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Delicate hands grappled with splintering white-wood as Loki continued to make his way through the meandering branches of Yggdrasil. It always baffled him how high he had to climb to see Niflheim, but by the time he reached those frosted, slippery branches it was worth it. It was more than worth it to feel that frozen air bite at his nose and to see the mist dance along the edges of his line of sight.

But that was all that Loki could ever do. Watch. His father had always said that as a royal, Loki wasn’t allowed to leave the land of Asgard. That is, without some sort of royal escort dictating his every move. It was too dangerous, Odin had said. But that didn’t stop him from allowing Thor and his merry band of friends from gallivanting across the nine realms, roaming wherever they pleased, whenever they pleased.

Although, why shouldn’t he be allowed to go to, at the very least, Niflheim? It had all the frozen wonders of Jotunheim without the dangerous possibility of being attacked by the frost giants. It was empty. Harmless. Well, at least Loki had thought so. He’d never made his way close enough to the fogs to see the true danger that lurked in that empty wasteland of a planet.

Finally making his decision, the young god dropped to hang below the branch he sat perched upon before doing his best to swing to closer branches. He had never been much of an athlete, let alone a gymnast, but he was just lithe enough to slip on through to the branches he aimed for, using his skills in magic to catch him when he fell.

He was close enough to touch now, licks of fog rolling towards his porcelain skin with the waves of the gentle breeze. As Loki reached out to touch the ice, a soft smile widened on his cheeks, rosy in the cold. He took a reverent moment to look out upon the lands of Niflheim, lands anyone else would refer to as a frozen waste, reveling in the sheer beauty of it. The way even the bright sun barely leaked through the fog. The way that very same light bounced off of the ice lurking just below. The way the silence of the realm enveloped everything, drowning out even the whistle of the never ending breeze.

Sighing softly to himself, Loki finally jumped down from the branches of Yggdrasil, boots burying themselves in the snow and swirling fog. The sigh that came from his lips was almost relieved as he touched down, entirely unharmed. His father Odin had always made the other realms out to be places of great danger. Fearsome places that only a warrior could tread.

Something Odin had made quite clear to Loki that he was not.

Loki’s gait was light as he began to wander through the ice and snow, making sure to note which direction Yggdrasil lied in. He knew that he would have to return back to Asgard sometime, as little as he might want to. But Odin could not know of his trip off-realm. Loki shuddered just thinking about the potential punishment he may face at his father’s hands. Even just the thought of it was petrifying.

Shaking off the thought, Loki made his way even deeper into the silent wilds of Niflheim, searching for a comfortable place to practice his magic. A nice clearing of ice, perhaps, free of the wet snow and slush. It didn’t take him very long to find such a place, and once he did he sat down with a smile. The god of mischief summoned an eerie green light from his palm, casting a glow on the fog around him that seemed to make the whispering clouds come to life. But as Loki smiled at the thought of seeing the fog come to life, he realized that it was not simply a trick of the light.

The god’s eyes widened as he looked upon the fog, ethereal forms shifting into bodies that were all too familiar to Loki. Laufey, King of the Frost Giants, faced off in a great battle against Odin, the Allfather. His own father. Fog slashed against fog in a wild display of violent brilliance, its darkness entirely blocking out the bright sun above and absorbing the green light in Loki’s palm until it was all but snuffed out. Fear welled up in Loki’s heart until it choked him, leaving the young god unable to scream. He turned away before the vision ended, running as fast as he could back to the safety of Yggdrasil’s branches.

But as Loki arrived back to that homely white-wood, he found that he was no longer alone in the snowy fields of Niflheim. Odin in all his splendoring armor, accompanied by the golden god Heimdall and a handful of Asgard’s most expendable royal guards, appeared as the fog began to lift from Loki’s bleary vision.

Don’t cry, Loki. You mustn’t let him see you cry.

Odin said nothing as he approached Loki, his knuckles turning white as he clutched his royal staff in hand. The silence that swallowed them turned from that calming stillness that had lured Loki there in the first place to an air of terrifying apprehension. What was he going to say? What was to be Loki’s punishment? It wasn’t long before Loki found out, as Odin reached out, grabbing Loki roughly by the wrist and dragging him back towards Yggdrasil’s branches. Back to the place he was forced to call home, even if it felt far from it. In Loki’s mind, he didn’t have a home. He never had, and he never would so long as Odin was there to rule over him.

Loki caught Heimdall’s gaze for only a moment as he was dragged deeper into the white-wood. It wasn’t often that Loki had seen emotion deep in those gilded eyes of his, especially such powerful emotion, but Heimdall looked almost… apologetic. As if he’d done everything he could to stop these very events from ever occurring despite what he in his infinite sight had already foreseen.

Crying out as Odin dragged him further into Yggdrasil’s embrace, Loki thought for a moment that his father would pull his arm right out of the socket. It wouldn’t be difficult. Loki had always been slender. He lacked the muscles his brother had to keep his arm rooted in place should his father attempt to dislocate it. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t happened before. But Odin just continued to pull. And pull. And pull.

Pop—

The guards simply watched on as Loki crumpled to the ground in pain, a disgusted sigh passing from his father’s plump lips. Heimdall couldn’t bring himself to look. He could see him. He could always see him. But in this moment Loki could tell that he wished he could do anything but that. Arm contorted wildly, in that moment he looked far from regal. A far cry from the godhood he so claimed.

Finally releasing his grip, Odin allowed his son to fall fully prostrate on the ground, shoulder slamming back into place as he landed hard on his arm. Loki let out a sharp yelp, followed by a low whine. All he wanted to do now was sink into the white-wood. To somehow disappear, to hide from all their sights, including Heimdall’s, all so that they didn’t have to see him broken, beaten, sunken like a memorial ship, set aflame in the night.

“Get up, my son.”

There was no love in Odin’s voice as he referred to Loki as his son. It was almost as if they weren’t even related at all, Loki thought to himself as he began to calm down from the shock of the pain. For a moment, Loki looked up to Odin. Odin looked down on him.

Such was their relationship.

And then Loki stood. It wasn’t his place to disobey his father’s orders, after all. He was the King of the Nine Realms. The Allfather. It was no one’s place to disobey him. Not his, not Heimdall’s, not even Thor’s. Besides, if he decided to rebel in this moment, standing upon the World Tree’s ancient roots, he didn’t dare to think about the horrible and unconquered worlds his father could condemn him to with a simple push.

Odin continued to walk on without even bothering to check if Loki was following behind him. He knew that his son would come, and if he didn’t the guards had been ordered to make him. Even here, silently strutting through the branches of Yggdrasil, Odin’s influence and the totality of his rule were made known.

Being led back to Asgard, Loki felt as if he were one of his father’s prisoners, marching to meet their death at the hands of Odin’s mighty blade. And even if that wasn’t physically the case, “coming home” to Asgard was an emotional death unto itself. There was no wonder there, at least there wasn’t contained within the palace’s golden walls. Unless, of course, you counted the palace library that Loki only had so much access to. There were so many books there, so much knowledge to be uncovered, but so long as Odin was king the secrets kept so deep within the library’s vaults would be lost to him.

The guards were the ones to escort Loki all the way back to his quarters, locking the great wooden door in place behind them as they departed. Odin had expressed his disappointment and left the party once they’d passed his quarters, nearly dragging Heimdall inside along with him. It was apparent that Heimdall didn’t want to go with him, and Loki feared the words he’d be having with the golden god. Heimdall shouldn’t have to get in trouble on his account.

There was certainly plenty to do in his room. Loki had made absolutely sure of that the first time Odin had locked him in his chambers, preventing him from coming out. But even for all of the comforts he had afforded himself, the magical texts, the plush, fur blankets, the extensive sets of art supplies, a comfortable prison is still just that. A prison.

***

Odin left Loki locked in his room for a full week, allowing no visitors aside from the occasional guard. And even then the only contact Loki received was through his door. A verbal confirmation that he was still alive and some sick definition of well every day and night. But after an agonizing week’s time, one of Odin’s guards arrived to fetch Loki.

“The Allfather sent for you,” was all he said before turning around. “Follow me.”

Far be it from Loki to disobey the Allfather, no matter how scared he was of his cold father’s retribution. Though the god of mischief was left somewhat speechless when he found himself brought to Yggdrasil’s hardy branches. Why was Odin bringing him here?

“Loki, there comes a time in each child’s life when he must be taught a lesson.”

The Allfather began, chastising him as if he were nothing but a toddler. Even though he was well on his way to a thousand. It was then that Odin was handed a torch, lit with a raging and ethereal purple fire. It must have been magical.

“This will be your lesson.”

As soon as he had finished, Odin took that torch and made his way closer to the branches. Dread began to stir in Loki’s heart the moment he realized just what his father was about to do. Odin was going to set fire to the sacred branches of Yggdrasil.

Launching himself at Odin in some paltry attempt to stop him, Odin simply took Loki by the back of the head and slammed it down to the ground. Loki was physically sturdy. He was Asgardian, after all. Odin knew he wouldn’t break. He hoped. But as he looked up, wiping the stream of blood that now poured from his nose to his mouth, Loki watched in horror as the precious white-wood he loved so dearly went up in flames.

Don’t let him see you cry, Loki. But this time there was no holding back the stream of tears that ran down his face.

“Now the only thing that connects the Nine Realms is the Bifrost. Remember this when you have the desire to sneak out from under the range of my watchful eye.”

Loki could hear Odin’s heavy footfalls as he walked away, but his father’s presence, or perhaps lack thereof it, wasn’t even a whisper of a thought on the back of his mind. Now he was desperately clawing at the fire, at the ashes, doing his best to somehow stop the fire before it spread. But it was too late and the magic of the fire was too powerful. Loki only ended up burning his hands as he clawed for the ashes he could salvage from the fire. But as he knelt down there, tears intermingling with the ashes of Yggdrasil, Loki was reminded of the Allfather’s immeasurable power.