted, and shifted Loki until his brother’s forehead rested on his shoulder and his long legs dangled over Thor’s left arm. His eldest continued to murmur softly at his brother’s slumped body as he carried him to the Bifrost site. Odin put one hand on his own horse and an arm around his elder son, embracing both his children as best he could before using Gugnir to open the bridge. 

*

Thor had always felt the rainbow bridge far too long and the healing rooms too terribly far away: times when they’d arrived injured from an off-world excursion, ferrying his friends or his brother there had been agony on his patience. This time, however, despite his efforts to step slowly and carefully, the road to the palace seemed impossibly short. Once Thor arrived, he’d have to give his brother up for good. As long as Loki was here, pressed against him, he could pretend he was just sleeping or unconscious, that Thor would lay him out in a healing bay and when he stirred and woke he’d say “tell me you didn’t carry me like a mewling maiden,” and Thor would mock him to cover both their fear and pain. 

“It won’t be any easier the longer you put it off, my son,” Odin spoke from behind him, leading his horse by the bridle. 

“One moment’s peace, Father.”

“I lost my own brothers, you know.”

“Your brothers killed each other in pursuit of your father’s throne!” Thor whirled on him, gripping Loki all the harder. Odin paled. 

“Who told you that?”

“Your very own Chancellor. While you were asleep and Loki was King.”

“I regret that you learned it that way.”

“Loki learned it when we were far younger. He knew Asgard’s history wasn’t as it seemed. He knew you were lying when you celebrated our uncles as heroes when they were little better than savages!”

“Have care how you speak,” Odin said gravely. “They were selfish and cruel, but they were my brothers. I could not help but love them. Their deaths were a great lesson for me. You live in an Empire of peace and prosperity because I sought to end war at all costs.”

“By lying about the violence and bloodshed that came before?”

“I taught you well enough about the threats of violence and bloodshed…and look where we are!” Odin gestured to the body in Thor’s arms. “Had I told you my brothers killed one another, would that have saved Loki? Would that have delayed your visit to Vanaheim? Would that have alerted you to a siege weapon rolling through the trees?”

“We went to Vanaheim because Loki knew Asgard wasn’t as it seemed! Now we know Vanaheim is not as well!”

“And all it cost was your brother’s life.”

For a flash, Thor felt the very real urge to hurl himself off the bridge into the Eternal Sea, his brother clenched in his arms, letting the water carry them both out into the void and away from the crippling horror and guilt that this had happened. Loki’s head slumped, hair brushing at his neck like little calming whispers. Even in death, Loki was reminding his brother not to be rash.

“Leave us,” Thor hissed, turning back toward the healing rooms. 

“I am not the enemy, my son. This was the work of a terrible few—simple marauders who took advantage of Royals outside the palace walls. Had Loki been seated to your left, it may very well have been your body we were carrying.”

“A terrible few,” Thor murmured. “Like the few Frost Giants in the weapons’ vault. Like the few warlocks who conveyed them. Like your Councilors who arranged our visit to Vanaheim.”

“At your request!”

“I was trying to protect our family!” Thor roared, whirling on him. “Loki was trying to protect our family! And you ignored us both!”

“I am not going to take the unproven suspicions of two resentful young men over those I have loved and served beside for millennia.”

“Here is your proof!” Thor bellowed, shaking his brother’s body. 

“Enough! We are bearing my son home for the last time! This is undignified!” 

“Then don’t speak.” Thor swayed on his feet. “I beg you…no lessons, no lectures, no criticisms of my pace. I can’t bear it.” 

Odin softened. “That was unfair of me. I know why you linger. None of this is any fault of yours.”

A swell of fire-hot rage rose up in his chest once more. There was guilt there too, for failing his brother after vowing to protect him, but those who were responsible were living alongside him, dining with his father and seeking to undermine Loki at every turn. 

Is that what happened? Thor asked, looking down at his brother’s pale face. They couldn’t outwit you, so they killed you? Or were they trying to kill you all along?

He flashed on something then: a memory of the Jotunn invasion, when two of the false-soldiers had entered his room. 

Not him. The other.

At the time it has seemed obvious that they would focus on Loki, since he was the sitting Regent. But now, perhaps his position had nothing to do with it. Perhaps the incursion was nothing more than a distraction from the main mission: to kill the youngest Prince of Asgard.

And now they had.

Failure was still a new emotion for Thor. A lifetime of success and victories had left him ill-prepared for it. He’d been hit so hard in the past few weeks, but Loki had made it all bearable by believing in him, even at his worst. 

It was perhaps the gravest, and final, mistake his brother had made. 

*

Lady Eir and her team of healers were waiting in a respectful line when Thor entered the room, Odin close behind him. There was a slight flash of sadness over her face when she gazed on Loki, but it was quickly gone. 

“Your Grace, Your Majesty, there are no words. Please know all of Asgard mourns along side you. We have readied a private berth for the Prince so he may be prepared with the highest honors.”

“Our thanks to you, my Lady,” Odin said. “We are grateful for the love and support of our people.”

“If you would follow me,” she said, and walked down the hall, past closed doors and curtain-drawn beds. Thor had never heard the ward so quiet, and imagined the other patients had been told to be silent and still while the Royals arrived with their dead. 

Loki’s berth was at the end of the hall, the largest room on the floor, with windows overlooking the city below and a double-wide bed for a patient of importance. Thor stood for a moment, pressing his brother against him, loathe to lay him in a room of healing when everyone seemed so sure there was none to be found. 

“My Prince,” Eir said softly. “Shall we aid you?”

“No,” Thor managed. “I have him.”

“We will not prevent your access to him. You may remain here, or return as you will.”

He nodded and forced himself to cross the room. Then, with all the care he had in him, he carefully laid his brother out, wincing as the metal bolt embedded in Loki’s chest scraped across his own armor. 

"Easy," he whispered, clinging to his charade a little longer. "You're safe now." He smoothed his brother’s hair back off his pale forehead. “I’ve brought you home." 

From the receiving room he heard a slight commotion and Eir said, "My Queen, I would prepare the Princes for your audience if you'd allow—”

"Show me to them at once," she said, her calm voice suffering none of her usual manners. Thor scrambled to remove his own cape, hoping to at least shield his mother from the horror of the wounds.

"Frigga, my love, allow me a moment—" Odin began.

"They said our son was injured."

"If you would let us prepare him—"

"I am their Mother. Nothing stands between us, least of all the foolish shame you've imparted about courage in warriors—"

The Queen rounded the corner just as Thor got his cape over Loki's chest: too late did he realize how coated in blood he was himself. 

"Thor," she gasped. “What’s—" but then her eyes fell to the berth. 

Frigga, the normally unshakeable pillar of strength, the Mother all others were taught to measure themselves against, let out a cry of horror and pain that shook Thor’s entire torso. For a moment she was fully herself, all pretense and duty erased as she placed her hands on Loki’s body. 

“Oh my son,” Frigga sobbed. “Please, my child, you must not die before your Mother!”

Odin rounded the bed and placed both hands on his wife’s shoulders, holding her steady. “He is safely beyond those who would harm him,” he soothed. “He will never again know danger or pain.”

The Queen reached for Thor’s cloak, intending to pull it back and reveal Loki’s body: Thor caught her hand. 

“Mother,” he said, “I beg you—"

"I will see what they've done to him."

"If I could unsee it myself, I would."

"We both know that is a lie." 

"My Queen, spare yourself this one misery—" Odin tried, but Frigga pulled Thor’s cape to the floor.

"Oh, no," she whispered. One hand she placed over her son’s chest: the other on the protruding bolt. "How long did he suffer?"

"He didn't," Thor managed. "I was right beside him, at his side in seconds...he was gone when I reached him."

Frigga nodded. "That...is some small mercy.”

“My Queen,” Eir said. “Please know all care will be taken of him.”

“My son has been murdered. There is no care to take. There is no healing to be found.” 

“We can prevent his body from decay so he may enter Valhalla whole.”

Frigga clenched her eyes shut, as if to keep in the tears. “He can not be gone. There is too much life left to have to live without him.” 

Odin shifted to her side and put a careful arm around her shoulders. “We survive to remember his life, and to celebrate it. We will see to it that all the Realms know he was loved, and Asgard bettered by his time among us.”

Thor was long past holding his own tears at bay. “It’s all my fault,” he managed. “He was right beside me…and I didn’t protect him. I didn’t save him. I failed us all.” 

Frigga combed her youngest’s hair behind his ears with trembling fingers. She leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her dead son’s forehead, and a second on his cheek. She rose, finally, and covered one still hand with hers before turning to Thor, as if she'd only just remembered him. 

“No, Dearheart,” the Allmother murmured, using her free hand to wipe her own tears. “You are not responsible for this.”

“We can still save him…can’t we? The healers can restore his wounds. Father, you can seek out his soul.” 

Frigga’s face fell into sympathy. “It isn’t that simple, my love.” 

“A body can not heal without a soul,” Odin explained. “And a soul can not exist in a body with such severe damage. Were it that simple, we could resurrect all our dead.”

“He is not ‘our dead!’”

“Thor,” the Queen murmured, crossing around the foot of the bed and holding out her arms. “Come here.”

“No, no, I will not. I refuse to believe there is nothing to be done. I just came from a realm full of magic—your realm. Several weeks ago, Loki and I discovered just how powerful we can be together. I won’t simply let it end now, like this!”

“None of us have a choice in how we meet our end,” Frigga soothed, resting her hands on her son’s upper arms. “Or how our loved ones do.”

“I won’t give up on him,” Thor said, beginning to tremble. “I won’t.”

“We will speak on this later,” Odin announced. “Right now, we must let the healers attend to him. And you must gather yourself. We have to inform the Council and engage a State of Emergency.”

It took Thor several seconds to fully process what his father had said. “The Council?” he managed. 

“Odin…” Frigga began. 

“You are the Minister of Security, are you not?” the King asked. Thor stared at him dumbly. “Someone has murdered my son. I don’t intend to let that go unpunished. I also don’t intend to allow us to be distracted by our grief to the detriment of Asgard. Our enemies have taken from us—we will find them and take back.”

Thor still couldn’t believe it. “You expect me to go to a Council meeting now?”

“I certainly do.”

“My brother’s body is not yet cold!”

“And we must seal the Bifrost. Shut the palace doors, send extra protection to the gates, tell the people to disband with work for the day and return to their homes, send extra protection to the Weapon’s Vault, coordinate with the Vanir Council, craft statements for the people, halt all ships coming and going, suspend all trade—”

“That is enough, my King,” Frigga said firmly. Thor’s heart thundered in his ears. 

“Loki—what of Loki? This is what you think of, instead of your son?”

“Loki is safe here, with the healers. They can do more for him now than we can.”

“Husband,” Frigga snapped, “that is enough.”

“Our son chose to serve as Minister of Security. I am instructing him of the duties of Minister of Security.”

“Go ahead to the Council. I will send Thor along forthwith.” 

For a long moment, the King and Queen locked eyes. Finally, Odin gave a small bow and said, “My Queen,” before turning and disappearing into the hall. 

It took a moment for Thor to realize the harsh, panting breaths filling the room were his own.

“Come along,” Frigga murmured, trying to steer Thor toward the doorway.

“No,” the elder Prince snapped. “I won’t leave him alone.”

“He is not alone. The healers will attend him, and I will sit vigil. Let me help ready you.”

“You can’t mean it,” he gaped. 

“I do.” She brushed a gentle hand over his cheek. “If it will calm you, we can remain here. But you must let me clean you up.”

“I won’t leave him.”

“Very well.” His mother coaxed him backwards into a chair set aside for visitors. “Sit. Breathe deeply.”

Thor hung his head for a moment, trying to still the racing of his heart, before he turned to look, once more, at his brother. 

Blood had begun to drip down both sides of the bed, running from the entrance and exit wounds. Loki’s face was far paler than usual, and though his eyes were closed, there was no mistaking him for merely sleeping. Thor knew how his brother looked when he was at peace, and the blank, bloodless appearance Loki now wore was not the same. The absence of breath was like the loss of a limb…only one could survive without a limb. 

Frigga appeared once more, a pile of washcloths in her arms while a healer carried a large bowl and pitcher of water and a second brought in a small table and chair. She sat before her son, thanked the healers, and filled the basin herself.

“Give me your hands,” she murmured. She lay a dry cloth over her lap, set Thor’s hands upon it, wrung out another in the basin, and began to wipe blood from her son's fingers.

“I know it seems cruel,” Frigga said. “But you mustn’t be too hard on your father.”

“Doesn’t he care for Loki at all?”

“More than you will ever know. Until you have children of your own.” She dipped the cloth back into the basin. Thor watched the water turn pink before she wrung it out once more and began to wipe at his breastplate. “Your father grieves long and deeply, but never publicly. I know he still mourns his brothers, and friends from the war, but he so rarely speaks of them. He will not weep for his son until some time in the future, on nights when Asgard is asleep and he can steal off somewhere private. I fear we must try and do the same. To show our vulnerability conveys a message that Asgard itself is vulnerable.”

“So I’m to serve as a statue?” Thor spat. “And pretend to be unaffected by the death of my brother?”

“You’re to be a Prince,” Frigga said firmly, pausing to wring the cloth out once more. “All your father says is true. The death of a Royal requires a State of Emergency to be issued. And that is any Royal: when my father passed, the Allfather called for one. When I was in labor with you, he also did. Norns forbid you lose a wife or child, you would be forced to do the same. You may find it useful, when faced with grief. For Odin, it allows him to be with his closest friends, men he loves and trusts, who have loved and served his family and known him since he was young.”

“I can not think of my friends,” Thor growled. “I can not think of my duty. I can only think of Loki. He would want me here, with him.”

Frigga chuckled suddenly, discarding the washcloth and grabbing a fresh one. “If your brother could speak, he would tell you to stop fussing and get to your meeting so you could report every word back to him.” Thor startled and looked up at her. She brought the towel up to his face and wiped his damp cheeks. “You think you’re the only one who knows him? The amount of walks or teas he canceled, magic sessions where he was distracted, times he leapt off of my balcony as himself and flew off as a bird, all because there was a subcommittee hearing on some clause or trade dispute or tariff even your father and I couldn’t be bothered with. But there was our Loki, absorbing every second of it.”

Thor let his tears flow, even as his mother dabbed at them. “You won’t give up on him…will you?”

“No,” she murmured, “but you must understand…when a soul enters the afterlife, it mustn't be wrested from there. If Loki has taken his place in the Hall of Eternal Peace, who are we to call him from it?”

“He promised me,” Thor growled. “He promised me he’d be by my side when I took the throne. I refuse to do it without him.”

“He is with you. Perhaps more than you realize.” Frigga lay her fingers against Thor’s temple. “Here, my son…this is where your brother lives. Your people await your guidance. You must give it to them.”

“And so this is it,” Thor hissed. “The day I accept that I’ve failed my family, and my people, and the Nine, and surrender to my fate as some miserable pawn passed from advisor to advisor while someone always suffers?”

The Allmother’s eyes filled once more. “Someone will always suffer,” she managed around a throat swollen with tears. "You must learn how to carry that suffering for all your people.”

“I’ve no desire to be a martyr.”

“Not a martyr, my love.” Frigga laid her palm against his cheek. “A King.” 

*

Everyone who saw Thor approach immediately lowered their eyes and murmured “Your Grace,” in a sullen tone. The mood in the palace was somber and still, the court dismissed for the afternoon and everyone speaking in hushed tones, undoubtedly trying to figure out who knew what and what would be done now. The sounds of distant bells and horns signaled calls to the soldiers to assume their defensive positions and for civilians to return to their homes, but Thor couldn’t even hear the distant, celebratory sounds of school children released early. 

It made him feel anxious, paranoid, and ever-more sick. He couldn’t believe how quickly the word had traveled, and he loathed the looks of pity and sorrow he was receiving. 

Loathed even more that he had to attempt to look strong and focused as he moved toward the Council Chambers. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance the closer he came, and he could feel his magic building, aching to lash out. Even worse, he felt it calling out for Loki’s, seeking its calmer, sharper twin. It felt like little slaps of defeat and despair every time it rushed out only to be ripped back: Thor couldn’t determine how to halt the connection. 

He took several deep breaths outside the Council doors and prayed to the Norns to grant him wisdom and patience to not lose sight of his mission—to bring the Councilors to their knees. 

The group rose to their feet when he entered, leaving only Odin seated at the head of the table, Gugnir at his side. Thor took careful stock of their faces, trying to read them as Loki would: Alaric looked wide-eyed and was swallowing thickly; Eisnarr was sweating; Porsi was absolutely green; Sighiálmr looked half-asleep as always; Rœrekr was clenching a pile of papers to try and hide his shaking hands; and Durinn looked as if he himself may have been crying. 

“Your Grace,” the Chancellor said, “there are no words that can adequately express our horror and grief at the loss of our Prince.”

“I’ve none either,” Thor managed, and crossed the room toward his appointed chair. He sat without further ado, and the rest of the men joined him soon after. “What word from Vanaheim?”

“Heimdall has informed us that Lord Hogun and the Einherjar will soon be making their way to the Bifrost site. Lord Njörd and the Vanir Council have also issued a State of Emergency. He has sent a thousand troops out into the woods to apprehend the Prince’s murderers, with at least thirty Mages to serve as scouts. Njörd himself has sent word that he would like to come to Court to beg forgiveness and pay respects.” 

“I’m inclined to agree with the Allfather and seal the Bifrost once Hogun and his party arrive,” Thor said. 

“Njörd wants reassurance that Vanaheim will not be punished by Asgard for the death of Prince Loki,” Odin said. “We must make sure they have it.”

“I’m disinclined to agree,” Thor snapped. “We have given the Vanir a great deal of favor. That favor ends today.”

“You can not punish an entire realm for the crimes of a few wayward citizens.”

“I will not punish the realm. I will punish their Nobles.” Thor turned his eyes to Alaric. “Under Lord Vakr, great bonuses were paid out through the Security Council on all trades. That practice ends today. In addition, I call for their tax reforms to be revoked, and at least a thousand of their warriors to be conscripted to Asgard immediately. More will follow. These men will receive superior pay, excellent housing, and other privileges. My sub council will dictate the terms.”

“Your Grace—” the Chancellor began. 

“I’ve not finished, Lord Alaric. A subcommittee of Mages will be established. My brother was to head it. In his absence, the Queen will serve as head of the order. She is beloved of Vanaheim and an expert Mage in her own right.”

“Your Grace—” Alaric attempted once more.

“I’m not finished. Lord Eisnarr, you are to purchase half of the Vanir’s weapons at once. They have been underreporting their stock. The correct numbers will be sent to you from my committee. Any additional funds needed will come from my budget. Lord Rœrekr, you were serving as Minister of Security in my absence. I want you to report on what efforts were made on behalf of the Prince and myself while we were off-world.”

“We followed all protocols, Your Grace,” Rœrekr assured. “The Captain of your guard reported personally to Heimdall each night. Your itineraries were distributed to our Council and the Vanir, and both militaries vetted the locations for security beginning the week before your arrival. We were confident in the safety of the palace and its outer buildings, including the military facilities, the library, the Warlocks’ Temple, and the shipyards.”

“I hope you are not implying that my brother and I were at fault for leaving the palace.”

“It is not an implication,” Odin interjected. “It is the truth.”

Thor whirled on his father. “It was an uprising of less than a hundred—and a lackluster hundred at that. You yourself have ordered us on far more perilous missions.”

“Never publicly. It was well known you and your brother were on an official visit away from Asgard. A party of rebels could have easily imagined you would race out there to quell an uprising yourselves. What better way to harm the throne than to claim the life of a Prince?”

“Is that what he told you,” Thor hissed, turning to Alaric. “Is that how you keep my father blind?”

The Chancellor kept his composure. “My Prince, I deeply regret that I have fostered this mistrust in you. I can not fathom what I have done to deserve it, but I beg you to understand, we all strove for the safety of yourself and Prince Loki while you were off-world. Even if you distrust my devotion to your family, I pray you do not doubt my devotion to Asgard. The loss of a Royal is an unimaginable failure on the part of myself and this Council. We will mourn our Prince and loathe ourselves for our failure for the rest of our days.”

“You have no way of predicting the future,” Odin reassured him. “And all of you followed protocol to the letter. There was nothing further that could have been asked of you.” He took a slow, deep breath, and wrapped a hand around Gugnir. “You, Thor Odinson, were still receiving Security Council reports via the Bifrost were you not?”

Thor stared dumbly at his father. Alaric stiffened. “My King—” the Chancellor began, but Odin held up a hand. 

“You were,” Odin continued. “Because you were still serving as Asgard’s Minster of Security, of your own volition.”

“Allfather,” Rœrekr said, “I take full responsibility for the role—”

“I am speaking to the Prince,” Odin snapped. 

Thor gaped at his father…and let out a laugh that was more than a little crazed.

“Loki said you always deflect blame,” he said. “How many times did you send Alaric to tell us unpleasantries? How many conflicting stories did you sow in our youth? You expect me to collapse under the guilt that I should have saved my brother, when you ignored his advice at every turn?”

“I expect you take the responsibility of Asgard’s Minister of Security as seriously as any other Lord would. The murder of a Prince by foreign agents is unprecedented. You were charged with the safety of our realm and the Royal family at the time. Where do you think the failure in security fell?”

“With you,” Thor growled. “With all of you. Before the second Jotunn invasion, Loki told me the Council would have no choice but to stop him. He knew you were conspiring with the Warlocks of Vanaheim, he knew you were lying about your relationship with Jotenheim, he knew you wanted to send him away to Alfheim so he couldn’t influence me!” Thor leapt to his feet and slammed his fists on the table. “I know you did this! I know you know who did this! Loki did too! He knew he was at risk trying to help me, trying to educate me, but he did it regardless. And you murdered him for it!”

“That’s enough!” Odin roared, rising to his feet: Alaric rose with him. 

“My King, I beg you," the Chancellor said, "the Prince is suffering an unimaginable loss—”

“He is serving as a Minister, same as the rest of you. You have always counseled patience and acceptance with him, and it has served him ill. I should have been harsher from the beginning.”

“Allfather—my King—my friend, I beg you, be kind—”

Odin roared at him in the same manner he’d roared at Loki when his brother had desperately tried to defend him after their battle in Jotunheim. “Thor Odinson, you are unfit to serve as Asgard’s Minister of Security. I release you of your duties until you can prove yourself worthy.”

“Last time I proved myself worthy it cost my life. Proving his theory cost Loki’s. Is that what it takes to appease you, my King? Is death and blood all that matters, like the histories off-world claim?”

The Allfather raised Gugnir, but Alaric was there, seizing Odin’s wrist.

“My King,” the Chancellor snapped, “he is your son. It will cause you great pain later if you act from hurt now.”

He sounded so much like Loki Thor wanted to scream. Instead he forced himself to look at his father and said “I must beg your forgiveness, my Councilors. I’ve let the emotions of the day get the better of me. I’m afraid I’ve no experience with my only brother being murdered before me. It’s caused me to become dreadfully overemotional.”

“My Prince, please go and rest,” the Chancellor murmured. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. We will manage the business of State and make sure you are properly sent all Council reports.”

“Good day then,” Thor growled, and stormed out, thunder vibrating overhead. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid and unworthy. Ill-tempered and foolish. Selfish and spoiled. 

Loki would be furious—all the work he’d done to foster his brother’s maturity, to teach him how to handle the Council without losing his temper: all of it undone in a moment. Thor had thrown all his cards at them at once, desperate to prove to his father that Loki had been right all along…only it had come across as the mad ravings of a grieving child. 

It wasn’t until he opened the door to their rooms and saw Loki’s nearly-empty desk that it hit him—before they’d left for Vanaheim, the younger Prince had placed all the papers they’d recovered in his seidr’s storage. The compilations, the letters, the records, the correspondence book, Loki’s painstaking notes, Vakr’s journals, Loki’s journals: their evidence, his brother’s lifelong work, had died with him. 

Thor curled his large hands into fists and roared, bringing them up and smashing his brother’s great desk in two. It collapsed inward, drawers spilling papers and pens and a collection of loose folios scribbled with spells and drawings out over the floor. Thor seized them, crumpling some, tearing at others, but it didn’t take long before he was crying, trying to smooth out the pages or place them back together. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, trying to smooth out the wrinkles of an elaborate illustration that resembled Eir’s Soul Forge. “I’m sorry.”

He only ever destroyed things. He only ever hit back with all his might and force with no thought to what he was breaking—a peace treaty, the laws of Asgard, his brother’s heart. 

Loki had dedicated all his intelligence to unraveling the lies and hypocrisies surrounding the throne, and all that was left was a few stray pages buried in a desk, and a brother whose great strength did nothing but further protect those who had stolen Loki’s life. 

Thor gave in at last, clutching the papers to his chest, curling around them on the floor, and in a great, heaving sob of despair, let his tears fall. 

Chapter Text

Thor had shoved the sofa close to the hearth and was curled up under one of Loki’s spare cloaks, unable to stop shivering. For the first time in years, he regretted their decision to remain in shared chambers: it had meant he was alert to Loki’s nightmares, but it also meant that he was surrounded by his now-dead brother’s things, and the empty room to his left called to him as his magic called to its twin. 

He thought he had slept, or passed out, or simply broken with time altogether, when a knock sounded on the common room door. He thought if he simply lay still the supplicant would go away, but the sound became even louder until he could bear it no longer and called “Come in.”

General Tyr stood in the doorway, a host of Einherjar at his back. Thor didn’t even feign stirring from the sofa to greet him. “Your Grace,” he said, “I can not convey the sorrow and grief felt by myself and the soldiers of the realm over the loss of Prince Loki.”

“What is it you want?” Thor demanded.

“This is a time of great importance in terms of the safety of Asgard. I am charged with the defense of our Capital and aiding in the security of the realm. I simply can not play host to a demanding Vanir.”

“Send Lord Njörd to Odin,” Thor grumbled. 

“It is not Njörd, Your Grace—it is Heimr, Prince Loki’s former Master of War. He insists on speaking with you alone.”

Thor shot upright. “Send him to me at once.”

“My Prince, receiving a Vanir without an invitation is an insult. If you would allow me to refuse him—”

“You will bring him here now. And if you disturb me further with any matter less than than a foreign invasion, I will have you flogged. I may see to it personally,” Thor hissed. Tyr looked startled, than gave a slight bow and vanished down the hall in a huff of clanging metal and guards. 

Thor pushed the sofa back to its proper place, ducked into the bath to splash his face, and quickly pulled his breastplate back on, attempting to appear as himself. He was only just refastening his cape when the door opened and Heimr barged in, two guards at his back. 

“Prince Thor,” he said with a swift bow. “There are terrible rumors among the Vanir troops.”

Thor nodded to the guards, who dutifully closed the door. “Master Heimr—”

“They are saying Prince Loki is dead. They are saying he was killed on Vanaheim. I have told them it is shameful, what they speak. It is treason. I know my Prince, and he would not be killed in some pathetic little uprising.”

“What they say is true,” Thor managed: he was long drained of tears, but the words still hurt. “He was struck down by a scorpion’s bolt.”

The elder man wavered, placing a hand on the back of a chair. “How would a group of small villagers have access to a siege weapon?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“And Loki…he’s lost?”

Thor nodded, feeling suddenly exhausted. “If it is any comfort…he didn’t suffer. And I was at his side. He was…” Thor was forced to steady himself. “He was the happiest I’ve seen him in years, this past week. He loved Vanaheim. And he was thrilled to see you again. He’d finally agreed to be my Chancellor. He was happy.”

Heimr simply stared, as if expecting Thor to laugh and declare it all a joke, or someone to interrupt them and announce that Loki had, in fact, survived. 

“Oh…Your Grace.” Heimr sank into a chair, hands shaking. “So many have trained with me…I can not recall all their names. I mourn for all those who are lost, I celebrate with those who return. I’ve no children of my own, but when I’m asked why not, I say ‘because I have thousands.’” Heimr’s eyes were bright with tears. “But if ever I could claim one as truly mine…it would have been your Loki. The others arrived to me as young men. He was given to me as a child…the sweetest, most clever child I’ve ever known. I’d have carved out my own heart for that boy.”

“You loved him so very much,” Thor nearly spat. “Yet you abandoned him.”

“I did no such thing.” Heimr’s gaze turned deadly, and he raised his chin in a decisively Loki gesture.  “I wrote to him two, sometimes three times a week, ever since I was ordered back to Vanaheim. The Vanir can not visit court without an invitation, and though I begged messengers to smuggle notes through the Bifrost, they refused. I had to send my letters by ship, knowing the Council would intercept them. Yet I still wrote. When I heard you were to visit, I saved all the letters and gave them to your brother when I saw him. I knew he’d kept faith with me—his visits proved it. And I made my own.”

“Is that how you arrived here?” Thor asked, feeling rightfully chastised. Heimr nodded. 

“Years ago, I paid off several Mages to find the paths between realms. Every public Royal appearance, anytime I thought I could get a glimpse of him without being noticed, I tried to. To see that he was well, that he was strong, that he was at ease, if not happy. I had no other way of reaching him. Had I been discovered, the Council would have ensured I was demoted, the portals sealed, and my reputation poisoned. I’d never have reached him again.”

“Why?” Thor asked, sinking onto the sofa once more. “Why would the Council keep you away from Court? Why would they halt your letters?”

Heimr rubbed a shaking hand over his eyes. “Under a Monarch, there are very few ways to rise to power, and one is to get close to the sons and daughters of the Crown. I was close to Prince Loki, and my presence, as a Vanir, was largely unwelcome—my relationship with Tyr was proof of that.

“I wasn’t only training Loki in an alternate way of fighting—I was training him in military history, tactics, and politics. I wasn’t here a day before it became clear that I was expected to adhere to the established history of Asgard, regardless of its truth. Alaric attempted friendship early on: I rejected him. And Durinn’s curriculum. And Vakr’s concerns about the Prince becoming a Mage.” 

Heimr was quiet for a long moment. “I will tell you what I always told Loki,” he finally said. “That you must never trust that your Father’s friends are yours. Or that your brother’s are yours. You must let people prove themselves to you and you alone.”

Thor nodded. “He heeded your advice.”

“I thought I was helping my Prince carve out a place for himself. Politics were a great outlet for his intelligence and, as he grew older, his love of mischief. And I thought, by getting him to question the motives and history of those around him, that he could keep himself safe. I wonder now if I didn’t doom my poor boy.” Heimr’s hands shook once more and he rubbed desperately at his eyes once more.

“You can help me,” Thor said. “Tell me what you know of the Court, and of the Council. What did you see while you were here? Why would they want Loki dead?”

It took a moment before the elder man could meet his gaze once more, but he eventually did, a fierce determination in his face. “Tell me what brought you to Vanaheim.” 

Thor poured out the story: his failed coronation, his banishment to Midgard, Loki’s rise as Regent, his suspicions of the Council, his betrothal to a Light Elf, their discovery of their mystical connection, their investigations on Vanaheim. Heimr sat with his hands folded, occasionally smiling when Thor told him something clever Loki had done or said, or features twisting when he spoke of Loki in danger or distress. He told him of his fury in the Council meeting, the loss of their evidence, and everything he could remember about the skirmish and their position on the hill before his brother was shot. 

When he finished, Heimr smiled sadly. 

“What a wonder he was,” the elder man said. “How ingenious.”

“Do you believe us?” Thor pleaded. 

“I have faith Loki’s suspicions were valid. But first, you need allies. Friends, soldiers, mages, nobles, anyone you are confident is loyal to you. I don’t believe anyone will try and harm you, but they will try and influence you, and anyone near you.”

“My brother said something similar,” Thor lamented. “He wanted to invite our friend Fandral back to court.”

“I’m inclined to agree. I’m sure his banishment has been a difficult lesson. And it was Loki he betrayed, not you. You needn’t be good friends, as long as you’re confident he will serve you well. Alaric will send a great many young men your way in the hopes you will take one of his choices into your confidence.”

“He took my brother from me; does he truly believe he could replace him?”

“He will try.” Heimr frowned. “I can not bear that this happened on my home realm. If I’d believed for a moment there was a danger there, I would have informed you at once. But personally, I’m unaware of unrest on Vanaheim. There is a great love for the Royal family, particularly since the Queen is Vanir, and Prince Loki is beloved of the Mages and Warriors alike. It’s true that we have rapidly been expanding our troops, but we were told these orders came from Asgard, that the Allfather desired a stronger military presence so the Aesir soldiers would not leave the Capital of the Nine Realms with limited defenses.”

“What of the Warlocks? Would they conspire with the Jotunns?”

“I don’t know enough about magic to say. Vanaheim lost a great many troops fighting Laufey’s invasion of Midgard. There is no love for Jotunheim in our realm.”

“There doesn’t appear to be anywhere. They have no allies, they have limited resources. They discard their own children.”

Heimr paled abruptly. “Your Grace…did you and your brother ever speak of your journey there? Did he sense anything?”

“…sense anything?”

“Of their magic. Or anything else. Did he come into contact with a Frost Giant?”

“Our friend Volstagg did. He was burned.”

“Has Loki ever handled the Casket of Ancient Winters?”

“Of course not,” Thor frowned. “It would freeze him.” Heimr rose and began to pace. “What is it?” he pressed, but just then a knock sounded at the door. 

“I know who that will be,” Heimr sighed. Thor rose and called for the guards to permit the visitor in, his stomach sinking when Alaric entered. 

“My Prince,” the Chancellor said. “Master Heimr. I regret that we must see each other after so long a time under these circumstances.” 

“Indeed, Lord Chancellor. I imagine the Bifrost is nearly choking with all the Vanir you allow to court. Surely there’s no other explanation as to why I have never received an invitation after all my years of loyal service—not even to my beloved Prince’s Thousandth Name Day.”

“I was told you were in attendance regardless,” Alaric smiled warmly. “I’m glad for it.”

“What do you want, Lord Chancellor?” Thor demanded. 

“I’ve brought you copies of the Council’s security reports, my Prince. I’ve no doubt you will soon be back with your fellow Ministers. And I wanted to once more express my deepest regrets for this horrifying loss. We will find who did this and hold them accountable.” 

“Thank you,” Thor forced out, his hands clenching into fists in a desperate effort to keep himself calm. “I appreciate you rising to my defense. It seems I can not help but behave poorly in Council meetings.”

“On the contrary, Your Grace. You have served Asgard well, as did Prince Loki. All of us understood your outburst. We have all lost many of our own friends and loved ones. Age is all that divides us.”

“Your words are kind. I shall not forget them,” Thor managed. His magic was starting to heat up, pushing at his fingers, as if wanting to avenge Loki on its own. “Prepare chambers for Master Heimr as close to mine as possible. They are to be permanent. He will come and go from Asgard as he pleases from this day forth. I will inform Heimdall myself.”

“Of course.” The Chancellor looked grim. “Your Grace…there is one final matter, one I wish could be avoided. I have been charged by Odin Allfather in overseeing the plans for the Prince’s funeral. Since Master Heimr is here, perhaps we could—”

Thor’s hand called for Mjölnir before he was consciously aware of it. Heimr sprang toward him with surprising stealth and smashed Thor’s arm to the side, causing the great hammer to veer off track and merely graze the side of the Chancellor’s face. 

The impact was still enough to take Alaric to the floor. 

“GET OUT!” Thor roared, seizing Mjölnir’s handle and raising her once more. Heimr forced himself in front of his arm and gripped his wrist in both hands. 

“Stop it,” he hissed. “Now.”

“Get him out of my sight,” Thor heaved, his entire body screaming kill, kill, kill. “These were our rooms. Get him out of my sight!”

“Go, Lord Alaric,” Heimr ordered. “Before I give in to my worst instincts and let loose of him.”

The Chancellor got slowly to his feet. “Forgive me, my Prince,” he murmured, and shuffled to the door, several Einherjar gazing anxiously in when he opened it.

“All is well,” Heimr snapped. “Leave us. Allow no further visitors.”

A soldier nodded and sealed the door shut behind the Chancellor. Thor felt a roar of fury building in him, but before he could, Heimr shoved him backwards with a surprising amount of strength. 

“You stupid, stupid boy!” he raged. “Could you not see you gave him exactly what he wanted?”

“He murdered my brother!”

“Prove it.”

“You said you believed me—”

“Show me a condemning letter. Show me damning records. Furnish a witness, or even better, five or six. Lay out before me an impenetrable defense that the man who practically built your Father’s throne had our Loki killed.”

“I can’t,” Thor sobbed, suddenly not so empty of tears. “Don’t you see? I can’t.”

“That’s right. You can’t. And throwing your great weight around won’t change that. Alaric will limp off to the Allfather and beg that he not be harsh on you, for you’re just a poor child half-mad with grief. Nothing that you say will be taken seriously.” 

“Then what do I do?”

“You sit down, put that beastly weapon aside, and calm yourself while I pour us both some wine. We have need of it.”

Thor’s hands were shaking, but he managed to slowly relinquish his grip on the hammer’s handle. Heimr went to the door and spoke quietly to a soldier. The he went to the hearth and built the fire up until a page arrived moments later with a small cart containing jugs of wine, cold water, bread, fruit, and cheese. Heimr poured them each a goblet, swallowed his own down in three mighty gulps, and refilled. 

“Drink, you grand idiot. Nothing calms a man faster.”

Thor glared at him. “The way you’ve spoken to me is punishable by death.”

“By all means, strike me down. I look forward to taking a cup with Loki in Valhalla and telling him how you undid all his good work.” 

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Yet you continue.”

“Alaric dares to come here, to our chambers, to tell me he will oversee the last rights of my only brother!”

“He is Chancellor—it is his duty to oversee a Royal or Noble funeral.”

“He tells me here!”

“And where would it be easier, my Prince? Where would you prefer to hear the man you believe ultimately responsible for Loki’s death will oversee his final departure? The Allmother’s garden? The Observatory of the Guardian? Before the throne of Odin?” Heimr set his goblet aside and pulled a chair over so he could sit eye-to-eye with the elder Prince. “You will not get justice for your brother this way.”

“I’ve tried Loki’s way. We failed. Our evidence is gone. Everything we planned is lost.”

“Look at me.” Thor did…though he found it difficult. “Think of a time in your life when you were in despair and you solved it without violence.”

The Prince’s hands shook. “Every time I did…Loki was with me. He was guiding me, advising me. We found it together.”

“What would he say to you now?”

“All the things you have.” Tears stung Thor’s eyes. “You sound so much like him…I can’t bear it.”

The elder man reached out and placed his hands over Thor’s. “You, Thor Odinson, may never be my Loki of Asgard, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be more than ‘the mighty Thor.’”

“I don’t know how to do this without him.”

“You take everything he taught you, and everything you know, and you put it together, as if he were at your side,” Hemir soothed. “He believed in you—that is no small feat. You didn’t always make it easy. You were not always kind as a child.”

“Or as an adult,” Thor admitted. “If it makes you feel better…Loki once stabbed me.”

“As I recall, you’d stolen his journal.” The elder man smiled when Thor gaped at him. “I did tell him he was not to harm you again. Neither of you were perfect. You’d do well to remember that. You complimented one another quite well.”

Thor’s chuckle turned to a sob. “Help me,” he pleaded. “Tell me how to avenge him.”

“You already know. My Prince taught you.” The elder man rose and placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder. “You must rest. Go and be with your Mother, or a close friend. Give yourself several hours to do nothing but mourn him. Think over what I’ve said.”

“You won’t leave, will you?” 

“Of course not. It seems I now have permanent chambers, by order of the Crown Prince.” Heimr gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “I’m going to take my own advice now. I need several hours to lose myself in this loss, and to think on what steps I must take to protect my home and ensure justice is served. We will speak again later.”

Thor couldn’t bear to let him go, even knowing he’d be nearby. He thought of what Loki had told him, about how he thought he’d die if Heimr returned to Vanaheim, and how sharply he now understood.

“Master Heimr…why is it Loki never had you back to court? Surely he could have invited you.”

The elder man smiled sadly. “He’d have had to go to the Allfather, or the Council, and request permission for an official state invitation. That would have been difficult enough. But I know my Prince. He’d live lonely before he’d take the chance that I would say no.”

“But you’d have come, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would. I’d never have left if I wasn’t ordered to.” Heimr sighed. “Loki had a terrible fear of abandonment, though he couldn’t ever see it for what it was. He’d rather isolate himself and hide away his needs than risk the chance that someone would reject him. He always tried so hard to appear untroubled. Had I known him only when he was older, I may have even fell for it myself.” The elder man lifted his chin once more. “I am so very grateful he was happy, at the end. I’m blessed I got to see him one last time. I do hope you know that he loved you, very much. Even when he was angry with you, there was no one else he wanted to spend his time with.”

“There was you.”

“There was me. And then there wasn’t. There was always you. You were a good brother, Thor Odinson. Even when you weren’t striving to be.” The elder man’s eyes bore into the Prince’s. “Commit yourself to outwitting him, and you will succeed. Hold that thought in your mind and drive it down until your heart believes it.” 

Thor’s eyes burned once more, but he managed a nod. Heimr started toward the door, then paused, eyes falling on the spare green cape Thor had huddled under. He placed his hand over the center and brushed it softly.

“The day I first met him, I told him I had been given to him so he’d know everything he ever needed to protect himself.” He swallowed, hard. “I don’t regret that I did. I won’t let the men who did this claim the time I had with him. I’ll use everything I taught him to bring them to their knees.”

*

Alone in his office, Gungnir at rest beside him, Odin placed his hands on the arms of his chair, closed his eyes, and let his magic reach outward, feeling out across the Plain of Unquiet Souls for his lost son. 

If Loki had accepted his death and entered Valhalla, the Allfather would have no choice but to respect that choice and pray they’d be reunited one day. 

But if it was as he’d first felt…if his son’s soul had managed to avoid the afterlife, then maybe there was something to be done. He’d never attempted a spell of resurrection: it was dangerous, a potential violation of the universal order, and possibly fruitless. He couldn’t bear the thought of giving false hope to Frigga and Thor, only to feel Loki’s spirit drift away into eternal peace.

However, almost the moment his own soul touched the spirit realm, Loki’s desperation and frantic search for home rushed into him. Odin dug his fingers into the chair, as if it would anchor him to his youngest. 

Loki, I’m here, he willed. I’m seeking you, my son. Can you follow my voice?

Father!

Here, I’m here, Loki. Have faith, now. You must help me find you. 

I don’t know this place. Where’s Thor? I was with Thor…

Thor is here. He is home. Come this way, Loki. 

I can’t…the afterlife is there. It’s after me. I can’t go, not yet. 

Call out to me, then. Try to find your way to a marker, anything that would distinguish where you are. Keep speaking, Loki, so I may find you.  

I can’t…forgive me, Father.

Hold fast, my son, I beg you. Don’t let loose of our connection. Reach back, Loki, call out to me. Be strong, my boy. 

The connection weakened…and vanished. Odin pushed frantically against it, calling out after him, but his son’s spirit had fled, inevitably pushed away by Valhalla’s approach.

But he’d avoided it thus far. And that, at least, was cause for hope, if only his own. 

There was a brief knock and a guard announced “Lord Chancellor Alaric, Allfather.”

“Send him in,” Odin said, though his heart wasn’t in it. 

Alaric appeared, looking worn and sad, the side of his cheek quickly turning to a bruise. “My King,” he said, “I’ve reports from Vanaheim.”

“What has happened to your face?” 

“A mishap with the chamber doors. I fear I’ve been distracted, this day.”

“In our nearly four-thousand years as friends, I hope you don’t feel you can lie to me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Grace.”

“My son struck you, didn't he?”

Alaric sighed. “Odin, I beg you—let him have some time. It is his first great loss. You and I have had so many, I fear we’ve forgotten the agony we once felt.”

“There is no agony greater than this,” the King snapped. “I’ve lost one of my children.”

“But you have a way of coping in place,” the Chancellor reminded him. “Thor does not.”

“That gives him no right to strike you.” Odin gestured for his friend to take one of the chairs across from his desk. “You alway counseled me to be easy on him. And I listened, because you had your children first, and because I relied on your wisdom as my Chancellor. But I feel I’ve ultimately done my son a disservice.” 

“If that is the case, than I am sorry for it,” Alaric murmured. “I suppose he’s always reminded me of another young, blond warrior I knew. One who was equally loyal and ill-tempered, but very wise and just. I ended up pledging my life to him.” He smiled slightly, and Odin couldn’t help but smile back. 

“When I look back on the night I cast him to Midgard,” the Allfather said, “I think I saw too much of myself in him then. That terrible drive for power and war.” He felt a growing pain of waiting tears in his chest. “The deaths of my brothers killed that battlelust forever. I never dreamed my children would endure the same pain. I never dreamed I would one of my sons.” 

Alaric reached across the desk and grasped the King’s arm, holding firm. “It is a crime against the universe, for any parent to endure the loss of their child.”

“Loki reminded me so very much of you, at times. Calm, quiet, intelligent. I relied too heavily on him to manage Thor.”

“That is doing yourself a grave injustice. If he reminded you of me, that was you and the Queen’s fostering, and his own desire to set himself apart from his brother.” Alaric smiled softly once more. “He was magnificent the week he was Regent. I wish I had his gifts for tormenting politicians at such a young age. I could have done wonders with your Father’s Councilors.” 

“I tried to raise them to rely on you and the wisdom of the Ministers. Instead they were so suspicious and resentful. What Thor said today…it is the grace of the Norns that kept him from the throne. He’d have ignored the Council’s advice completely.”

“It was so very, very long ago, my King, but I fear you’ve forgotten just how difficult and mistrustful we were of King Bor’s Ministers. It is simply what the young do, and I daresay it’s part of life, to seek their own place by usurping the elder generation. And as your Chancellor, I have been responsible for sharing both wonderful and terrible news with a great many, the Princes included. I learned long ago to weather the reactions.”

Odin sank back in his chair, allowing one lone tear to leak from his eye. “What are we to do now?”

“We will keep the State of Emergency. We will prepare a grand funeral for the Prince and memorials to commemorate him. We will apprehend his killers and ensure their executions are public. And we will care for the Queen and Crown Prince as they grieve.” The Chancellor squeezed his friend’s arm. “And you, my King…you must allow yourself to mourn as well. I know you will not do so publicly, but perhaps, sharing some of your grief with Prince Thor would help you both. It is good that he sees that he needn’t be invincible as King.”

“If I begin to weep, I fear I will never stop,” Odin said, staring out over the dark of Asgard. “There is so much I regret, so many whom I’ve lost. But to lose a son…” Odin’s breath hitched. “I was not even there to ease his passing.” 

“We will find out who did this, and why, I swear it,” the Chancellor vowed. 

“I already know why this happened—my hubris. In the darkest moments of my imagining, it was always Thor I feared losing. I imagined he’d take on too many enemies, or inadvertently lose control of his power and wind up burying himself alive in some foolish maneuver. Loki was always wise beyond his years, and forward-thinking, and so quick with his tongue and on his feet.”

“It’s only natural, my King. My youngest son, Erling, was impulsive in his youth, and prone to taking terrible risks on hunts. I worried about him far more than his brother.”

“It wasn’t that.” Odin closed his eyes. “When I found Loki, in the temple on Jotunheim…death already had hold of him. He was starving, he was small, he’d been abandoned for nearly two days. I poured my magic into him…and he came back to life. Every day I was reminded of that: how close he had come to not being here, and how amazingly blessed we were to have him. I thought I’d saved him, forever. Surely even the Norns wouldn’t punish a child with two premature deaths in a lifetime.”

“He was not a child,” Alaric reminded him. “He was a brave, strong, clever man and fierce warrior. He did you proud as a Prince, going to quell an uprising and support his brother. That enemies of Asgard took him from us is no fault of yours, or plot of the Norns.”

Another tear slid free. “He was so fiercely clever. It grieves me even further that he had become so paranoid and fearful of his own Council. I can not fathom what engendered it.”

“It has burdened me greatly to have to report such heartbreaking news, my King,” the Chancellor murmured.

“Thor believes it too,” Odin said slowly. 

“I feel it right that he does. He has always loved his brother. It is right that he supports him.”

“Even in madness?”

“Especially in madness.” Alaric sat back in his own chair. “I recall in the days after the deaths of Vili and Vé, how everyone told me I myself had gone mad, to remain devoted to you when you had left for Vanaheim. But I kept my faith with you. It is a testament to you and the Queen that you raised our future King to have the same loyalty and endurance, even with a potentially unstable brother.”

Odin recalled Thor’s frantic rantings at the Council meeting and felt a hard pull in his chest, the psychic trigger of danger or fate. “Do you believe the Warlocks of Vanaheim could have masterminded the intrusion into the Weapon’s Vault?”

“I had suspected it. Sadly, Prince Loki dismissed the Mages I recruited to investigate—they were paying visits to their temple on our behalf.”

“And what of your Mages’ investigation?”

Alaric’s face fell. “They confirmed that the Prince’s seidr was in the Weapon’s Vault, but that is only normal. We know he sealed the portals.”

“What were the Mages thoughts on the invasion?”

“I am loathe to say, my King, given the horror of the day—”

“Alaric.”

The Chancellor sighed. “They found it likely that a Mage who knew the Vault opened the portal, but did not properly seal it, which is how the second invasion came about.”

“And you believe my son to be that Mage.”

“I can not bring myself to think so. The Prince was ever-loyal to Asgard. Surely if madness had taken hold of him to that degree, we would have known.”

“Maybe not,” Odin admitted. “I haven’t been the Father I dreamed I’d be, before I was King. I was fool enough to feel Thor ready for the throne, when all of Asgard could see he was severely unprepared. Perhaps I also failed to see the profound instability of my second son.”

“You mustn't blame yourself. The boy was highly skilled at deception and manipulation. If he had taken ill in his mind, I’ve no doubt he strove to conceal it.”

“If this theory is true,” the Allfather said slowly, “if he permitted the Jotunns in, attempted to seal the portal and failed before I sank into sleep…what do you make of his determination to bring Thor back from Midgard?”

“I can not say, my King. Perhaps for extra protection. Perhaps he felt it loaned credibility to his rule. Perhaps the plan simply got out of hand and he felt true remorse. I’m sure he never imagined there would be a second invasion, or that the Crown Prince would be caught in it.”

“That is a truly horrifying thought.” Odin shook his head. “Loki never spoke of wanting to rule. He resisted my appointing him Regent. I’m sorry, my friend, but I can not see him going to such lengths.” 

“I do not believe it myself,” Alaric admitted. "I think it's a terribly convenient explanation Njörd has handed us, to pin the blame all on our Prince, who can neither defend nor account for himself. It strikes me as an amateurish effort to explain away events they clearly must have some knowledge of, or they would simply say they don't know anything."

“And what of Thor’s report?” Odin asked, thinking back to his son’s rage at the Council meeting. “Why does he suspect the Vanir of underreporting their weapons?”

“There is a large stockpile of old weaponry on Vanaheim that we occasionally purchase from, to melt down and forge into new weapons. I believe he is confusing the old stockpile with the actual, useable weaponry. As for their numbers, they are not at all close to our own, but the Prince has strong instincts. We should do a more thorough accounting, especially given that this rebellion took place on their realm, and the villagers clearly had access to high-level weapons.”

“What of the fees he said were paid on through the security council?”

“We’ve no records of Vakr’s that indicate such bonuses were paid. We did indeed reduce their taxes, but you yourself were involved in that decision. We have always shown favor to Vanaheim.” 

Odin held out his hand. “Show me their reports.”

Alaric nodded and began carefully laying out grouped folios by subject. “I’ve reviewed them all, with the exception of these. I fear I don’t know what to make of them.”

“These are Ward reports,” Odin said. “Indicating magical protections and disruptions.” He slowly placed the page on the desk. “Thor and Loki both pointed out that we are woefully underprepared magically. That is my pride interfering with Asgard’s safety, yet again. Both my sons were nearly killed attempting to seal the portal in the Weapon’s Vault. We need a Council of Mages. It makes sense to have them under the Security Council. The Queen will oversee them until an appropriate replacement is found.”

“An excellent idea, my King.”

“It was not my own.”

“Your sons have excellent ideas as well,” he soothed. 

“Perhaps they do. Perhaps I have been too stubborn to hear them.”

“It has done us all good to have the Princes on the Council. Hopefully when Lord Abjorn joins us, he too will bring the valuable insight born of new eyes. And hopefully the Nobles he brings with him will be good company for the Prince.”

Odin swallowed, hard. “We will hold off on Loki’s funeral. I will go from here to the healers’ to inform them personally. The Queen and Crown Prince need time.”

“As you wish, my friend.” His face softened. “Odin. Can I not help you?”

“You have already.” He gestured to the papers. 

“You needn’t always be strong for me. We have consoled each other many times throughout the years.”

“And I’m grateful for them.” He managed a smile. “In time, my friend. Until then, your work is what I need most, so that I may attend to my family. I have trusted you with Asgard countless times. I’ve never had greater need of it then now.”

“I will serve you well.”

“You have always been my dearest friend. I hope you’ve never doubted that.”

“Never.” Alaric’s eyes dampened. “And I hope you know…I mourn as well. He was a sweet, clever child and a brilliant young man. We were all blessed to have had him among us.”

Odin nodded. “Go home now,” he managed. “And tomorrow…visit all your children, and embrace them. I wish very much that I had spent more time holding my own.”

Alaric reached across the desk and squeezed his friend’s hand once more. “My friend, and my King. We are blessed to have you too.” 

Odin squeezed back, giving him the warmest smile he could muster. His chest ached when he’d gone: and it was no longer solely filled with grief. 

It was the first time Odin had ever doubted the man he’d loved far above his own brothers—and the first time Odin had lied to him. 

*

Alone again, with Loki’s cape gathered around him, Thor sat on the sofa and gazed into the fire. He thought of how his brother always complained that he sat too close, and how Thor could never understand Loki’s habit for long winter walks. It seemed clearer now: he was a child of the sun, filled with the magic of lightning and flame. He was a soldier and a warrior first, and would always be. 

Loki could thrive in the cold, in the dark, seeing his way around the corners and far down the pathways Thor didn’t even know were there. Thor couldn’t possibly outthink or outwit his brother, and his brother had been unable to outthink the Council. Destroying them made clear sense in the moment: strike down the enemy as he struck down any other. 

Loki’s way had failed. 

Thor’s way had failed. 

But their strength didn’t lay in the dark of one or the light of the other—it lay in the dawn, it lay in the dusk, it lay where they were closest, where their ways combined. 

His mind flashed to the shelves of crystals in the Vanir barracks, the portrait of the Mages combining their seidrs to amplify their power. But the crystal had to be cared for, and nurtured, and in-tune with its wielder. 

He shot to his feet, the idea only half formed, and crossed into his brother’s room. A flash of hurt and loss welled in his chest, but that wasn’t what he was here for. He knelt on the floor as if in prayer, closed his eyes, loosened his hold on his own magic, and called Loki’s into himself. 

Nothing happened for a moment, but then, slowly, he felt vibrations in the room stirring. It was nothing like the strength he had with his living, breathing brother casting back to him, but there were dozens of remnants all over the room. Flickers from books, half-written spells, talismans and amulets, old enchantments he’d cast in the room, even flickers from the sleeping draught he’d prepared before Thor’s failed coronation. He pulled them into himself, imagined them calming his temper and steadying his nerves. Pictured the early morning sky when Loki had spoken of holding a feast. Remembered how powerful and happy they’d been when Thor had claimed Vakr’s Ministry. 

Clarity surged through him like a blade of Jotunn ice. His eyes came open almost on their own, and he found more time had passed then he had realized. But he felt slightly more whole, and infinitely more confident. 

“Don’t worry, brother,” he whispered to the room. “I’ll make you proud. I swear it.”

Thor rose and walked calmly to the door of their common room, deadly resolve in his chest. The Einherjar bowed when he appeared. He turned to the nearest one.

“Go to the Chancellor at once,” he said. “Tell him I request to meet with him in his office at noon tomorrow. Tell him I deeply regret my actions and desire to make things right between us. Tell him I would like to be involved with planning the funeral of Prince Loki. Tell him…it is finally time all conflict ends between the House of Odin and the House of Alaric. There should be nothing going forward but perfect understanding.” Thor smiled. “It is time for us to remember what it is we love—for Asgard.”

Chapter Text

Thor dressed in the clothing Loki had ordered tailored for him when he was mortal. It was appropriately darker gray than his armor, but still featured the bright red indicative of Asgard’s Crown Prince. He placed Mjölnir beside the sofa, carefully folding Loki’s spare cape and draping it over the back. He let his fingers linger for a moment, pulling a few wisps of magic from it. His own magic was pressing at his fingers and prickling along his skin, but he held it in check. 

The palace remained unusually quiet as he made his way from his chambers toward the Council’s. The few Nobles he glimpsed were wearing muted colors, and while the standard banners of the House of Odin still bedecked the halls, a great deal of the flowers had been stripped away. Before the throne room, two large white flags with golden flames had been hung, indicating a Royal soul had entered Valhalla. 

The Prince didn’t pause to consider them. 

A handmaiden stood just outside the Council chamber, dressed in a blue so dark it was nearly black. 

“From the Queen, Your Highness,” she said, and handed him a silken silver bag. 

“Thank you.”

The guards stood at attention and opened the door the Council chamber, clearly expecting him. The main room was empty: Alaric had dismissed the Ministers to their offices and subcommittees, undoubtedly in preparation for Thor’s appointment. 

The door to the Chancellor’s office was already open, and a page bowed and gestured he should enter without bothering to announce him. 

“Your Grace,” Alaric greeted, already on his feet when Thor entered. 

“Lord Chancellor, thank you for granting me this meeting. I know the demands of your schedule all too intimately now.”

“Your presence is always a welcome respite,” the Chancellor gestured to a seat. “Please, sit. I’ve called for food and drink.”

“That is kind of you.”

“How may I be of service?”

Thor took his seat as calmly as possible, carefully ensuring his posture remained relaxed and his demeanor pleasant. “I’d hoped you could personally update me on how the investigation into my brother’s assassins is proceeding.”  

“With due haste, my Prince.” The Chancellor nodded to several servants, who entered with all the standard food and wine befitting of a meeting. Thor accepted a cup of wine and gave his thanks. 

“We must not be disturbed further,” he ordered. The Chancellor accepted his own cup and awaited the servants’ departure before he continued. “The Vanir are desperate to recover His Graces’ attackers, as you can imagine. Their devotion to the Allfather is absolute, and such a vicious display of treason, while under their protection, has them deeply shaken.”

“And yet they’ve furnished no suspects.”

“They have thousands of soldiers scouring the hillsides; it’s believed that the assassins resided in the nearby village, and when their meager rebellion failed, they secreted themselves in the forest with their scorpion.”

“And my brother and I happened in the way of it.”

“Precisely, Your Grace.” 

Thor gazed thoughtfully at his goblet. “It’s been some time since I was involved in a siege. My experience with its weaponry is far from expert. But I do recall it was quite troublesome to move, took time to assemble and dissemble, and caused a great deal of noise. My men were in the woods in minutes, and while the markings of the scorpion were there, the machine was gone.”

“The older weaponry is as you say, Your Grace, but the more modern apparatuses constructed with Leiptr Alloy can be incredibly light and easily carried.” 

“Leiptr metal is of Asgardian make. We provide this to the Vanir for weaponry?”

“Vanaheim is our closest ally. Maintaining their military is a critical part of their economy and essential to the security of Asgard.”

Thor sighed. “You’ll have to excuse my inquest. It seems my brother’s bad habits have taken to me.”

“Prince Loki was ever deeply curious and studious,” the Chancellor smiled. “We were all blessed to have both of our Princes attend our meetings and offer their input. You were most gracious in your service to him. After all, if not for a few more words, you would have assumed your rightful place on the throne days earlier.” 

Thor took a long drink. “Do you have siblings of your own, Lord Chancellor?” 

The change of topic caused Alaric to raise an eyebrow. “Sadly no, my Prince. I had a younger sister who was born sleeping, and I believe my parents were so anxious about such a tragedy repeating itself that they endeavored to endure me alone.”

Thor smiled. “I regret you’ve never had the experience. I’ve found it to be quite remarkable, my relationship with Loki. We’re very different, really. Sometimes getting along is a struggle, and we know each other so well, our fights can be quite cruel. And yet, no matter how angry or irritated we are, we always come back to one another.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. The friendship and affection you and the Prince shared was an uplifting example for Asgard. The realm mourns alongside you, I assure you.” 

“The Regency brought my brother even closer together, and also lead us to reflect a great deal on our upbringing. While we were in Vanaheim, my brother reminded me of the first ever conflict between you and I. I couldn’t have been more than eight, and you came to inform us that Loki would be training with a different Master of War.”

“It was Odin’s command, my Prince.”

“Of course it was. But I didn’t understand that, not for some time. I realized, when he recalled that, that I have been unfair to you over the years. You faithfully carried out my father’s duties, and I unjustly resented you for them.”

“Not at all, Your Grace. Serving your family is the highest honor imaginable. It is with the greatest pride that I am able to say I was able to watch our next King grow into the role.”

“I’m grateful to you.” Thor rose and crossed to the table to pour himself more wine, waving to the Chancellor when he went to rise. “You must understand, though Loki and I were raised with many children of the nobility, we were always aware that we were apart from them. The other children spoke of being out of sight when visitors arrived, or merely standing and presenting themselves before being sent off. My brother and I had to be present for all state functions, to complete our duties. The other children were taught to defer to us, to respect us, to practice their courtly manners on us. We had our own tutors away from the classroom, our own servants, our own healers. 

“I suppose to some, that would make them feel special and more important, but to us, it was frustrating. We wanted what the other children had, and it was clear that, even when we had everything we could ever want, we would never truly be one with our peers. We were only spared loneliness because we had one another.

“So when you walked in that day and announced that we were to be separated, you gave me my first taste of being truly alone, and the pain of that made you an enemy. Sadly, the feeling often returned throughout years, through no fault of your own.”

“Your Grace, there’s no need for regrets. You were a child. It is I who regret ever having to cause you distress.”

“It was not your doing that caused me distress, Chancellor. Looking back, my Father should have explained to us, together, why the separation was necessary. Perhaps if they had made greater efforts for Loki and I to endure life apart, the situation as it stands would not be so dire.” He picked up the pitcher of wine and refilled the Chancellor’s goblet. His own hadn’t been touched, but he added a bit more in order to let the silence sit. Thor smiled and replaced the pitcher, but remained standing, far enough away to not seem threatening. “My brother has a reputation for mischief and misdeeds. That is justly earned. But my own reputation would be far more cruel without him at my side.”

“You’ve never struck me as cruel, my Prince. Your warmth and sincerity is renowned throughout Asgard.”

“As is my rage.” Thor finally allowed himself to indulge in a long drink. 

“A warrior’s rage is understandable and, I’d dare say, necessary.” 

“True. You fought with my Father, didn’t you?”

“Countless times.” The Chancellor smiled and sipped from his own goblet. “The Allfather is magnificent in battle. There were times I must have been protected by the Norns themselves, for how I’d pause to watch him fight when I should have been engaging the enemies around me.”

“It’s difficult going into battle with one’s friends. On the one hand, there’s no greater bond than those who fight together. On the other, the fear for their well-being is constant.” 

“Indeed, my Prince; and my friend was also my King. We were there, all of us, out of duty, yes: but out of love, far more.”

Thor nodded. “If you will indulge me one more recollection?” 

“As many as you’d like.” 

“I fear this one to be quite terrible.” 

“Take all the time that is needed.” 

Thor smiled. “When we were young, my Father sent us on a training mission to Svartalfheim. A handful of Dark Elves were disrupting some of the small villages on Vanaheim. We had twenty great Warriors, a company of soldiers, and our War Masters. I was just wielding Mjölnir. 

“It was a mere skirmish; we clearly had them beaten. But Loki and I were not practiced with true enemies, and so the battle was fraught for us. 

“I was circling in on a rebel when I saw my brother engaging across the field. He was attempting to use one of his magic doubles in order to lure a soldier away so that he could launch a proper assault using his own quite admirable fighting skills. 

“But as I said, we were young. Loki was not yet strong enough to cast illusions and battle at the same time. The Elf saw this. Whether it was magic or a powerful blow with a weapon we still don’t know, but he struck my brother with such force, it sent him hundreds of feet away and smashed his body so hard, it left an impression in a mountain. A mountain. A fortress of rock, dented by the body of a Prince of Asgard.” 

“That is terrible, Your Grace. Treasonous.” 

“I’d just begun to wield Mjölnir, but I took to the sky with it. I landed before my brother, and when I saw he was stunned and injured, but living, I faced off with that creature.” He turned to the Chancellor once more. “Did my Father ever use Gungnir in battle?”

“Indeed, when the odds were formidable.”

“It struck down his enemies fiercely and instantly, did it not?”

“Always, Your Grace.”

“My lightning does the same. Except I do my best to restrain it. My Father told us that, when quelling an incursion, we must kill as few as possible. To show mercy, to foster peace, to protect life, we must show our enemies that we are better than those who would oppose us.”

“The Allfather has built the universe’s most formidable empire on those wise words,” the Chancellor confirmed. “And his wisdom has proven itself infinitely times over.”

“It has. And yet, that day, it was lost to me. Whether that Elf was similar to us in blood or not, whether he was a subject or not, whether he was under the mercy of Odin or not, it didn’t matter. He had threatened me with a separation from my brother far greater than an adjacent room. The Nine Realms, the throne, the glory of Asgard, my duty as a Prince and a soldier—it all disappeared. There was only Loki, who was on the ground, and me, who’d failed to protect him.” 

Thor advanced toward the Chancellor then, hoping his full height and strength could be felt. “I raised Mjölnir, and I called forth lightning, but my inexperience in controlling it meant it wasn’t strong enough to kill. It stunned that Elf, and it burned him. His whole right arm was blackened and smoking. I called down more, so that I could burn his side. I melted his armor. I turned his hands and feet and face black in slow, steady increments. You can not imagine his screams, or the smell of his flesh, or the horrible way his skin bubbled and fell away and his blood and muscle curdled on the ground. 

“I felt no guilt, no horror—only rage. He’d have condemned me to thousands of years of mourning and loneliness. Several moments writhing in agony was nothing in comparison.

"His lips were pulling back off his gums when Loki reached me. He pleaded mercy for that monster. He told me that, as Asgard’s future King, torture was beneath me. That I must show justice, not cruelty, to my subjects. But I wouldn’t hear it. That creature’s screams filled me with a satisfaction I can’t ever explain. I wanted all Nine Realms to see what happened to those who would try to take my brother from me.

“Loki hurled a dagger into that soldier’s throat, to end his suffering. We fought over it for weeks afterward. I thought he should know his place and trust my judgment. I told him that threatening the life of a royal Asgardian should be punished as painfully as possible. But of course, my brother saw through me. He told me I couldn’t be so personal, that I couldn’t ride into battle with him and torture everyone who sought him harm, when that was the purpose of battle in the first place. 

“You speak of the love you bear our Father. What would you do, if you saw your King brutalized? If you felt you could protect him, and failed?”

The Chancellor was clearly uncomfortable and beyond hiding it. “I can not say, Your Grace,” he managed. “It is perhaps wise that the Norns failed to grant me brothers and sisters.” 

“Perhaps,” Thor said easily. “And yet, they granted you four children.”

The Chancellor’s eyes were now locked on his. Thor felt a slight thrill, the kind Loki must when his quarry finally caught up to him. “Indeed they have.”

“The youngest, the Lady Magnilde—she is with her first child?”

“She is.”

“I wonder what will happen when I place Mjölnir on her belly and call down the lightning that burnt the body of that Dark Elf. If she’ll feel her baby boiling alive in her womb. If she’ll plead for its life before her own.”

The Chancellor staggered to his feet. “Your Grace—”

“That sweet face, burnt beyond recognition. Her lips peeled back, her eyes staring at nothing.” Thor set his glass down with infinite care, as if he desired the safety of the cup. “I was within arm’s reach of my brother when that scorpion’s bolt destroyed him. I held him, I tried to aid him, I tried to look into his eyes, and he was lost to me. You’d done what you set out to do the day you marched into the training room—you’d taken the world from me, so you could replace it with your own.” 

“Your Grace,” Alaric scrambled, “I am your most devoted servant in this world. I love your family, I love your Father—”

“Your son Erling is the third, yes? A formidable hunter and Grand Archer, so I hear. I will take his hands first.”

“My Prince—my King—I beg you—”

“And your second born, Disa, a Mother of three. It won’t due to harm her, to leave her children bereft.”

“I can not fathom your pain, Your Grace, but I swear I have not sought to add to it—”

“Your daughter’s children should not be without their mother. I will see to it that they are not. Sadly, I have no experience relegating lightning to ones so small. I may slay them in one merciful blow; I may hesitate and leave them burnt and twisting. I would regret it deeply. The cries of a child should never be ignored.”

The Chancellor fell to his knees and bent forward, pressing his forehead to Thor’s boot. “I beg you, Your Grace,” he sobbed. “Whatever you may think of me, do not harm my family. It is I who have betrayed the throne, it is I who orchestrated the assassination of the Prince—”

“Your eldest son, Hafnar,” Thor hissed. “I wish I could have punished him justly…but sadly, my temper got the best of me.”

The Chancellor howled when Thor produced Frigga’s silver bag, reached inside, and tossed the blackened hand at his feet, one of the charred and twisted fingers still wearing a melted ring the Chancellor had bestowed upon his eldest son when he’d come of age. 

“Mercy, Your Grace, I beg you! In the name of your Father, and his Father before him—”

“My brother taught me the meaning of mercy. Loki was all that stood between me and an abyss of loneliness and savagery, for centuries. But he lies helpless in a healing berth, his soul in a realm I can not reach. Because of you. And your Council.”

“I swear—”

“No more oaths, no more promises, no more deceptions disguised as politics. You have taken my brother from me. I will take every single member of your bloodline from you in return.”

“I will confess,” the Chancellor vowed. “I will give you all of Asgard’s traitors, Your Grace, but mercy, I beg you, for my children, for their children—”

“You will kneel before the Allfather,” Thor forced Loki’s steely calm into his voice, Loki’s steely eyes into his gaze.

“I will.”

“You will confess your crimes, and you will name your conspirators.”

“I will.”

“You will stand before Asgard and declare my brother innocent of all treason and conspiracy.”

“I will,” he gasped. “I swear on the Norns.”

“I care not for the Norns, I care not for your children, I care not for the opinions of this court—I care only for Loki. And it is his desire that I show mercy that has spared your life.”

“And the lives of my children and grandchildren?” 

“That will depend upon you,” Thor said, and allowed lightning to crackle in his fingers. “And the truth of your confession.” 

Chapter Text

Odin was rarely surprised, but when his eldest marched into the throne room with the Chancellor in chains behind him, he felt a rise of true shock. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. 

“I have brought you Asgard’s greatest traitor, my King.” His son’s face was unnaturally calm in what was clearly repressed fury: Odin hadn’t seen him that way since his eldest had called him an old man and a fool.

“You have no right to place my Chancellor in chains, even as Crown Prince of Asgard.”

“He placed himself there when he had my brother murdered in front of me.” Thor seized Alaric by the arm and shoved him forward. The Chancellor, his friend of four thousand years, fell to his knees. 

“Allfather,” he said, eyes on the floor. “I wish to confess my treason to you.”

And Odin felt another shock. “Lord Chancellor…has my son coerced you into this?”

“The Crown Prince has justly uncovered my deception. I wish to be held accountable for my crimes and beg you to spare the lives of my children and grandchildren, who know nothing of the evil I rose against the throne.”

“I granted him his wish,” Thor proclaimed, “provided he give up his conspirators and make a true and faithful account of his deeds.”

“And what did you do, to uncover this plot?”

“I spoke with him. I reminded him that it seems only fair, since he has taken from our family, that we take from his.”

“Then you have no way of knowing if his words are valid.”

“I know my brother believed him to know all the comings and goings of Asgard better than anyone. I know my brother was murdered. And I know that I would rather withstand all the torments of Helheim then have to live knowing I failed to save him. I assume the Chancellor is not so far above us that he does not share like feelings about his own kin.”

“You would assume correctly,” Alaric murmured, raising his eyes to Odin. “I have long been prepared to give my life in service of Asgard. I did not imagine it would not be my person in danger, but that of my progeny.”

The Allfather leaned forward. “If my son has forced you into this, tell me. I have loved you and your children as my own. I will not let harm come to them, even if it means stripping my heir of his power.”

The Chancellor set his jaw. “I am at peace with what I have done. I am prepared to die for the Realm.”

“You are saying you had a hand in the death of my son?”

“I am saying I planned the death of Prince Loki, yes.”

Odin sank backwards, some of the color draining from his face. Thor’s face flushed with righteous fury.

“You told me only yesterday that you saw what the loss of my own brothers did to me,” the King said slowly. “You personally helped me dismantle my Father’s Council, knowing full well they had set Vili and Vé against one another from our youth. You swore to me we would never allow such cruelty and manipulation from the Council again. And now you have visited this horror upon my eldest?”

“I was forced into what I’ve done by your own actions, my King. I serve you, yes, but I serve Asgard first.”

The Allfather reached out and wrapped a shaking hand around Gungnir. “Thor,” he ordered. “Stand at my side.”

The elder Prince obeyed, climbing the steps of the dais to take his place by his Father’s right hand. Alaric remained kneeling, eyes held fast on Odin. The King took several deep breath and sat straighter, the powerful ruler of the Nine once more. 

“Very well, Lord Chancellor,” he began. “I will hear what you have come to say.”

“In a moment,” Frigga called, emerging from the back of the hall. Her hair was unkempt and loose, her eyes pink and swollen, but she was every bit the Mother of All. 

“My Queen, if what he says is true, you needn’t burden yourself with the details of treachery.”

“Thor said this concerns the murder of our son.” The Queen climbed the stairs to stand at her husband’s side. “I will hear it.”

Odin nodded. “Lord Alaric Fiakson, Chancellor to Odin of Asgard, you stand in the presence of your King, Queen, and Crown Prince. We will hear your crimes.” 

The Chancellor raised his eyes, looking suddenly small. “Where would you like me to begin?”

“Did you conspire with the Jotunns to disrupt the coronation of the Crown Prince?”

“I conspired to permit them into the weapon’s vault, but they were not to disrupt the coronation. The time to travel between the realms was gravely misjudged. The Jotunns were to strike in the night, when the kingdom had been feasting for hours. It was fully our intent to have the Crown Prince as King.”

“What was the purpose of their invasion?”

“To seize the Casket of Ancient Winters and reignite the war with Jotunheim.” 

“Start from the beginning of this plan. Who created the passage between the realms? Who hid this from Heimdall’s gaze?”

“The Warlocks of Vanaheim established the bridges in-between the known worlds, shielded them from the Guardian’s gaze, and supplied potions capable of masking their forms as Aesir.”

My brilliant brother, Thor thought, a fierce pride at Loki's theories confirmed followed by a deep grief that he'd never know he was right.

“How did you solicit their aid?”

“Lord Njörd of Vanaheim appeared to me through a portal and invited me to the space between the realms. The Vanir desired greater control of Vanaheim. We established a deal—as King, Prince Thor would wed an Aesir and the Council would grant the Vanir the right to call the house of Njörd Princes and Princesses. We would grant them more lucrative trade deals and lower taxes, in exchange for their help in our own mission—to secure Asgard for the Aesir.”

“Asgard is secure for the Aesir.”

“The Queen is not of our people. We were determined to see Prince Thor wed to a proper Asgardian Noblewoman. Njörd agreed to back this proposal provided we promote his interests.”

“Njörd is cousin to the Queen. He rules Vanaheim by the House of Odin’s will.”

“Precisely.”

The Allfather was quiet for a long moment. “I fail to understand this discontent,” Odin said slowly. “But continue.”

“Together, we recruited members of the Councils of Vanaheim and Asgard, and approached Laufey of Jotunheim. Despite our differences, we were united in the mutual desire to see our kingdoms under the rule of their own people. And we all desired the death of your Loki.” 

Thor felt a ferocious well of grief rise up. “Why?” he pleaded, unable to fathom his brother being so viscously hated, by so many people of so many worlds. “He hadn’t come to the throne—it wasn’t intended for him.”

“Indeed it was not.” Alaric’s voice grew deeper, and he raised his eyes to Odin. 

“Continue,” the Allfather said, unshaken.

“The Jotunns came to an agreement with us—they would seize the Casket of Ancient Winters and reignite the war. The Prince would be slain in battle. Upon Loki’s death, the Jotunns would stand down and sue for peace. The Council of King Thor would encourage him to grant it. We knew our new King was young and eager for battle; such a loss would temper him, as the deaths of your own brothers once tempered you. It would allow the child you had named Prince an honorable death, give the Vanir greater independence, and allow a permanent peace and opening of trade with Jotunheim. But above all, it would put an end to your grand scheme, Allfather. One that no true Aesir could, or ever would, sanction. To be under the rule of a Vanir Queen was difficult, but put aside for the love we bear the Allmother. The blending of Prince Thor’s blood was not too obscene to tolerate, but your plan to include Loki in the succession and wed him to a Light Elf was abhorred.”

“I would take care how you speak,” Odin hissed. 

“I would not,” Frigga countered. “He speaks all his hateful truth. Let him be his own executioner.” 

Alaric set his chin in defiance. “I rode at your side from the first. We were children together, and then soldiers, and then rulers. I devoted my life to the House of Odin. I celebrated your victories and wept at your defeats. I loved you as my King, my friend, my brother. I never questioned your judgments, even when you took the abandoned infant Prince of Jotunheim as a hostage. I thought it brilliant: the child would be a ward of Asgard, and could lay claim to the throne on our behalf. But then you took it into the Royal household…and named it a Prince.”

“Him.” Frigga’s voice was icy with rage. “We named him a Prince. My son is not, nor has ever been, an ‘it.’”

“What are you talking about?” Thor turned to his parents, expecting them to show at least some confusion, but neither spared a glance at him. 

“Thor, allow him to speak,” Frigga said.

“I don’t know what he speaks of.”

“There is but one Prince of Asgard, Your Grace,” the Chancellor said. “You—Thor Odinson. The child your parents named Loki was the abandoned, half-born runt of Laufey of Jotunheim.” 

“You cede the terms of your mercy with your lies!”

“Thor,” Frigga murmured. “Be still.”

“Continue, Lord Chancellor,” the Allfather said. “Your deal stands.”

“Laufey had intended the child to die. Runts like that quickly do. He now has two more sons, proper giants, who are meant for his throne. When you named his half-born a Prince, our research reassured us that he would not live past childhood, even with the benefits of our healers. We felt we must wait until that day came. But it did not.

“It is out of the love I bear you, Allfather, and you, my Queen, that I sought an honorable end for the boy, a warrior’s death when he was well of age, and arranged matters so that the Nine Realms would benefit as a whole with him gone.”

“So it’s mercy, is it,” Odin growled, “that you took him from us now?”

“It is mercy that he was taken from you as a grown man. I personally thwarted plots over the years, even against my better judgment, to spare you and your family the loss of a child.”

“Whether Loki was several days old or several millennia, he was still my child.”

“He was never your child.”

Odin clenched his hand tighter around Gungnir. “Tell me about the second invasion.” 

“Laufey said he would send a slightly larger party, with the goal to seize the Casket and, if possible, kill the Regent. He betrayed us with the size of his raid.”

“That could not have surprised you.”

Alaric set his jaw once more. “Involving so many always felt like folly. But Heimdall the Guardian made our more simple plans impossible. We needed to be more conspiratorial.”

“And that conspiracy led to Vanaheim?”

“No.” The Chancellor’s gaze twisted to anger. “We agreed we would wait until the Crown Prince was King, then encourage him to retaliate against the Jotunns. But Njörd panicked. Prince Loki was in the Temple of the Warlocks and Prince Thor was communing with a young warrior who was seen in the weapons’ room late at night. He suspected the Princes were putting together a case. We told him to hold fast and be patient and he ignored our advice.

“The Vanir offered a pardon to any criminals willing to stage a fake uprising. They recruited three of their soldiers to secure a siege weapon in range of the fighting and assassinate the false-Prince in battle. Only he did not participate in the fighting. So they struck him down while he overlooked the transport.”

“This is madness!” Thor cried. “Loki is no Frost Giant! I’ve seen them up close: color of his skin and eyes aside, he bears none of their markings. He doesn’t give off their cold or freeze water or yield frostbite upon his touch!”

“Your brother was born with inherited magic,” Odin said. “Your mother did not give him his gifts; she merely helped him develop and target them. I was honest when I told him that his form shifts to protect him from potential harm to his skin. As a dying infant of Jotunheim, my warmth was a threat, and combined with my magic, he shifted to an Aesir form. We took care to keep him from the cold until we could be sure that his new form was secure. ”

“And I was very careful to channel his magic away from the elements, so that he would not discover his control of ice, or inadvertently shift back,” Frigga admitted. “The healers and I worked to bring your brother’s temperature to an Aesir level gradually.”

Thor was reeling. “You’re saying this is true?”

“He is no less my son,” Odin declared “And no less your brother.”

“How could you not have told us?”

“We never wanted him to feel different.”

“He has always struggled with feeling different because he is different! And he had no chance to protect himself against them because he had no way of knowing why so many hated him!”

“You can not know what it feels like to have your own child hated,” the Allfather’s voice caught. “Not until you are a Father.”

“My brother is dead from their hate!” Thor cried. “If I’d known he was Jotunn I never would have taken him to Jotunheim! Or Vanaheim! He would have remained here, in Asgard, and he would have been safe!”

“Only he would not have,” Odin turned to Alaric. “I loved and trusted you as no other. I gave you wealth, power, the right to sit on the throne in my absence, the lives of my wife and children to protect, and you reward me with the destruction of my family and the near annihilation of our realm. All out of your misplaced, misguided hatred of other races.”

“All out of my love for the Aesir, and for Asgard!”

“Is Asgard a place where we murder children over disagreements with their Fathers? Where we condemn mothers and brothers to centuries of mourning?”

Alaric flushed red. “Thor Odinson holds a claim to the thrones of Asgard and Vanaheim—Loki Laufeyson would have held a claim to the throne of Asgard, Vanaheim, and Jotunheim. If your grand scheme worked and he wed the Lady of Alfheim, their children would hold claims to five of the Nine Realms’ thrones. How long before those children, or their children’s children, desired to seize them? How long before our homes are overrun with monsters and sorcerers polluting our bloodlines and infesting our realm?”

“I sought to bring the Nine Realms closer together by opening the Royal Household. You yourself helped me arrange Loki’s betrothal. You praised the wisdom of reviving Svartalfheim. You praised my son’s intelligence and political savvy. Have you ever told me the truth? Or has it all been a lie in service of treason?”

“It is you, Allfather, who is Asgard’s greatest traitor. You betrayed us all the day you demanded we, your people, kneel before the refuse of our enemies.”

“I see before you the refuse of your eldest son,” Frigga said, in a voice Thor had never before heard: deeper, darker, one that he felt in his chest and in the stone of the hall. “You gave him that ring for his Thousandth Name Day, as your Father gave it to you.”

Alaric let out a choked sob. “Yes, my Queen.”

“And you have more children.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“And they have children.”

Alaric sobbed once more. “My Queen—”

“Only those who have lost a child can possibly comprehend how it feels. It is not the order of the universe. They are given to us as pure souls, untouched by loss or hurt and unknowing of hate and cruelty. We hold those perfect beings in our arms for so short a time before the world closes in and seeks to strip that soul of its nature.” Frigga stepped slowly down the stairs of the dais, advancing on Alaric.

“When they placed Thor in my arms for the first time, he was no warrior. He had no weapon to call to his side, no lightning to strike down his enemies: he hadn’t the strength to lift his own head. I knew not what he’d be, but I knew what he was—my Child of the Sun. Perhaps, as an Aesir, you fail to understand what that means. It is half the universe. He filled half my heart with light and fire; but he could only fill half. Because half the universe may be light, but the other half is the dark. One does not exist without the other, and one is no less beautiful, or needed, or loved, than the other. 

“Odin left us for many months to battle the Jotunns, and we felt his absence every day. But I felt a second one—I was missing a child. Thor was not meant to be alone. That pure soul grew and explored and loved, but his light was dim. He was calling for the Norns to complete him every bit as much as I was.

“And then they did. My husband arrived home and placed in my arms the soul I’d been missing—my Child of the Moon. My joy, my completion, resonated through every inch of Asgard. Thor’s did too: he grew every day brighter, more joyful, more fierce, while my sweet Loki grew clever and mystic and quick. The Nine Realms entered an unprecedented level of peace. Asgard flourished as the House of Odin flourished, all the under the harmony it took Loki to complete.

“And you took him from us. A young man whose only crime was being sired by a creature so monstrous, he’d seize a perfect, untouched soul and expose him to nothing but loneliness, terror, and death. Tell me, Chancellor, if that child stood before you now, frightened and starving and calling out for home, what would you say?”

Alaric trembled, his eyes cast to the floor. “The Aesir should rule Asgard,” he repeated. 

“How fortunate for you, former Lord Chancellor, that they alone do not.” Frigga extended her arm, and in a flash of green, the burnt and ruined hand of the Lord’s first born became nothing more than an ordinary sausage from the Royal kitchens. The Chancellor fell backward with a gasp. 

“My son?” he whispered. 

“The House of Odin does not murder the children of its traitors, for it sees each child for what he or she is: a perfect being of love, untouched by the hatred of men like you.”

“Thank you,” Alaric was sobbing openly now, leaning forward toward the Queen’s feet. “Thank you, my Queen, my King, my Prince, thank you for sparing my children, it is more than I deserve.”

“It is the only mercy you shall receive. Once your confession is signed, your conspirators named, and the investigation complete, I will personally see to it that your death be excruciating.”

She turned then, her furious eyes on Odin. “Allfather,” she said, before turning and walking quickly out of the hall, leaving Odin, Thor, and the traitor.

“Take him to the dungeons,” Odin commanded. Thor stood straight and still until the Chancellor was out of sight. Then he placed his face in his hands and screamed.

Chapter Text

“Sit,” Odin ordered, pointing to one of two chairs in his office. Thor sank into it, shaking, emotions racing through him too hard and fast to identify. His magic was practically burning his skin, so eager to strike, or to find Loki’s. He wished his Mother had stayed, though she’d undoubtedly returned to her place by his brother’s bedside, and he was grateful Loki wasn’t lying somewhere alone.

The Allfather poured two large goblets of wine and set one down beside his son. 

“Drink,” he ordered. 

Thor’s hands shook as he gripped the cup and downed the wine in three swift gulps. His father poured him more before setting the pitcher beside them and moving to take his own seat opposite. “I deeply regret that this is how you learned your brother’s heritage. We always intended for you both to know. But never like this.”

“This is madness,” Thor murmured. This was the point in a conversation where he’d normally look to Loki, and his brother would calmly explain how everything, in fact, made sense. Or he’d seek him out, retell the conversation, and Loki would roll his eyes and say something like “honestly, brother, it’s horrifically simple,” and then explain it in a way that was. 

“Loki was every bit your brother,” Odin said firmly. “As he was my son.”

“I know that,” Thor seethed, his rage rallying once more. “But you’re saying he’s Jotunn…and you took him as a hostage?” 

Odin winced. “When I first discovered him…I thought he could be used to unite our kingdoms, somehow, yes. But all that changed when I saved him. He was dying when I found him—he’d been left in the open nearly two days. I poured my magic into him, his form shifted…and I saw him for what he was. My second son. Frigga’s second son. Your brother. His blood doesn’t change that.” 

But it does, Thor thought, his heart racing once more. Blood was all that mattered when it came to the line of succession: all of Asgard had been taught that since they were children, and he knew enough about Monarchies and Nobility in other realms to know it was the same. That Loki was not of their blood, but was a different race entirely—a race that was enemies of the Crown—meant everything.

“What do you mean you found him?” he managed.

“After we’d invaded the capital of Jotunheim, I went into the Temple of Ancestral Snows where the Casket was kept to see that our soldiers handled it properly. I heard cries in the back, went to investigate and discovered an abandoned baby.” 

“Laufey’s son,” Thor murmured, feeling suddenly dizzy—and not from the wine. “How did you know that’s who he was?”

“The markings in his Jotunn form. Laufey comes from a long line of inherited magic, which is what secured his family as the rulers of Jotunheim.”

Thor flashed to Loki studying his blue face on Vanaheim, noting the markings that had appeared, markings that hadn't worn off because the potion hadn't glamoured him: it had shifted him. 

“And you just…took him? What did the soldiers say? What did the Council say? What did Laufey say?”

“I initially told them all that the child would be raised as a Ward of Asgard. The soldiers knew better than to publicly question my judgment, and the Council backed the plan. Your Mother and I told Alaric in private that we had decide to adopt him, and that he was to be added to the line of succession and given all the honors befitting of a Prince of Asgard. Alaric raised no objection, and presided over the Name Day ceremonies himself.”

“So all of Asgard knew but us?”

“Durinn and the Ministry of Education made it clear that he was to be known as Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, son of Odin Allfather and Frigga Allmother. Heimdall initially fed us information on those who spoke differently, and we had them arrested as a precedent. The children that followed, including your generation, were never told differently, and their parents knew better than to speak their suspicions under the Guardian’s gaze.”

Thor shook his head as if it would help clear it. “Did Laufey know?”

“He knew. He went to collect the body from the Temple and found the child gone. We announced the end of the war and that we had been blessed with a second Prince. Laufey put it together. He warned me that the child would not live long, and even if he did, Jotunheim would never accept a half-born as a legitimate heir. But he was judging Loki's health by Jotunn standards. It is a harsh realm, one where even the strong may succumb to the elements. Your brother thrived on Asgard. I’m sure your own magic had something to do with that.”

“That night, after the battle in the vault,” Thor said slowly, “Loki told me he felt Laufey hated him. He called him hälfte geboren…and you told him it wasn’t personal."

“Yes,” Odin admitted. “But I didn’t lie when I said that he was referring to all of the hälfte geboren. When a child is laid out to die, there is a ritual offering the soul to their gods. For that to be interrupted—for a child to be saved—is seen as a great crime. I imagine Laufey blamed the decimation of his realm on the fact that Asgard disrupted the ritual and gave his ‘half-born’ Prince life.” The Allfather swallowed, hard. “I knew he’d be seen as a threat to them, as he grew. I strove to protect him from it. His marriage was supposed to be part of that.”

Thor locked his eyes on his Father’s good one. “Why did you want Loki to go to Alfheim?”

“Alfheim has a weak economy. Their lands are beautiful, their knowledge great, but they have few goods. The Lord of Starfall approached me with the desire to revive Svartalfheim, and it made perfect sense that your brother be given such a large and ambitious project.” 

“Svartalfheim is a blackened ruin.”

“Svartalfheim has the richest and most fertile soil in all the Nine Realms, made all the richer by being untouched for centuries. The Light Elves have the means to bring about the proper conditions to make use of it.”

“Svartalfheim has no water. Do the Elves have the power to conjure water?”

“They won’t need to. There is an endless supply in a realm that is equally starved for trade.”

Thor felt the world falling away from him once more. “Jotunheim.”

“Yes.”

Thor sank back in his chair. “How could you?”

“I sought to bring about a peaceful end to the war and strengthen all our kingdoms. That is my sworn duty as King.”

“By using your son as a pawn?”

“You will use every tool at your disposal once you take the throne, make no mistake about it. Your wife, your children, and yes, your brother, will all be used in service to your crown. That is the sacrifice a King must make.” Odin took a deep breath. “Loki was clever. It would not take much suggestion from his Father-in-Law to seek a way to colonize Svartalfheim. He would have reached the solution of importing Jotunn ice quickly enough. It can be transported in great blocks and will melt down over time. Svartalfheim could flourish. We would open the door to immigration and the new crops would feed the new planet. Alfheim could put its new fortune into technologies and the extra food sources would provide for larger armies. Jotunheim would have a way of supporting itself without waging war. All would prosper.”

“When were you going to tell us?” Thor demanded, his shaking hands and voice diminishing what he had wanted to be a powerful interrogation. 

“I had thought around the time of Loki’s marriage. The magic of the Elves is powerful enough to coax his children to new forms, but he would have to be prepared for them to be born Jotunn.” Odin sighed. “My hope was that Loki would approach the Council with this proposal. They would encourage you to accept and allow your brother to act as liason. The Light Elves have no quarrel with the Jotunns, and his brokering of a Jotunn-Alfheim alliance would make him a popular figure in both realms.” 

“And therefore more accepting when he pressed his claim as their King.” 

“Yes.”

“And you thought you would leave that job to your Council? Make them tell us that they knew of this all along, and had engineered our lives just to get you the Throne of Eternal Winter?”

“What would you know, about the struggles of making peace?” Odin snapped.  “All you’ve ever wanted is battle and its glory.” 

“It’s true,” Thor said through gritted teeth. “I am what you said. I am what Laufey said. A foolish, cruel, proud boy. But I am no liar.”

“I’d have care with my tongue if I were you.” 

“Your plan never would have worked. Loki was to remain here, with me, as my Chancellor. He could have brokered your agreements just as well from here without ever making use of his blood.”

“I had no way of knowing he’d be a gifted politician. And if I had, it would not change my course. Loki is of the blood of Laufey and the love of Asgard. He would endear himself to the Frost Giants, press his claim with your backing, and cede you their throne.”

“How gracious of you,” Thor said bitterly, “to think of us.”

“All of this was for you!” Odin slammed a fist into the table. “The Nine Realms are one small piece of a great galaxy, and mark my words, my son, there are threats in that galaxy that can make a Jotunn-Aesir conflict look like toddlers squabbling over a toy.”

“You used us. Your own children. You never pressed me to be anything other than a proud, ignorant warrior so you and your Council could manipulate me. You encouraged Loki to be different so he’d be shrewd enough to carry out your plans. You deliberately set us against each other so we’d each feel we were lacking, and blindly follow the advice of you and your Councilors in order to prove ourselves worthy!”

“How have I used or wronged you? I rescued a dying infant, gave you a brother and your Mother the second child she longed for. I gave the Nine Realms a chance of greater peace, prosperity, and unity. I gave you and your brother a secure, ambitious future.”

“You focused so hard on the great and glorious future that you failed to see the threat in your own home, to your own son!”

“If I failed to see such hatred, it’s because it doesn’t reside in my heart! I may have lifted the abandoned infant of my enemy into my arms as a hostage, but by the time I climbed the steps of this very palace, he was my son. I felt the pull of his soul just as your Mother did, and fate rings in my ears as lies ring in your brother’s. I knew he belonged to us moments after I found him. The fact that I hid his origins from you and others was only ever out of love for him.”

“You planned to send him away from his home, his family, his friends, to strike deals and seize a Crown!”

“And give my children, and their children, a greater, stronger future than my Father left me!”

“You have no children!” Thor roared, leaping to his feet. “You have a child, one, because you were so consumed with your grand plan you ignored all the harm your lies created! If my brother, your son, was a Jotunn, why did we not celebrate his heritage and his gifts instead of hiding them in shame? Why did you give him no chance to protect himself?”

“If you were so concerned about your brother’s life, why did you drag him into your battles? Why did you bring him to Jotunheim?”

“Because he’s one of this realms’ greatest warriors and my closest companion! How was I to know I was dragging him to the realm where he was abandoned? Before the throne of his blood? What kind of Father are you, to build our family on secrets and lies and myths of victory?”

“What kind of warrior are you, to not notice a siege weapon in the trees mere feet from you?”

“I didn’t kill him! You did!” Thor was suddenly fighting for air. “He’s smarter than both of us, any of us! If he’d known what he was he would have been eons ahead of them. He wouldn’t have had to scheme, or wonder, or retrieve me from Midgard. He was frightened when he came to me—he knew he was in danger, but he didn’t know why. You can blame me, my friends, all of Asgard, but you rule us, and you could have tried to unmake the hatred of the Jotunns by showing the realm how blessed we were to have Loki. You didn’t. You abandoned my brother to hate and death all over again.”

Odin swayed behind his desk, and then his face crumpled. He sank back into his chair. 

“I did what I thought was right,” he said, voice laden with tears. “I thought I had seen all the horrors the Norns could conjure…until I found my child murdered.”

Thor felt his own eyes fill. He couldn't bring himself to approach Odin yet, but he knew all too well what it was to believe you were doing the right thing and realize, too late, just how wrong it was.  

"I may have been stupid and proud and ignorant," Thor said slowly. "But if I was, you allowed me to be. You took us into the weapons room to boast about your war with the Frost Giants. You never told us not to call them monsters or enemies. You’ve never told us anything good about them.” 

Odin closed his good eye. “I told you we were a beacon of hope and should not seek out war. I told you I had a truce with Laufey and not to pursue the attack further.”

“And I would not have, had I known my only brother shared his blood!” 

“Or you would have accused him of sympathizing with that blood. Your friends already believe him to have betrayed you simply because he practices magic—what would they have believed, and what would you have believed, if you knew he was born of Jotunheim?”

“I would never have thought he’d betray me by allying with them. He’s only ever wanted to fit in, for us to work together…he told me as much himself. He felt different because everyone considered him to be different!”

“And whose fault is that? Your Mother and I treated him exactly as we did you, as did his teachers, his healers, his nursemaids. It was you, my son, and your friends and peers who made an outcast of him. You deemed him less for his love of knowledge and magic over brutality and weapons. Had I told you he did not share your blood, do you think you would have been more kind or more cruel?”

Thor let out a deep sob and bent forward, unable to keep it in any longer. He knew, although he hated himself for it, that what his Father said was true: he’d Lorded his station over his brother often enough, and that’s when he believed him to be his flesh and blood. 

“I miss him so much,” he wept. “He was all that made me good, and I let him die.”

“No,” Odin reached out and placed a hand on the back of his son’s. He looked every bit as weary as he had in the days before Thor’s failed coronation. “You have much good in your heart without him, and your brother is not lost to us yet. As long as his soul has not entered the afterlife, we may still retrieve it.” 

“How?”

“Your mother spoke of the balance of the universe—the power of the sun and the moon, the light and the dark. There are many more, one being ice and fire. If we could combine the power of the Eternal Flame with the Casket of Ancient Winters, I believe it may be strong enough to bring a soul back from death.”

“Then I will go to Jotunheim.”  

“You will do no such thing. The Jotunns conspired to murder your brother. We will not reward them with a visit. Frigga will find a suitable replacement capable of wielding the casket.”

“How long will that take? How long can his soul avoid Valhalla?” 

“I know not. But we will fight until it succumbs.”

Thor shook his head. “I have followed your advice until now. I will no longer. I’m going to Jotunheim, Father. I am going to bring back a healer and a mage. I'm going to end this conflict for good."

“You can’t,” Odin pleaded—pleaded!—as his single eye filled. “I forbid it.”

“I will save him.”

“You are all your Mother and I have and the only ruler fit for the throne. You will not risk your life.”

“There will be no risk. Tell Heimdall to obey my orders. Bring the Casket to the Healing rooms and ready the eternal flame. Pray to the Norns that my brother is not beyond our reach. Because if he is, you will lose me. Regardless of my return.” 

*

Thor made his way from his Father’s office to the Council chambers, and then to the suite dedicated to the Security Council. The rooms remained cleared as they had this morning, when Thor had embarked to extract his confession from the Chancellor. 

It felt like centuries ago…and yet it was still late afternoon. 

In his office he found Sif, Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg, and Master Heimr. Volstagg was the only one seated, and although he looked every bit the burly warrior, the way he held himself betrayed that he was not in good form. 

Still, he rose when Thor entered, his eyes full of sadness and sympathy. Sif’s were similar. Hogun was as impassive as ever, though Thor remembered the look of shock and horror he’d had as he cradled Loki’s head. Fandral just looked anxious. 

And Master Heimr…he was nearly shaking with energy. Thor didn’t need to be a Mage to feel the rage and determination coming off of him. Like Thor, he’d moved past his initial devastation and was focused solely on justice. 

“Thank you for coming,” Thor said. “We don’t have much time. Alaric is no longer Chancellor—he confessed his crimes to the Allfather and will be naming his conspirators.” 

“What were his crimes?” Hogun asked. 

“Treason. Conspiring to murder the Prince. Conspiring to let the Jotunns into Asgard. Lying to the King about benefits to Vanaheim.”

Sif’s eyes widened. “He really did it,” she said, half to herself. “Why?” 

“He felt compelled to clear the way for me and my heirs,” Thor said carefully. 

“I thought that’s why they wanted to send him to Alfheim,” Volstagg said. 

“After Loki was named Regent, he decided that would not be enough.”

“Did Njörd know?” Hogun asked. 

“He staged the rebellion, yes.” Thor spared a long, hard look at Heimr, who met his eyes with equal fierceness. 

Vengeance first. Sentiment later, he seemed to say.

“But why—” Sif began, but Thor held up a hand in a “quiet” gesture. 

“As Asgard’s Minister of Security, with no Minister of Diplomacy in place, the duty falls on me to lead the Council. You will split up, take as many soldiers as you require and seize every Minister of Asgard. Put them in individual cells under heavy guard, and be sure they are not close enough to speak with one another. Tell them they are charged with crimes against the throne, and no more. Take care to remember all they say and report back to me.”

Thor turned to his grimmest friend first. “Lord Hogun, I owe you a debt for the duty and respect you showed on me on Vanaheim. I will not forget how you tended my brother. I put you in charge of this mission.”

“It is a high honor to command,” he said, and then hesitated. “I am very sorry for this loss. Especially because the Prince and I had not been on the best of terms. I thought we had much time to make amends. I now must ask your forgiveness instead of his.”

“Loki had already forgiven you. It would be wrong of me not to do the same.”

Hogun nodded sadly and gave a quick bow. “I promise to do as you command, my Prince.”

Fandral attempted to catch Thor’s eye, but the Prince refused to turn toward him, letting his eyes rest on Volstagg instead.  

“Your Grace,” Fandral chanced. “Thank you for permitting me to help.”

“You are not forgiven, Lord Fandral,” Thor said. “But you are needed. Both Loki and Master Heimr advised me to bring you back. It is against my instincts to do so, but my brother was always wiser than me, and it makes sense to follow the advice of the War Master who trained him.”

“I will never disappoint you again.”

“That is a promise you can not make, and one I do not require. What I need of you now is far simpler.”

“I will not fail you.”

“See to it that you do not.” He turned to Volstagg and felt his resolve waiver. “Lord Volstagg…”

Before he could register what was happening, the larger, older warrior stepped forward and wrapped Thor in his arms. It was mortifying just how quickly the gesture raised tears in his own eyes, and how fiercely he found himself gripping back. Volstagg was the only one of their friends who had the same faith in Loki that Thor did, and the only one to very nearly sacrifice his life for him. 

It occurred to him, suddenly, that Odin himself had not embraced him this way. Not since he was a child. 

“My friend,” Thor managed through a suddenly aching throat, “I am very glad to see you, but I fear you are not in the best health.”

Volstagg pulled back, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I am not as I used to be yet, my Prince,” he admitted. “But I am well enough to assist in apprehending those that did this. I promised your brother my protection, and I was not there to give it. I must be there to avenge him.”

Thor nodded. “I ask that you partner with Lord Fandral. You mustn’t strain yourself, and he has far to go to prove himself worthy of our friendship. You will oversee him.”

Fandral had the good sense to nod and not bristle at being talked over. Thor squeezed Volstagg’s broad shoulder before turning to Sif. 

“Thor,” she murmured, the soft, private voice of his friend and confidant. Normally, when she looked at him that way, he felt compelled to open up to her. Now, he found it inexplicably irritating. 

It was Loki who’d needed understanding, Loki who’d needed confidants, Loki who’d needed loyalty. Thor had received those gifts with little merit simply for being the Asgardian ideal: an ideal that not only represented strength over intelligence, but also hid a hideous, hateful underbelly of prejudice. 

“Lady Sif, you will lead your own brigade,” he said calmly. “Determine amongst yourselves the best and fastest ways to move. All off-world travel has been halted, so you need not worry about them making an escape attempt. Solicit Heimdall’s eye if you must. Now go. We will speak later.”

The group nodded, placed fists over their hearts, and bowed slightly as they left the room, leaving Heimr and Thor alone. Still, it was a fun minute before the War Master spoke. 

“You command well,” he said. “You have hold of your temper, I see.”

“It got me the Chancellor’s confession.”

“Good.”

“And…if I’m careful…it may perhaps get us Loki.”

Heimr started. “You think that’s possible?”

“The Queen does.”

The elder man set his jaw. “Command me, my Prince. The soldiers of Vanaheim are with you, I vow it.”

“Good,” Thor said. “Because we will need them all.”

*

Thor found his Mother in the same place she’d been since Loki had been brought home—by his brother’s bed in the healing rooms. Loki’s clothes had been changed to the formal ceremonial wear he’d donned for the failed coronation. The hated bolt had been removed, and his body had been washed and posed, so Loki lay ready to load into a small boat and cast off into eternity.

“He’d have been proud of you,” Frigga murmured. The Queen had one hand over her youngest’s heart, the other gently brushing his cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

Thor stood opposite her and lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I hope the Allfather won’t be angry you helped me lie to his Chancellor,” he said. 

“I lied to my children for him. Against my better judgment. For over a thousand years. Because it was the will of my husband and my King.” She raised her damp eyes. “I was wrong to do so. I so badly wanted us to be a safe, happy family, that I convinced myself my feelings must be Asgard’s.”

“You trusted our Father,” Thor said dully. “As did I. There’s no crime in that. We all want to believe in our King.”

Frigga smiled sadly down at her youngest son. “Loki believed in you. And he was right to. You will be a wise and just ruler.”

“You think I’d take the throne after this?” Thor snapped. “You think I’d want anything to do with this place, a place that wanted to see my brother dead from the time he was an infant?”

“How will it ever improve if you leave?”

“I don’t care if it improves.”

The Queen sighed. “I understand that you’re angry, and you’re right to be. Your Father may have been misguided, but he was trying to open the people’s hearts. He wed me despite the protests of the Nobles and the dislike of the Commonwealth. He adopted a Jotunn and proclaimed him worthy of the throne, even promoting him to Reigning King in your absence. With so many years of peace, we both believed we had succeeded, at least somewhat, in bettering the future for you both.” She stared back down at Loki and smoothed his hair off his too pale face. “Alaric visited many times when you were young. He’d bring you both gifts, play and read to you. He’d hold Loki, sometimes for hours, ask about his health, his temperature, if he was adjusting to Asgard. He was a kind friend and a great support to your Father. It never occurred to me he was trying to determine when my son would die. Such a thought is too evil to ever enter my mind. I wish it had. It would have been better to have been accused of madness or paranoia than to know I failed my children.”

Thor’s stomach lurched. “Mother, you haven’t. This was not your doing.”

“If your Father is to blame for trusting his Councilors, than so am I. I have been complicit, and now I must be punished for it. I will not allow my husband to suffer the blame alone.”

Thor set his jaw and squeezed Loki’s shoulder. “I’m going to Jotunheim. I will retrieve a Mage capable of wielding the Casket and a healer capable of aiding in his recovery. I will bring him back to us.”

Frigga looked back at him, her face softening. “It isn’t that simple, my sweet. We can’t simply unleash the power of those two forces. They need to be contained and targeted and merged.”

“Contained and targeted…like crystals can contain and target?”

Frigga nodded. “But we would need at least one Mage capable of capturing and wielding each. Several would be better. Then we need a third capable of merging the two powers, and releasing it in a healing and resurrection spell. And then we need to place your brother’s soul into that body so it can receive the healing and be whole.” She placed a hand over Loki’s heart once more. “As a Mother, of course my urge is to try, however small the chance of success or great the risk. But as a Mage…it seems that we could do a great deal more harm than good. Working with that much power, through so many channels, all of which could easily collapse, seems fruitless at best and disastrous at worse. The Casket and Eternal Flame are formidable sources of power, capable of great strength but also great harm. And if I must cast my son into Valhalla, I’d rather it be with his body preserved and intact, not blistered by fire or blackened by ice.” 

“The Vanir Mages know how to capture and contain power in that way,” Thor said. “I saw the crystals they had, and the portraits of how they used them. It may not be how things are done on Asgard, but you and I just proved that it’s time to acknowledge the realms beyond Asgard.” 

“You can not simply confront a society with its deficiencies and then leave it,” Frigga warned. “It leaves a space for monsters you can not imagine to flood in. Peace is not a natural state, my love. It is enforced.”

“It doesn’t need to be.” Thor gave his brother’s shoulder one last squeeze and rose to his full height. “I’m going to Jotunheim. I’m going to arrest the Council, arrest Njörd, secure us Vanir allies, and bring my brother back. If I fail, then at least Odin can tell the people that both their Princes died on account of Asgard’s prejudices and hate.”

“And what am I to say?” Frigga’s voice broke.

“That you are the Mother of two sons who adored you, and will always adore you, and that we took everything you ever taught us to heart, including that he and I were at our best together, and that is where we belong.” 

Frigga’s eyes shone. She nodded, slowly. “I wish desperately that you would stay,” she admitted. “But I see your resolve. I have faith in you. Never doubt that.”

Thor’s breath caught on her words. He managed a nod, then let his eyes rest on Loki’s too-pale face once more. 

“I’ll see you soon, brother,” he murmured. “I swear it.”

Chapter Text

*

Thor had discarded his cape and entered Jotunheim in his dark blue winter wrap, wanting to look as plain and un-soldierlike as possible. His hands hungered for Mjölnir, and his chest ached with wrath and fury that made his first visit feel like sport. 

His family had wanted him to learn humility. Loki had wanted him to learn to look beyond what was in front of him. Odin had looked so far in front, he’d ignored all that was up close. Thor had learned both their ways and now stood, alone, fighting for his own vision. 

Loki, my brother, wherever you are—grant me your wisdom. Grant me your patience. Stand with me, I beg you. 

There was a narrow, icy bridge constructed over the great, gaping chasm Thor’s destruction had left. The Prince crossed it, shivering, painfully aware that, if he fell, there was no hammer to pull him skyward. As much as he longed to see Loki again, he couldn’t imagine how furious his brother would be if he told him he’d died falling off an icy bridge in Jotunheim on some mad mission to resurrect him. 

The throne and ice-caves surrounding it were remarkably undamaged and glowing with the same eerie, cold blue light. Thor stopped and waited, knowing all too well that his presence was known, and an order must have been given to halt all attack. 

“You must long for death, Odinson,” a voice, lighter than Laufey’s, spoke from above, and a paler, more slender giant rose from behind a crest of ice to stare down at him. 

It sent a jolt through his chest to see that, for all differences, the sharp chin and cheek bones, the slim musculature, the careful posture, bore a striking resemblance to Loki. 

This is my brother’s brother, Thor realized.

“If you are the new King, how do I address you?” Thor asked, as graciously as possible. 

“You come unarmed,” the giant replied. “Have you had your fill of battle?”

“I’ve no need of a weapon. The war between our realms is over.”

“You invaded our capital, killed fifty of our warriors, and injured over a hundred more.”

“And you conspired with the Vanir to stage two successful infiltrations of Odin’s palace. You attempted to murder my sleeping father, unarmed mother, and my younger brother.”

“The Aesir assassinated our King.”

“You assassinated my brother.” Thor looked deep into those red eyes. “You assassinated your brother.”

Around him, he felt soldiers emerging from the shadows, guards appearing before the throne. The King held up his hand. “If you think a mad rumor will stay the wrath of our people, you gravely underestimate our will.”

“You’re right,” Thor said. “King Laufey was correct when he said we were beyond diplomacy. He was also right when he said I was nothing but a boy, trying to prove myself a man. I am a cruel, selfish, reckless fool, and if I am to die here than so be it. It is only just. But the murder of my brother was not. And I am far too foolish to see reason.”

“And you mean to take your revenge with no weapon or warriors?”

“It will not be me that takes it.”

“Are we clear?”

“The Allfather has ordered me to obey you, and I shall,” Heimdall said. “My eyes will not leave you.”

“Then I give you one last order: if I am to be slain, turn your gaze and do your duty.”

“I must beg you, my Prince,” Heimdall pleaded, “though I know it will do no good: reconsider.”

“You are right, my friend,” Thor said. “It has done no good.”

“Heimdall, the Guardian of Asgard and Gatekeeper of the Nine Realms, is under the order to open the Bifrost to Jotunheim, and not to seal it until this realm is destroyed. Every man, woman, and child will be crushed beneath its light. It will be a genocide precedented only on Midgard. I am happy to die along with you. It will mean seeing my brother again.”

There was a visible shift among the warriors: some moved into a position of attack, while others appeared prepared to stand down. Thor wondered how it had never occurred to him that there must be women and children somewhere amidst the vast, icy darkness. 

The new King remained impassive. “So that is why you have come? To gloat that we are all to perish under your order?”

“Gloating is for those who have triumphed. I have lost. One way or another, this war will forever end. It can be with the extermination of your people, or the terms I am prepared to offer. There is no negotiation.”

“Not even Odin Allfather was willing to enact genocide. If you believe eradicating a race will somehow make you a King—”

“I’ve no desire to be King of a nation that was eager to murder my brother for being Jotunn.”

“You were eager to murder us all for being Jotunn.”

“I am not here to justify my actions, past or present. You may hear my terms and save your realm, or we may all perish together. The choice is yours.” 

The King gave a slow nod. “I will hear you.”

“How do I address you?”

“I am Byleistr Laufeyson.”

“I am Thor Odinson, Your Grace.”

For the first time, the giant appeared slightly surprised. “We do not use such terms here.”

“I would like to address you respectfully.”

“Byleistr is respectful.” The giant turned and nodded over his shoulder, and a second stepped forward. Both men bore the same dark stripes along their cheeks and crescent moons on their foreheads, as Laufey had. Both were slim, fair-skinned, and held themselves perfectly straight. “This is Helblindi Laufeyson, our new High Priest.”

My brother’s brothers, Thor marveled, feeling suddenly nauseous. The shock and disbelief were giving way to grief once more. It was one thing to hear tell of an abandoned infant Thor had only ever known in an Aesir skin: it was quite another to see that these creatures, his enemies, so strikingly resembled his brother. 

Even worse that they still registered within him as monsters. He’d never known them otherwise. Loki had never known them otherwise. He’d watched Thor take great delight in harming and killing them, listened to Odin’s boasting tales of the great war that left their realm in ruins, and had faced down his blood-father only to be told he was an unwanted plague on Jotunheim. 

The refuse of our enemies, Alaric had called him. 

Starting at the two giants, side by side, it hit him just how much ingrained hate and prejudice he was up against—and not only on Asgard. 

Sitting with Odin in his office, it was easy to criticize, because his love for his brother far exceeded his negative feelings toward other races. But standing before the Throne of Eternal Winter was a crushing reminder of the centuries of hate he was facing: hate he himself was guilty of. 

His magic reached out, calling for Loki’s, and Thor felt dangerously close to tears. 

“You have the audience of Jotunheim, Prince of Asgard,” Byleistr said. “Use it wisely. We are not a people known for our patience.”

“We have that in common,” Thor said, forcing himself to recover. “You must be aware that my brother is not of Odin’s blood.” Thor drew a breath, steeling himself. “He was sired by Laufey, your father, the former King.”

“We are aware,” the giant growled. “It was my father’s great shame, to not only have brought one of the hälfte geboren into existence, but also to have had it abducted by our enemies.”

“Odin cursed our realm by interrupting the half-born’s return to the gods,” Helblindi said. “Its life was pledged to the Family of the First Winter. They have enacted their retribution on our people ever since.”

“The Allfather had already seized the Casket before he found Loki,” Thor pointed out. “The war was lost before he interrupted the ritual.”

“Look around you, Odinson,” Helblindi snapped. “This was once a great city, the heart of our world. Ships from across the Nine came for our silver and ice. Now our people live in poverty and darkness, on account of what your father stole.”

“You say he was stolen from your gods: I say he was gifted from ours,” Thor seethed. “Maybe Jotunheim fell to ruin because your cruelty and brutality angered your ‘Family of the First Winter.’ Maybe any decent family wouldn't wish to see infants starving and freezing to death.”

“I do not wish to debate the states of our faiths,” Byleistr interrupted, glaring slightly at his brother, who glared back. “You mentioned terms.”

“I ask for one of your healers, and a Mage powerful enough to wield the Casket of Ancient Winters. I ask that the two of them return with me to Asgard to restore the life and health of my brother.”

“And in return?”

“When I assume the throne, I will arrange aid packages sent to Jotunheim. I will honor the plan constructed by our fathers and the traitor Chancellor Alaric and allow the Light Elves to colonize Svartalfheim using imported Jotunn ice. I will aggressively enact treaties allowing Jotunheim’s ice and silver to be traded throughout the Nine realms. And, if my brother, the Prince and future Chancellor, should live, I will see to it that he wield the Casket of Ancient Winters in targeted, focused bouts of magic to help restore Jotunheim to its rightful state.”

He could feel the group around him rising: not in hostility, but in interest. “You’ll swear this,” the King said, “on the Allfather, and his Father…you will help restore this city, our capital, you will open trade to our realm?”

“I swear it on the Allfather, and his Father before him, by the Norns of Yggdrasil and the warriors of Valhalla—but first, you must save Loki.”

“We will do no such thing,” Helblindi declared. “His death has righted an imbalance in the universe. We will not seek to correct it.”

Thor felt his face flush. “Do you consider murder part of a universal balance?”

“Any ‘murders’ we commit are scarce compared to what your father, and his father, have done in the name of ‘peace.’”

“My brother was seeking peace," Thor growled. "He wanted an embassy, and diplomacy, between our people. And now his body lies murdered while his soul wanders between realms.”

“His soul does not wander,” Helblindi said. “It flees. He is running from the paradise that belongs to him, for the likes of you.”

“And I am not worthy of it.” Thor was mortified to find tears rising...but humility was but part of this brutal lesson. “But Loki taught me the value of mercy. And though I never knew it, all these years, my closest and dearest companion was of your blood. If he and I, for all our vast differences, could still be irreplaceable in one another’s hearts, then there is hope for our two realms to find peace.” 

“Your mistake is citing our blood as a means of swaying us,” the High Priest growled. “Here, on Jotunheim, we honor the well-being of the whole more than our individual lives. The weak, the sick, the old, walk into the storm and surrender their souls so as not to take resources when they can not replenish them. Look at all one half-born has cost you.”

“Under my rule, that will no longer be necessary,” Thor said, forcing himself to appear calm. “We will provide supplies so that your people may live more easily.”

“We do not wish to become gluttons suckling at Asgard’s teat,” the giant’s red eyes flared. “Do you know what our father’s mistress, the woman who bore your ‘Loki,’ did when she saw him? She took up a knife and slit her own throat, out of shame of having born a runt to her King. If your brother were any decent sort of Jotunn, then when he’d learned of his heritage, he’d have done what she did out of respect to our people, and to the gods.”

“There will be no one to appease the gods if the Bifrost destroys our realm,” Byleistr finally interceded. “Is that what you want? For us to meet the First Family as one? I do not wish to tell them that I let our realm be destroyed over one soul, and not even a whole one. If they want him so much, let them have him. He couldn’t survive a day in our world, let alone hold the throne. Let them spend what they wish. It is for the good of Jotunheim.” 

Thunder rumbled overhead: lightning crackled between Thor’s fingers. He could contain his rage no longer—his whole body ached to strike, to silence the creatures who dared speak of his brother this way. “Loki has been my brother for over 1200 years,” he managed, finding himself panting with the fury of his heart. “There is nothing half about him. He is clever, he is quick, he is mystic. He is powerful. And he is the only reason I am standing before you now, offering terms of peace, rather than standing beside the Guardian in his Observatory while he annihilates your people.”

Býleistr and Helblindi glanced at one another. Helblindi had the decency to look scolded. 

“I amend our terms,” Thor said. “The practice of hälfte geboren is at an end. You will surrender all future infants and children deemed unable to survive to Asgard. We will place them with worthy families or raise them as wards of the Crown. You may pledge your own souls to the gods.”

“You’d take monsters into your homes?” Byleistr asked.

“That is an antiquated and cruel belief. I stand before you, willing to lose my life and commit mass murder, to resurrect one of the children you deemed unfit to live. If I, the most selfish, arrogant boy in the Realms can reconcile myself to that, then others can as well.”

The King stood staring for a long moment, than turned and vanished from sight. Thor stood as still as possible, trying not to shiver in the wind and snow and trying desperately to not imagine a baby—even a Frost Giant one—lying alone in the cold and the dark.

Býleistr emerged from an icy cavern to his right. Although he was smaller than some of the other giants, he still towered over Thor, and it suddenly hit him—this was Loki’s little brother.

“By Asgardian standards, we are not a kind and generous people,” Býleistr said. “Our realm is a harsh one. Had we attempted to raise your Loki, he would have died in childhood, undoubtedly after years of suffering cold, hunger, and weakness. It was a mercy to cast it out as a baby, before any attachments were formed and its soul was pure and welcomed in eternal bliss.”

“Him,” Thor growled. “My brother is not, nor has never been, an it.”

“You must forgive the term. None of us have ever met an adult half-born. Loki of Asgard was the first of his kind.”

“He will not be the last.”

Byleistr stood a long, still moment. “I ask for only one favor in return: one day, when this is long past us all, I should like to meet our brother. You may dictate the time and the place.” 

Thor wanted to scream with grief and weep with joy all at once. “You remind me of him,” he blurted out, feeling shame heat his face seconds later. “Your…composure. Your stance. I bet you aren’t nearly the strongest of your kind, but you’re probably one of the quickest, aren’t you?”

For the second time that night, the Frost Giant seemed startled. “Perhaps…what you say is true, Prince Odinson. Perhaps we may yet be different from our fathers.” 

“Give me a Mage,” Thor pleaded. “Give me a healer. Save Loki.”

Byleistr placed his finger tips carefully and lightly over Thor’s vambraces, causing them to frost over. “The Kingdom of Jotunheim accepts your proposal.”

*

“Master Heimr, my Lord,” the page announced. Njörd rose to his feet as the elder man entered and bowed. 

“My dear friend,” Njörd said, “Please, come and sit. Let me first say that I know you must be grieving the loss of your most beloved student.”

“You are too kind, my Lord,” Heimr said. “My grief, sadly, can not touch that of the Royal family’s.”

“I hope you were able to convey the love and support of Vanaheim during this terrible time.”

“Indeed,” Heimr took a seat with a heavy sigh. “Prince Thor said that Prince Loki was very happy here. It is a comfort knowing that, in his last days, he was at peace here, in our home.”

“That this happened here will be the greatest shame of my rule,” Njörd mourned. “I can not imagine how my cousin, the Queen, is faring.” 

“She is still the Mother of All—strong, powerful, and kind. Though I have discovered she has a fierce streak. As all mothers do, I suppose.”

“As do we. The Royal Family will be happy to know that we executed each and every rebel we apprehended, to send a message to those who believe it their right to strike against the House of Odin.” 

“Does this include the three soldiers you recruited to assassinate my Prince?”

Njörd’s eyes widened and then he dove for his sword. Heimr, with surprising quickness and strength, leapt across the desk and struck the Nobleman down to the floor. 

“All those who strike the House of Odin do deserve death, my Lord,” Heimr said, clenching a solid hand around Njörd’s throat. “Unfortunately, a quick and easy strike by your own hand is far too simple a death for taking the life of my Loki of Asgard.”

“You’re mad,” the Lord growled, striking at him frantically. “You’ll be hanged for this!”

“I think not. Oron,” he called. Njörd’s eyes widened as not one, but five warriors emerged, weapons in hand. “Secure the Lord and escort him to the Bifrost. The Allfather would like a word.”

“I demand to speak with Chancellor Alaric,” he hissed, lashing out once more. 

“I’m afraid Alaric resigned this morning.”

“Resigned?”

“As part of his plea deal, as I understand it. A full confession in exchange for the lives of his children and grandchildren.” Heimr smiled. “You have several of those yourself, do you not?”

“This is madness!”

“I wouldn’t worry if I were you. We have a new head of the Council. Since there is no active Minister of Diplomacy, the role falls to the active Minister of Security—the Crown Prince. He’d have every reason to be fair, would he not? After all, you were such a generous host.”

Njörd let out a roar of frustration as his arms were seized and bound behind him. “Any self-respecting Vanir would resist the suppression of our realm! Kneeling to Asgard was hard enough, but to kneel to a Jotunn—you faced them on the field. You know what they are, what they can do, what they have done to our people! And we are to call a bastard half-born our Prince!”

“Master Heimr,” Oron said, “you must forgive me, I think we missed the history lesson—when did Loki of Asgard take up arms against the Vanir?”

“Never.”

“Oh. Surely he must have taken up arms against Asgard then?”

“Never.”

“Alfheim?”

“Never.” 

“Forgive me, my Lord…but what terrible thing had Prince Loki done that merited an assassination?” 

“If you can not see how his life endangered all the good realms," Njörd hissed, "then you are not worthy of them.”

“So we are murdering without purpose, or justice now?” Heimr asked. 

“You are blinded by affection for one boy, without realizing what, exactly, his life heralded.” 

“I know what his death has—the end of Odin’s era. And the start of Prince Thor’s.”

*

The path to the Weapon’s Vault, where the Eternal Flame was ever-burning, lay nowhere near the dungeons…and yet Odin found himself walking toward them, rather than toward the magic that might bring his youngest son back. 

It was only expected that the King be the last to arrive. Even to his own son’s resurrection. 

Besides, the Bifrost had not lit up for some time, signaling that Thor was still negotiating with the Jotunns and the Vanir had not yet arrived. 

But Asgard’s greatest traitor and Odin’s dearest friend now resided in the dungeons…and the confession was not yet complete. 

The King made his way past the heavy guard to the prisons, down the thick stone stairs, and into the cells. Row after row of large, relentlessly lit rooms, pure white and, with no marker of time or way of engaging their minds, where men went mad.

Odin had never spared an extra thought for those condemned to live in the cells of the Crown…until today, when his closest friend dwelled among them. 

It was wrong to be drawn to the man who had arranged for the murder of his son. Yet, who better to counsel him against the enemies of his family than the man who had worked with them?

Alaric was slumped against the back wall of his cell, still in his Councilor’s robe, nothing but the heavy chain denoting his station removed. His hands were folded in his lap, and he was every bit the calm, composed man who had helped build his kingdom for thousands of years. 

“Allfather,” he greeted, with the same tone he’d use when Odin sat the throne. 

“Lower the barrier,” the King commanded. A guard obeyed, pressing a series of numbers, and the energy field vanished. Alaric made no move to run, but stayed perfectly in place as Odin climbed the single step and entered the cell. “I want to believe this is not real,” he admitted. “That Thor forced this out of you.”

“I felt very much the same, when you told me a Jotunn was to be our Prince.”

Odin drew a deep breath. “I wish to know who, on the Council, knew of your plans.” 

“I have put all this in writing.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Alaric met his eyes and set his jaw. “What we did, we did for the good of Asgard.”

“Who then, did this for the good of Asgard?”

“I imagine you can guess.”

“Guess which of my most trusted friends, friends whose families I’ve dined with, whose children I’ve blessed, whose interests I’ve promoted, secretly plotted to kill my son?”

“He was never your son.”

“You presided over his Name Day,” Odin reminded him. “You held him, you dined with him, you spent hours in Council with him—you advised him. How could you have done all those things and felt nothing but contempt?”

“My contempt was never for him—it was for you. It only grew worse when I saw that there were, in fact, talents in the child. Had he been of your blood, I would have promoted him as King over Prince Thor.”

Odin clutched Gungnir and glared. “Tell me who knew of this.”

“Myself, Vakr, Rœrekr, and Eisnarr. We made the agreements with Njörd and Laufey. Heggr knew but had no desire to participate, though he allowed Vakr to pay fees to Vanaheim through the Security Budget without alerting any concerns from the Treasury. Sighiálmr agreed, fearing for the health of the Aesir with a Jotunn in our midst, but the stress became too much for him, and he descended into his pain tonics. 

“Durinn, Porsi, and Feykir were deemed untrustworthy—Porsi hasn’t the skill to lie, Durinn has a sincere love of the Princes, and Feykir never would have done anything that could have ignited war. Vakr and Rœrekr often tried to pit the Princes against one another, even requesting Loki be given a weapon capable of defeating Thor. Feykir was often angry with them both for attempting such maneuvers.”

“You spoke of other plots,” Odin said slowly. “Did they all come from the Council?”

“Some did. Some from the Jotunns. Some from Vanaheim. Some from the endless enemies of you and your rule outside the friendly Realms.”

“And Thor? What do those outside the friendly Realms think of him?”

Alaric’s eyes went suddenly dull. “You are asking the wrong questions, old friend.”

“What should I ask?”

“How you keep your firstborn alive, now that the second is dead.” 

*

Frigga sat and let a maid brush and braid her hair: she hadn’t the energy or the interest to do it herself. Before her, the healers were removing her younger son’s finery. She imagined how mortified her sweet, self-conscious Loki would be if he realized how exposed he’d been these past few days.

As Queen, she had visited the healing rooms often, especially when there were children present. She’d comforted wives and mothers who lost their sons in Odin’s battles. She’d mourned with mothers whose children had been born sleeping. 

It was easy to visit grief with comfort and love. It was another to be immersed in it. 

She had been the disappointing only-born girl of a Lord, drawing the unimportant courtship of a third son: and then that son had become heir to the throne of Asgard. And she its Queen. 

They’d vowed to raise children who loved each other, who would look after one another and build a world of peace and prosperity as a unit, regardless of who held the throne. There was plenty of unpleasantness and arguments and pouting, of course…but then there were the moments when Thor would fill Loki’s plate at dinner, or Loki would lean over his brother’s shoulder and guide him through a complicated equation, or they would simply look at each other in a knowing, private communication, and it was all she’d ever hoped for.

She’d always wondered how much the Council’s influence reflected in her husband’s parenting: it had been a long running argument between them, that she, as Queen of Asgard, had no seat among her husband’s Councilors. 

But that no longer mattered. She no longer wished to be the Mother of All: she wanted to be the other Mother of two. Her two healthy, strong, living boys. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, dully, when the Maid held a mirror before her to showcase her hair. The girl nodded and curtsied, moving off, and powerful footsteps approached: the unmistakable sounds her eldest. 

“Mother,” Thor said, and Frigga crossed the room quickly to embrace him, breathing in the smell of sun and a storm—the unmistakable scents of her eldest. 

“You’re alright,” she murmured, pulling back to cup his face. Her golden boy smiled at her.

“This is Prince Helblindi, High Priest of Jotunheim,” Thor announced. “And their Master Healer, Ofoti.”

Two Frost Giants stepped forward, towering over them. The Prince wore gold about his ears, while the healer wore an awkward and ill-fitting robe: Frigga recalled the Jotunns often went bare chested. 

The Queen walked forward and took each of the giants’ hands, refusing to so much as flinch when their touch burned her skin. “Thank you for coming,” she said. 

“Frigga,” Helbindi acknowledged. 

“Queen of Asgard,” Ofoti said quickly. “Forgive us. We have no such titles on Jotunheim. Especially for women.”

“I take no offense,” she soothed. “I know it must be difficult, you coming here. I promise I will advocate for the interests of Jotunheim, in return for your good deeds.”

“There is nothing good in defying the laws of the universe,” Helblindi griped.

“I’d like you to remember,” Thor said calmly, “that Heimdall the Guardian still has eyes on Jotunheim. Should you mishandle the Casket or disrupt the spells, you will watch your Realm perish and spend your remaining days in Asgard’s cells.”

“I will not defy my brother, the King,” Helblindi declared, raising his chin in a decidedly Loki gesture. “He has given me a command. I intend to obey it.”

This is the brother of my son, Frigga realized. It was suddenly obvious in his posture, his lean form, the high cheekbones, the suspicious looks he cast about the room. A powerful Priest, wielding the inherited magic Loki himself carried. 

She turned her gaze aside, not wanting to be rude by staring, and found Ofoti, the Jotunn healer, was doing just that. 

“Forgive me,” he mumbled, and looked to the floor. “I have only heard tales of yellow hair.”

Frigga smiled. “You may look. I’m sure we appear quite strange to you.”

“Your half-born has the hair more typical of our people. Though we soldiers shave our heads so our view is unobstructed.” His eyes drifted to the bed. “I had thought it would look more Jotunn.”

“He would look more Jotunn,” Thor growled.

“He. Forgive the term, Queen Allmother.”

“You may call me Frigga,” she said calmly. “I would not ask you to call another woman ‘Queen,’ at the expense of your own.”

“We have no ‘Queen’ of Jotunheim,” Helblindi interjected. “Women are not given power or titles.”

“I see.” Frigga forced her face to remain calm. “And does your own mother live?”

Helblindi shrugged. “Daughters tend to mothers. Sons have higher callings. Our relationship with our fathers are sacred. Mothers are of no consequence once a son joins the warrior ranks.”

“And how old were you when you began training?”

“Five.”

She nodded carefully. “Your warriors are renowned across the Nine. I see that is why.” She smiled at the healer and walked away before emotion got the better of her. 

If Thor and Loki had been taken from her at so young an age…she couldn’t fathom it. Even worse, knowing that they were told they had no obligation to ever return. Times when her sons went off on an adventure or she herself toured the Realms, she felt their absence every moment. Her magic dimmed, her energy was less, her care for her manners and appearance retreated. She was never fuller, or happier, then she was with her children. 

Thor joined her at Loki’s side, placing an arm around her shoulders. “Do you think this will work?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. 

“Norns only know,” she soothed, and reached up to squeeze his hand. “But you have done well. If we are to bid farewell to your brother tonight, the end of the Jotunn war is a tribute to his legacy.”

Thor made a small, heart-broken noise. She turned and brushed some hair behind his ear. “Don’t despair,” she soothed. “Loki was not the only one who looked to your light.”

“If we can’t retrieve him, I must leave Asgard. Will you come with me?”

“No, my sweet. My place is here, with our people. Yours is as well.”

“I can’t simply return to the way things were, knowing all I know now.”

“You are getting ahead of yourself. Let us see what is to be done.”

The sound of multiple footsteps had her turning back toward the door. The Jotunns were staring at her once more: the healer looked away, ashamed, but the Priest gazed unabashed. She met his stare calmly, refusing to let him shame her for showing her warrior son comfort. Odin had filled her boys’ heads with enough ludicrous notions of courage. 

She was surprised to see Master Heimr, Loki’s former War Master, arrive first. He bowed to her, and then to Thor, and said “Your Grace, my Queen, I have brought you the Council of Vanaheim. They reside in Asgard’s dungeons. And, in addition, I have brought you our Chief Mage, Gunnolf.”

“Master Heimr,” she said, and approached quickly, holding out her hands. He took them and kissed one. 

“My Queen.”

“Thor…you could not have chosen a more worthy leader.”

“I’m aware,” he said with a smile. 

Heimr gestured to the tall, slim, clean-shaven, man beside him. “Gunnolf, my Queen.”

“Allmother,” the Mage said, and bent to kiss her hand. “All the Mages of Vanaheim appeared to offer their services. I have brought those I believe best suited to the task.”

Behind him, a line of men stood at the ready: they were dressed in simple robes, each indicative of the color of their individual seidr. Green, blue, red, orange, pink, gold—the sight brought a smile to her face, a reminder of home, where her practices were common, and magic part of the very air. 

“You have my deepest gratitude,” she smile. “Though I fear I must warn you that what we are attempting is theory, at best. There is danger to it. We are dealing with two enormously powerful forces—the possibility of injury, physical or mystic, is high.”

“You are a Mage of Vanaheim, my Queen,” Gunnolf said. “As is the Prince. To risk less would be a stain on our practice.” 

“Very well. The Prince is through here.”

Thor startled a little when the mages filed through, eyes falling on the one in orange, who smiled shyly and bowed. “Forgive me, but…Vidar? Is it?”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“I am grateful to you, friend. Mother, Vidar was the scout on Vanaheim who traveled with Njord’s troops.”

“I failed you, my Queen,” the Mage admitted. “And you, my Prince. I saw no threat from the air when I was ordered to depart.”

“Nor would you have,” Thor soothed. “The weapon was light and quickly assembled after you had flown home.”

“It is still a pale excuse. It is my dearest hope that I can help bring the Prince back as some slight amends.”

Thor looked suddenly uncomfortable. “It is noble and brave of you all to do this for us…but you are aware of the risk? I feel, as practitioners of magic, perhaps you are sheltered from endangering your life.”

To his surprise, the group chuckled. 

“On the contrary, Your Grace,” Vidar said gently. “A Mage in mid-cast is highly vulnerable. We have lost friends many times over.”

“To die while deploying magic is our equivalent to a Warrior’s death,” Gunnolf explained. “It is the highest honor to risk our lives in service of our Royal family.”

The berth, though large, was rapidly filling, even more so when Odin strode in moments later. The introductions between the groups passed quickly: the Mages of the Vanir, the Healers of the Aesir, the Priests of the Jotnar.

“I’ve brought you all I can, Allfather,” Thor said, trying hard to keep his voice even. “If there is more, command me.”

“You have done well, my son,” Odin soothed. “It is up to the mages now.”

“Magii,” Gunnolf boomed. “Assemble.”

With alarming swiftness, the mages split into groups, pulling three large crystals from sacks secured at their sides, and small tables to hold them. One group gathered around a pyramid shaped stone that started out yellow and faded down to orange, varied shades of red, and black: the second group gathered around a pale stone of blue, white and gray, with silver crystals growing at the sides. 

The Chief Mage set up his own small table directly over Loki’s hips, where he placed a surprisingly small, but seemingly dense orb of clear, glittering crystal. 

“We have brought two powerful weather crystals, capable of capturing the Casket of Ancient Winters and the Eternal Flame,” Gunnolf explained. “Our mages will steer and direct that power, and then, upon my command, release it here, where the forces will combine and be blessed with a spell of healing. At that moment, my Queen, the Prince’s soul must be returned, so that the healing may take effect and resurrection may be possible.” He glanced to his mages, who nodded, and then turned to Frigga. “We are prepared to enact our magic at the Royal order,” Gunnolf announced.

“I thank you,” Frigga said, letting her eyes meet each and every mage, but land and hold on the High Priest of the Jotunns. “I thank you all. Stand at the ready.”

She crossed the head of the bed, placed a hand over her youngest son’s chest, and tangled another in his hair.

Thor spoke, uncertain. “Mother? What is it?”

“Don’t worry, dearest. I’m completing the spell.” She raised her eyes and smiled. “And I am going to get your brother.”

*

Loki stumbled, fell, and this time, was too weary to rise. 

Get up, he told himself. You will vanish if you do not.

Home, the sweet, ever-present voice sang at his heels.

Loki sobbed. 

He was beyond exhaustion—his limbs ached, his head spun, his breath labored. He’d been running and stumbling for what seemed like years, often with no sense of purpose. 

Around him was white: sweet, shimmering clouds that occasionally yielded to show outlines of trees or rivers, of sky and fields, but never clear enough that he could find his way home. He heard singing sometimes, or birds, and once, even Odin, who had called from somewhere in the relentless brilliance for Loki to run for his voice. 

But Valhalla…Valhalla was everywhere. 

He was supposed to be safe in eternity, an eternity that promised peace and acceptance and no more pain, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to surrender. He was supposed to hold on, he was supposed to keep fighting, because he was needed, though he couldn’t remember why, or for what. 

And so the Prince forced himself onto all fours, looked up—and saw his mother.

“Loki, my son,” Frigga murmured. She was infinitely more beautiful than he remembered, framed in the glowing clouds with her hands outstretched and her face beaming love. 

“Mother,” Loki sobbed. It was all he could do to haul breath into chest as the warm white aether swirled at his heels. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can’t run anymore. I’m so tired…”

“Oh, my sweet boy.” The Allmother knelt, cupping her face in his hands and wiping his tears with her thumbs. “Do you feel how real my touch is? You must follow it home now.”

Loki shook his head, frantic. “Are you Valhalla? Because I can’t…my brother needs me. Thor…” he was horrified to realize he couldn’t remember why Thor needed him, or he Thor, or why he was here alone and not with Thor in the first place.

“Thor is here, at my side, waiting for you. You must come home now, Loki. We, your family, miss you terribly. We are not whole without you.”

“I’m so tired,” Loki sobbed, clinging frantically to his mother. “I scarcely know where I am.”

“It’s alright, love. I have you. Listen closely now: you must hold fast to me, so I can take you home. It will be hard and it will hurt, coming back to yourself, but you must stand at the ready. It is our goal to restore your body and your soul as one.”

“I…I want to come home,” Loki whispered. “I can’t find the way.”

“I’m here to show you. You mustn’t lose hold of me, no matter how weary you grow. Can you do that? For me? For Thor?”

Loki nodded, although in truth, he wasn’t at all confident he could. Frigga wrapped him in her arms and it felt so real, more so than anything he’d felt all these horrid lost days, that when he clung back, he actually felt real too. 

And then there was a flash of light, and a horrible sinking sensation as he was dragged out of the ether and back down into the realm of the living. His sight wasn't working: too long in blinding white, everything around him seem dim and blurred, and he had the furious sensation of being pulled upward, back into the entrance to eternity.

He dug his fingers into his Mother's shoulders, and prayed. 

“He’s here,” Frigga gasped, her hands still resting on her physical son while her soul cradled his spirit. “He will not be for long. Do what you must.”

Helbindi placed both hands on the Casket, turned it toward the mages, and allowed a stream of blue, icy light to pour fourth. Odin mirrored the action with a roar of fire from his hand. On both sides, the mages cast colorful seidr against the raw power, chanting and steering it into the crystals before them, which began to pulse with light and vibrate with energy. Gunnolf watched this until both sets of mages raised their eyes, and then he gave a firm nod, and the mages released their channelled energy into thin, narrow energy streams that poured forth into the clear crystal, the ice blue and molten red swirling together in a wild clash of colors. 

Frigga looked into the eyes of her son’s exhausted spirit. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, my Loki. Be strong now. Remember no matter how horrid the pain, your family is by your side.”

In life, she nodded to the mages: in soul, she shoved her youngest son backward, into his ruined body, just as the crystal unleashed its spell of healing and the full strength of ice and fire. 

Whether this be her child’s rebirth or his death, at least, this time, she would be with him, to ease the way. 

Their Loki would never suffer alone again.  

Chapter Text

Coming back to his body was a horror, and made him instantly regret his savage rejection of Valhalla. 

He could feel things inside him pulling together, but it felt more like being ripped in half. He couldn’t get enough air, and his chest was heaving in a mad effort of wracking, useless gasps. He was burning, he was freezing, he was a ruined mess of limbs he couldn’t control, and to make it all worse, he could hear a frenzy of voices around and above him, meaning he was on display.

It was some time before any of the voices crystallized into words, and he was able to open his eyes even as an air mask was placed over his mouth and nose to help his breathing and spells were dancing lights over his bed.

“Hush, love, you must lie still,” his mother was murmuring. “I promise we will ease your pain, but you mustn’t fight us.”

But Loki’s body wouldn’t calm, seeking out air and relief that wasn’t coming quick enough. Nothing inside him was working: not his mind, not his heart, not his lungs. 

I’m dying, he thought wildly, tears sliding helplessly down his face. I’ve been brought back just to feel what dying is. 

“Move aside,” he heard Odin say, and then he felt his Father’s hand on his forehead, the magic of the Allfather pouring deep into him. Air finally filled his lungs and some of the horrid pain in his chest began to ease down. A big hand circled his wrist and gently pinned it, and a moment later he felt a rush of heat through his seidr, the power and strength of healing racing through him with renewed strength. 

“You’ll be alright, brother,” Thor’s voice rumbled through him. “I know it hurts, but it’s healing, I promise. Everyone is here to care for you.”

Loki’s chest began to spasm, and he found his head and neck jerking with it. 

“You’ll be well, my son,” Odin called, but Loki still couldn’t find a way to settle himself.

He hated feeling weak, or small, or helpless, and he couldn’t find the strength necessary to make use of his tongue, which was normally his first defense. He hated the frantic form he was displaying, the wild, flailing desperation of his arms and legs, that seemed to be moving despite his furious efforts to still them. 

He couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong inside him, down to the very atoms, and he couldn’t catch even half a breath without suffocating pain. 

“Shhh,” Thor breathed over him, and while being told to shush would normally enrage him, when his brother did it, with his gentle smile and loving gaze, it felt like a warm wave passed over Loki from his forehead to his toes. “It’s alright,” Thor murmured, a big hand resting on Loki’s head. “You’re alright, Loki. We have you.”

A deep shudder wrenched through him…and then, miraculously, things began to settle. He drew in a full breath, and then a second, and then he was coughing, the horrible vice in his chest eased back and he was gulping in air. His heart began to pump without every beat wrenching through him, and he could vaguely see through the unbidden tears to the room around him.

It was Frigga he saw first, leaning into his line of sight with a glowing smile, wiping the damp from his eyes. “Hello, my Loki,” she murmured. 

He struggled to speak and found his tongue cripplingly dry. “Mother…”

The Queen’s eyes filled. “I’m here, dearheart,” she soothed, her hand on his forehead and another against his cheek. “You’re safe, you’re home. I know you’re in pain, but you must try and be still and let us care for you. Your brother is here, right Thor?” she turned and smiled, as if the tears slipping loose didn’t exist. 

Thor leaned into his vision beamed down at him, fighting back his own tears. “There you are, brother,” he managed around his swollen throat. “You’ll never know how good it is to see you.”

“Let me see him,” a terribly deep voice rumbled, and a cold hand took hold of his wrist. He started when he found his arm turning blue, and blinked up at healer who had hold of him—and gasped.

“Do not be alarmed, Loki of Asgard,” the giant said. “I am here to see that the Casket’s magic was successful.”

“Casket?” Loki rasped. His Mother’s hand smoothed his hair. 

“Don’t worry on it now, dearest. We will explain everything when you are well. Just let them tend to you.”

The cold was creeping up past Loki’s arm into his chest and neck—he could feel it. 

“It’s a blessing from your seidr,” the Allfather spoke, standing beside his Mother. “So that your skin will not be harmed. Let them work.”

Loki was slowly becoming aware that there was a small gathering in the healing room: his family, a Jotunn, Eir and her healers. 

He tried to remember what had happened, where he’d been, why he was here, but his mind was a vacant stretch of white aether mixed with the pain and near-maddening thirst. Eir set up a golden web of spell-craft around his bed, and Loki felt his body begin to coalesce, the temperature starting to even out, the pain easing down a bit. 

Thor, he thought suddenly, the name jolting through him like a wild crack of the thunder his brother reigned over. 

Through the pain, the confusion, cloudy memories of exhaustion, there was a deep, insistent pull, and the vague feeling that his brother needed him. 

His brother’s magic warmed through him, and Loki squinted upward, trying to make some sense of everything—but then his mother’s hand was back in his hair, and his brother was pressing at his hand and arm, and they were looking at him with such open adoration and relief, that he knew he had try, even with all the hurt, to hold on to himself and this realm, to his family, because even with the people he loved and trusted at his side, there was a horrible, gnawing feeling within him that all he loved would cease to exist if he did not.

*

It was amazing just how quickly the Mages had withdrawn when Loki had seized his first wild breath. He could see the swiftness of Vanir military training in their disciplined movements, even if it was magic they commanded in lieu of spears. 

The elder Prince couldn’t stop staring at the younger: Loki’s eyes were open and wild, his cheeks flushed with the struggles of taking in air, his body moving, after days of that awful, deadly stillness.

There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, and all he could manage was curling his hands around Loki’s left arm and sending strength and healing into him. 

“It’s alright, brother,” he called, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible as healers swarmed in. He hated imagining that Loki would wake surrounded by strangers, in a strange bed, in so much pain, and not know his family was at his side. 

Ofoti, the Jotunn healer, stepped forward then, forcing Thor to move up closer to the head of the bed. He stroked his brother’s hair back, trying to soothe him as his body became whole once more. 

A chill struck his left hand, and when he looked down, his brother’s arm had turned blue where the Jotunn healer held it.

He watched, fascinated, as Loki’s pale skin faded in a blue wisp and a pale blue emerged—the same shade as Býleistr and Helblindi. He felt a surprise feeling of possessiveness and moved his hand to grip his brother’s shoulder. 

“It’s alright,” he murmured, as Loki jumped at the cold. “Everything will be alright now.”

Eir and her healers activated the same golden shield that covered the Allfather in sleep, causing Loki to flinch from the light. The Master Healer had her Soul Forge activated and began taking readings, making the tell-tale fussing noises she always did when one of the Princes was wounded or ill. 

“His temperature is too high,” Ofoti said. 

“It is reading as normal,” Eir answered. 

“His immune system is weakened. You must keep him cool.” 

“Cold temperatures foster shock. We must be wary of it.”

The Jotunn released Loki’s arm. “The Casket’s magic is in his blood. The colder the temperature, the quicker it will respond.”

“Maintaining his temperature took time. I do not wish him to lose that ground.”

“Because he would appear Jotunn,” the healer said, clearly disgusted.

“I think you should discuss this in the next room,” Odin said. Ofoti turned and passed Prince Helbindi, who was eyeing Loki with curiosity. Thor glanced to his parents and, seeing them completely absorbed in his brother, gave Loki’s hair a gentle pat and followed the healers.

“I understand that he lives as Aesir,” Ofoti chided Eir, “but he will heal faster in lower temperatures. Heat puts him at high risk for infection. It slows our blood and shrinks our organs. Near our wounds, heat causes bacteria to grow thousands of times an ordinary rate, and guarantees infection or death. As much as you may loathe it, his blood is Jotunn. It needs the cold.”

“It has long been my understanding that your people’s bodies will reduce in size in response to heat, with no harm to the organs,” Eir said. “Is this true?”

“Yes—our people have long-bred with the Light Elves of Alfheim, the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim, and even the Vanir and Aesir, long before the Great Wars. But there has been no study of the hälfte geboren. None have lived long enough.”

“Because the cold proved too much,” Eir reminded him. “That is why I believe the Prince survived here, where he would not have in your realm.”

“Perhaps. But I imagine that heat remains a great threat.” 

“I thank you for your instruction,” Eir said, calm and businesslike as ever. The healer glanced to Helblindi, who narrowed his eyes.

“We did not choose to grow in the dark and the ice,” the Prince said in his deep, giant’s rumble. “Fate did. We are the strongest of all the people because we have survived what others can not.”

“It is good that you have,” Eir said. “Perhaps we others can learn from your immunities.”

“Perhaps the weakness in immunities is the universe eliminating the weak.”

“Perhaps it is time for you to return your home,” Thor interrupted. “If you have no further advice for my brother’s recovery.”

Ofoti glanced uneasily between the two. “From what I have seen…the Prince should recover, given your spells and a cool temperature. Our Prince does the speak the truth: we have no study of healing half-borns, so I can only advise you on the practices of our people. He needs cold, quiet, and as little responsibility as possible. It is time for the whole to carry his sacrifice, not his sacrifice to carry the whole.”

Thor nodded, although he wasn’t sure he understood. “I appreciate your aid. Asgard values and recognizes your aid. I will not forget it, or the sacrifice you’ve made helping an enemy.”

“I follow the command of the House of Laufey,” Ofoti asserted, glancing at Helblindi.

“We will return to Jotunheim now, if all is well here,” The High Priest said. “Prince Thor, escort us to the Bifrost, please.”

Thor glanced behind him to check on his brother: Frigga was leaning over Loki’s bedside, fussing needlessly with his hair, kissing his forehead and cheek and temple—and Loki was too dazed to protest. That alone meant he wouldn’t be bothered by his brother being away for a bit. 

“Gladly,” he said cooly. 

Master Heimr, Gunnolf, the Chief Mage, and the other Magii stood in a dutiful line in the hallway. Thor smiled, genuinely. 

“I’m pleased to report our effort was not in vain,” he announced. “The Prince will recover.”

“That is a blessing of the highest order, Your Grace,” Gunnolf said.

“You will each receive the Medal of Drengskapr from the Allfather and permanent seats on the new Security Council’s Committee of Esoteric Knowledge. You will be given an apartment at Court and access to travel by the Bifrost. We will discuss the details later. For now, I invite you stay as our honored guests.”

“That is very, very generous of you, my Prince. I unfortunately must return: with the unrest on Vanaheim, the other Mages need me.”

“I will return as well,” Vidar said. “I hope to continue serving Asgard by helping to bring peace back to our home.”

The other Mages agreed. Thor shook each one of their hands and thanked them again for their service. Heimr’s eyes were shining, though his face remained stoic.

“May I have a moment alone with you, my Prince?” he asked. Thor nodded. 

“Please forgive the delay,” he said to Helblindi, who growled. Thor knew he was pushing his luck with the Prince, but given that he was party to the Council’s grand scheme, a few minutes wait seemed small penalty.

“I did not want to say this in front of the Queen,” Heimr began, when they were safely out of the Jotunn’s earshot, “but we were unable to apprehend the Warlocks. They emptied their temple and, I imagine, slipped into a portal between the realms.”

Thor felt a flash of rage rise in him. “Cowards.”

“At least when they emerge, they will have no allies.”

“If they emerge.”

“They will have to. There’s no food, or water on the pathways between worlds. And I imagine the pressure of being in hiding will quickly turn them on one another.”

“I’ll speak to my mother when Loki is stable,” he promised. “I suspect she’ll have advice.”

Heimr nodded. “The Prince…has he spoken?”

“No more than a word or two. He’s very weak.” Thor smiled. “As soon as they say he may have visitors, I’ll send for you. Having you nearby will be a great help to him.”

“Thank you for your trust,” the War Master said. “Now you best take your Jotunns home. It appears our peace may depend on it.”

Thor grasped the teacher’s arm and squeezed it in thanks, than quickly made his way back to the Jotunn Prince and healer. “Forgive the delay. If you’ll follow me.”

They walked silently, side by side, through the palace. Thor could feel the stares of the guards, the handful of Nobles, the servants. He kept his eyes straight ahead and strode calmly, though he was unaccustomed to feeling short beside a walking companion. He had to double his steps for every one of the giants’. He thought back to his teenage growth spurt, when Loki would complain that Thor was deliberately leaving him behind in a show of dominance. The elder Prince had to be mindful to slow his pace so his brother could stay beside him.

It wasn’t until they were outside the palace and walking along the bridge that Helblindi spoke. 

“It occurred to me, on the journey here, that as a Warrior, perhaps you do not understand the gravity of the request you made of us,” he said. 

“I understand I asked you to defy your gods and laws to bring Loki back. I will honor my commitment to Jotunheim in return.”

“You asked for ‘a Mage.’ Did you not find it odd that our King sent me, his brother and our realm’s High Priest?”

“King Býleistr gave me his word. I must trust his judgment if we are to forge a new relationship between our worlds.”

Helblindi snorted. “Perhaps Odin failed to educate you properly on the Casket of Ancient Winters. It can not be wielded by ‘a Mage,’ or an ordinary Jotunn. The Casket was born of the magic of our ancestors, passed down through generations. It is inherited power, bound to our blood. And through that blood, we may see, speak, and know one another. 

“As a youth, I used to watch your Loki go about his day on your realm, and hate him for not caring about the suffering of his people. I believed until today that he knew what he was and simply ignored us, which would make sense, given his soul was born stunted. But the Allfather claimed his transformation was a product of his ‘seidr.’ You’ve never been honest with him—he doesn’t know what he is.”

“He’s my brother,” Thor snapped. “Son of Odin and Frigga. Prince of Asgard.”

“And when did you learn he was Jotunn? When you brought him before my Father’s throne? Was that a show of dominance? From the little Laufey told us, your Lord Chancellor found your Loki to be quite an adept ruler, but it was your throne he ruled from. I am in a similar situation myself.”

Heimdall’s Observatory was coming close, and Thor whirled on the Prince. “Speak plainly now,” he commanded. “What are you threatening?”

“Býleistr is my younger brother. He rules Jotunheim by my grace. My talents have always been mystic. I thought it best to follow them. I had to order Býleistr to take the throne. But if I feel my King is leading our realm astray, I will take back the crown.”

“Very well,” Thor said. “Then you and I will speak as Kings.”

“And the first subject we will address is that Loki of Asgard decapitated Laufey—his own Father. I imagine that would be a terrible shock to your ‘future Chancellor,’ given that no one here has told him of his origins.” 

Thor’s stomach lurched. “He will know as soon as he is well,” Thor growled. 

“I would not advise it, Odinson. We Jotunns deem patricide the gravest sin of all. You and my brother are free to speak all you’d like of these matters of state, as if the rest doesn’t matter, but I know my people in spirit. We will never kneel to Asgard.”

“I have not asked you to.”

“You will.” Helblindi glared. “And if you think to use your ‘Loki’ to pave the way, I tell you now to cease. I have seen inside him—he is nothing but a half-formed soul bound with endless knots of spellwork. Pull one small thread, and the entire artifice will collapse. Should you seek to subject Jotunheim, I won’t need to hire assassins to tear that runt to bits.”

Thunder shook the rainbow bridge. “You so much as imagine it,” Thor growled, “and I will make due on my promise to exterminate your people.”

“Then we will meet our gods in good faith, and you will begin your reign as King of Slaughter.” Helblindi took his place before the Bifröst. “Be well, Prince Odinson. We will meet again.”

*

Being back at Court after a very public banishment was hard enough, particularly since Volstagg was making a grand show of belittling him. Fandral knew it was deserved, and he reminded himself that this was what he’d been longing for, all these weeks—a chance to prove his remorse, a chance to reunite with his friends, a chance to explain himself. 

He had only vague memories of what he’d said to Vakr that night at the feast, his mind blurred and darkened with drink, but he had all too vivid memories of the Einherjar bursting into his chambers and announcing he was to be removed from the palace, and Court, “by order of the Minister of Security, Prince Thor Odinson.”

That Loki had somehow convinced Thor to banish him had been the penultimate insult at the end of a week full of them. At the time, he had felt he was only one of his friends who saw the situation for what it was: a usurpation. 

It wasn’t until he’d heard of the second Jotunn invasion that he felt his first wave of shame and remorse. Whatever he believed or felt about Loki as Regent, he had sworn his sword to the defense and protection of Asgard, and he had not been there to fight for the realm. 

The second, and far worse wave of grief, was when the bells had rung out in the middle of a sunny afternoon, shops closed down, schools let out, and a servant came to tell him that the Einherjar heralds had announced that Prince Loki had entered Valhalla. 

It was then, inexplicably, that he remembered the words Heimr of Vanaheim—Loki’s arrogant, insufferable Master of War—had said to him the first time the younger Prince had bested him in the sparring arena. 

“If there is any wisdom inside you, heed my warning: you will never be half the man my Prince will be," the elder man had said, smiling as if he spoke in kindness. "Be grateful for his friendship, or you’ll find yourself driven from both their sides.”

The comment had infuriated him for years afterward. He'd never been spoken to like that, and for it to come from someone from a lower station, who wasn't even Aesir, was intolerable. He was every bit Thor's brother, even if it wasn't blood they shared: they'd played together, trained together, fought together. He'd celebrated their victories and mourned their defeats. They'd even been mistaken for brothers by the outer nobility on more than one occasion—with their similar blond hair, build, and beards, he resembled Thor’s brother more than the pale, slim, dark-haired Loki ever could. 

Rather than be given a place at the Crown Prince's side, simply because of their common parents, he’d earned it. And to suggest that he would be jealous of the trickster, of all people, was too ludicrous to fathom. 

Fandral was far more successful at Court than Loki would ever be, and he enjoyed the infinite attention of men and women alike. At banquets he was always at Thor's side, while Loki drifted about on the outskirts and frequently left without a word, vanishing back into his books and spells. They could go days at a time without seeing him at all, which would have been fine, if only Thor was at ease with it as much as the rest of them.

And that was Fandral’s great, silent shame, one he'd only ever danced around with Sif and Hogun, who he suspected harbored similar secrets: it wasn’t that they were jealous of Loki, so much as they coveted Thor, and no one could hold Thor’s affection as Loki could.

It was hard not to desire the focus and attention of Asgard's golden warrior, who was as kind and charming as he was fierce and powerful. Thor hadn't been made to sit around conference tables squabbling over tariffs and trade deals: he was the God of Thunder, a creature meant for the outdoors, ruling his realms on horseback or on the field. 

Fandral had long imagined that, when Thor took the Crown, he and the other warriors would scarcely spend a day locked up in the palace, save for feasts and official functions. Let Loki slither about the Council chambers: Thor had a legacy to leave, and he wouldn't build one behind a desk.

Maybe he had resented Loki, or envied him, or mistrusted him—but he'd never wished him dead. Hearing that the younger man had passed into eternity had hit harder than a blow from Mjölnir ever could. It was a loss for all of Asgard, one that reflected poorly on its strength, to have one of its two Princes slain while on an ally’s realm. 

His thoughts had immediately gone to Thor, and then to the Queen...and then to Loki himself. 

Even if it was never the easiest of friendships, he and Loki had been friends. They'd played and explored together as children, sparred and battled as young adults, and planned on their future families growing up together as they had. Loki would have made a clever, loyal Councilor to Thor, and helped a great deal in the business of the realm. He may have taken the Crown, but it appeared he'd given it back easily enough. Maybe Volstagg had been right, and he'd never really wanted it.

Maybe Heimr had been right, and Loki would have been a better man than Fandral could ever be.

Maybe Fandral would have apologized. Maybe, in the long years of Asgardian life, Loki may have accepted it.

Maybe Thor, the only brother Fandral had ever known, still could.

*

Fandral waited with the other Warriors, watching Thor climb the palace stairs from the Bifrost. He looked tired, and moved slower than usual, undoubtedly weighed down by grief. 

“Prince Thor,” Volstagg spoke. The eldest Odinson—now the only Odinson—gave a small, false smile. 

“The Council is arrested then?” he asked. 

“Lord Eisnarr was very angry. Lord Porsi cried,” Hogun reported. 

“Durinn cried too,” Volstagg said. “Sighiálmr couldn’t be awoken. He was rushed to the healing rooms.”

“Here or in the dungeon?”

“They tried to bring him here but were told the healers were closed on Royal business, so he was taken to the dungeon’s.”

“Be sure he stays there. I don’t care about his addictions: I won’t have any member of the Council near Loki.”

“Lord Rœrekr demanded to speak to the Chancellor,” Sif said. “As did Lord Heggr. I told them that Alaric had confessed. They wouldn’t speak after that.”

“None of them would.” Volstagg crossed his great arms. “They had the conviction to kill their Prince, but not the conviction to stand behind their act.”

“The act is easy. The consequences are not,” Thor said, eyes turning to Fandral. The Warrior refused to drop his gaze. “I thank you all. The Allfather and I will be hearing confessions over the next few days. Volstagg, you needn’t return to active duty yet. Heimr will stay on as an advisor for the time being.”

“We saw a group of Mages coming through the city,” Hogun said. “Why were they here?”

“They wished to pay their respects to the Queen.”

“We tried to do the same,” Sif said, “and were told she was not taking visitors.”

“It is a difficult time.”

“Will the Prince’s funeral be tonight then?” Volstagg asked.

“There will be an announcement regarding that soon.”

Fandral wondered if Thor had been this standoffish with all his friends, or if it was his presence that caused the clear distrust. He could bear the strain no longer.

"My Prince,” Fandral chanced, "may I have a word?"

Thor looked at him for a long, critical moment, then nodded. "Follow me," he ordered, and strode back into the Council chambers.

The halls and offices still felt new: he'd only ever been in them when Loki assigned him to Vakr. That Thor now occupied that office was nothing short of bizarre, and Fandral felt more than a little uncomfortable when the Prince sat in the Minister's chair.

"I imagine this is where you committed the worst of your crimes," Thor said. "It was a rare favor of fortune that Volstagg overheard a handful of them."

Fandral forced himself to look into his friend's eyes even as his face burned with shame. "I may have been a poor friend," he murmured, "but I never wanted any harm to come to Loki. Vakr seemed trustworthy. He cared about the invasion, and Asgard, and he feared Loki on the throne would lead to war. He saw how he was working against the Council and preventing them from advising you. He said Loki wanted to make peace with Jotunheim. It's like he was trying to undo everything you'd ever planned for your reign before you could take the throne. And the Security Council identified Loki as the most likely suspect in opening a portal to the Weapon's Vault."

Thor's face remained remarkably still. "And what, then, was your plan? What did you hope would come of ruining Loki's investigation?"

"That the Council would force him to step down, and you would assume your proper place on the throne."

"By what means were they to force him?"

Fandral blushed deeper. "I assumed...if the Council was against him, and you heard their evidence...he'd have no choice but to step aside."

"And if he did not? If he disbanded the Council instead? If he announced that I was mortal by my Father's command, unworthy and unfit for the throne?"

"Then you would have the backing of the strongest Warriors and politicians for your claim."

"And by what means would I press that claim?"

Fandral knew what they were circling: even worse, Thor did too. He was just trying to make him say it.

"You weren't acting like yourself," he pointed out instead. "You're still not. You stopped wearing your usual armor to court. You were made to stand beside the throne for hours on end. You had to sit in these ghastly chambers instead of being with the General and Lieutenants, planning the invasion we've discussed our entire lives. He's your blood, but it isn't just blood that makes a brother. We've shared everything you and he have, and I worry about you just as much, if not more. I want you to have what's rightfully yours."

Thor's face slowly softened before he leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. "I can't fault you entirely," he admitted. "You weren't privy to much of what happened that week. And I trusted the Council too. And you're right: I always planned to finish the war with Jotunheim, because I wasn't thinking about the toll on the people, or the lives of my friends and family, or the very real possibility of loss. What I know now is that the Council counted on that. In his confession, Alaric said the Jotunn invasion was meant to reignite the war, a war they knew I would rush into headlong. Their original plan was to have Loki slain in battle, and then the Jotunns would have sued for peace. They thought it would 'temper' me. That was their plan—to plunge me into war and grief at the start of my reign.”

Fandral started. "I always thought the Council would like Loki. I imagined he'd be a Minister. It suited him."

"They thought he'd influence me more than they could, and that removing him from my life was the easiest way to insure I’d be as they wished.” Thor's expression hardened once more. “Apparently, you felt the same.”

“I never wanted him harmed!”

“By your own admission, you were conspiring to remove him from the throne. Had he refused, you must have at least suspected that the Council would use force of some sort.”

“They wouldn’t have had to. The people and the Nobles would come to your side. The soldiers would back you. And once your power was restored, you wouldn’t have had need of any of them.”

Thor’s face flushed with rage. “You think I’d want a civil war with my brother?”

“I think you belong on the throne—you’re a proper Warrior, a soldier, a leader! Loki relied on tricks and lies and manipulation. Asgard is a place of honor and truth.”

To his surprise Thor laughed. It sounded more than a little crazed. 

“Lord Fandral…I feel as though you've been sent to humble me. Speaking with you is like speaking to myself only two months ago. I scarcely remember what it felt like to believe that.” 

Fandral leaned forward to meet his friend’s eyes. “I’m truly, deeply sorry that Loki is gone. I’d thought he needed to be reminded of his place, not murdered.”

“I can’t fault you for not imagining that was what they wanted, when I failed to see it myself. Even I didn’t believe they’d go so far.”

“Why did they? Just to influence you? Surely they could have done that by giving good counsel. You’ve never been one to be controlled in the first place.”

“Yet you thought Loki was controlling me,” Thor snapped. “You said as much to Volstagg.”

“You were obeying everything your brother said. You stood up at the feast and toasted him as Regent! Up until we returned from Midgard, we discussed everything together, and suddenly you vanished into the Court and started behaving completely differently. I feared you were enchanted, or at least, that you were frightened enough by your mortality that you felt threatened. I just wanted to help you.”

Thor’s face twisted into grief, and he rose from the desk, arms clenched before him as his eyes drifted toward the office’s lone window.

“I can see how you would view it that way,” the Prince admitted. “But your critical mistake is believing it was Loki I needed to be wary of. I was not ready for the throne, Fandral—Jotunheim aside, everything you’ve said about what I thought being King would be is the selfish dreams of a ruler who wants to cover himself in glory instead of trying to build something good for everyone. Everyone was happy enough to let me behave that way—to hunt and fight and battle and ignore all the serious business of running a Kingdom and protecting the Nine Realms, as long as I did what they wanted when the time was right. No one thought me capable of more. Except Loki. He taught me more about Asgard in that week than the Allfather taught me in a thousand years.”

“Why does his opinion hold so much more weight than ours? Why is his way more worthy, or right? Sif and I have known and loved you as long as he has. I’ve always thought of you as my brother.”

“But I’m not,” Thor said, as gentle as possible. “I have one brother in all the galaxy, and that is Loki. You have to understand that we have always been apart, through no fault of anyone’s, and certainly not our own choosing. But as a Lord, you have options—you can be a Warrior, or a Minister, or devote yourself to charity, or move to the country and oversee farms, or build your own industry, or simply hunt and travel your days away. Loki and I have no options: our lives belonged to the Nine Realms the moment we were born. One day, we will have to make choices that may affect millions of people. It’s an enormous responsibility. And one we were blessed to face together.”

The remark stung. “You are not alone in your wanting the best for Asgard. The Warriors and Sif and I, we are your family as well.”

“Of a sort,” Thor agreed. “But you don’t know why Loki and I never moved to separate chambers. You don’t know what won us the battle in the vault. You don’t know what it is to grow up with your Father as your King.” 

“You and I have always had more in common than he and you ever had. We’ve gotten along far easier. We always have fun together, even in battle. You never know what Loki will be like because you never know what his mood will be.” 

The Prince’s face fell. “Fandral…you don’t know what it is to struggle to understand someone close to you—you move on the second things are difficult. Loki and I fight, and pick at each other, we’re jealous and resentful, sometimes we’re downright mean…but then we come back to one another. We find a way together. Not because we have to, but because we want to. We can be ourselves together in a way we can’t with anyone else, including our closest friends. He can not be replaced.”

“Even if your closest friends love you just as much?” 

“It is not a matter of your love for me. It is a matter of my love for him.”

Fandral felt even more heat in his face. “I don’t understand,” he managed. “But I’d like to. I want to help you, however I can. If that means sending me away, then I’ll go. But if you let me back into your confidence, I promise, I will listen, I will learn, I will give more than my sword to Asgard. I will try to serve the throne with my mind, as limited as it may be.”

Thor crossed the room, placed his hands on the desk, and stared at him critically. “What would you say to Loki, if he were alive?”

“That I’m sorry I betrayed and hurt him so terribly. That I truly believed no one would harm him, even if he was removed from the throne. That he was my friend once, and I wish I had told him that I valued that friendship, even when I envied his place in your life. That I honored my vows to the House of Odin, and wished I’d been there to protect him as my Prince, but as my friend first.”

Thor smiled, but there was a weariness to it he’d never seen from his friend. “I am glad to hear it, Lord Fandral. For it is with great relief that I tell you Loki lives to give audience to your apology. And believe me when I say he will hear its truth.”

*

Odin was coming down the stairs toward the throne room when Thor left Fandral and the Council chambers and started back toward the healers. The adrenaline was wearing off of both of them, and Thor was beginning to feel every bit as weary as his Father looked. 

“We are at peace with the Jotunns then?” the Allfather asked. 

“For now.” Thor set his jaw. “I agreed to the deal Alaric had established. Your grand plan goes forward, it seems.”

“When you have children of your own, you will be grateful you have an empire stronger than the one I handed you to leave to them.” 

“Have you taken a moment from your vision of the future to check on your son in the present?”

The King glared. “I brooked far too much disrespect from you, in deference to your grief. That is no longer an excuse.”

“Does Loki remember what happened?”

“He is weak, and severely dehydrated. What glimpse I had into his mind was little more than fog and exhaustion.”

“Then he must rest, before he learns the truth. Of the Council’s betrayal. And of his heritage.” Thor drew a deep breath. “I have to be there when you tell him.” 

“Your Mother and I will speak to him first. He needs to understand we are his parents, and our love is equal for the both of you.” 

“He needs me there.”

“You will be there before, and you will be there after. That will be enough.”

“There are only four members of our family. Why can we not speak of this as one?”

“Do you not trust him to take this news with grace and intelligence?”

“It’s not him I no longer trust.”

The statement seemed to take them both by surprise: Thor hadn’t realized just how true it was until the words had left his mouth. His whole life, he’d held his Father’s wisdom and judgment to be sacred and infallible, even when he’d argued with him over Jotunheim or landed in the desert of Earth. 

But if Odin could so seamlessly manipulate so much of Asgard’s history, if he could promote the acquisitions of the Crown over his own children’s safety, if he could conceal Loki’s blood from the God of Lies himself…the there was no telling what else he hid, or how he’d deflect and twist it so that it was his sons who were wronging him by daring to question the throne. 

“I will have a bed set up in the healing rooms until Loki is well enough to sleep in our chambers,” Thor said calmly. “All secondary Lords will be promoted as a temporary Council measure. Tomorrow I will bring Njörd to you first, to hear his confession, and then we will proceed with the rest of the Council. We should also send a party to Nordenheim to arrest Vakr.”

Thor set out back toward the healing rooms, pausing only when he saw General Tyr. 

“Take down the mourning banners and lift the State of Emergency,” he snapped. “Send envoys to the city that, despite the efforts of the enemies of Asgard, the House of Odin is whole once more.”

*

The sun was barely up when Thor woke, his back stiff from the small bed in the healer’s room. Loki was sleeping peacefully, with Frigga at his side, her cheek resting on her hand and her own eyes closed. 

The elder Prince sat up, rubbing at his aching neck, and crossed the room quietly to lay a hand on the Queen’s shoulder.

“Mother,” he murmured.

“Hm?” she stirred and sat up. “Thor. How is he?”

“Still asleep. Why don’t you go and rest. I’ll sit with him.”

She squeezed his hand gently, then Loki’s. He’d hoped she’d go to her own chamber, but wasn’t surprised when she lay down on the cot, drew the healer’s blankets up, and fell back asleep where he had been. 

Thor slid a hand around Loki’s lower arm and rubbed gently with his thumb. His brother was still too pale, and his features still slightly sunken, but he looked infinitely more Loki than he had laid out in his finery waiting to be transferred to his funeral ship.

Sitting beside him, in the quiet early morning, Thor’s emotions were as frantic and diverse as the branches of Yggdrasil herself. He wanted to fall to his knees and wrap his brother in his arms and sob like a child. He wanted to take up his hammer and visit horrors upon the imprisoned Council. He wanted to summon the wildest storm Asgard had ever seen as a message to all that his brother was, in fact, alive, and anyone or anything that dared try and separate them again would feel the agony of nature’s fire.

He wanted to spend the next thousand years with his ear pressed to Loki’s heart, rising and falling with every breath of his brother’s chest.

But mostly, he just ached for Loki to wake up and recognize him, recognize home. 

He let a little of his magic go, flowing into Loki’s. He could feel that his brother’s seidr was weak, most likely because his body was consumed with rebuilding itself. Loki frowned slightly, but stayed sleeping. A young healer came by to take readings, and two servants from the palace kitchens with breakfast trays for him and Frigga. 

Wake up, Thor willed. Wake up and look at me. Wake up and know me. Wake up and tell me you’ll never leave again.

His brother’s breathing shifted, and his face twitched in a frown. A moment later his eyes slowly opened, and he flinched away from the early sunlight. Thor gave his arm a gentle squeeze, and was rewarded with Loki turning toward him. He started to lift his hand toward his eyes, than winced in pain. 

“It’s okay,” Thor soothed, leaning forward. “You’re back home, in Asgard. Try not to move too much. You have a lot of healing to do, but you’re safe.”

Loki finally raised his eyes to look at him, swallowed, squinted slightly, and frowned. “Brother,” he mumbled. “You look dreadful.”

Thor couldn’t help it—he laughed. “Norns alive, Loki,” he gasped. “I was worried you’d be changed.”

Chapter Text

Thor had hoped Frigga might keep sleeping, but by the time he returned with Eir she was sitting at Loki’s bedside, newly dressed with her hair freshly braided, smiling adoringly down at his drowsy brother.

“I want some clothes,” Loki grumbled. “Or a glamour of them.”

“It’s easier to treat you this way,” the Queen explained. “You mustn’t lift your arms or move too much, until your healing is complete.”

“You better not have undressed me in front of Thor and Father.”

“Honestly.” Frigga smiled. “You’re perfect, my sweet. You’ve nothing to shy from.”

“Your readings are strong, my Prince,” Eir said. “Your temperature is uneven, so we will begin more aggressive medication to combat infection."

"Has no one thought to see to my brother?” Loki asked. “The next King of Asgard looks like a half-drowned ape of Midgard.”

"I'm afraid you won't distract us, my little snake in the grass," the Queen chuckled. "The sooner you answer the questions, the sooner your brother will see that you're recovering, and the sooner he'll go and bathe." 

Loki smiled slightly at his Mother, then swallowed, hard. As much as he was striving to appear normal, talking was clearly a strain, and Thor noticed a light sheen of sweat breaking out along his brother's dark hairline.

“What is the last thing you recall before you awoke here?” Eir asked. 

"Vanaheim," Loki grumbled. "I had a dreadful hangover. Then met the Warlocks...am I still blue?" He startled, tried to lift his arm, and hissed in pain. 

"You must lie still, my Prince," Eir chided.

"Am I still blue?" He looked suddenly, frantically, to Thor, who smiled to hide the sudden ache in his own chest.

"No, brother, it faded long ago," he said. "Though you were every bit as handsome as you are now."

"A handsome monster then," he mumbled. Frigga looked to Thor with a frown.

"The warlocks were demonstrating how they use potions to glamour those who do not practice magic," Thor explained. "They had Loki sample a Jotunn one."

"It was nice," Loki murmured, his eyes growing heavy. "Cold and...deep."

"What madness possessed you to drink an unknown potion from those heathens?” Frigga demanded. "Have I taught you nothing?"

"They won't harm me. They'll just help whoever wants to." He started suddenly and gasped, his breathing picking up. Thor leaned forward and covered Loki’s hand with his own.

"Brother, be still," Thor murmured, squeezing gently. His brother twisted in pain. 

"Where did you go?" Loki mumbled.

“Nowhere. I’m right beside you.” 

The younger Prince shook his head. “We split up,” he managed, his breath hitching. “I had to find you.”

Thor swallowed over the ache in his throat. “You did.”

“When did we come home? I don’t remember…” Loki’s voice hitched. “Mother…I don’t remember…”

“Don’t fret, my love. It will come to you.” Frigga pressed a kiss to her younger son’s forehead. “As your body strengthens, your mind will clear. You’ll see.”

Loki made another sound of pain, and his eyes drifted closed. Thor sent the slightest bit of his own magic into him, hoping it would encourage the healing process. Loki stirred a bit, mumbled something that sounded close to his brother’s name, and then was clearly lost in unconsciousness once more. Frigga placed a hand on her youngest's cheek and the barest hint of her magic shone in her fingertips. 

"He should stay asleep while you examine him," the Queen said to Eir. "Thor and I will step out on the balcony, to make room." 

Thor knew an order from the Queen when he heard one, even if it was said in the sweet, pleasant voice Frigga always used. He followed his mother out to the balcony, where several wheeled chairs and settees were set up for those well enough to take fresh air.

“I never trusted the Warlocks,” Frigga said, her jaw set tight with fury. “Magic is a discipline, like any other. A cook does not declare his roast to be holy anymore than a painter claims his brushes are anointed by the gods. The Warlocks believed their power was divine, and thus worshipped themselves.” She crossed her arms. “I’m sure they thought it terribly clever, turning your brother Jotunn. I will oversee their executions myself.”

“I dealt with a similar situations with Prince Helblindi,” Thor admitted. “He maintains Loki’s soul belongs to the ‘Family of the First Winter.’ That that’s where the souls of citizens they discard return. I told them there will be no more practice of hälfte geboren. The infants and children deemed too small to survive will come to Asgard.”

Frigga looked thoughtful. “I am certainly glad no more babies will suffer such a dreadful fate. And I see your plan, to mingle the Jotunn with the Aesir to warm their hearts. But you must be very careful not to be critical of their practices or faith.”

“They murder their own children! How is that any different from the Warlocks helping to murder Loki?”

“The conspirators killed out of prejudice. The Jotunns kill out of necessity.”

“What necessitates killing an infant?”

Frigga’s face saddened. “Imagine a terrible plague claims half our crops. You have enough food for half the population. As King, the people look to you to decide who will be fed, and who will succumb to starvation. Do you assign the harvest to the young or the old? To the strong or the sick? Who will carry Asgard forward, have their own families, provide a labor force that can one day rebuild our population?”

Thor flushed. “I could never make such a decision.”

“Norns forbid you ever have to. But that is the choice the Jotunns have faced for centuries now.” She drew a shaky breath. “Our Loki would have only suffered, and died young, on Jotunheim. The resources he would have consumed could have instead gone to a healthy young giant. If that is the choice you must face, it only makes sense that they would establish a faith where such a decision is not cruel, but a mercy. It is easier to abandon a baby seen as ‘half-born,’ incomplete, not a full soul or being, who will unite with other souls and return as a great warrior. To deny that belief will, I imagine, deeply wound the consciousness of many Jotunn mothers.”

Thor stared off toward the Bifrost. “Bylestr said something similar to me. That it was kinder that the children die than face a short life full of suffering.” He felt tears suddenly rising—he needed to go back inside, to see Loki, to squeeze his brother’s arm and feel his pulse and watch him breathe. Frigga wound her arm through his and hugged him, gently, as if sensing his sudden pain. 

“We will place the Jotunn children with loving parents,” she promised. “And they will hear tales of how the first of their kind to survive was a Prince of Asgard, whose brother, the King, was so proud of his adopted brother’s heritage, he saw fit to save all the others like him. And perhaps, in time, the Jotunns will call you Father of the First Summer. Someone who brought prosperity and hope back to their Realm.”

Thor drew a deep breath and smiled down at Frigga. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

“Now, much as I dread to say it: your brother is right. You are in desperate need of a bath.”

“And a trim,” Thor chuckled, running a hand along his beard. “How did you ready so quickly? I couldn’t have been gone a minute.”

Frigga rolled her eyes and a wave of green flashed over her, and she appeared in the same clothes she had slept in, her hair unbrushed and frazzled, and her skin unmade up. “Is this how you would like to see your Mother, right as you wake, after several days fleeing eternity? My poor boy was likely to run straight back into the aether.”

“You are still the most glorious woman the Nine Realms has ever, or will ever, see,” Thor said fiercely.

“That goes without saying.” She smiled and replaced the well-kept glamour. “Still, a touch of magic never hurt. Especially when one must appear a Queen.” Frigga took his arm once more. “Now come along. One moment with your brother, to see that he’s well, and then it’s off to your day. I’ll look after our beloved little Moon. I swear it.”

*

When Thor had first met Njörd, his Mother’s cousin, he remembered thinking the man was bumbling and slightly oafish—hardly a conspirator in assassination. 

Somehow, in chains before the throne, the Lord of Vanaheim seemed more menacing. All pretense of kindness and goodwill were gone, and if he’d successfully fooled both the Odinson brothers, the Allfather, and the Queen, then he was one of the greatest threats their family had faced. 

“I gave you Lordship of Vanaheim by Frigga’s request,” Odin said. “You had wealth, lands, the respect of this Court and the love of the people. And you used it to murder a member of your own family.”

“I was seeking to restore the honor of my family,” Njörd snapped. “When my grandfather surrendered Vanaheim, it was under the agreement that we would work with Asgard, that our societies would grow together, that our militaries would merge and our mystic practices would become a part of Aesir society. Instead, no Vanir can enter Asgard without an explicit invitation, and they are never extended. A Vanir has not sat on the Council for centuries. Those who do manage to travel here are ostracized and belittled. Even the mages Alaric recruited were not treated as proper military recruits. Our warriors are just as skilled and powerful as Asgardians, although we fight differently, yet our military is armed with used and outdated weapons from the Capital’s old stores. Even worse, our role in the Great Wars against Jotunheim is all but expunged from Aesir teachings. 

“Vanaheim gave you victory over the Frost Giants, gave you your wife, your mighty blood child, and even made your false-Prince a beloved figure in our Realm, yet your people could not even grant us the decency of acknowledgement.”

“And you believed arranging the murder of a Prince of Asgard would get you the respect you desired?” 

“It’s what your Chancellor guaranteed. The titles of Princes and Princesses for my children and grandchildren. Seats on the Council. Open invitations to Court. And yes, the death of the Jotunn bastard you called Prince.”

“You too, called him a Prince,” Thor snapped. “Your people loved him. The soldiers, the Mages—they didn’t care where he came from, only that he loved and adapted their ways. Why wouldn’t you just solicit his favor for the changes you wanted?”

“Had he been born of Asgard or Vanaheim, or even Alfheim, we would have. But you, Allfather, brought disgrace on my cousin, the Queen, when you arrived home from war with a baby in your arms. You could have raised him as a Ward of the Crown, or given him to a Noble family, or even a common one, and your plan still could have worked. Pluck the young man from obscurity, dazzle him with your attention, and use him as figurehead you always intended to seize Laufey’s throne. Instead you declared him a Prince, when all the worlds knew the child was not born of Frigga: at best, he was accepted as your bastard born of war, received in Asgard as a result of the Allmother’s kindness. Those of us closer to the throne knew what you had done.”

“I rescued a dying infant and gave him the proper respect he would never have received on Jotunheim. Despite his size, he was born a Prince. I raised him as a Prince as a show of respect to the Jotunns.”

Thor felt his stomach clench painfully. “And you offered him your honest, selfless love, Allfather,” he said through gritted teeth. “As you offer all your children.”

“I am speaking to Njörd,” Odin snapped, casting a glare in Thor’s direction. 

“Have you forgotten how many lives the Frost Giants took?” Njörd snapped. “How many of our mages were required to win your battle? How that fighting spilled to Svartalfheim?”

“What are you speaking of?” Thor asked, forcing his voice to be calm.

“Myths and rumors are all he speaks of,” Odin interjected. 

“I am speaking to Njörd.” Thor echoed, and locked eyes with the chained Lord. “Speak your version of the truth.”

“Asgard had no claim to Midgard, and continues to have no care for the mortals. It was only hatred of the Jotunns that caused us to intervene. The Dark Elves allied with Jotunheim…and Odin unleashed Gungnir on the now Dark World.”

“Malekith destroyed his own people rather than surrender them to Aesir rule.”

“That is what is taught on Asgard.”

“And Vanaheim cared for the Dark Elves?”

“Vanaheim cares that the truth of the war be acknowledged! The sacrifices of our soldiers and mages, the annihilation of an entire realm, the destruction and abandonment of another. Instead we are made to tell our children that Svartalfheim brought about its own destruction and Jotunheim received justice and mercy in defeat, that Vanaheim is the most treasured ally of the Nine Realms and Frigga the Mother of two sons.”

“I would have heard your complaints without you harming my brother,” Thor rumbled, thunder shaking the hall. “Loki was never happier than he was in those days on your realm, although he was trying to establish who wanted him dead. I saw how he thrived there, how he was loved there. One week, and I could see our faults and prejudices and wanted to incorporate all I could of Vanaheim into Asgard. You murdered the greatest ally you had.” 

“And I suppose, when the day came that you forced a peace treaty on the Jotunns, we would be forced to tell our children that Prince Loki was of their blood and somehow yours and Frigga’s? Or were we to tell them to disregard the truth entirely? Or had you no thought at all, what was thought of him, once you had another realm under your command?”

“Enough,” Odin slammed Gungnir to the dais. “Nothing I’ve heard justifies the murder of my son, your Prince. I offer you the same choice all the traitors have been offered—write a full and complete confession, name your co-conspirators, and face a quick, merciful execution. Or, maintain your position, and your children and grandchildren will be stripped of their titles, homes, and lands and imprisoned alongside you. Your death will be painful, but under my mercy, your children and grandchildren’s will be swift.”

Njörd’s breath hitched. “If you desired to reforge my world view, I congratulate you. Your adopted child was not the House of Odin’s monster after all.”

“Take him away,” the Allfather said. Thor stood still, watching the guards haul away a man he’d long-called kin. “Who is next?” Odin asked. 

“Durinn will be.”

“Alaric said he was unaware of the plot, and had a true love for you and your brother.”

“That may be true. He apparently wept on his arrest.”

“Very well then. Guards—”

“He is not here. I scheduled a two hour recess.”

Odin frowned. “For what possible purpose?”

“I am going to sit with my brother so my mother may bathe and change. The traitors of Asgard may watch their fellows parade past them in chains and wonder over their own audiences. My family needs me.”

“You overreach your station. You are Crown Prince, not King. I remain your Father and your better.”

“And Loki remains my brother, the Queen remains my mother, and they are both deeply in need of me, even if they’ll deny it from here to Ragnarok.” He bowed. “My King,” he said, striding down the dais and toward the healing rooms, feeling an almost childish delight at the Allfather’s fury that followed him. 

*

On his second visit to Midgard, Thor had gone to a bookstore with Darcy while Loki examined recording technology with Selvig. 

The moving picture film about the school of wizards had first been a series of books, Darcy had explained, and Thor obtained four of them as future Name Day gifts for Loki. 

She had also recommended a large tome full of stories about a King Arthur and his Knights (who Thor understood were the equivalent of Warriors), that Thor had hoped to read himself. 

He found that, during the reprieve he’d granted himself from hearing Council confessions, retreating to the Healing Rooms to read aloud to his brother seemed to help them both. 

Loki frowned at first, wanting Court reports in lieu of Midgardian fictions, but his lack of concentration and new habit of falling asleep and waking in short bursts made Thor’s reading aloud the story of the boy wizard, and his new school, far easier to follow.

Frigga would take the time to eat, bathe, speak with Odin, or simply rest on the cot, facing her sons with a gentle smile on her face. Thor remembered how Loki had mentioned that, with patience, perhaps he’d have been able to improve his singing voice, and he did his best to channel drama and musicality into his reading one.

“What do you think?” Thor asked, three days into their new routine. He had heard the confessions of Njörd, Durinn—who knew nothing—Rœrekr—who knew everything—Heggr—who knew some—a handful of Vanir Council members, and he found, after enduring the repetitive reasons why they hated his family, that more and more, he wanted to sit by his brother’s bed and read aloud and pretend that’s all there was: just Frigga and Loki and Thor, a safe little haven of unconditional love.

“Hm?” the younger Prince sighed.

“What do you think? Of the story so far.”

Loki’s eyes were half-closed, but he blinked and looked somewhat aware. 

“Well, the housing system wouldn’t work—I’m clever, ambitious, loyal, intelligent, witty, brave, kind and humble. I’d have to start my own House, but no one else would ever be able to make it in.” 

Thor chuckled. “Darcy said I would be placed in the House of Gryffindor.” 

“Until the house ghost appeared, you threw Mjölnir, and brought the whole place down on their heads.” 

“I do not fear ghosts.” 

“There was the time in the tower—”

“I knew it was you, brother, and indulged your tricks!”

“Of course you did.” Loki’s eyelids fell once more. “My perfect brother,” he mumbled, but the tone was fond. Thor’s conscious stabbed him like a hot poker. He placed his hand on his brother’s hair. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, gently smoothing his thumb over his brother’s forehead. 

“Hm,” Loki sighed. “I was trying to get back. I was running and running…”

“Running?”

“Hm,” Loki seemed to drift off. Thor lifted his hand and stroked gently over the dark head, willing him to an easy, healing sleep. 

It’s dark. It’s cold. No one’s coming for me. 

I’m only ever seen as strange or weak or, at best, a prop. 

The child of the moon and ice. 

Brother. My brother. 

I’m going to be sick. 

“He is healing well,” Frigga said, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “I think it may be time for a visitor or two.”

“Perhaps Odin could find the time to come by. In between hearing what his lies cost us.” 

The Queen took a seat beside him. “It’s alright to be angry with your Father,” she murmured. “But don’t ignore what he’s taught you, or what he’s teaching you now. If you want to change Asgard, you must know the darkest, most hateful sides of it.”

Thor let his hand smooth his brother’s hair. “He didn’t teach me about Asgard—Loki did. He knew all of it, all that ugliness, but not the reasons. That he—” his throat swelled painfully. “I don’t want to lie to him. But I don’t want to hurt him. He’s been hurt enough.”

“Your brother is resilient. He proved that even as an infant. He loves proving people wrong. He will surprise us, I feel.” 

Thor swallowed, hard. “You mentioned visitors.”

“I will check with Eir, but he should be ready soon. I imagine having friends stop by when you are away will be of help to him.” 

The elder Prince smiled as Loki stirred, frowning against the pillow, blinked, squinted, and cast his gaze to Thor. 

“You wouldn’t make it into a House,” he sighed, briefly resting his own hand on Thor’s arm. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The school…for wizards. You wouldn’t be accepted, and I would, and you’d be dreadfully jealous. I’d have tortured you over it. ‘Dearest brother, I still regret that you were unable to join me here…’”

“There is, at one point, a large serpent that stalks the halls. I believe I could make quick work of it.”

“And what of me?” Frigga asked, laying a hand over Loki’s. “Where would I fall?”

“You’d oversee all of it. Everyone. The man they won’t name would be terrified of you. He’d never have gotten that far in the first place.”

“Had he had a mother to set him straight, I believe he wouldn’t have.”

“We have a great deal to go before we find out,” Thor said. 

“Well,” Loki sighed. “You were telling me the story. Go on.” He sighed. “And hurry…I think I’ll be asleep again before you complete a page.”

*

The toll of the past week was beginning to show on the subcommittee members. 

Thor hadn’t even bothered to learn half their names—when Loki was well, he would educate him. The dark and enraged side of Thor had half a mind to throw all of them into chains as well, to frighten them out of any stray thoughts of treason. The more reasonable side knew even Bor and Odin hadn’t run the Nine alone, and with not one but two Councils in the dungeons, he needed everyone who could navigate a report. 

He could already sense that there were conversations happening behind closed doors, the Nobility hoping to take the Council seats, and certainly wondering who would replace the almighty Alaric. Whenever he took his reading to Vakr’s old office, he would hear hushed voices along the corridor and knew it was more than every day business they were discussing. 

There was also the issue that much of Asgard didn’t know anything about these plots, or Loki’s resurrection, or the true reason behind the assassination. With the rage and adrenaline fading out of him, Thor felt his confidence waiver as well. It would be easy enough to hide the truth—he could invent a story about a coma, or an enchanted sleep, and assign the conspiracy to the Warlocks—and use Heimdall to enforce anyone who spoke against it…but that had been Odin’s way. 

His own instinct was to let the truth be known, to make it clear that he was proud, not ashamed, that his brother was born of Jotunheim and had survived multiple horrors and murder attempts to help lead Asgard. 

But he couldn’t bear to make such a leap without Loki’s blessing. 

Doing all of this without Loki was becoming more and more difficult. He knew he was missing things, taking the new advisors at their word, letting them appoint their own subcommittee Chairs and manage correspondence without his input. Odin seemed to take little interest in the Council and both he and Thor were consumed with hearing confessions and fighting between themselves as to who would be executed and who allowed to live out their lives in their cells. 

Looking around at the security subcommittee, he could see his own weariness reflected in their postures. He was reminded of Loki during his self-titled long week of reign, and remembered his seemingly absurd idea to hold a feast. He couldn’t bring himself to go that far, but he did owe these men a break. 

“Is there any further business?” he asked, conscious of the darkness that had fallen outside. If he didn’t get to the healing rooms soon, Loki would be asleep for the night, and Thor had been hoping to speak with him at least one last time.

“The Lord of Starfall in Alfheim has petitioned for an invitation to court,” one Lord said. 

Damnit. 

In Thor’s mind, Loki’s betrothal had ended on Vanaheim, when he’d agreed to be Thor’s Chancellor. Of course, in the horror and chaos that followed moments later, he’d completely neglected to inform anyone of their decision. He certainly didn’t envy the Elfen Lord finding a delicate way to ask what had happened to the Prince and what this meant for his family. 

“Tell him to come at once,” Thor said. “Send two delegates and some guards to Alfheim to escort him to the Bifrost at his leisure. I’ll speak with Odin.”

“At once, my Prince.”

Thor forced a smile. “This has been a very difficult week for us all. I thank you for your tireless efforts. We will have a shortened day tomorrow, to allow us all some much needed rest.”

“It’s an honor to serve, Your Grace,” another Lord said. 

“If I may,” a third spoke up, “when we will have an official new Council?”

“As soon as Prince Loki is sufficiently recovered.” And can tell me who to choose. “They will include representatives from Vanaheim.”

“On the subcommittees?”

“Subcommittees and the Council proper.” 

The looks that went quickly around the table told Thor all he needed to know: Alaric wasn’t the only one who wanted the Aesir alone ruling Asgard. 

“Your Grace, if I may—” a Noble began. 

“You may not. Not now. This has been a terribly trying week for us all. We will begin to rebuild once the trials are concluded, confessions heard, and sentences handed down. I assure you, everyone who has participated in managing Asgard during this time of crisis will be remembered and justly rewarded.” He rose, and the table rose with him out of respect. “I bid you good evening, my Lords.”

He stopped only long enough to pick up his daily batch of ship and trade reports, and then made his way to the healing rooms. The candles were going strong, and the halls were quiet, group meals somber affairs in the palace’s state of mourning for Loki, and now the confusion of how he had returned. 

Not for the first time, he wished his family didn’t have to share their home with hundreds of others. 

The healing rooms were especially quiet, the lights already dimmed, and Thor thought for sure he’d find his brother asleep under a golden sheen of nightly spell-work. When he rounded the corner and found Loki sitting up, dressed in an olive green tunic, a pile of pillows at his back and a book on his lap, he couldn’t stop his grin. 

“You’ve made progress,” he beamed. 

“It has truly been a day of excitement and adventure,” Loki agreed. “I told them I’d set my bed aflame if they didn’t give me a robe, Mother combed my hair, and with the help of two healers and a great deal of swearing on my part, I have been sitting upright for three hours. The things you miss when you attend to the kingdom.” 

Thor chuckled and placed his papers on the cot, safely out of reach. “If you feel strong enough, maybe we can review some ship reports in the morning.” 

“I don’t care about those. I want to know why no one will tell me anything about the Council. I overheard someone mention ‘State of Emergency.’ What was that about?”

Thor frowned. “Where’s Mother?”

“Odin summoned her, and I told her to spend the night in her own chambers. She’ll likely not comply. Don’t avoid the question.”

Thor sank into his usual chair at his brother’s side. “Father said a State of Emergency is engaged after any royal death. Mother said she also had one when in labor with me.”

“And not for me?”

“Well…you are the second son,” he managed, forcing a smile. Loki rolled his eyes. 

“As if I ever forget.” 

Thor hated himself in that moment. “I promise I’ll tell you everything,” he said fiercely. “I just want you to get stronger first.”

“You needn’t worry about upsetting me. I don’t remember anything past that morning. It’s just fog, and exhausted running, and a bit of Mother trying to bring me here. I hope I didn’t put up a terrible fuss while dying.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Thor snapped.

“I’m trying to figure out how humiliated I should be.”

“That’s pride and vanity talking.”

“And that’s Father. My word. One eye too many, but Odin through and through.”

“This isn’t something to be made light of! There was no guarantee we could get you back. Do you know what I went through trying?”

“No, brother,” Loki said cooly. “I don’t.”

Thor felt his anger fade to exhaustion. “Is that what this is? A ploy to get details out of me?”

The younger Prince frowned. “Even I’m not that cruel.”

“You’ve barely been awake these past few days. When you are, I don’t want to burden you with this. Not yet.”

“I don’t like everyone knowing things that I don’t. It’s unnerving. And I especially don’t like not knowing how I died.” 

A blast of anger and frustration ripped out of Thor before he could stop it. “You were shot by a siege weapon—a scorpion. The bolt nearly took off your right arm, went through your chest and lungs, and came out the other side. You barely made a sound, just dropped from your horse. I tried to grab hold of you as you fell. Then I leapt off mine and ran to you and you were lying there staring up at nothing. Then I did a whole lot of screaming and crying and trying to revive you. Do you want to hear how I carried you home? Or that Odin told me to have courage? Or that Mother screamed when she saw you? Or that I threatened to destroy a realm and kill children in order to get you back? Or is that enough detail for you?”

Loki had gone even paler than usual, the sight of it only fueled Thor’s horrible sense of failure. He wanted to smash the bed as he had Loki’s desk: would have, if he thought he could do it without harming his brother. He started to get to his feet with vague thoughts of stumbling out of the room until he could find something to destroy that wouldn’t hurt the people he loved any further.

But then his brother’s hand grasped his wrist and calm seeped into him: far weaker than it had been prior, but his own magic engulfed it, racing out toward his brother like it was starving. 

“Wait—” Thor gasped, trying to quell his own response, but he could see when it hit the younger Prince. Loki sank back, the movement, the emotion, and the magic too much for him. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, and slid down from the pillows, breathing hard. “M’sorry, Thor…”

“No, no, I’m sorry.” The elder Prince dropped to his knees. “Don’t move, you’ll hurt yourself. I’ll go for the healers—”

Loki’s hand found his arm once more. “Don’t go.”

“It won’t take a moment—”

“Don’t go.” 

Thor could no longer see through his tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Loki…”

His brother reached out and laid a hand on the back of Thor’s neck, similar to the affectionate hold he himself used. 

“Tomorrow,” the younger Prince murmured, “we’ll talk through it all. I pushed us both too hard tonight.” More of Loki’s magic seeped into him, and Thor started to pull back. 

“Don’t—”

“It’s alright. You’re not hurting me. It was surprising that’s all.” He coaxed the elder Prince forward until he was resting against the side of the bed with the top of his head pressing against Loki’s ribs. “I think you may have had an even longer and more terrible week than my own.”

Thor let out a sob, pressed his face into the mattress, and did his best not to cry too hard or too loud. Loki kept a soothing hand on his neck, sending what calm he could, while Thor tried to keep his own magic from pouring out and flooding his brother’s weakened frame. 

He could feel the moment his brother fell asleep, even as his hand stayed in place. Loki was drained in every way, and it was unfair of Thor to be relying on him for comfort. He had no business mourning a brother who’d been restored to him, and who only wanted to know what had happened in his absence by doing what they always did, which was poke fun at one another to cover their hurts and fears. 

Thor got to his feet, washed his face in the corner basin, brought the lights down, and undressed down to his underclothes. He carefully adjusted the blankets over his sleeping brother, then brought his cot close enough that he could reach across the space between them and cover Loki’s hand with his own. 

“Sleep well, little brother,” he murmured.

Perhaps we will both be able to sleep tonight. 

Chapter Text

The sun had barely pierced the pitch into a deep navy blue when Loki woke, early sounds of morning drifting in through the windows to his right and the berths to his left. 

He woke facing his brother, whose giant muscular arm stretched across the short gap between their beds so he could clutch Loki’s hand. 

He took a moment to appreciate it, to stare at the one of the great hands of the mighty Thor. He was a god to some, a hero to many, an enemy to countless others, but he was only ever ‘brother’ to Loki. 

And not always a gentle, loving brother. 

Sometimes he was cruel. Sometimes he was impulsive. Sometimes he was arrogant, and naive, and stupidly, oafishly, optimistic. Thoroughly and completely frustrating and an utter liability to the Nine.

And oh how Loki loved him. 

But Norns…how awful he was at showing it. 

His sharp, skillful tongue always seemed to fail him when expressing affection, and even his attempts at writing his emotions frequently fell woefully flat. It was yet another reason he both admired and envied his brother: Thor was as fearless with his feelings as he was in battle. His brother could weep, or rage, or crumble in grief, and no one would ever dare challenge his strength or his honor. 

He’d always been small next to Thor, in every way imaginable, save one—knowledge. That had been his prerogative, and he’d never felt greater then when he and his brother could share it. 

Except, now that he had, now that Thor had absorbed everything he’d wanted to impart…suddenly Loki seemed small there too.

He’d always known his brother was clever. In the classroom he’d been easily distracted, and he was frequently restless, but when it was just the two of them, sitting across a table or a desk, completing lessons, Thor would settle, and Loki could see the intelligence and master strategist beneath the hot-tempered warrior. 

He’d seen that Thor emerge more and more before their ill-fated trip to Vanaheim, and even then, when he thought back to days before he’d been struck down, he remembered his brother’s ingenious plans with the Vanir militia. 

Being hit with his brother’s magic, however well intentioned—and yes, it had hurt—reminded him how difficult it must be for his brother to detach and outthink his opponents. The fire that made him a savage warrior and a fiercely devoted brother also made him volatile, impatient, and impulsive. 

He was angry at Loki for dying, maybe even angrier than Loki was at himself for letting it happen. The younger Prince wished he could find the right words to help him, to thank him, to reassure him, but they all seemed so pale and small and useless. A little like Loki himself.  

Thank you for bringing me back to life, Loki wanted to say, but Norns that was pathetic. 

You’ve always been my dearest friend, was nothing more than copying his brother’s own words.

I’d do the same for you if you were gone, seemed terribly bleak. 

The younger Prince wasn’t sure if he fell back asleep, or had lost track of time, or simply been unaware of the presence of another, but he found himself turning toward the windows and seeing Odin at his side, bare of armor and Gungnir and looking much more like an ordinary Aesir elder. 

“My son,” the Allfather said, a gentle smile lighting his face. “I haven’t the words to describe my joy that you are healing swiftly.”

Loki swallowed, his green robe suddenly feeling thin and inadequate. “Thank you, Father.”  

“I should have come sooner. I apologize that I did not.”

“I understand.”

“My Council has been disbanded. Your brother chooses to spend his time aiding in your recovery, as is his right, but that leaves me alone to hear supplicants and oversee the subcommittees.”

“He said you have both been hearing confessions.”

“We have. You’ve educated him a great deal. He’s doing a fine job so far as Chancellor. The test will come when he appoints new Ministers.”

Loki started. “Thor is serving as Chancellor?”

“With no official Minister of Diplomacy, the Minister of Security is next for the position.”

“But what of Alaric?”

Odin frowned. “Have you not been told?”

“No one’s told me a thing. They all say I need to rest before hearing.”

“And I’d agree, if I didn’t know the unknown causes you far more distress.”

“I suppose you and I are more alike than I believed.” 

Odin smiled, but it looked sad. “Alaric confessed to having been behind a great many things these last few months. He and the Council were taken to the dungeons, as was the Council of Vanaheim.”

“I see,” Loki said, fighting down a sudden feeling of nausea. “And what inspired the clarity of their conscious?”

“Your brother. And his wrath.”

“Of course.” The Prince couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. Odin regarded him calmly. 

“Your mother reminded me of a story,” the Allfather said. “When you were a child, even a baby, and she or your nurses took you out into the garden, you would play and explore. But when they took you to play with the other nobles’ children, you’d simply sit and stare. She worried that you were terribly shy, or suffering from a disorder of interaction. She became more distressed as you grew older. You were always warm and gracious when I saw you, so I began attending Sessions of Royal Play to observe and I saw it was true: you would play with Thor, and Frigga, and your nurses, and you would smile and acknowledge the other children when approached, but you mostly just sat and watched them otherwise.

“When you were no more than five, I noticed a pair of boys who always fought over toy soldiers. Week after week. Frigga would tell me that she and the healers were constantly explaining the importance of sharing and playing together, but the parents of those two never intervened. Three times a week the group convened, and three times a week those two would argue and bicker over who got to play with soldiers.

And then, one week, you took them all for yourself—the whole toy army. The two boys came to you, and you wouldn’t give them up, and their parents finally forced them to relent in obligation to your station. I sat with you every night and explained the importance of generosity, especially with those of lower station, and you nodded and promised you heard me, but for nearly two weeks you wouldn’t give them a single toy.

“Then you gave them each one soldier a piece, and said they could play against you. The following session, you gave them another. For several days, you gave them each one more soldier, until the two of them were equally matched against you, and the three of you could play. I told you I was proud of you, and happy you had made new friends, and you thanked me—but the following session you seized all the figures back.

“Frigga was mortified, and insisted you share, but the boys said they were bored, and moved on. Your mother was beside herself, especially when you wandered off and left the toy army alone, like you didn’t even care for it, after all that trouble.

“I asked you why you didn’t want to share the toys with your new friends, and you said ‘I didn’t want them to be my friends. I wanted them to stop fighting.'

“I couldn’t stop thinking of it. You weren’t shy, or withdrawn, or suffering: you chose to remain apart. You were studying the other children. You watched them, saw their quarreling, made a plan, executed it over time, and changed them without their knowing.”

“That’s why you haven’t come sooner?” Loki asked. “Because I was a manipulative, lying child who grew into a far worse adult?”

Odin’s normally stoic face had the decency to look confused. “I say this so you realize the reason for my delay. I feel a great deal of shame. I looked at that child and saw genius and promise, but I denied it in my full-grown son. I named you God of Lies, Mischief, and Chaos, seeing what you could do, how much you could understand and alter without others even knowing. 

“Asgardians live such long lives, change under the rule of one leader is painfully slow. We must try and create change without others realizing we are forcing it upon them. I knew from the moment I first held you that you were a gift to each and every branch of Yggdrasil. I swore I’d be different than my own Father, and hear the protests and fears of my children, but I ignored your pleas and prophecies.”

“Pleas, perhaps,” Loki sighed. “Prophecies, never. If I’d seen to the future, don’t you think I would have prevented my own death?”

“Hopefully,” Odin smiled softly. “Though you have always been stronger than I anticipated.”

“Not now.” Loki swallowed and looked to the still sleeping Thor. “Father…he is carrying too much.”

“By his own choice. He refuses to appoint a new Council, he retreats to this room in lieu of hearing confessions—”

“You will not make a great King of him by denying his emotions. Thor feels far greater than we do.”

“Kings experience horrible losses. They can not stop ruling on their account. I could not abandon my people to mourn you, my own son, although that is all my heart wanted. I know you understand that you are one life out of trillions, no greater or less than any other. As am I. As is Thor.”

Loki felt the sharp sting of the words…but his far-too logical mind did understand. Retreating into grief would have made the Council the true rulers of the Nine, and carried forward the legacy begun by the Council of Bor.  

“I understand,” Loki said. 

“That isn’t a question of my love for you,” Odin said. “That is permanent and unconditional. I do hope you know that. I know I am not terribly good at showing it.”

“I suppose that is another thing we have in common,” Loki managed, but he didn’t feel the forgiveness and understanding he should. 

Thor sighed, shifted, eyes opening but unseeing. He turned on his stomach, extending his arm as if to pull Loki closer, and nearly rolled off the cot. 

“Brother,” Loki murmured. “Wake up. You’re about to hurt yourself.”

Thor snuffed in response, swung a foot onto Loki’s bed, and drifted back into sleep. 

“The next great King of Asgard,” the younger Prince chuckled. 

Norns alive, how I love you.

*

The last time Thor had seen the Light Elves, he and Loki had gone in search of an ancient tower where they had cooked and served a meal to three fairies in exchange for prophesy. 

At the time, Thor had been unimpressed with the tall, lean people, though he was fascinated by their sharply pointed ears. Their stern demeanor was unappealing, as was their disdain for physical feats and love of six-hour poetry readings. 

Seeing the Elves before him now, he wondered how he missed their resemblance to his brother: not in color, but in posture and temperament. 

There was a radiance about them, though the group was diverse in skin and hair. It was in the way they held themselves: stoic, proud, with slender but muscular builds that hid their true strength. The Dark Elves were shorter, but stockier, with larger and harder muscles.

When the Elfen guard reached the throne, Thor was honestly unsure which was the Lord of Starfall, until the Elves dropped to their knees as one, leaving a lone man standing. 

“May I present Lord Diarmuid Desmond Eirnin, the Lord of Starfall, the second capital of Alfheim, realm of the Light Elves,” the foremost guard said, and the elf behind him stood.

“Allfather,” he said. "It is, as always, a blessing to be in your presence." 

Odin rose and walked slowly down the dais, a hand outstretched. “My old friend,” he said.

“My King,” Eirnin echoed, and passed his guards to clasp the Odin's hand fiercely.  

“It has been far too long.”

“I can not express my heartbreak over the loss of your son.”

“You needn’t, because Loki has returned to us.”

The Elf frowned. “Oh?”

“We were mistaken: it was merely a spell.”

“Then the Norns have blessed all of Yggdrasil. Alfheim will rejoice when we share the news.”

Odin smiled. “Do you remember my son Thor?” he asked, stepping to the side and gesturing to the eldest Prince. 

“Indeed,” Eirnin said. “It is wonderful to see you, my Prince. I am unspeakably grateful that we are not, in fact, seeing one another under the veil of grief.”

“As am I,” Thor smiled. “It will be my highest honor to speak with you in the Council chambers, if you are so agreeable. As Minister of Security, I now serve as acting Chancellor.”

The elf frowned. “Forgive me, my Prince, but what of Lord Alaric?”

“I would be happy to explain.”

“Tonight, Frigga and I will have you for a private dinner,” Odin said. “The Queen has overseen the preparations herself. She is terribly eager for news of your realm.”

“Please give the Allmother my love, and the love and devotion of Alfheim.”

“If you’ll follow me,” Thor smiled, and lead the way to the Council chamber. 

Alone, the Lord’s formality lessened slightly, and he met Thor’s eyes with a piercing wisdom as he took a seat. 

“I am eternally grateful that your brother lives,” he said. “But I regret that there is no representation here on Asgard that could have communicated the news to Alfheim sooner.”

“Everything has been amiss, my Lord,” Thor said, taking his own seat. “We’ve discovered the treachery of nearly every Minister of Asgard and many on Vanaheim, not to mention the invasion of the Jotunns.”

“Had Alfheim been involved in Council business, we would have warned you long ago that such an assault was inevitable. Prince Loki is the rightful heir to the throne of Jotunheim, and he had not only the power of Odin and Asgard, but yours as well, to claim it for him. It was no secret that Laufey wanted the Prince dead.”

Thor kept his eyes locked on the elven Lord’s. “You knew my brother was Jotunn.”

“Of course.”

“And you had no hesitation in marrying him to your daughter.”

“My Grandmother was Jotunn, Your Grace. Back when trade was open to their realm, many Jotunn women stowed away on ships, or disguised themselves as men, in order to make it to other worlds. There are no laws of consent on Jotunheim, and women can not own property, nor participate in decision making. Their role is to birth and rear children, forage, breed fish, and perform any tasks their males order of them. They are often abused and neglected, and of course, their sons are taken from them when the boys are still young. Alfheim welcomed many desperate women into our cities. Heat causes the giants’ size to naturally reduce, and with the help of our magic, many of those women lived out their lives as elves. Any children that came of the union of Prince Loki and my daughter would also enjoy the benefits of acceptance and the freedom to live in the skin of their choosing.”

Thor swallowed, hard. “That means a great deal to me.”

“I take it you have also learned the truth.” Thor nodded. “The Dark Elves are the only enemies of Alfheim, and that was by their choice, not ours. We had no quarrel with the Jotunns until they allied themselves with Malekith during the Great Wars. We have long been friends of Asgard, though we are rarely acknowledged.” 

“I regret you feel that way. We have great respect for Alfheim. Of all the Nine Realms of Odin—”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but the ‘Nine Realms of Odin’ are a myth,” Eirnin said. “Jotunheim has always belonged to the Jotnar. Muspelheim is ruled by Surtur the fire demon. There is no throne of Midgard. Helheim is a land of fog, spirits, and madmen. And while Odin may claim Svartelheim, it is little more than a cluster of Dark Elf villages. The Realms under the Allfather’s control weren’t taken by force. We on Alfheim, the Dwarves of Nordenheim, and the Vanir bent the knee in return for Asgard’s military protection. That is four Realms Odin may claim. Prince Loki’s adoption was meant to give Odin his fifth. My proposal would give Asgard its sixth. Perhaps, with the income from the new Svartelheim, we could have moved on to studying Helheim next. Perhaps we could one day make it habitable as well. But in exchange, we were promised a Prince.”

Thor didn’t need to be the God of Lies to hear the truth ringing in the Elf’s statement. While Asgard did keep the fire demons and Jotnar at bay, they couldn’t lay claim to their thrones. Svartelheim, Helheim, and Midgard had none, and the others, with the exception of Vanaheim, had very little to boast in terms of militia. 

The great conquest of Bor and Odin suddenly seemed alarmingly small.  

“I can not offer you Prince Loki,” Thor said, locking eyes with the Lord so he understood this was not a negotiation. “The Prince is not mine to offer. Nor was he Alaric’s, or Odin’s. He is his own, and he will choose his own partner and marry when he wishes.” Thor paused, sent a silent prayer to the Norns, and continued. “However, you are right in saying we have neglected Alfheim, and that we need the help of your people to secure the Nine. I will find Council positions for the Nobles of your choosing, and will have permanent apartments arranged for you and your daughter here at Court. You may come and go as you please. And while I can not offer your daughter the hand of a Prince of Asgard, I will offer her one of its next King.”

Eirnin's eyes widened. “Your Grace?”

“I ask for two years on the throne, in order to secure my Council and make sure the transition of power is a peaceful one. And then your daughter and I will wed, provided she herself is agreeable to this arrangement. Your family will have a prominent role in my coronation and our betrothal will be publicly announced when my brother has recovered. When the Prince is well, you will begin discussing the needs of Svartelheim with him. When a plan is in place, we will hold a summit with the Jotunns. We are going to need to promote this plan across the worlds in order to make sure all our people are excited and engaged. There are already factions of Jotunn resistant to working with Asgard. I expect there will be plenty of Aesir protest as well.”

The Elf leaned back in his seat, brow furrowed. “I imagine there will be protest when you announce your intention to wed outside the realm.”

“Queen Frigga is not of Asgard, and she is the finest Queen the Realms have ever known.” Thor felt resolve hurtle through him. “Alaric and the Council made one of the conditions of their conspiracy that I wed a pure blood Aesir. The Nobles of Vanaheim accepted that. I will not reward either party by taking a wife that would suit their needs. Alfheim has been an ally as long as any other, and your people are the only ones who accepted the Allfather’s decision to open the Royal Family by including my brother. You have offered us a realm and a greater chance to strengthen all our worlds. I would see you given the proper honors in accordance.”

“You would make my daughter Queen of Asgard.”

“I would.”

The Lord nodded slowly. “We on Alfheim are deeply honored. I accept your proposal on my daughter’s behalf.”

“It is my highest honor to know you will be my Father-in-Law, Lord Eirnin. Joining our realms is far past due. I would have you bring your daughter to court as soon as a new Council is appointed, so we may formally announce our engagement and officially meet one another.”

“It will be as you wish, my Prince.” The Lord smiled and rose, offering his arm: Thor got to his feet and took it, clasping the elf’s vambrace. 

A knock sounded on the door, and two guards entered. Thor dropped the elf's grip and nodded to them. “Is all well?”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” a guard said, “but the Lady Eir has requested the presence of yourself and the Queen at your earliest convenience, in regards to the health and well-being of Prince Loki.”

Thor left five guards on the floor in the wake of his run.

*

Thor rounded the corner to the healing rooms—and heard screams. His heart raced as he took off, the distance seeming impossibly far. Jotunns, Vanir, the Warlocks, their own soldiers and Ministers—the enemies were too many to count. He should never have left his brother alone.

“Loki!” he cried, bursting into the clinic. 

Ravens were everywhere: thick, black, shrieking and diving with trails of green light. The young healers were screaming and shouting while an elder tried to swing at them with a broom and several male attendants tried to shield patients in the other berths. Eir was standing in the doorway to Loki’s room, arms crossed, unimpressed as the birds dove at and through her over and over. 

“My Prince,” she growled. “Please tell your brother to stop behaving like a vain and proud child.”

“Loki?” Thor gasped, peering around the corner. Loki was sitting up in bed, one of the books Thor had given him in hand, looking completely at ease while the birds poured out from around him. “What madness is this?”

“Good afternoon, brother.”

“We were attempting to bathe the Prince in his berth. He is not yet well enough for the tubs.”

“As I said, Lady Eir, I humbly thank you for your request but fear I must decline the offer.”

“Your Grace, I have attended upon you since you were an infant. I prepared your body for a funeral we were blessedly able to cancel.”

“You are very kind, my Lady, but now that I am reoccupying this body, I’m afraid I must be the sole bather of its form. Things appear to have changed a great deal since I was a small child, and there’s no need for a public display of such extraordinary carnal temptations.”

Eir shook her head in disgust. “You handle him,” she snapped, and strode down the hall.

“Loki, call them off!”

“Call off the bathers first.”

“Fine, you can be as rank as you’d like until you can take your own tub!”

Loki raised a hand and waved it; the birds vanished as one. Someone was sobbing in the hall. Eir was swearing in old Aesir. 

“All this needless fuss over a task I am perfectly capable of accomplishing alone,” Loki said.

“Honestly, brother,” Thor snapped. “I thought something terrible was happening.”

“It was about to: hence, the ravens.” 

“I thought you were in real danger.”

“My pride certainly was.”

“You are insufferable.”

“You adore me.” Loki smirked and looked back down at his book while Thor sank into a chair and tried to keep his heart from smashing clear out of his chest. “This Merlin…I like him. He shifts his form constantly in order to mock those who seek him, and he always pretends his intelligence to be less than it is. Arthur is a dullard obsessed with honor and his glorious goodness and strength—you’d be terrible bores together. This Lancelot is interesting…he believes in his own virtue yet lusts after his Queen, the wife of his dearest friend. There may be hope to make something exciting of him yet.” 

“I regret giving you that if it inspires mischief,” Thor grumbled. Loki grinned. 

“Were I to have another friend who truly mastered magic and enjoyed a joke or two…my what fun we could have!”

“I’ll never take you to Midgard at his rate.”

“I weep, brother, for I’d never make it to the Bifrost without you.”

Thor couldn't hide his grin—Loki sounded every bit his sharp and surly self. Loki eyed him suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“I know that look—you want to spew sentiment, don’t you?”

“Not at all.”

“You brought me this book. I thought it safe.”

“It was recommended by a Midgardian. I assumed you’d discard it.”

“Not when my brother hands it to me.” Loki set the book aside. “Go on.”

“The Lord of Starfall is here. Odin and I met with him and then he and I met alone.”

“I see.” The younger Prince attempted to cross his arms, wincing slightly. “These are not the ideal conditions to meet my future Father-in-law, but I imagine he’s curious if his daughter’s future husband still lives.”

“You won’t have to marry her. I made sure of that.”

The younger Prince frowned. “Oh? How is that?”

“I told him I would marry his daughter.”

“For what reason?”

“Alaric wanted to favor the Aesir with his marriage prospects for me. Vanaheim supported his plans to harm you. Alfheim is an ally who entered into negotiations wanting to strengthen the Nine, and they’d never received proper recognition.”

“And I was meant to be that recognition.”

“Yes,” Thor said gently. “But no longer. You are free to marry whomever, and whenever, you choose.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Loki snapped. “I am the second son of Odin and the second Prince of Asgard. My marriage can only be political.”

“Under Alaric and the Allfather. Not under me.”

“You are not yet King.”

“I will be,” Thor soothed. “And it will be as we wished—you will remain here, as my Chancellor. We will reward Alfheim with a marriage to a Prince. We will not reward the Council. You are free to find your own happiness.”

“I will never be free. I have been chained to your throne from the womb. Going to Alfheim would have given me some independence and respect.”

It was Thor’s turn to frown. “You said you’d be my Chancellor. We discussed it at the battle. Do you not remember?”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it? You’ve taken that role for yourself.”

The elder Prince gaped. “It’s temporary, Loki. Father and I have to establish how many Nobles were corrupt before we can appoint a new Council. Now that you’re stronger, you and I can discuss what to do next.”

“How did you convince Odin of this without our evidence?”

“I presented Alaric with a choice—confess his crimes, name his conspirators, or I do to his children and grandchildren what I did to that Dark Elf on Svartelheim.” 

Loki’s eyes widened. “Are you mad? You’ve no way of knowing if he’s telling the truth if you go around threatening their families.”

“It was better than my first instinct, which was to slaughter them all at their own Council table. I gave them a chance to meet their gods in good faith.”

“You can’t execute Father’s entire government.”

“They executed themselves the moment that bolt was fired at you.”

“You’re a fool,” Loki huffed. “You now have some of the most powerful men in the Nine at your mercy. They know things Odin will never share. They built our Father’s legacy. Alaric in particular is an invaluable resource.”

“You would have me spare their lives?”

“More than that—I'd have you give them good ones. Furnish their cells. Give them excellent food. Set them up with books and allow them to request more from the libraries. Permit their families days of visitation. And in exchange, they will write the history of Asgard as they know it. Everything, from the time they were children. All they remember about the conquests of Bor and Odin and our Uncles. How they really secured the Nine. Why they were so strict on keeping the outer Nobles out of court. All they lies they’ve told over the years, all the leadership they’ve interacted with, everything they know of the Jotunns and the Dark Elves. They built an Empire on lies: let the truth be their consequence.”

The elder Prince marveled at him. “Brother…this is why I need you. Why Asgard needs you.”

“I’m not ready to agree, or to bless your union with the Lady I’d been promised to. You owe me the truth as well. Why did you not tell me you were ruling Chancellor?”

“You’ve been recovering. I didn’t want you worrying about the business of Asgard. I have it well in hand.”

“How did you get the Jotunns to agree to come here?”

“That’s a long story, Loki.”

“You’re just like Father,” Loki nearly spat. “You’ve only need of me when I’m a convenience to you. And apparently I will be a dreadful inconvenience when given the truth.”

“Loki!”

“Perhaps I should have stayed dead.”

Thor leapt to his feet, sending his chair skidding backward. For a moment the two Princes locked eyes, glaring at the other, before Thor slowly yielded. 

“Brother,” he said gently. “You are not thinking clearly. You are not well.”

“My body is not. My mind is as its always been.”

“Then perhaps you’re baiting me for information, as you’re wont to do. But that wasn’t how we spoke to each other before this terrible crime. I thought you trusted me.”

“I thought you trusted me. When did you stop?”

“It’s not you I no longer trust.” Thor set his jaw and took a careful seat on the bedside, reaching out to take Loki’s hand. “I want to tell you something, but I want you to try and stay calm.”  

Loki’s eyes grew wide. “I’m listening.”

“Mother and Father wanted to tell you this alone.”

“Tell me.”

“I need you to know that I love you, brother. Nothing will ever change that.”

“You’re frightening me.”

“There’s nothing to fear.” Norns, Thor couldn’t be making a greater mess of this if he’d rehearsed the most effective way to traumatize his brother. “When Alaric was confessing, he told me something we hadn’t known before. I didn’t want to tell you before you were well, because I imagine it may be a shock. But it makes no difference to those who love you. You’re my brother, my only brother. I have more faith in you than anyone.”

“You’re tormenting me,” Loki snapped. “If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be putting up all these excuses!”

“They’re not excuses, I promise. Nothing has changed in my regard for you. It’s just…” Thor drew a shaky breath. “During his confession, Alaric said that there was—”

“Enough,” Frigga commanded, entering the berth. Loki turned his wide eyes from his brother to his mother. “Thor, my sweet, this is a conversation I need to have with your brother alone.”

“You too?” Loki gaped. “Why can’t you just say what’s happened? Why are you covering it up if it doesn’t matter?”

“You’ve nothing to fear, my love,” Frigga soothed. “Your brother just wants you to be happy and at peace.”

“Then tell me what this means!”

“Thor, leave us please,” the Queen said. The elder Prince nodded, squeezed his brother’s arm: and then, on impulse, leaned forward and pressed his lips fiercely against the top of his brother’s head. 

“I’ll be right outside, alright? I love you, brother.”

“Someone tell me the truth,” Loki roared. Frigga laid a soothing hand on his chest. 

“Settle down, dearheart,” she murmured, and perched on her younger son’s bedside. 

Thor left them, walking dutifully down the hall, instinct calling for him to turn and run back to his brother's side: every step toward the hall felt like he was losing his only brother all over again. But he'd do what he had to for the sake of the truth. The god of lies deserved nothing less. 

*

Thor had been pacing anxiously in the hall for over an hour before he gave up and sank onto a bench, resting his forehead on folded hands. He wanted so desperately to be with Loki, even if all he did was sit at his side. 

“I’ve been shut out as well,” Odin sighed. Thor started and looked up, finding his Father striding down the hall in his armor. He took a seat beside him in the slow way that showed his age and fatigue, and sent a flash of worry through the elder Prince. “Frigga decided she alone should break the news. I of course told her no such thing would come to pass. But several days later, here I sit.”

“Loki takes after her,” Thor murmured. "I refuse him and somehow he always wins."

“He does.”

The elder Prince stared at the sealed door to the healing rooms. “I feel like I’ve always needed him more than he’s needed me. Until now.”

“Your need is more open. That is the difference. You take after your mother in your fearless emotions. Loki and I struggle with expressing such things. Words alone seem thin.”

The door before them opened: Thor leapt to his feet, heart in his chest, as Frigga emerged, looking tired and sad, but still granting them a smile. 

“He’s sleeping,” Frigga soothed.

“Is he alright?” Thor demanded.

“He’s shaken, but well. He hadn’t realized the plans to kill him went back so far, or that so many agreed to it. Hearing that the council of Vanaheim and Asgard engaged the Jotunns in the assassination was very difficult for him to hear.”

Thor gaped. “You didn’t tell him,” he managed, lightning crackling along his right hand. Frigga looked at him calmly. 

“Not of his origins, no.”

“This can not continue! Maybe you two can lie to him, but I can’t!”

“My son, your brother, is weakened. He is in pain. His body was violated and his soul lost. We must stagger these blows and give him time to work through them individually. He needs kindness, and patience, and time to heal.”

“He’ll hate me for keeping this from him,” Thor gasped. “I hate myself for keeping this from him.”

“He isn’t himself, my sweet,” Frigga soothed. “He wants to be, and he pretends to be, but it’s more than the pain in his body that affects him. You know well he’s always been anxious, and restless, and ill at ease within himself. Being trapped in bed is torment on his mind.”

Thor swallowed, hard. “Can I go to him?”

“Don't wake him.”

“I’ll take to my cot.”

Frigga rested a gentle hand on his cheek. “You need to care for yourself as well. You can not carry a kingdom, or a family, on your own shoulders, no matter how powerful they are.”

“I won’t have to. Not once Loki is well.”

“And when he is not? Who is caring for you?”

“You do.”

Frigga sighed. “Go on then. Your Father and I need to speak.”

Thor found himself passing the quiet cells in Hall of Healing’s dim light, thinking of how strange it was that this place had become home. Rationally he knew, it wasn’t the place, but the presence of his brother that made it feel that way, and the thought of going back to their rooms without Loki was agonizing. 

The younger Prince was sleeping soundly, curled on his side. Thor adjusted the blankets and reached out to pat his shoulder—only to find his hand pass through green light.

“I’m here, if you must know,” his brother’s voice drifted from down the hall just as panic set in. Thor took off toward the voice and found Loki was sitting out on the balcony, hunched over on one of the settees. Thor hurried to his side. 

“How did you get out here?”

“My legs, brother. I do still have them.”

“Are you supposed to be walking?” 

“Are you supposed to be intelligent?”

“…I’m genuinely not sure what that’s supposed to mean.”

“Then we both have our answers.” 

Thor shook his head and too a seat behind him, reaching out to rub between his brother’s shoulder blades. Loki jerked away. 

“Don’t,” he hissed. “It hurts, still.”

“You need to rest, Loki.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing for days. I’ve never been very good at it.”

The elder Prince raised his hand and cupped his brother’s neck: feeling the tension in his muscles, he worked his fingers gently, undoing the knots. 

Loki sighed. “You’ve always been dreadfully good at that.”

“You’ve had a stiff neck since you were old enough to read.”

“True. Had that bolt found its way to my throat, it would have glanced right off.”

Thor tightened his grip. “Loki.”

“You’ve no reason to be upset. I underestimated them. And myself. I knew I was second, of course, but I neglected to realize just how disposable they found me.”

“Enough.” Thor let go and stood, circling the settee until he was seated beside his brother. “This was the work of cruel, arrogant, narrow-minded old men. We will build better leadership, and a better Asgard, from their failures.”

“I suppose we will also build floating castles and invincible ships and a ladder that reaches Valhalla as well?”

Thor sighed. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will be yourself again soon. We will punish those that harmed you and begin planning the future. There’s nothing to stand in your way anymore.”

“You mean there’s nothing standing in your way.”

“Our way.”

“And all it took was all the nobility sworn to defend us to agree that I must be put down like a rabid direwolf.”

“It doesn’t matter what they thought. You’re here. I’m here. They will never hurt anyone again—especially you.”

The younger Prince raised his head. “I genuinely thought Alaric liked me.”

“I like you.” Thor pressed his side gently against his brother’s. “I like you more than anyone else I know.”

“Well that’s hardly an achievement. Everyone you know is duller than an elven whetstone.” 

The elder Prince smiled. “For what it’s worth…he did, you know. He admired you. He even went so far as to say he preferred you over me.”

“But he arranged to have me killed.”

“His admiration for you was pale in comparison to his own self-importance. You were a threat to his position, through no fault of your own. If anything, it was mine—my temper and stupidity.”

“Of course. Life always ends with you, Thor.” Loki’s voice had a genuine note of bitterness that surprised the elder Prince.

“I just mean…if I’d been more aware and calm from the beginning, they wouldn’t have been tempted to harm you. I’m sorry for it.”

Loki stared straight ahead. “It occurred to me while Mother was talking why I’ve never heard her lie,” he said slowly. “Because she omits the truths that may upset me. Just as Alaric never spoke treason. Just as Odin twists words. Just as I taught you.”

“Brother—”

“I wish to go inside. Help me stand.”

Thor obeyed, a carful arm low on his brother waist. They made their way carefully back to the healing room that had somehow come to belong to both of them. Loki was sweating and shaking by the time Thor helped him into bed and drew the blankets up. The elder Prince dampened a towel in the basin and carefully wiped sweat from his brother’s brow.  

“You are insufferable,” Thor murmured. “Stubborn, moody, and endlessly frustrating. But I still love you.” He placed a hand on his brother’s head. “Am I lying?”

“Everyone lies but me,” Loki said. “At least I’m honest when I say I’m a liar.”

“Please, Loki, trust me. I did what I thought was right, out of love for you.”

It isn’t until the words hit the air that he realizes how closely they echo Odin’s own. 

“You’re lying,” Loki whispered, his voice laden with tears. “I can hear it in your voice. You’re not protecting me. You’re protecting yourself.”

Thor’s hand shook: he stroked Loki’s hair to try and hide it. “Be patient with me, please. With all of this. I promise we’ll make things right, together.”

The younger Prince stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “I will try,” he mumbled, his eyes drifting closed. Thor kept smoothing his brother’s hair until he was sure Loki was asleep, only proving his point that he was not yet well. 

How his parents had endured this for centuries he couldn’t fathom. Lying had never come naturally to Thor, and while he’d improved, it certainly wasn’t natural now. 

He needed help. Loki needed help. And, for once, Thor needn't wonder where to find it.

*

“You are the most petulant creature the Nine has ever seen,” Frigga sighed. Her younger son glared at her, and although he was fully grown, powerful, and even deadly, all she could think was adorable.

“I want to go back to my room.”

“You will not have access to the same pain relief in your room.”

“A spell is a spell. It can be performed anywhere.”

“You are educating me?”

Loki huffed. “I don’t like all this fussing. I want my room, I want my books, I want normal.”

“And I want my son to be well. Body, soul, and mind.”

Loki glared at her once more. “They are all solid.”

“No, my sweet. Only your soul is.”

“You question my mind?”

“No mind is solid when the body is suffering. I know it well enough. Have I ever told you what it was like to birth a child?”

Loki winced. “I’m irrelevant here. I want my notes. I want my evidence. I want to help Thor.”

“Now is the time for Thor to help you. For all of us to help you.” The telltale sound of heavy boots sounding in the hall brought a smile to her face. “Speaking of our future King…”

Her eldest appeared in the doorway, beaming. “Mother, brother. Is this a good time? Have you both had lunch?”

“We’re both in fine spirits,” Frigga said. 

“You dare to call me insufferable,” Loki snapped. “As if being great, golden and grinning is godly. I want my own chambers.” 

Frigga raised an eyebrow to Thor, who nodded slightly. Loki glared at them both. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see that. What are you two conspiring?”

“You still need help regaining your strength, my sweet. Your brother thought of something that may prove a great aid in that regard.”

“Are you up for a visitor?” Thor smiled. 

“You should know me well enough by now to know I loathe surprises,” Loki grumbled. 

“He knows. He taught you many of them,” Thor grinned, and stepped aside to let Heimr step forward. 

Loki’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly: Heimr’s own smile was slightly shaken. 

“Hello, my Prince,” he murmured.

“Master Heimr,” he whispered, his voice cracking. Loki’s breath caught, and then he held out his arms with a sob, and the elder man swept across the room and perched at the head of the bed, taking him gently in his arms. 

“My brilliant, brave Loki. I am so very glad to see you alive.”

“I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’ is only for those who have wronged or harmed someone. You’ve done neither.”

“I should have known it was a trap. I should have vetted the area. I should have spoken to Thor as we rode back, so we were harder to strike.”

Heimr pulled back and gripped Loki’s shoulders. “You listen well, my boy—this was not your fault. You did nothing more than sit and speak with your brother. Anyone who felt they had the right to harm you while doing so is a coward and a traitor.”

Loki let out a sob and dug his hands into his teacher’s back. “I’m so very happy to see you. I was frightened…but I remembered what you told me, to never let it stop you.”

“Oh, my sweet Prince,” Heimr murmured. “I’m prouder of you than you’ll ever know. Nothing will ever change that. I love you as I would have my own children, had the Norns granted me any." He drew the younger Odinson into an embrace once again. "Now hush and have a good long cry—you need to. You’ve seen death, and no man, even the mightiest, walks away unscathed. I have you and I won’t let you go, I vow it.” 

“You’ll stay?” Loki murmured, clinging to him. “You can stay, for a time?”

“I’ll never leave you again, if you command it.”

“I command it,” the younger Prince’s voice broke. “I…I don’t think I’m well.”

“Then we will work until you are. We have accomplished far more difficult tasks together than resting and recovering, wouldn’t you say?” Heimr reached up and smoothed a large hand over the back of his head. “Go on and let it out of you, my boy. You don’t deserve any of this pain.”

Loki let out a quiet sob…and then broke completely. He clutched desperately at his former teacher, his body wracked with grief, while the elder man stayed rock-solid and held him fast. 

“There it is,” he murmured. “Let it all go now. Holding it in will keep you ill, my Prince, and you owe it to the universe to take the time to heal, so we can all benefit from your wisdom.”

Frigga took her elder son’s arm and gently steered him out of the berth, guiding him down the hall. The mother in her longed toward her suffering son, but the Queen in her knew when it was time to hand a task over to one wiser and more suited. Even greater—her eldest son knew it too. 

Her eldest was becoming ever-more a King by the day, while her youngest struggled upward toward the place he'd held before this. Whatever mistakes she and Odin had made, their children were going to be okay. She could ask the Norns for nothing further. 

Perhaps she would even be able to sleep tonight. 

Chapter Text

“You destroyed my desk,” Loki growled. 

The younger Prince stood in the doorway to their rooms, Heimr on one arm, Thor on the other. He glared at the implosion of wood in the corner as the elder Prince flushed. 

“I realized our evidence died with you—that I wouldn’t even be able to avenge your death with your life’s work.”

“You destroyed my desk.” Loki turned to glare at his brother. “It was custom-made, you know. I laid out the plans and spent two weeks visiting the craftsmen making sure it was exactly how I wanted it. The new one will come out of your expenses.”

Thor gaped at him. “You stole that desk from an elder Noble who'd died in his chambers. You had Volstagg and I carry it back here for you. We had to climb half a dozen staircases, and then you made us move all the furniture in the common room so it would sit where you wanted.”

“I was still fond of it.”

“Honestly,” Heimr chided. “Leave your brother be. He’s been nothing but good to you, much as you delight in making it impossible.” 

“I’m the second son. I don’t enjoy the same expenses as the Crown Prince.”

“If you wanted a new desk, I’d have bought you one!” Thor protested. 

“You certainly will now.”

“Don’t give in to him, Thor Odinson,” Heimr scolded, leading Loki toward the sofa. “You must learn to be strong. This one will be the greatest challenge you ever face.”

“You cracked it in half,” Loki moaned, twisting to look back at the wreckage. “Why didn’t you destroy your own furniture? I’m dead a few hours and you’re already clearing out my things?”

“Loki!” Thor barked, face flushing with rage. Heimr sighed and went to the bookshelf, rummaging through Thor’s illustrated map collections. 

“Let’s see what you remember of my instruction. Your silver-tongue won’t help you in recalling names and dates.”

Loki made a face, but when the War Master sat beside him and spread open the book, he scooted closer so he could lean over the pages as Heimr flipped through until he found a section that satisfied him. 

Thor slipped into his room, combed his hair, and changed into his Council attire. Being back in their rooms was a relief, and he felt much better knowing Heimr would be with Loki when Thor had to be with the Ministers. As caring and capable as Eir and her healers were, no one, even Frigga, had the effect on the younger Prince the way the Vanir did. 

When the elder Prince re-entered the common room, Loki was smiling as Heimr chuckled, but the younger's face fell when he saw his brother’s clothing. “Do you have to go already?” he asked. 

“In a moment,” Thor smiled and crossed to their common area, perching on the sofa arm. “I’ll be back at lunch.” He peered down at the open map. “Bor’s great naval siege of Brasov. He destroyed all but a handful of the Dark Elf ships.”

“Which is exactly what I was telling Master Heimr,” Loki pouted. 

“I’m sure you were telling me that this was the battle of Bistrita, which it so happens was one of my first engagements as a young soldier,” Heimr grinned. 

“You fought the Dark Elves?” Thor asked. 

“A bit. It was toward the end of their time. Odin knew we couldn’t fight a two front war, and the Jotunns were posing a far greater danger than had been anticipated.”

Thor looked down at the map. “Lord Eirnin of Starfall told me that Malekith did not destroy his own people. That Odin unleashed Gugnir in order to end the conflict.”

Heimr frowned. “I was not present for the final destruction of Svartelheim. I had always heard that when Odin released his power, Malekith brought down the remaining ships.”

“Does no one tell the truth anymore,” Loki grumbled. Thor reached over and patted his brother’s shoulder. 

“Can I bring you anything?” he asked gently. 

“Council reports,” Loki demanded. “You have to have a great many. I want to see some of them.”

“Tonight, I promise,” Thor gave his brother’s shoulder a squeeze. “If you need me, send a messenger, and I’ll come at once. Mother too. Alright?”

“Don’t fuss. And tell the Council to recruit the finest carpenters of Alfheim and the Dwarves of Nidavellir if they have to. You will build me the most splendid desk the realms have ever seen.”

“Very well.” And then, partly in jest, he leaned forward and kissed the top of Loki’s head, laughing when his brother batted at him like an angry cat. 

“Be gone! Ugh,” Loki griped, but he squeezed Thor’s wrist before giving him a shove toward the door.  

*

When Thor entered the Council chamber with Frigga on his arm, the Nobles sprang to their feet in a great clamor of chairs and papers. 

“A new Councilor joins us today,” Thor announced, pulling out the chair to his right. The Queen smiled. 

“My Lords, it is a great honor to sit at this table. I wish to personally convey my gratitude, and the gratitude of our family, for the extraordinary work you have all put in to running Asgard during this terrible time.”

Murmurs of “my Queen,” and “Allmother,” resounded up and down the table as Thor took his seat, and the Nobles warily followed. 

“Queen Frigga will be building a Council of Mages to assess and prevent magical attacks,” the eldest Prince explained. “No one in the Nine Realms is more qualified to do so. She will be aided by our Vanir liaisons in vetting and recruiting qualified Magii to join us here at Court. These will be official military posts and will fall under the purview of the Security Council.”

The Deputy Minister of Security nodded slowly. “If I may, Your Grace…our first and most urgent business may well be benefited by our Queen’s advise. There is reportedly a great deal of unrest on Vanaheim. With Njörd and his Council imprisoned and little word from Asgard, there are uprisings and raiding parties spreading across the realm.”

“Then we will send reinforcements at once. Coordinate the dispatch with General Tyr.”

“We have, Your Grace, and the General has recommended sending some five-thousand soldiers and a several Lieutenants. However…” the Minster cast an anxious glance to the Deputy Minister of Diplomacy seated to his right. 

“Vanaheim requests Master Heimr’s immediate return. He is a qualified Lieutenant and the Chief Master of War. The soldiers are in need of him.”

“Master Heimr is here to aid in the recovery of a Prince of Asgard. Surely there are Deputies who can take his place.”

“Of course, my Prince,” the man said, resolve not reaching his eyes. 

“Master Heimr has free use of the Bifrost,” Frigga reminded Thor. “We will speak with him personally so that this duties are not neglected while he oversees the recuperation of my son.”

“Thank you, Allmother,” the Deputy Minster said quickly. Thor frowned but kept his temper in check. 

“Proceed with the business of the day, my Lords,” he ordered. 

The business of the day involved signing an endless amount of papers. Thor barely looked at them anymore—how Alaric had ever had time to plot and collude, he had no idea. Ship reports, trade reports, security reports, dispatches from all over the Nine: everything needed his signature these days. 

His hand was cramping when the Ministers finally agreed they had no further need of pen, for the moment, and he was able to dismiss them to their subcommittees. Frigga remained, standing calmly with her hands folded, as the other Ministers left. When he turned to her she smiled, and resumed her seat, and he followed suit. 

“You command well,” she began. “You always have. They fear you.”

Thor sighed, sensing a reprimand. “And?”

“Fear is important for a ruler. Too much and you’ll inspire rebellion. Too little and you’ll inspire lawlessness.” 

“Is there a difference?”

Frigga’s face hardened. “Your instincts have always been to be warm, and open, and trusting. You’re denying who you are in an effort to become the ruler your brother imagined you to be. But I promise you, Loki didn’t want you to lose those essential qualities. Suspicion, pessimism and doubt are his purview, and he has need of your warmth and optimism every bit as much as your people.”

“My people hate my brother. My advisors hate my brother. Maybe if I’d been less trusting and warm and open, they’d have stayed their hand in harming him.”

“You are not responsible for centuries of hate and prejudice anymore than your brother is. If you want to inspire acceptance, warmth, and an open mind, you must embody those qualities. As of the moment, you embody anger and retribution.”

Thor stared down at the Council table. “I’ll be myself again when Loki is well,” he promised. “I don’t know how to do this without him.”

“Then you must learn,” Frigga said firmly. “Loki ruled without you, even if it wasn’t for long. You can never depend on anyone in the Nine to take charge of your responsibilities. Your Father did—he trusted Alaric, implicitly and unconditionally. And look where we are.”

“Loki isn’t Alaric,” Thor snapped. “He wouldn’t want someone dead for being born. He wouldn’t plot against one of my children.”

“Of course not,” the Queen soothed, “but what if Loki were no more? What if he fell ill, or had succumb to his wounds? I know it is agonizing to consider, my sweet, but consider it you must. You can not rely on others to provide your thinking for you, even your brother. You must take their advice and imbue it with your own wisdom.”

“There’s no reason I need to think about life without Loki,” Thor seethed. “He’s safe, he’s well. We saved him.”

“You are to be King. You must listen to your advisors, and heed their counsel, but you must know when to trust your own wisdom and judgment as well.”

“Loki is the greatest advisor I’ll ever have.”

“Your Father said the same about Alaric.”

“My brother is not Alaric!”

Frigga placed her hand over one of her son’s vibrating wrists. “And we are back where we started. My son—my future King—you are wiser than you know. You must learn to trust your instincts and your own decision making.”

Thor shoved his chair backwards. “I’m going to my office before the Security Council meeting,” he said, snatching his hand away. “My Queen.”

“My sweet,” Frigga sighed, and rose to meet him. “Thank you for the position, and for your trust.”

Thor spun around and left the room before he said anything further he regretted. All this time, and all these many lessons, and he still couldn’t keep his temper in check. He didn’t realize it was possible to miss his brother even more now than he had when he was dead, but every misstep and block and revelation of deceit just reminded him that he was no where near up to this challenge without Loki at his side. 

Enough was enough: it was time to share the business of state with his brother. 

*

“That is the town of Hæthum, where the ‘rebellion,’ was staged,” Heimr said, pointing to the drawing of a town. 

“And where is the hill?” Loki asked. Heimr let his finger drift East, landing on a small illustrated mound. “Surrounded by trees. I was a fool to pause there.”

“It’s a strategic vantage point to the fighting below. I trained you to look for higher ground.”

“You trained me to beware of blind spots too.”

“You’re a Warrior, Loki. That comes with risks, and you are courageous to take them.”

The younger Prince swallowed over the sudden ache in his throat. “Where did you grow up?” he asked.

Heimr smiled and turned through several pages, fingers drifting over the page before landing on the outline of a small village by a harbor. “Pittenweem,” he said. “But you knew that.”

Loki smiled. “For the first few years I knew you, I thought you were immortal—you, Odin, Frigga, Tyr, and Alaric. I thought you must be Celestials, you seemed so powerful and all-knowing.”

“I will have you know that not only am I far younger than Odin, but I could still put up a grand fight against you in the sparring arena, my little sidewinder.”

The Prince chuckled and traced the lines of the village. “I used to wonder what it would be like, for Thor and I, if we were a normal family in a normal town. I can imagine my brother forging metal or raising horses or commanding fleets of fisherman. But I could never see myself.”

“That is partly the fault of Asgard,” Heimr said, “and partly the ways you’ve restricted yourself.”

“Odin said my role as second son was never meant to be less than Thor’s.” The bitterness in his tone surprised even him. “But of course it is.”

“You found a way of your own.”

“Thor’s taken it.” Loki’s hands began to tremble. “I thought we could work together…that we were working together…but I spend a month alongside him and he’s already wiser and more cunning than I could ever hope to be.”

“That is your own insecurity speaking, not accurate perception.” 

“He got the Council to confess. He got Alaric to confess. He’s taken control of Asgard, he’s dealt with the outer realms…I was gone for a few days, and he’s moved on.”

“My Prince,” Heimr murmured, and Loki was mortified to realize how horrifically his hands were shaking when the elder man took hold of them. “I was at your side every day for many, many years. I may not have your gift of detecting lies, but I know you never once shook when speaking truth. This is fear, my boy, which only madmen live without, but you mustn’t confuse it with reality.”

The shaking had spread to his whole body. “Fandral and Hogun didn’t believe in me,” he managed. “Even Sif didn’t. The whole Council was against me. My own father wouldn’t listen me. I had only you, Frigga, and Thor, for years…and now my mother and brother are lying to me, and you could be kept away again on a whim.”

“You’ve let your vision narrow to the Aesir nobility. There is love and support for you beyond the palace. And you have always wrongfully equated truth with love. Sometimes people hide things because they love someone and don’t want them hurt.”

“You never did.”

“I’ve nothing to hide. I’m a career soldier, not a politician. And certainly not a royal.” 

“My power has never failed me. I always know truth.”

“Hm,” Heimr frowned, then set the book aside. “Wait here a moment,” he said, and crossed the room to the food cart kept standard in the Prince’s common area, assembling several goblets on a tray and dropping items into them.

“You remember this, don’t you?” he smiled, carrying the tray back to the sofa and placing it on the small table before them.

“You can't be serious,” Loki gaped. 

“My nieces and nephews love this, especially knowing I developed it for Loki of Asgard. They have to guess, of course, unlike you, but they enjoy it nonetheless.”

“This is entirely unnecessary.”

“Had you been honest about your pain, physical and emotional, it would have been.”

“I can simply not play.”

“We both know you can’t resist.” Heimr smiled and took the first glass. “I have here four sunrise grapes in my goblet. Truth or lie?”

“Truth.”

The elder man turned the cup over—and four grapes spilled into his hand. Loki smirked despite himself. Heimr picked up the second cup.

“I have here five rose roasted almonds in my goblet. Truth or lie?”

“Lie.”

The elder man turned the cup over—and five rose-roasted almonds spilled into his hand. Loki stared at them in disbelief, but Heimr simply set the cup aside and picked up the third. 

“I have three winter dewberries in my goblet. Truth or lie?”

Loki swallowed, listening for the telltale signal of falsehood…and heard none. “Truth,” he chanced. 

Heimr overturned the cup: and four strawberries fell into his hand.

“That’s impossible,” Loki gasped. 

“Of course it isn’t. We’ve seen this before, when you are unwell. And my Prince, you are unwell.”

“My power is not.”

“Your power resides in your body. Your body is unwell. Your power is trying to protect you, but can’t get a true reading on the threat.” Heimr set the cup aside and gently took Loki’s hands. “There’s no shame in this, my boy. There’s never any shame in admitting pain. Keeping it buried is dangerous. The Aesir have never understood that.”

Loki stared at the book, eyes filling. Heimr shifted and brought it back onto his lap, but Loki stayed his hand. 

“I need to rest,” the Prince admitted. 

“Let me help you to your chamber.”

“No.” Loki laid down, his muscles still sore, a sigh of relief rolling through him at the softness and familiarity of his sofa. Heimr chuckled when Loki laid his feet over his teacher’s lap. 

“You were a great deal smaller the last time you did this,” Heimr reminded him. 

“You and my brother are the only ones I’d trust enough to ask.” 

“Well then, I’m honored to join the company of the Crown Prince,” the elder man said, and began the slow and tedious work of undoing the knots and tension in Loki’s feet.  

*

When Loki woke next, Heimr was asleep at the other end of the sofa and Thor was beside him, in what had been Loki's desk chair, combing through a thick envelope of Council reports. The younger Prince yawned, and the elder smiled over at him. 

“Is this what you and he truly did all those hours you were meant to be studying?” Thor asked. 

“Hm,” Loki sighed. “I’ve never slept better since death. I suppose that was the cure all along.”

“Loki.”

“You must allow me my dark jokes, brother. I’ve no other way of coping.”

Thor sighed. “I know,” he grumbled. “And I know it’s time to try and get things back to normal.”

“Good.” He nodded to the papers. “What are you working on?”

“There will be a deployment to Vanaheim. I’d no idea how much paperwork that entailed.”

“Go on then,” Loki sighed, turning to see his brother better. “Read aloud.”

He expected Thor to protest, as he had these past few days—but a look of pure relief washed over his face. 

“Very well,” he said, and moved his chair closer. “Here’s a rundown of the weapons stock that will be going with them, and the ships they’ll need to bear it.”   

*

Morning dawned clear and cool on Asgard, and Heimr of Vanaheim was making his way from the library, a great book of military maps in his arms, when several guards stepped into his path. 

“Master Heimr,” one said, “the Allfather requests your presence in the throne room at once.”

“Of course,” Heimr said, though his heart sank. Loki was expecting him, and Heimr was never late: when they’d trained together, he’d demanded his Prince be ever-early, and he’d always been the same. Being late was tantamount to declaring something wrong.

Odin was seated on his throne, General Tyr positioned beside him, a far too familiar and insufferably smug look on his face.

“Allfather—my King,” Heimr said, placing a hand over his heart and kneeling, laying the book aside he did.