Chapter Text
Once, Loki had wondered.
Would he be an alpha, like his father? Strong and mighty, firm and fair in his rule over Asgard.
Or would he be an omega, like his mother? Wise and all-knowing, ever graceful in her wielding of daggers and seidr. With words that could soothe or cut to the bone, yet were always spoken with such composure.
(Loki had thought he would be an omega. ...it only made sense, really. He was the one that read books, the one that made plans and practiced seidr. People liked Thor; admired him. But Loki knew things. He had to be an omega.)
(Besides, Thor was already an alpha. And Loki didn't want to compete with him. Thor could be King one day, and Loki would tell him things he knew, and they would be best brothers forever.)
The centuries passed, and Loki grew.
He learned spells (so many spells!), he learned how to be polite and say the right things, and he learned that being able to change forms wasn’t exactly normal. (...strange, that. How could others not shift? It was delightful, and as easy as anything.)
He trained and studied; he observed and planned and tested his theories. He learned how to fight with honour, and how to survive.
People continued liking Thor a lot, but that was alright. Loki liked him too.
Even if he sometimes said things that made Loki force his smile. But it was only jesting between brothers ... right? It was fine.
Time passed, and Loki learned. Learned, and practiced, and fought, and survived. One day after another.
He was sure he would be an omega. Thor was like their father, and he was like their mother. And even if he hadn’t been, his intellect and immense talent with seidr spoke for themselves. What else could he be, if not an omega? So he waited, almost giddy in his anticipation.
Then one day, father put a hammer in front of them. Mjolnir, he called it. Only those worthy would be able to lift it, to wield it. Loki was still studying it with his eyes when Thor had already reached out his hand, and lifted it with ease. A grin lit up his face as he swung it around a few times, and Loki was happy for him. It should be his, as well as it suited him.
After another couple swings, Thor turned to him and put the hammer down, gesturing an amiable ‘your turn’. Loki returned the smile, a little nervously, and stepped towards the hammer.
He couldn’t lift it.
(He couldn’t even make it budge.)
Not worthy...
Though Thor clapped him on the back and laughed that they would find a fine weapon for him as well, Loki still felt ... he wasn’t sure how he felt.
(Hurt.)
(Angry.)
(Doubtful.)
Not long after that, Loki presented. And he wondered if the hammer had, somehow, known. Because while his scent changed ... it didn’t change enough.
He was no charming, intelligent omega. There would be noone willing to listen to him, noone vying to please him to gain his attentions or counsel.
Neither was he a charismatic, powerful alpha. And there would be noone to look up to him, noone willing to follow him, whether in battle or otherwise.
Loki was ... a beta.
Nothing special.
Common.
...Asgard’s second prince, a beta.
(Second, always second.)
Not worthy.
He was only ... Loki.