Chapter Text
“You’re granted a seat on the highest council on the land — an honor beyond measure, and one you insisted you deserved! — and the first thing you do is insult your brother, the crown prince !” Odin bellowed, his voice echoing throughout his study.
The walk back to Odin’s study was a long and awkward one. As they were both heading towards the same place, Loki and his father walked together. Ambling meekly behind him, Loki mirrored Odin’s pace the entire walk. The journey was slow, deliberate, and utterly miserable. Each and every of his father’s steps struck the floor with an air of finality.
The silence between was more than just awkward; it was oppressive, laden with Loki’s worry and Odin’s displeasure. The Allfather was unwilling to discuss what had just occurred in the open public; after all, the last thing the king wanted was to cause a spectacle. Though, due to his fiery temper, Odin also was not willing to engage in any other conversation.
Loki had wished the ground would split open and swallow him whole. He wanted anything but this meeting to occur. Hel, he would rather be on the training fields! At least there he could entertain himself by watching Thor and his merry band of buffoons practice their theatrics. Anything but this: a private audience with his father, who was surely rehearsing a litany of scathing remarks in his head.
How come Odin had reacted to strongly? It wasn’t even that harsh of a remark! If anything, Thor’s poking and prodding had been more an insult than Loki’s words. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel as if it was partly his fault. How could he have been so careless? Loki knew he was on thin ice, being so mistrusted by the general population of Asgard. He should have been less careless.
He just had to insult his brother, didn’t he? He was loathe to admit it, but Thor had always been his weak point. Stupid oaf. It’s not even as if it was that egregious as an insult. Loki had seen his fair share of council meetings, and far worse things had been said in the past. Odin just had to single him out.
While perhaps Odin may not have voiced it explicitly, it was no secret Loki’s father sided more with his eldest. It seemed every soul on Asgard favored Thor more. Widely admired amongst the warriors and touted for his battle prowess, who wouldn’t admire Thor? There was no question Loki loved his brother, but Thor could be quite insufferable at times, as Loki would be the first to admit. Though, despite his occasional (okay, moreso constant) dislike of Thor, Loki never voiced his complaints, as he knew they would fall on deaf ears. Of course, that seemed to be why he was where he was now. Were his seidr more respected or if Odin was capable of siding with not Thor on any occasion , Loki would not be hauled in front of his father and made to withstand the seemingly endless lecture he was currently receiving.
When they reached Odin’s study, the Allfather hadn’t sat down. He stood before his desk, posturing his displeasure.
“You compromised your credibility! I know you are competent enough, Loki. I know you are aware of the consequences of insulting the crown prince! I understand you and your brother have your differences, but can you put them aside for once and show some maturity!”
“Some maturity?” questioned Loki. “ Some maturity? Do you know what I think is mature, father? Well, I think standing by silently while my lump of a brother propagates negative policies would be quite immature of me. So, as befitting of my role and seat on the council, I responded in turn and voiced my opinion.”
“You think yourself clever, but you’ve only proven your immaturity,” Odin snapped. “This council is more than a forum for debate. It is a symbol of our leadership, of Asgard’s strength. And your behavior today was anything but strong. We need to project an image of unity!”
Ah, yes. Thor’s behavior, brash and oafish as it often was, would never be scrutinized like this. Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes, swallowing his retort with effort. He wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was beaten — or at least when further argument would only dig him deeper. So much for his voice being heard on the council. Why, oh why, did his father have to discount every. Single. Thing. He said!
“Projecting an image of unity, hmm,” stated Loki. “If only such a conversation or discourse were held in a private room with only the most trusted and loyal people in all of Asgard to whom pretenses and projections should not matter, oh wait-”
“I sweat to the Norns, Loki! Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps you were not ready to gain your position on the High Council.”
Loki’s stomach lurched. Odin was coming after his seat? The one he just obtained? That would be ridiculous, preposterous! No member in the history of Asgard had ever had their seat revoked, and on his first day at that! Surely his comment wasn’t that offensive.
“Father, please, listen. I meant no offense, twas a slip of the tongue. I query you, please reconsider. I shall curb my tongue in further meetings!” pleaded Loki. Though, what was the point? If he wasn’t going to be heard on the council, why be on it to begin with? Why wouldn’t his father listen!
“No, Loki. I am tired, I grow weary of your tongue. You are suspended from the High Council for the foreseeable future until I deem you worthy of regaining your place. Now leave, I’m certain you will with to think over what we have just discussed.”
Loki was angry. No, not angry. Infuriated. And it showed.
Thor may be known for his penchant for Thunder, however Loki was a veritable storm when he arrived again at his chambers.
Damn Odin. Damn Thor. Damn anyone who dare try to silence him!
It had been such a minor error too! Such a minor insult, something Thor — or any other council member, for that matter — would easily get away with. If anything, it should be Thor facing Odin’s wrath, not Loki!
Loki couldn’t even stand being in the same building as his father and brother, he needed some fresh air and a change of scenery. Loki made his way back to his chambers, planning to prepare for a ride.
“Sigrid!” He called, as he entered his sitting room.
“Yes, Loki?” Sigrid replied. The two had long since forgone the use of proper titles. Loki had insisted that she use his name in private, and she had taken to it.
“Prepare some riding clothes for me — the less conspicuous the better. Oh, and fetch a dark cloak of some sorts. I’m going on a ride.”
“Of course, my prince.” And with that Sigrid scurried away, fetching the items he required. In the meantime, Loki took a short moment to gaze out above the city of Asgard. Loki had always admired the golden city. After all, twas his home, how could he not? Though, he supposed, Asgard could do with less ostentatious coloring, or at least a dampening of it. Gold is an accent color, not a base — which was something Asgard’s architects evidently failed to understand.
“My prince, your clothing,” Sigrid called, gesturing to the garments she had laid out upon the bed.
Loki approached, examining the pieces carefully. As a prince, most of his clothing was draped in finery and opulence, though these seemed the dullest he could manage. He donned a simple navy blue linen tunic with basic trousers and riding boots. He put on the cloak Sigrid had found him — twas a dark piece with a large hood, which would be useful for concealing his identity. Loki’s intention was to let off steam and escape for the day, being swarmed or recognized would not aid in his plight.
Although , Loki supposed, he could simply mask his identity as one of a commoner, ensuring no trouble as he left the palace. Loki considered this for a moment.
Aye.
Loki had exited the stables, riding his beloved horse, Arion. Arion was a black-as-midnight stallion — a beast with a wild temper for anyone who wasn’t his favored rider. Of course, Loki had long since bonded with Arion, choosing him for most outings. The two had been paired for quite some time.
Twas because of this bond that Loki had initially been concerned about riding Arion. If people recognized his horse, he would be in for quite the day. Well, quite the additional day, he supposed, as the events so far had already left him seething. He waved off the worry, though. He doubted it would cause an uproar, as his steed couldn’t have been the only black stallion on Asgard.
Plus, with his disguise he should hopefully have now trouble. Speaking of disguise, as he was leaving the stables, Loki quietly and discreetly muttered a illusory spell about his form, alter his face and hair to that of a random person, not the second prince of Asgard.
With that, Loki began his ride. To where, Loki knew not. He had no particular destination in mind for this outing, so he picked a destination and rode.
Loki took the time to admire Asgard, her golden statues and towering architecture creating quite the image. Towering arches and decorated pillars seemed to fill every corner of the city, displaying her opulence for all to see. Loki, however, chose rather to ride outwards than around the center.
Loki was aware that the outskirts of Asgard city were not as wealthy as the palace and its surrounding area. He rarely ventured to the edges beyond the main road leading to the bifrost — though that road was hardly representative of the outskirts, given how well travelled it was by the royal family and nobility.
Since General Tyr and his imbecile of a brother seemed determined to draw funding away from areas like the outskirts, Loki felt he may venture to those areas to view them. Not to investigate or anything of the like, but rather just to observe. He knew that the areas needed more funding, however he also knew this was Asgard, it must not be in that much disrepair.
And oh, how wrong he was. He rode in slowly, as the road he was on was in a such a state of disrepair that he had to slow his horse to a walk. Cobblestones were misplaced and it was all just genuinely dirtier. The buildings were far less opulent, with the golden statutes and fountains of the city center nowhere to be found.
The village of Aegir’s Cradle was far beyond the glittering spires of Valaskjalf, consisting of a mass of tangling, narrow, and winding streets that rarely saw the light of day. The buildings, though perhaps once noble, visually bore the weight of time and neglect. Their gilded roofs were tarnished, their once-marble walls now cracked and streaked with moss, and the intricate carvings that adorned them eroded into barely recognizable patterns. The air was heavy with the brine of the nearby rivers, carrying the faint, metallic tang of forges and shops that never seem to rest.
Loki rode further into the neighborhood of Aegir’s Cradle, finding himself in a shaded market area. The stalls, cobbled together from what appeared to be scraps of wood and leather, leant precariously against walls, their wares a far cry from the treasures of Asgard’s grand bazaars. Loki wagered the merchants sold all secondhand weapons, scraps of leather, and poorly brewed mead—items too worn or imperfect to find a place in the gleaming marketplaces of the upper city.
The people, too, reflected their surroundings, Loki noted. Their garments were simple and often patched, a mosaic of fabrics pieced together for function rather than form. The faces of the people were lined not with age, but with worry, the marks of lives spent in toil beneath the shadow of their godly rulers. He saw children darting through the alleys barefoot, their laughter a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere.
How could this be? Loki had lived his entire life in Asgard and he had never once noticed how unfortunate the outer areas had been! He had remembered venturing almost everywhere as a child, perhaps in his youthful naivete he just hadn’t noticed? Surely not!
He dismounted and tied his horse in a nearby area to the market. Still disguised with his illusory magic, Loki went to explore the area. It seemed the district’s heart was this crumbling square, centered around a dried-up fountain. There, in the middle, stood what appeared to be a once-proud statue of a long-forgotten hero — or at least that is what Loki assumed, as its features were almost smooth after all the years of weather and no upkeep.
Loki made his way over to some market stalls lining the square. Perhaps he would purchase something, support the businesses. He reached into his pocket to search for his coin purse, but— twas not there? Nay, Loki had made sure to bring it! He turned around in confusion, seeing out of the corner of his eye a cloaked figure running away down an alley.
Well, this should be fun. No one messes with the God of Mischief.