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Part 6 of Chaos Reign
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2021-07-25
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2021-09-25
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His Father's Throne

Summary:

Three kings, a queen, too many family secrets, and a war on the horizon.

Notes:

This story builds on several topics that were mentioned in the epilogue of the main fic, and is set not too long after it.

PSA: In the wake of the latest round of Marvel retconning, I've now added the tag "Loki trilogy characterization" to all installments of this series so readers will know going in what to expect (or not to expect) from it. My take on Loki will always be defined by the character we saw in Thor 1, Avengers 1 and Thor 2, and I will keep trying to do him justice ;-)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

"Welcome to Asgard, King of Alfheim."

Freyr lowers his head just enough to convey respect without appearing too deferential. "I thank you, Allfather."

The young king's face spasms for just a second before he has himself under control again. "There's no need to stand on ceremony while we're alone, Uncle."

Freyr knows better than to point out that he merely emulated the formality of King Loki's address. It's a fine line they're both walking – he is king of his realm by Odin's grace, but Odin is dead, and while Alfheim still recognizes Asgard's nominal supremacy, a lot has changed since Loki took the throne.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Loki nods and gestures towards the empty chair. "I mean no disrespect to you or your realm, but this isn't a state visit, so I'd prefer not to waste time on matters of protocol. Be seated, there's much we need to discuss."

"Indeed there is." Freyr takes his time sitting down across from Loki at a desk that is laden with papers and books. It has only been a few centuries since he last saw his nephew, which shouldn't have been long enough to turn the half-grown youth he remembers into a man he barely recognizes. He and Frigga may be half-siblings, but they have never been particularly close; they've gotten to speak more often lately, but she remains extremely tight-lipped when it comes to matters of her family. It's not just Frigga, though – everything that went on in Asgard during the past few years is shrouded in so much secrecy and confusion that neither Freyr's diplomats nor his spies have been able to provide him with a clear idea of the circumstances that put the younger Odinson on the throne and kept him there even though Prince Thor – despite appearances to the contrary – still lives.

The Odinson who, if Freyr's informants are to be believed, omitted his patronym from his coronation oath and has just made a face as if he'd bitten into a lemon at being addressed with a title that was Odin Borson's for millennia. That will bear thinking about later, but now is hardly the time.

"I appreciate your willingness to attend the summit in person." Loki sounds sincere enough, which doesn't necessarily have to mean anything coming from the man known throughout the Nine as the Silvertongue. Freyr is still inclined to believe him, though; the glamour that obscures the dark circles under his nephew's eyes is expertly cast, but still can't prevent an experienced mage like Freyr from seeing through it. Not that it would be surprising for Loki to be tired – it took months of incredibly difficult negotiations to make today's summit possible, and the fact that Loki managed it at all would probably be considered a political triumph by any realm that isn't Asgard.

"We both know how much depends on this alliance," he replies gravely. "Never before have all the realms come together for the sake of a common goal, and I would not let my diplomats speak for me at a moment that may decide the fate of the Nine."

Loki's posture relaxes ever so slightly; Freyr knows very well that many at his nephew's own court still doubt the seriousness of the threat they're facing. "As glad as I am of your presence, Uncle, we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves – we will have an alliance of six if the summit is successful, eight only if we also count the understanding I currently have with Niflheim and Svartalfheim. I hope to add Midgard to the list before too long, though."

Freyr is taken aback for a moment. "You mean to include Midgard? Do the mortals even have an idea yet that there is life outside their own backwater realm?"

"They have recently been made aware." There's an edge to Loki's tone that Freyr can't interpret. "My brother has spent some time there and managed to build a rapport with them, which is why I will shortly delegate him as my official ambassador to Midgard; it is my hope that he will convince the mortals to put their endless squabbles aside in the face of a common threat."

Freyr refrains from voicing an opinion on the likeliness of that hope coming to fruition; he doubts Midgard will be of much use even if it does, but he supposes it can't hurt to try. "I wouldn't have taken your brother for a diplomat."

The corner of Loki's mouth twitches upwards for a moment. "Neither would he, I'd wager. It's not my main concern right now anyway; before the summit begins, there are matters I'd like to speak to you about."

"Concerning my suggestions for a military cooperation, I suppose."

"Indeed." Loki pauses for a moment; it appears that he's weighing his words very carefully. "Your ideas have merit, but I'm not sure how compatible our realms' armies are; I need not tell you that the Elves fight in ways that could not be more different from those of the Aesir."

It is Freyr now who chooses his words with great care. "Can I speak plainly?" At Loki's terse nod, he begins, "I suppose what you're alluding to is the fact that the Ljósálfar fight with magic above all else, while Aesir warriors disdain magic and scorn those who use it in battle."

Loki doesn't grace that with a reply; they both know that Freyr is merely stating the obvious. Without missing a beat, Freyr continues, "I assume your doubts are less about my belief that my armies need to be better trained in non-magical warfare and more about my suggestion that Asgard's armies would be far more efficient if your realm no longer squandered the tactical resources you possess in the form of your practitioners of seiðr."

Loki's eyebrows shoot up. "It was my understanding that you meant for Asgard's armies to cooperate with Alfheim's mages."

"Then I probably wasn't clear enough." Freyr leans forward a little and makes sure to hold Loki's gaze. "Tell me, Nephew, how many trained battle mages are there in Asgard right now?"

Loki keeps his face even. "Since you are currently here, there are two. As you very well know."

Freyr narrows his eyes; he probably should have expected the Silvertongue to deliberately misconstrue his question, but this hardly seems like the time for quibbling. "Let me rephrase, then: how many Aesir battle mages are there?"

He expected a sarcastic answer, but to his surprise, Loki's expression shutters. "What are you driving at, Uncle?"

With no time to ponder this peculiar reaction, Freyr backtracks a little. "How long has it been since you studied in Vanaheim? Three hundred years?"

"Closer to four hundred." There's a faraway look in Loki's eyes for a moment before he focuses on Freyr again. "I have since been informed I have you to thank for that?"

It's Freyr's turn to raise his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have expected your mother to tell you about it." The invitation had been an indirect result of the nastiest fight he has ever had with his half-sister after he had accused her of letting her younger son's talents go to waste just because her husband was too blind, or too stubborn to see past Asgard's arrogance and prejudice. It had hardly been his place to tell the Allmother how to raise her children, but after witnessing how Odin kept dismissing Loki's magical talents when the Allfather and his family had paid Alfheim's court an official visit, Freyr hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut. His native Vanaheim respects magic, but it is the breath and lifeblood of the realm he has been ruling for so long that he considers himself more Ljósálfar than Vanir by now, and it felt downright sacrilegious to see his nephew's rare gift treated as if it were a shameful aberration the boy was supposed to hide. It made him angry enough to risk Odin's wrath in spite of his own rather precarious position as Asgard's puppet king of Alfheim; since he knew there was no way the Allfather would ever allow his son to be trained in Elven magic, Freyr made sure that Loki received an official royal invitation to study in Vanaheim's Great Library instead – an invitation even Odin couldn't decline without giving grave offense to his own wife's family and the entirety of the Vanir court.

Frigga refused to speak to Freyr during the entire time Loki spent studying there, but given what he kept hearing about his nephew's progress, he considered the Allmother's displeasure a price well worth paying.

Loki smiles thinly. "She didn't – the Allfather did after my return to Asgard when I expressed my unhappiness with his decision to bring Thor along for his next state visit to Alfheim instead of me."

May Níðhöggr gnaw on your bones until Ragnarök, Borson. Freyr knows better than to voice this thought, though; given his nephew's famously complicated relationship with his father, there's no predicting how Loki would react to it, so it seems safer to gloss over the issue. "I suppose that explains why I haven't seen you in centuries."

"Probably." From the look of it, Loki was about to add something and reconsidered just in time. "No offense, Uncle, but would you mind getting to the point? We've got less than an hour until the first round of talks is scheduled to begin, and there are still a few things I need to prepare since neither the Jötnar nor the Eldjötnar are willing to leave their respective realm for the summit."

Freyr makes a face. "I heard, but if you don't mind me saying so, it sounds unnecessarily cumbersome to project yourself to Muspelheim just to connect them to the talks. Even if they don't have mages there who'd be capable of casting the spell on the delegates, couldn't you just do it for them? The mere thought of having to keep three dozen people connected through my own projection for hours gives me a headache."

Loki leans back in his chair and sighs; for a moment, even the glamour he wears can't mask his exhaustion. "That's probably a given, but I'm afraid it can't be helped. Both Jötunheim and Muspelheim do have the skills, but we didn't reinforce Asgard's magical wards just to poke holes into them now so we can let off-world projections through – and just like we don't trust them, neither the Frost nor the Fire Giants trust Asgard enough to let us put a spell on their representatives. Muspelheim is the Allmother's responsibility, though; since King Helblindi of Jötunheim is going to attend in person, protocol dictates that I am the one who links him to the talks."

Freyr frowns. "The Allmother told me that King Helblindi explicitly requested her."

"What?" Loki sits up ramrod straight, all signs of weariness gone. "When?"

"Right before I came to see you." Freyr isn't sure what to make of Loki's visible alarm; like everyone else, he's well aware of Asgard's fraught history with Jötunheim, but it's not like Frigga could possibly come to harm through a projection. "She greeted me when I arrived, and she mentioned that she had just informed you of the change of plan."

With a hiss that sounds suspiciously like a curse, Loki reaches for a stack of papers on the desk and rifles through them until he finds what he's looking for. "She sent me a note so I wouldn't see it in time before meeting with you."

"I... don't imagine that was deliberate?" Judging by Loki's pinched expression, he doesn't concur with Freyr's assessment, but since they both know that it's too late to do anything about it, Freyr decides it's probably best to try and defuse the situation. "The Allmother is a seasoned diplomat, so a conversation with the King of Jötunheim is hardly going to faze her."

Loki doesn't seem at all reassured, but he merely bites his lower lip and doesn't reply.

 

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

The Jötun king bites back a grim smile when the projection shimmers into existence in front of him. The image flickers a few times, then solidifies, allowing him his first look at the former queen of Asgard.

"Allmother."

Queen Frigga's image quickly scans the room before she answers, and Helblindi isn't quite sure how to interpret her reaction when she realizes that they are alone. "King Helblindi."

"I didn't think you would come."

That seems to surprise her. "It was you who requested my presence, was it not?"

Helblindi takes a step closer to the projection and notices with some satisfaction that she can barely keep herself from shying away even though she isn't even physically here. He knows very well how the Aesir feel about the 'Frost Giants', and the fact that the Allmother was born on Vanaheim doesn't mean she hasn't fully embraced her chosen people's sense of superiority. "Then let me be clearer, Queen of Asgard: I didn't think your king would allow you to speak to me."

She avoids his eyes when she replies, "He voiced no objection."

Ah. Helblindi is too seasoned a hunter not to recognize the smell of blood. "Meaning you went behind his back."

She draws herself up, a picture of indignation and wounded pride, which confirms his assessment more clearly than an open admission would have. He hasn't forgotten King Loki's claim that he only learned of his true origins a short while ago, and by accident no less; if the trickster spoke truth, he is now aware that the woman he considered his mother has been lying to him for most of his life. Yet that same woman, who demands veneration for her alleged wisdom and kindness throughout the Nine, is still willing to deceive him when it suits her even though the stolen child she raised is now her king?

Even if might be possible for a Jötun queen to be as callous as that, Helblindi doubts that any woman who ever came near Jötunheim's throne could be this stupid.

"That is hardly your concern, King of Jötunheim." Queen Frigga is doing her best to sound haughty, but Helblindi can still tell that he hit a nerve, and he isn't going to give her time to regain her footing.

"Is it not?" He takes another step closer to her image, and this time she does flinch. "Considering that the man we're discussing is of my blood, not yours, it seems to me I actually have far more right than you to concern myself with him."

Her eyes widen, and even through the projection he can see the sickly pink of her skin paling further. He was already convinced that Odin's queen knew full well whose child she had raised, but it looks like she didn't expect him to know about it. "Tell me, Allmother, how did you feel about your husband returning from his war with a stolen babe in his arms? With your worst enemy's firstborn son?"

That finally manages to get through her pretense of queenly poise. "Stolen?" It's her turn to take a step forward, eyes flashing and voice rising. "Odin found him alone and abandoned where your father had left him to die!"

Helblindi keeps his temper. "You know better than that, Queen of Asgard. Or did you truly believe that Jötunheim's king would abandon his son on the high altar of Utgard's Great Temple?"

She waves the question aside. "Sacrificed, then; what difference does it make? The fact remains that he would be dead if Odin hadn't interfered! Your father would have killed your brother, King Helblindi, and you have the gall to blame my husband for the fact that he saved his life?"

Helblindi bares his teeth. "My father offered his firstborn up to the Winter Gods, and had his sacrifice been accepted, my brother would have slept in their arms and lived on in my people's hearts until the Fimbulwinter. Instead, you killed the child who was my brother, Frigga of Asgard, you and the man whose throne you shared – you stole him from his people, you took away his name, his lineage, even the color of his skin until nothing was left but an empty shell you could raise to hate the realm of his birth and all who dwell on it! Tell me, Allmother, have you even seen the true face of the man you call your son? Or would it make you recoil like you did just now when you realized that I know who he is?"

"I see my son's true face every day, King Helblindi." She has found her composure again, although he can tell that it's costing her. "Do not presume to know anything about him just because he is of your father's blood; you said it yourself that the Jötun child he may once have been doesn't exist any more."

"If that was your goal, it seems that you failed, Allmother," Helblindi shoots back. "It was scarcely more than a year ago that he stood right here in this room in his true skin, his bloodline written on his face and hands, with his people's most sacred relic that none can touch who isn't of this world." Her eyes widen, but he doesn't give her time to interrupt him. "And yet you are right, for I saw the same disgust in his expression then that I'm seeing in yours right now. Do you look at him the same way, given how much he resembles his father?"

He wishes it were an empty taunt, but the unsettling image of the trickster's true face, so eerily similar both to King Laufey's and to his own, is still fresh in his memory, and it's little consolation that Loki of Asgard must have realized it as well and is probably far more disturbed by it than Helblindi is.

Judging by the way she falters, so is Queen Frigga. "I... I only met King Laufey once, and that was a long time ago."

It would suit Helblindi perfectly if that were true, but he has little hope that it is. "Oh, but you saw him again quite recently, didn't you? Or did your son lie to me when he claimed to have slain King Laufey before your eyes?"

Her wince does nothing to calm his rising anger. "Did it please you to watch him kill his sire for the sake of a man who was about to raze Jötunheim to the ground for the second time?" She does a visible double-take at the question, but Helblindi doesn't let it stop him. "Was it enough to convince you that there was truly nothing left of the Jötun prince he had been, that you had successfully managed to erase every last shred of Loptr Laufeyson from the face of the Golden Realm?"

"Was that his name?" The Allmother looks absolutely stricken. "I didn't – I never knew."

Helblindi shrugs, annoyed at himself for almost losing his grip on his temper. "It seems your son didn't consider it necessary to share it with you."

"Loki knows?" Her voice is barely above a whisper now, and Helblindi finds himself getting impatient with her show of distress.

"I saw no reason not to tell him. Our sorcerers keep harping on about the power of true names, but given how well you taught him to despise who he once was, I doubt the knowledge is going to avail him much."

Once again, Frigga's projection doesn't meet his eyes. "Did you merely wish to speak with me so you could offend me, King Helblindi?"

She isn't entirely wrong; there really was no compelling reason for his wish to meet with her. Helblindi isn't quite certain himself why he gave in to the impulse to ask for the Allmother instead of Asgard's king; maybe it's the fact that he knew how much it would unsettle King Loki because it still galls him to witness realm after realm dancing to the trickster's tune, maybe it's the knowledge that – since Asgard's watcher is forbidden from listening in on the negotiations – this may be his only chance to speak plainly with the woman who was complicit in every atrocity Odin Borson ever committed against Laufey's kin.

He doesn't say any of that, of course; instead, he merely shrugs again. "Aesir are always quick to take offense when someone dares to speak truth to you."

Her voice shakes when she retorts, "Some truths are better left unspoken."

Helblindi snorts. "Hardly a surprising statement from the woman who married Odin Swift-in-Deceit and raised Loki Liesmith."

Lifting her chin, Frigga pulls the shreds of her dignity around her like a tattered cloak. "You seem very certain that Asgard won't retaliate for your insults against her queen."

It costs Helblindi some effort not to laugh in her face. "Since you would first have to tell your king about the topic of this conversation, Allmother, I am indeed entirely certain. Besides, we both know you wouldn't even be here if Asgard weren't in desperate need of every ally she can get."

He doesn't have to mention the most important reason why she won't breathe a word about any of this to anyone: that Loki of Asgard can no more afford to let certain truths become common knowledge than the kings of Jötunheim can. Helblindi swore an oath to stand with Asgard when the time comes, and he is going to honor it, but that doesn't mean he has to make things easy for the House of Odin.

"I won't deny it, but so is Jötunheim, and every other realm in Thanos' path." The Allmother has managed to compose herself. "Is your brother not going to join us for the negotiations, King Helblindi?"

It's a rather transparent attempt to change the topic, but Helblindi allows it. "My brother is a warrior, not a politician; he is with the troops and leaves the negotiations to me."

"That sounds like a sensible arrangement." Queen Frigga's tone is carefully neutral, although the implications are still pretty clear. Jötunheim has never had two kings before, and Helblindi is sure that Asgard doesn't expect it to last – in fact, if the threat of Thanos weren't so dire, Jötunheim would probably already be teeming with Aesir agents sent to breed discord between Laufey's heirs and stir up the rivalling clans against each other.

Holding on to that thought, Helblindi gives Frigga a smile that is all teeth. "You seem surprised, Allmother."

She doesn't take the bait. "I meant no offense, but you have to admit it is unusual –"

"– for a king's son not to remove the competition like Odin Borson did with his two brothers?"  He really shouldn't enjoy this discussion as much as he does, but even Helblindi's famous self-restraint has its limits. "His older brothers, I might add?"

An angry flush colors her cheeks, but she manages to rein herself in. "That is nothing but vile slander, and you know it."

Helblindi's smile widens into a smirk. "There's a lot of that going around these days when it comes to kings and their brothers."

There's no need for him to elaborate; the way her flush deepens tells him clearly enough that she's well aware of the rumors that have been running rampant ever since Thor Odinson reappeared two years after his alleged death. Most Jötnar believe that the Thunderer's death in battle was staged to hide the fact that he was suffering from some kind of debilitating sickness and wasn't expected to recover – some claim that he was poisoned by his jealous younger brother, others think that Loki put a curse on him to make him go mad, although Helblindi's favorite is the theory that the Odinson was slowly dying from an embarrassing disease he had contracted in a Midgardian whore's bed.

"I prefer not to listen to gossip." Frigga's queenly haughtiness is back, and Helblindi is almost amused by the way she tries to look down her nose at him even though he's nearly twice her size.

"I would have expected nothing less from the queen of Asgard." If she picks up on his sarcasm, she doesn't show it. "Still, Allmother, wouldn't you rather see your true son on the throne?"

"Loki is my true son." Her tone remains calm, but her eyes are flashing dangerously. "Never doubt it, King Helblindi."

"Hm." He makes a show of deliberating for a moment before he replies. "I'd be more inclined to believe you if you hadn't just admitted that you've never even seen who he is underneath the Aesir disguise."

The Allmother presses her lips together and doesn't answer.

 

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

"Let me get to the point, then." There's no telling when Freyr will get to speak to Asgard's king in private again, so he's reluctant to waste this opportunity even though Loki still seems preoccupied with the thought that his mother may already be in talks with the elder king of Jötunheim. "If you will allow it, Nephew, I would speak as a man offering counsel to his kin, not as the king of Alfheim addressing the Allfather."

A small crease appears between Loki's brows. "Speak your mind, Uncle, you know I value your counsel." In spite of the polite words, his tone is clipped. "However, I really wish you'd stop calling me that."

"My apologies." Freyr pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. He recalls with sudden clarity how he first met his nephew, barely more than a child at the time, during the first of several state visits that came to an abrupt end after that one fateful visit which culminated in a shouting match between himself and the Allmother. He remembers a dark-haired, willowy boy who almost faded into the background next to the boisterous presence of his brother, quiet and curious where Thor was loud and brash; a boy who watched every open display of magic at Freyr's court with wide-eyed wonder while Odin's face would freeze into a mask of distaste and Thor would fidget with barely concealed impatience. Freyr still vividly recalls how, whenever he looked at Asgard's royal family, he would inevitably catch himself at the dangerous thought There is no way this one is Odin Borson's get.

He has, of course, never voiced it to anyone, and not only because it would have been the most dishonorable kind of treason. Freyr may not know his half-sister as well as he'd like to, but he is certain that Frigga would never have lowered herself to cuckolding her royal husband. A sorceress of the Allmother's caliber also isn't likely to have fallen for the wiles of a shapeshifting impostor (even though that would explain Loki's exceptional magical talent), so Freyr always did his best to put the idea out of his mind. Now, though, when it seems that Loki refuses to bear not only his father's name, but also the title most would consider a central part of Odin's legacy –

Cutting off the train of thought that is threatening to get away from him, Freyr forces himself to concentrate on the topic he wants to bring up. "The Allmother once mentioned to me that she provided a considerable part of your single combat training."

"Yes, and?" Freyr is certain he isn't just imagining the hint of defensiveness in Loki's tone. "You know she's a formidable fighter."

Freyr nods. "She certainly is, and I suppose her fighting technique was better suited to your temperament that the style favored by most Aesir instructors."

Loki rolls his eyes. "In the sense of actually having any kind of technique instead of the 'just hit them until they don't get up again' style, you mean?"

"I'm not going to disagree with you there." Freyr decides to cut to the chase. "It takes considerable strength of character to choose what is right for you and stand by it even if most of your peers have trouble supporting or even understanding that choice."

Loki's face goes blank. "Flattery seems like an odd way to point out that I'm infamous for fighting like a woman."

Freyr is hardly surprised by his nephew's frosty reaction; he's well aware that he's prodding a sore spot. "I assure you that you won't hear talk like that at my court. Over the years, we have frequently heard of your fighting prowess – granted, not as often as we heard of your brother's," he allows when Loki opens his mouth to interrupt him, "but what kept surprising me was that even though you were said to favor weapons that most Aesir consider unbecoming of a man of your station, hardly anyone ever reported seeing you use your magic in battle."

Loki doesn't even bat an eyelash at the tacit admission that Freyr was keeping tabs on him; as a prince of Asgard, he grew up knowing that his every action was under the scrutiny of his own people and of all those who had dealings with them. He doesn't comment on Freyr's statement either, but then, Freyr hardly expected him to.

"Yet I know for a fact that you are a fully trained battle mage," he continues. "Therefore, I find myself wondering why you would rein back your most important skill when it would provide you with a key advantage in most fights."

Loki's expression remains inscrutable. "Given that you're well acquainted with Asgard's ways, I'm sure you know the answer to your own question."

"Do I?" Freyr shoots back. "So tell me, Nephew, am I right to assume that you were reluctant to play to your strengths because fighting like a Vanir shield-maiden instead of an Aesir brute was already considered bad enough without adding another womanly skill to the mix? Or had you taken Odin's lessons to heart to such a degree that it didn't even occur to you that there were other ways than the one he had chosen for you?"

The flash of anger in Loki's eyes is there and gone again in a second. Freyr knows he's taking a risk, but unlike Odin, who would have exploded into a fit of rage at the perceived impertinence, Loki isn't known for losing his temper just because he has to listen to something he doesn't want to hear.

"You presume much, Uncle."

Freyr nods calmly. "I'm well aware, and I hope you know I wouldn't speak to you of such matters if I didn't consider them important." He pauses before asking, "Is it true that you forced Asgard's Völur to accept male apprentices for the first time in your realm's history?"

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Word travels fast."

"Or maybe I'm just very good at listening." Freyr makes sure to hold his nephew's gaze when he continues, "May I ask what caused to you implement such a measure even though you knew it would fly in the face of your subjects' bias against male users of seiðr?"

Loki shrugs. "You know as well as I do that we can hardly afford to squander any magical talent at a time like this."

Freyr doesn't believe for a second that there was no other reason for such a far-reaching decision, but by presenting him with this rationale, Loki has given him the opening he was looking for.

"Yet you still balk at harnessing the very talent you've decided to support." When Loki doesn't reply, he adds with greater emphasis, "Why stop halfway, Nephew? If Asgard can train her sons in magic, why shouldn't she teach them to use their skills in battle as well?"

Loki's continued non-reaction indicates that he isn't hearing anything he hasn't already been asking himself, so Freyr presses on. "Are those young sorcerers supposed to stand back while their brothers fight with swords and spears even though they could prove just as formidable, if not more so, in the battle that is to come if someone would be willing to teach them now?"

Loki gives him a shrewd look. "Are you implying that only the Völur's male apprentices should be trained in battle magic? Considering how well-informed you seem about me, I'm sure you're aware that the battle mage who oversaw my own training on Vanaheim was a woman."

Freyr opens his mouth and closes it again when he spots the amused twinkle in Loki's eyes. "I've been kicking at an open door, haven't I?"

"Maybe not quite." Loki leans back in his chair; for a moment, exhaustion shines through his composed facade again. "I have to pick my battles these days, and I admit I have been reluctant to start this one so far. You're right to admonish me, though; we need to prepare our mages as well as our warriors for the fight that awaits us, and I would be remiss to neglect their training just because of the ruffled feathers it will cause."

Freyr is certain that there will be far more than merely 'ruffled feathers' if Loki actually goes through with this plan, and he can't help being impressed by his determination to still do what needs to be done in spite of the backlash he'll have to weather. "Alfheim will be happy to help in any way we can."

"I may just take you up on that offer." Loki pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers for a second, but when he lowers his hand, his expression appears unperturbed. "We will be in need of instructors; I'll have to discuss it with Lady Gullveig and General Tyr first, but I'll contact you on the matter as soon as they're both recovered from the apoplexy this news will undoubtedly cause them."

Freyr barks out a laugh. "That may be some time."

"I'll try to speed up the process." Loki's grin lights up his face in a way that suddenly reminds Freyr how young his nephew still is, but it's gone so quickly that it leaves him wondering if he hasn't just imagined it. "I'm afraid I must cut this conversation short for now, though; the first meeting is set to start in half an hour, and there are still a few preparations to complete."

Loki rises, forcing Freyr to hastily scramble to his feet, although Freyr can't help noticing how his brows draw together as if the movement had aggravated the headache he admitted to having earlier. Still, his voice is steady when he says in what Freyr takes to be an acknowledgement of the understanding between them, "Let's go and forge ourselves an alliance, Uncle."

Again, Freyr finds himself admiring the determination of a man who was never fated for the throne he now has to fill, and who is still willing to do what he considers necessary even if it means confronting his own realm's most deep-rooted prejudices. The thought leads him back to his earlier musings, and as he watches his nephew straighten his features into a mask of royal poise, he can't help thinking back to Odin's expression of stony disapproval whenever the topic of his younger son came up between them.

No, this one isn't Odin's, and he knows it.

It's a thought Freyr has never allowed himself before, but now that it has taken hold in his brain, it leaves him with a rare burst of recklessness.

"Such would not have been possible if the House of Odin were still ruling in Asgard."

Loki, who is already on his way to the door, doesn't flinch; he just goes very still and, without looking at Freyr, waits for him to continue.

Freyr takes a deep breath and puts his cards on the table. "And I believe the realms fare better for it."

At that, Loki finally turns his head, although his expression is unreadable when his eyes meet Freyr's. He holds his gaze for a moment; then he nods once.

"I'll see you in the meeting room, Uncle."

 

 

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