Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Loki stared into the void with a twitching cheek set on a placid expression, eyes flashing with restrained anger. He had planned on using the power of the Bifrost to annihilate those frost giants. End the war before it ever started- win the praise and acclaim that would come with proving himself as a true Asgardian and distance himself from those barbarians of the icy realm. 

It took the dark morning hours and a few words to change his mind. 

Heimdall's creaking form stood behind him, sword outstretched and frozen in the position of his halted regicide. Turning his eyes away from the emptiness of the void, Loki switched his focus to the Destroyer's eyes and watched Thor's heroics. Noting how the lightning crackled, Mjolnir was seconds away from returning to the banished prince; Loki gave a self-deprecating snort. Of course, it would be that easy. When had Odin ever made things truly difficult for his favored son? 

Loki clenched the king's journal tightly in his hand. 

Twelve hours ago, Loki had been determined to prove himself a true son of Odin Allfather... before the book hidden in its secret glamor revealed the truth. 

The book had barely been hidden. Odin’s ornate desk was a small deterrent, with its legacy and imposing importance, but Loki, as King Regent, felt mischief in his bones. That attitude allowed him to behave mischievously, touching every part of the desk and looking through all the paperwork, nooks, and crannies. 

Opening that empty drawer caught his attention. Every other compartment had items within it all meticulously organized and arranged. It took barely a cantrip and a wiggle of his little finger for Loki to uncover the spell hiding the journal. He had been so excited to find it, delighted to learn about the thoughts and perhaps desires Odin told no one but the impartial sheets of paper.

What he found paled in comparison to his greatest fears. 

In forty-eight hours, he had learned that not only was he a member of a monstrous race, completely antithetical to his learned values, but that his 'father' was a liar twice over. 

Abandoned in a temple, NO, the Allfather and his armies had come upon the sacred place guarded by multitudes of Laufey’s best men. Believing the soldiers to be protecting the Casket of Ancient Winters, the Asgardians had slaughtered the temple's guardians. Once they learned the Casket was not the temple’s treasure but Laufey's first-born heir, plans were changed. Odin and his generals had wanted to press their advantage and use the baby frost giant as collateral to force surrender from the enemy combatants. It was Odin, himself, who proposed the idea of raising Loki in a noble house and installing him as a puppet king of Jotunheim once he came of age. 

The Aesir proceeded to win the battle and ultimately the war, taking the Casket of Ancient Winters into custody. It was written that cries of despair and mourning were heard from the temple as the Asgardians claimed their double bounty. 

Frigga, and by extension Thor, had fallen in love while fostering Baby Loki, and thus Odin's previous plots fell through and he erased the memories of the generals who had accompanied him. 

The truth of the matter hit Loki squarely in his chest, there was now no deluding himself. He would never measure up to Thor or any other Asgardian in Odin's eyes, the Allfather merely had a dashed purpose for him. He was a prince by accident and a god of Odin's most hated attributes. 

Loki had not slept, running his mind through every instance in his childhood when Odin and Asgard were cold or impervious to Loki's hurts. The golden walls of the palace held endless memories of suffering, belittlement of his strengths and abilities, amusement at his weaknesses and ‘womanly desires’, and deeply suppressed remembrances of torture at the instruction of his ‘father’, the consent of his brother, and the inaction of his mother. 

Loki’s eyes were open and his mind was awake, there was never any problem with him. He was a freak of nature and a monstrosity, but it was them; They were the problem for trying to force him to conform to their ideals without compromise.

Odin was the creator of the abusive pattern of his childhood- before many learned that his retaliation was swift and unmerciful. He spent his whole night ruminating on those thoughts, and the morning sun rose with the betrayal of Heimdall and the warriors three and Lady Sif. Loki could think of no other livable solution than the one his mind had whispered to him in the cold recesses of the dark sky.

Loki's heart had hardened against all of Asgard and as he watched its equally golden prince regain his godhood, there was no joy or celebration just his next steps. 

Loki returned from his mindful wandering and the vision of Thor in full regalia to look back at the time-frozen Heimdall. Stepping closer within the reach of the sword, Loki placed a finger on its sharp point to pull back sharply, watching the dew drop of blood welt up. With a thought and a waving gesture, Heimdall dropped his sword with a clang, breathing heavily and glaring daggers at Loki.

“Stand up and retrieve Thor and his friends,” the words were short and succinct, but they seemed to fill Heimdall with confusion that Loki did not revel in.

“What nefarious plans do you create now? You traitor, oathbreaker,” the words were spat with deep vitriol. Loki’s expression, which now held unwavering stillness did not shift.

“I suppose that would be for you to find out, bring them back. Now.” Loki confidently showed his back to the staggering man as Heimdall made his way to the Bifrost’s switch and Loki let the glowing kaleidoscope consume his vision until five warriors stood before him.

“Loki, you will pay for your treason. This will not go unanswered now that the true heir has been proven worthy.” Sif’s words made it through Loki's conscious mind, but he was too occupied with meeting Thor's gaze to repose. The man he had thought of as his brother, the man who he had always aspired to be. 

Thor, released from his mortal form, was once again glorious. He shone from his golden hair to tanned skin and the pins that littered his shoulders. Thor was so bright that Loki wanted to close his eyes to him.

There was a question in Thor’s gaze, a want of an answer, that was held on his tongue poking through his lips. But Loki did not want to hear any questions from Thor, and he had no time for the others. He had spent his whole life trying to be the person Thor would look to in pride; there was no more room for this false brotherhood in his heart.

Loki lifted Gungnir and let it drop an inch to the ground, silencing the bloody diatribe of the warriors four and Heimdall, while drawing Thor's attention to the King's staff and Loki’s apathy.

“Loki, brother, what are you doing? Why are you behaving this way?”

“You ask him questions as though you seek satisfying answers. He has no purpose but mischief and chaos,” Sif crouched into a battle stance immediately emulated by the others. “King Thor, we are prepared to take back your throne for the glory of Asgard.”

Thor was unstirred. His attention focused on Loki, who made no move to defend himself by words or might.

Loki was tired of the drama. Time was of the essence, and any delay in his plans could mean a loss of freedom once more.

“Thor, the high council is gathering to witness our exchange of power. Make your way to the throne room. I will be waiting.” Loki turned and disappeared into the spaces in between, ignoring the protests and declarations of his impending trickery.

Chapter Text

Loki stepped from the nothingness into his room, uncaring that he startled Orla in her packing. His childhood servant fumbled with the stack of books she was transferring into the unlimited bag of holding. 

“King Loki, I have almost completed the library. The drawers and closets have been emptied of everything unnailed.” Her curtsy was perfect, and her tone was the appropriate level of subservience. But Loki was well aware that she had many questions on the tip of her tongue.

Loki had admittedly been inconsiderate. Fetching Orla in the early hours of the morning, disturbing her sleep, and requesting she strip his rooms down to furniture. Orla had been entirely professional, setting to work immediately once Loki explained her task and the magic of the traveling bag.

“Well done, Orla. I will take care of the most tumultuous items in my apothecary, and then I ask that you pack those items as well.” The space was almost empty, but he was on a tight schedule. The noble council may have already gathered, and the more traditional ways of traveling that Thor and the warriors will have to use still put them right behind his tail. Loki moved to throw open the double doors on the side, scouring his shelves, pulling the more dangerous items into his pocket dimension, and leaving the rest for Orla.

“Yes, my King, as you say.” Orla began moving faster.

Loki slowed his stride as he thought of her words. Was he her King, truly?

According to Odin, Loki was never meant to sit on this throne. He was meant to be a gullible puppet, and his role was then restructured to be his Queen's beloved pet.

Orla saw him as King, but did the other servants, the nobles, and the warriors? How much of his status in Asgard was given to him by Odin’s words and then subsequently undermined by Odin's actions? Loki mentally brushed those thoughts away, they no longer mattered. 

Quickly, Loki snapped the last of his more volatile collection away and proceeded to the exit. “Orla, please finish this within the next fifteen minutes. I must join a contingent at the assembly hall, and I expect you to be in the hall of portraits after that meeting. Please do not delay.” Loki ignored her affirmative answer, passing through the open doors and willing Gungnir back into his hands. 

The guards at their posts straightened in attention as he passed them by. Loki could hear the rumbling of noise as he approached the throne room. 

The final turn before the council room into the hall of portraits slowed Loki’s momentum. Every significant battle in Asgard's history lined the walls, painstakingly depicted in paint. Loki remembers examining their stories and wondering if he would ever accomplish something worthy of a place on a pedestal of such magnificent height. Loki pauses to look at the storyboard of the Asgardians in battle with the Jotnar, with a renewed view. The blue beasts were painted with snarling faces, twisted in animalistic ugliness, while the beautiful forms of the Asgardian warriors had nobility in their brows and honor in their swords. 

Propaganda of the highest order, considering Asgard's King stole a prince of their enemies and disguised his form among his people. Loki wished to burn the lies on the wall and raised his hands to do just that when his movement was interrupted by a cry of his name.

“Loki! What is the meaning of this? Why did you goad your brother into his immortal form? What chaos are you sowing, undermining my orders?” Odin, leaning on Frigga's shoulder, made for a sorry sight in Loki's untainted eyes. The King, the true King, was limping forward, his clothing immaculate and pristine, and yet his skin pale and sickly. With Odin's weight bowed over Frigga, her dress folded over in an unattractive manner, similar to the scrunched skin of concern around her eyes.

“My son, what is going on? We are worried about you, that is all.” Frigga, as always, inserted herself between her family's conflicts and trying to calm tensions and soften Odin's words. But this time, Loki refused to be dissuaded from his course of action.

“Allfather, Allmother,” he addressed them coldly, watching the distance he created strike Frigga in the heart, “In Asgard's most turbulent period of uncertainty, I saw fit to return her prince to his former glory and put a more worthy King on the throne. Surely, you cannot fault my actions when they were in favor of Asgard and her people.” Loki sweetened his words, not believing them, but he is called Silvertongue for a reason.

Odin’s eyes narrowed at him pulling free of Frigga's grip, he made a few lumbering steps toward Loki. Odin tilted his head forward and lowered his voice, “Loki, I know you are grieving some secrets of your past that have now come to light.” An understatement belittling his feelings, and Loki felt his blood begin to boil in a way that the past twelve hours had cooled his emotions. “However, there must be a… dignity and reasoning in your behavior. I raised you to be better than the blood you came from. Do not make all my effort for naught.”

Odin's hand rose and set itself on the shoulder of an apathetic Loki. “I know this new information has shaken your understanding of yourself. And perhaps I could have done better, eased you into the information. But that is no reason to disrespect me in the manner you have. What will the council think? How will they react when Thor reenters the line of succession due to your machinations?” Odin's expression framed a perfect caricature of concern. Loki could see the lies written on every wrinkle of care.

Loki was tired. After a night of reevaluating his relationship with Asgard and the Allfather, he had no patience for being sucked back into the crushing rotating wheel of Odin's ‘love’. 

“Allfather, I must ask, at what point did you decide that I was unworthy of respect and basic kindness? Was it before or after you slaughtered my guardians and stole me from my rightful place?” Loki did not try to temper his accusations, pulling the king's journal from its place in his pocket dimension to place it directly in Odin's line of sight.

The hand on Loki's shoulder disappeared as Odin snatched the book from Loki's grip. Loki released it willingly, and Odin's face grew red in anger.

“You went through the King's study? How dare you. Is this how you return my favor? I saved your life!”

Loki laughed deeply at that. The sound bounced off the walls, drowning out Frigga's tittering speech asking for calm, and drawing the attention of the council behind closed doors.

The laugh held no joy, and Loki felt the dam on his voice break. “Tell me when did your protection falter: as my lips were sewn, or while venom burned my skin? In the times I needed you, needed my father, where were you then? Do not pretend you have any love in your heart for me, I have only ever been a tool to use to control your enemies or satisfy your sadistic needs. You disgust me!”

Loki and Odin stood inches apart in aggressive stances, neither backing down from the verbal spar. “And if I was so abandoned, why did you write about the mournful cries at the place of your kidnapping? Did it please you to record your crime, detail how my mother, my true mother, wept?”

Frigga halted her attempts to hold her fighting family together and froze in horror, finally addressing Odin. “Loki was not left to die by unfeeling carers? You took him?” Her voice wavered, and too much shock was present for a war bride who married Odin the Conqueror.

Loki took some steps back, shifting Gungnir between his hands, which now drew Odin's attention to the power Loki had over him. Loki let a smug look develop over his features as Odin snarled, eyes for once filled with fear.

Chapter Text

Loki breathed in deeply, enjoying Odin's suppressed terror over Loki's unpredictability with the power of Asgard's throne behind him. Prepared to speak once more, Loki noticed the flash of a person out of the corner of his eye and registered the incoming footsteps of the council coming to investigate the commotion. 

Loki turned his back to the enemy once again to approach Orla, who had placed herself in the hidden enclave of the hallway. Loki reached for the bag of holding she held securely in her arms. “Thank you for your help, Orla. Get yourself someplace safe. You do not want to be present for the inevitable crossfire between gods.” Loki placed the bag in his pocket dimension and squeezed Orla's arm in gratitude.

“Loki, do not ignore this situation.” Odin stomped on the floor, his body stronger in his anger.

The first of the noble council entered the hallway after Odin’s retort, Tyr leading the pack. “Allfather, you are awake! And in good health I hope,” those words were platitudes, Odin looked terrible. “Prince Loki, Is this what you wanted to inform us of at this unorthodox council meeting?” 

Large thumps of marching feet came from behind, “There he is, that traitor! This way, Thor!” Fandral called out to his shield brothers.

Loki wanted to roll his eyes at the drama and chaos, but he shuffled a few steps back to see the entirety of his confrontors. Surrounded on three sides by Odin and Frigga, then Thor and company, and the high council, Loki had his back to the wall of the portrait of false history.

Loki addressed his audience, anger from two sides and confusion from the other, “I am glad you are all here. General Tyr, I gathered the council to witness the transfer of power between myself and the newly reinstated Prince Thor, but that is no longer necessary with ‘good King Odin’ awakened once more.”

“Liar! You seek to sow chaos in Asgard's line of succession,” swords at the ready Sif led the pack, as Thor stood back seeking answers, not conflict.

Moving to the front of the group, Thor questioned, “Loki, your words and your actions conflict. Please explain yourself.”

Loki shook his head, “I have no time for explanations, there are other places for me to be.” 

Raising his hand, Loki transformed into his full military battle regalia, with its entirety of medals, epaulets, and golden helmet. The Warriors Four and Heimdall took that as a signal, charging forward. Loki had to raise his arm once more, to place an invisible wall between him and his attackers. They would be able to see and hear him, but be unable to interfere by sound or action any longer.

The noble council was taken by surprise, flinching backward at the casual use of magic Loki displayed. General Tyr recovered from his surprise first and steadied himself into a prepared stance, but pulled out no weaponry.

“Loki, my son, you alone can calm things down. Speak with us,” Frigga pleaded, approaching Loki with open hands as though he were a frightened animal.

“Listen to your mother-.”

Loki interrupted Odin, “She is not my mother, you made sure of that,” that statement elicited gasps from the audience and the warriors behind the wall stopped attacking to react in shock. 

Throwing Gungnir on the ground, earning further proclamations of blasphemy. Loki reached up to pull off the battle helmet by its long horns and let it clatter on the ground between him and Odin. He snorted derisively at the design of the headwear, “Even while lying to my face, you still dressed me in the truth. How kind.”

Odin's face sneered in an un-kingly manner, which disrupted the council's attention from Loki and his actions for a moment. They were seeing a new side of the infallible king today. 

Ignoring Odin's desire to parry his words, Loki straightened his spine to project his voice to the audience, which had grown from just the noble council to servants, guards, and other observers, many of whom braced themselves for his every movement. 

Loki began with a breath of determination, “I am Loki Odinson of Asgard; bairn of House Frigga; second Prince of the peoples; head of the Esoph household; first of his name. Declared the God of Mischief, Chaos, Lies, and Fire; a High Mage of the seidrmadr and King Regent of the throne of Asgard.”

In a deliberate mimicry of Thor's banishment, Loki laid his hand on his first of six medallions, ripping it pointedly so the noise echoed through the halls, cutting through the low murmur of questions from the gallery. “I renounce my positions of King, Prince, and High Mage,” the series of gold pendants bounced on the floor in a sharp chorus as they dropped, “I renounce my titles of godhood and households.”

The audience had now caught on to the purpose of the gathering, and cries went up calling for someone, anyone, to stop him- that this proclamation was untenable and foolhardy, but Loki continued.

Reaching for the last of his pins, Loki met Thor's eyes through the clear barrier and noted how Thor’s hands and body leaned desperately on the wall, soundlessly yelling for Loki to stop. He did not drop eye contact at his next words, “I renounce the House of Odin and its gilded cage,” Thor broke his gaze to watch the epaulets fall.

“Loki, Loki, I beg you. My son, please.” Frigga had approached close enough in Loki's distraction to grab his hand and hold on tightly. Crying, hair in disarray, Frigga begged, “Please, Loki stay.”

Loki turned a cold gaze toward her and yanked his hand out of her grip, unsympathetic. Using both hands to reach for the clasps of his cape and let it fall on the ground on top of his pins, “I renounce my name.” 

That final line, said with growling venom, pierced Frigga’s heart and her legs weakened as she slowly collapsed onto her knees before the used-to-be Loki, tears flowing.

Loki lifted his eyes past the woman at his knees to look Odin in his wide and disbelieving eyes, “Fuck you.” The declaration was unequivocal as he pointed directly to the stunned King. Loki then gestured broadly at the watchers with a scream, “Fuck all of you!”

His piece said and his work done, Loki pivoted to the wall behind him. He took several steps and with an ease of movement a portal formed in the portrait of the bloody war, depicting a field of grass over a cliff's edge with a blue sea and an even bluer sky. The portal shut to the old world.

Loki felt the wind’s cool breeze pass through his hair. He was free. No more chains on his heart or mind. Opening his eyes to the sun's rays reaching from beneath the sea, he watched the flashing lights as the meteor shower he was waiting for began. 

“Just in time.” Loki sat on the long, soft grass, head tilted toward the heavens, observing the phenomenal event with the knowledge of his infinite possibilities and broader horizons.

Chapter Text

The room was in chaos, beautiful chaos. As the stranger once named Prince Loki left, Thor, the warriors, and Heimdall were freed from their entrapment. 

Thor fell to the floor with the sudden disappearance of the barrier he had leaned on. The accusers behind him were silent in absolute befuddlement as Thor banged his hands on the floor and demanded answers, “What is going on?!”

Odin walked forward a few steps, bent down, and lifted Gungnir from its place on the floor, visibly being revitalized by the energy of Asgard.

While the others murmured low guesses and assumptions about the former second prince's actions, Odin answered Thor, “Your brother is simply confused and reacting rashly. I will put together a group to retrieve him. Loki is merely overwhelmed with the responsibilities of being King…”

Frigga, from her position on the floor, snorted in anger. Leaning down to gather Loki's discarded cape and golden medallions, She spoke in a hoarse tone, “More lies, Odin. Have you learned nothing?” 

Standing and turning to face Odin, but with her words directed toward Thor, Frigga spat out. “Loki was adopted, a frost giant babe that Odin found abandoned at the end of the last battle on Jotunheim. But,” Frigga gestured to the king's journal in Odin's opposite hand, “considering Odin lies even to me, I am more prone to believe that Loki was stolen; snatched from the hands of his birth mother.”

Odin shifted his grip on both items in his hands and bit out his words, daring Frigga to disagree in front of the others, “Frigga, my dear, you know everything I do has reasoning behind it.”

Frigga did not back down, “Ah, yes, your reasons. I used to believe in them until they cost me my son!” 

Thor stood and cautiously approached his mother, unsure of where to stand in a battle between his parents. 

Frigga glanced at Thor but did not halt her speech, “Well, believe my words now and hear me when I declare: I may forever be your queen, but never again shall I be your wife.”

A few of the ladies in the court swooned in surprise, and many cried out that perhaps Ragnarok was upon them. Frigga ignored them all. Clutching her bounty of Loki's cast-offs, she made her way out of the crowded hall with the people scrambling back for her swift exit. 

Thor looked at the departing figure of his mother, and the shunned swaying form of his father, and made his choice. Running after the Allmother, the god of thunder called out questions and asked for better explanations.

Odin passed his eyes over the gathered audience, some of whom braced for his wrath, and a high council who wished for his attention to determine what all this upheaval would mean for Asgard's throne and positioning with its allies. Odin closed his ears to all inquiries and followed the open path within the gathered people created by Frigga and Thor.

The weakened King wandered after his family, and the high council unsuccessfully chased after him.

Left behind, Sif, the warriors, and Heimdall exchanged glances and quietly decided to separate. Heimdall returned to his post, and the warriors headed for the nearest alehouse to attempt to put all the occurrences of the hour into a more conducive story within their minds.

It took many hours for the crowd to thin out; when one person left, two more would appear seeking the whispered gossip. Holding court in the middle of that ebbing commotion, was Orla. 

Taking on the self-appointed duty of ensuring the most accurate version of the evening's event was spread throughout Asgard, Orla held a council of her own. She describes to all how former King Loki approached her in the dead of night to ask her to pack up the entirety of his room. She speaks of the way the once-prince clutched at the King's journal in anger- knowing some terrible secrets that inspired his severing ties with Asgard and Odin. 

“Can you blame him? Remember the lip sewing incident, the skin melting venom, the starvation under that behemoth boulder- all framed as deserved punishments. But I am starting to think that they were implements of torture by cruel father, well actually a child thief.” 

Orla made the statement uncaring of the scandal it brought to the gathered crowd or the concern of some punishment from Odin. “Oh, what does it matter if I am beheaded for treason? That will not change the fact that our prince was suffering in full view of the public. The common people could not notice, and the nobles and warriors did not act in his defense.” 

Orla held court long into the night. Servants, guards, and nobles stopped to listen to the storyteller's tale of the skeletons hidden behind closed palace doors. The spark of revolution was concentrated in the portrait hall before the gory frame of the last battle of Jotunheim, now the place of Prince Loki's final sighting. 

The royal family had absconded into their rooms, and with no word of explanation from on high, the people still arrived at the correct answer.

The crowd murmured in agreement with Orla, words gaining volume and vim. The dissent spread by mouth, by written message, and by seidr; By the end of the night, the city, the countryside, and the outskirts of Asgard knew the cause of their prince's discontent.

The voices began to call for Odin child-thief, Odin liar, Odin abuser to step off the throne of Asgard.

Chapter Text

The green blades of the grass bent in invisible winds, long sprouts unbothered by human feet in years. The sun's form was not present in the serene picture, but its effect was vibrant. The grass was ethereal in its light, and the sunlight was wonderfully unsullied by clouds or creatures.

The blues of the sky accompanied the gentle waves that disappeared past sight, blocked by the cliffside. The whole picture was so lifelike. At any moment, the soft summertime breeze from the still-life picture would enter the hallways and surround Thor with the smell of the wind's fragrance.

Thor sat in a simple wooden chair across from the painting, depicting a recreation of Loki's last known location. Head tilted back, imagining the subtle warmth of the sun on his skin. Thor hoped that wherever Loki settled, he was happy. Happier than he had ever been in Asgard.

Four years have passed since his little brother left them, but it only took Thor three months to understand the full extent of Loki's experiences in Asgard. Thor breathed deeply. The grief still hurt even after all this time, especially once he fully acknowledged the role he had to play in his brother's suffering.

All the torture disguised as simple karma, why had he never protested? Had he become so used to and expectant of his Loki's cries of distress? Where did the determination to protect him from all harm in their younger years go? When had he been so poisoned against Loki? It was too easy to blame Odin or the Warriors Four, but Thor refused to remove his culpability.

There had also been his mother's influence. Why had he not followed her example and truly loved Loki?

The subject of his mother turned his thoughts to her. Gone were the days of family meals arranged in the Queen's garden. Frigga kept to herself in the dowager Queen’s apartments, only venturing out for festivals, ceremonies, or visits from foreign dignitaries that required her presence.

Thor, of course, was still allowed in her spaces. She still tried to be a mother and advisor to Thor whenever he brought his hurts her way. But, there was an unspoken emptiness in all their interactions. She felt Loki's loss keenly and refused to look Odin's way lest her sadness turn to rage.

Additionally, she added pieces of green to her soft yellow preferences so every outfit would remind all of her lost child. And Thor could not blame her when he had requested one of Loki's medallions from her to always keep on his person.

Thor gripped the gold circle as he pondered his changed circumstances in front of the landscape art, which replaced the portrait of the final battle on Jotunheim. Thor felt sick knowing the prejudice against the Jotnar he had once subscribed to. He fell prey to the warriors' stories and the bards' tales.

And this, he will blame his father for. The childhood promise he made to ‘slay all the beasts’ was left uncontested by Odin in full view of Loki. Frigga had taken some blame for that comment, as well. Citing that if she had paid more attention to the wartime propaganda, it may have never reached their ears. 

Those stubborn prejudices were finally coming to a close after the commoners caught on to Odin's trickery. The vast majority of citizens now believed their prejudices were encouraged by Odin; As a method of maintaining control over Asgard's warriors. There is nothing like a shared enemy to bind people to authority. 

It was not easy; nothing worth doing ever was. The older generation, having fought in the war, was loath to let go of its hate. But even the older warriors conceded that the Jotnar should have been given the same treatment as Vanaheim or Alfheim, bitter enemies transformed into strong allies. 

Thor sighed, knowing he was loitering too long here.

He walked forward to briefly trail his hand over the golden etched frame of the portrait and slowly made his way down the short hallway into the high council's room. The council members were already seated. At his entrance, they saluted in unison before retaking their seats. Thor made his way to the throne, placed at an elevated level compared to the rest of the chairs at the round table.

Gingerly, Thor sat down. Even after his enthronement, Thor still felt uncomfortable in the King's chair. But the people refused to suffer under Odin any longer, and thus, here he was.

Thor gestured for the council's debates to begin and let himself recall the first year of uncertainty when the commoners, merchants, warriors, and many nobles protested in the streets that Odin should abdicate. The protests halted trade and the everyday function of Asgard for many weeks.

Odin fought the pronouncement in those first few months, decrying that all he had done carried proper reasonings and that the proclamations of abuse were exaggerated. And yet, the people had unrefutable evidence: Odin was tired and old, his ways were outdated, and his words no longer held weight or the benefit of the doubt. 

Eventually, the high council agreed that if Asgard wanted to avoid a pointless civil war, Odin would have to concede.

Odin, with no admittance of wrongdoing, stated that Thor would continue his good work when he acquiesced to the transfer of power. Thor, in his speech following his enthronement, promised change and an end to Odin's tactics of obfuscated protection. The people cheered for his words.

Odin had raged, but Thor's desire to please his father had long since vanished. He ended up using Gungnir to remind Odin exactly who the King was. That was the last true interaction he had with his father. 

The former King had been shuffled to an unoccupied section of extended palace apartments. Now, Odin spent his days writing something that Thor had no interest in knowing, more likely a mix of truths and lies that would emerge once he was dead, just like his older sister. 

Hela was her name, a conqueror from a bygone era, wiped from the minds of the populace as well as the actual reasons for the demise of the Valkyrie. It was angering that Odin may have died early and unleashed that dreadful warrior on his ignorant people. 

Thankfully, after an unusual Odin sleep, attentive healers had noticed the seidr tied to his soul. The discovery had forced Odin's hand to reveal more secrets.

It was at that moment that Thor started to hate Odin. He had lost love for him after the ways he abused Loki came to light, but after the reveal that he held the start of Ragnarok on his death and did not see fit to inform anyone, Thor despised him. 

The past two years of trying to find ways to prevent Hela’s release had consumed Thor's kingly hours.

The one benefit derived from the situation had been the restructuring of Asgard’s alliances and allegiances. Thor, in a manner very unlike Odin, started to work on uniting the nine realms in more than just name or the threat of violence. 

Vanaheim was easy to convince. Their cousins were already prone to think well of Asgard due to their closely maintained relationship and Frigga still having sway and appeal on her home planet- especially with her all but divorcing Odin. 

The people of Alfheim were less inclined to believe Thor’s promise to herald a new era within the nine realms and took much convincing and political engagement on Thor's part to arrange.

Nidavellir had been easy to win; they only ever wanted fair trades. The same with Muspelheim; they wanted the restrictions on their travel removed. Midgard had been a special case. After days of debate, they decided that it would be best to keep the mortals in ignorance and maintain their stewardship only for emergency cases. 

And all of those happenings had finally brought them to now. The final meeting before the Jotnar delegates arrived.

In these last moments, the high council was locked in a debate about whether to return the Casket of Ancient Winters to its rightful owners. The older members were staunchly against it: even if the Jotnar were no longer their enemies of old, there was no reason to give a spiteful victim a means to retaliate.

The newer members, chosen by the common people led by Orla, a former servant palace, petitioned that a true friendship could not begin with such a deficit: holding an ally's property hostage.

Thor came back to himself once the arguments between the yes’s versus the no’s reached too high of a decibel. 

He placed his palm quietly on the table, signaling his desire to speak, and gained the debaters' attention. “Jotunheim's delegation should be arriving within minutes at the Bifrost, I suggest we table this discussion. I have heard both arguments and agree with each in many parts. I propose that once we have heard what the Jotnar have to say about creating better relations and an alliance. Depending on their response and behavior, I shall announce what the fate of the casket will be.”

Thor stood, and the rest of the council followed, “But for now, I must be on my way to make a favorable impression on our new friends. I shall return here with them.” Thor moved away from the throne, mildly acknowledging the bows on his way out the double doors.

Chapter Text

Barely three meters from the doors, Thor heard the quiet statement: “Well, this is new,” a voice filled with mild surprise noted. Thor turned the corner and immediately took a shocked step back.

Before him were two Jotnar of relatively equal in size, eight feet tall, standing a dozen feet away, and gazing at a green cliffside portrait. 

The dark blue of their skin complimented the blue of the paintings' sky; the Jotnar's shade of blue was offset by the swirls and lines covering their arms, faces, and everywhere. The lines on their skin were unique to each individual as well, but Thor had no way of puzzling its deeper meaning.

Both figures were dressed similarly: a light-colored linen pantaloon that let in the breeze around the ankle and showed off uncovered feet, and a white muslin shirt completed the ensemble. The one with long black hair had intertwined braids that reached to the middle of his back, interlaced with precious jewels, a circlet embedded on his brow, all beautifully accented curled ram's horns. The other giant had his brown hair pulled into a high bun, with a few strands escaping the knot, accessorized with trails of necklaces and golden chains crisscrossing his chest and neck.

Thor's startled noise alerted the Jotnar almost three feet above him of his presence. Their heads turned away from the painting to face Thor. Thor felt himself lose breath as the face bearing the gold circlelet turned.

Thor was filled to the brim with emotion; the shifted placement of cheekbones and nose, and the blue tint of his skin muddled recognition. All that did nothing to prevent Thor from knowing that the giant in front of him was his little brother standing on Asgardian soil.

There was no way to stop his forward steps and soft call, “You have returned. Lok-”

The giant in question raised his blue hand sharply, halting the name on Thor's lips, “It is Loptr, Crown Prince Loptr of Jotunheim. Do your best to remember that. I answer to nothing else.” The words came out like shifting gravel, voice different from the person Thor remembered. The expression on Loptr’s face was impenetrable, and Thor was too stunned to try to decipher the tone of Loptr's voice. 

Thor bowed his head in easy agreement. “Prince Loptr, I was just about to come and escort you to our meeting, but I know now that you were capable of making your way alone.”

Loptr hummed noncommittally, “This is Head Diplomat Angrboda. We are here for your peace talks, and I think we best begin.”  

A silent walk back to the council room.

Thor's mind wandered in the King's chair once more. He could not have kept focused on the negotiation between the Jotun diplomat and the council even if he tried. Thor’s entire being latched onto Lok-Loptr's every movement. 

The familiar stranger and his companion towered over the nobles, common-men, and guards, and yet every motion was delicate, each action not disrupting any other material. The two flipped through the Asgardian parchment with steady hands, reading their purposefully larger writing with ease and making no objection when a lower noble mistakenly used the word frost giants instead of Jotnar. 

Most of Loptr's spoken notes were about clarifying some definitional language. Checking what a word meant to Asgardians versus the Jotnar, but on the whole, he kept silent for Angrboda to make points or queries. 

If anything, a silent conversation was occurring between Orla and Loptr. The two would twitch their eyebrows, wink subtly, or fumble their fingers delicately in tandem. No doubt Loptr was curious about how Orla ascended from maidservant to a member of the high council; Thor knew from her point of view the story was one of triumph.

Her face was smug as she stared at Loptr, and she took great pleasure in raising her voice to ask facetious questions of her Prince Loptr. Thor could tell that with each of Orla’s overly subservient honorifics, General Tyr's ears got a little redder and Loptr’s smile a little wider.

Loptr broke eye contact with Orla to turn to Asgard's head diplomat, Bjornson, interrupting his and Angrboda’s formless debate. “I feel as though there is some undercurrent knowledge being left unsaid. What exactly does Asgard want from Jotunheim? Speak plainly.”

Many eyes turned to Thor for whether the King would want to reveal such weaknesses to not quite enemies, not yet friends.

“Well, firstly, Asgard wishes to unite the nine realms in more than just name. With the current exception of Midgard, we are revising all treaties more than a thousand years old and all trade negotiations more than a hundred years old.”

Loptr visibly struggled not to roll his eyes, “Peace and prosperity for all is such a noble goal Allfather , but what do you wish from Jotunheim in return? There is not much we can give that you cannot find elsewhere through less contentious means.”

Thor could tell that Loptr and Angrboda’s nerves were fraying; they were more anxious than they allowed themselves to show.

Haltingly, Thor began the story, ordinarily only after the treaty had been signed would he disclose this privileged information. But this was a special case. “We learned about two years ago that the former King Odin has a death spell attached to his soul. Once he passes unto Valhalla, a prison door he created will open. And a grave threat to Asgard, the nine realms, and the universe at large will be released.” Thor paused at this next part of the story, the council following his lead.

“So… simply get some seidrkona together and close the door. Why does this have an air of secrecy to it.” Angrboda pushed, glancing at his prince for permission.

Thor braced himself, “The prison is powerful beyond our knowledge, and the being he has imprisoned is named Hela. After Odin locked her away, memories of her existence were erased from Asgard’s consciousness. She is the Goddess of Death, slayer of the Valkyrie, and my older sister- Crown Princess Hela Odinsdottir.”

Loptr was entirely stunned, mouthing the words lightly before giving them a voice, “ Your older sister .” His laughter that burst forth, emulating river stones crashing together, was as cold as the tundra of the ice planetoid. Calming down, Loptr’s statement was amused, “Oh, to be an unwanted child of Odin is to live an interesting existence.”

Thor felt his heart sting at the morbidity of the first reference his brother made to his previous life on Asgard.

“Let me understand this: Asgard found out about Odin's original dirty secret, realized you have spurned all your most powerful mages, and are now scrambling to form alliances that can either shut the door permanently or all will fight alongside Asgard at the coming of this conqueror.” Loptr settled back into his enlarged chair, entirely at ease in displaying his glee. “I would need to examine this door myself to determine just what Jotunheim’s bargaining power is.”

Thor interrupted Tyr’s refusal, “Asgard is prepared to do all we can to mitigate the threat, including the return of the Casket of Ancient Winters”. Tyr was left mouth gaping at his King.

“Is that all? The trade deals have more value to us.” At the stunned reaction of the council, Angrboda continued, “Do not misunderstand. The Casket is our property, and we still long for its return. Jotunheim, after much trial and tribulation, death and destruction, has finally managed to survive without her artifact. Thanks, in no small part, to the return of her Crown Prince. If we are to fix this issue for Asgard, then I hope you have more to offer than a relic originally stolen from us.” Angrboda lifted his eyebrows in question.

Loptr sat pridefully by his side as the rest of the high council were disconcerted by their largest bartering chip being diminished in value.

Bjornson stood abruptly without permission, “Let us end here for now, and reconvene after luncheon.” The desperation in his tone was not unnoticed.

Loptr smirked.

Chapter Text

Thor swallowed thickly, “Yes, let us adjourn. For our guests, a space has been prepared to the right of this chamber. I would be glad to escort you.”

The two Jotnar stood as the crown prince spoke flippantly. “Ah, there is no need for that. I am quite sure I remember my way.” Shifting past their chairs easily, both giants made their way out. Leaving the lingering council members and Orla, who was attempting to communicate something with her eyes once more.

Exiting the grand room, Loptr was unsure if the urge to laugh boisterously would ever leave him. To think that Odin had more rottenness to uncover; how thankful he was to no longer have to consider the welfare of that curmudgeon. 

Emerging from the council room into the halls, Loptr and Angrboda were taken aback by the wall of people that awaited them. 

Concerned that an altercation would begin, Angrboda stood protectively before Loptr, shielding him from any expected attacks and glaring down at the crowd. With a hand on Angrboda's arm, Loptr soundlessly asked for his trust and stepped past his protector to face the watchers, many of whom did not react to the display of distrust. 

Loptr addressed the waiting people, “Hello... If you will excuse us.” He carefully began the trek toward the diplomat holding rooms.

The crowd parted, still standing close with their heads raised to meet the eyes of their guests. Loptr spotted commoners, nobles, and servants of the palace among the watchers; people who should not be in the palace at this time of day. 

It seems as though they were all here because of curiosity. Perhaps he and Angrboda were the latest animals in their menagerie. Loptr tilted his chin up. For though the tallest of the crowd would not meet the tops of their shoulders, he still felt the need to shield his emotions from those who might be wishing him ill. 

Their progress down the hall was so slow the council room doors were still within sight. Angrboda's hand on the small of his back shook the spiraling thoughts from Loptr’s mind. He twisted his shoulders so they could make eye contact. Angrboda's face glowed with awe and sincere surprise. 

Why was his reaction to the crowd so pleased? Loptr looked down once more. The crowd parted steadily for the giants their faces upturned like sunflowers following the light. Examining their emotions anew made Loptr want to cry; there was an overflowing welcome present on each brow. 

There were some openly weeping at the sight of Loptr; Not out of fear or disdain as had been expected, but as though they saw Valhalla's gates before them.

Loptr spotted the Warriors Four in the back of the crowd. They were not dressed in the finery of the King’s guard. Loptr raised an eyebrow and in the most uncharacteristic response, the Warriors all bowed their heads to him. Before Loptr could process that shock or react to their submission, another action caught his attention.

With a bold hesitation, a servant girl, wearing a frock of a very similar motif of green and gold, reached out her hand and let her fingertip lightly brush Loptr’s blue arm. The offending arm was quickly retracted, and brown eyes rose to meet Loptr’s amused gaze. The quiet seconds-long exchange broke the dam, and many in the crowd reached out to touch Loptr and Angrboda, delighted at their ability to do so. 

Finally, they made it to the private waiting room and shut the door on the anticipating crowd, watching for something. For what? Loptr was unsure. The warm, almost effervescent greetings were appreciated; but the deification of his person, the worship did make him uncomfortable. He did not know of any of his behaviors that could have prompted this- his last hours on Asgard were not exactly praiseworthy.

“That was odd and unexpected. Contradictory to everything I have known and you have told me of the Asgardians, but not unwanted. Certainly, if their people are on our side, it shall aid Jotunheim’s position in the negotiations.” Angrboda remarked while beckoning Loptr toward the refreshment table, testing which ones were more palatable to the Jotunn taste buds.

When a knock sounded on the door, Loptr was unsurprised. He had expected Thor to be right behind them with insistent questions about Loptr’s new position in life.

Loptr moved to open the door, responding to Angrboda around a bite of grapes. “Yes, I have several questions as well. It seems the realm eternal is capable of great change.”

Loptr paused at the opened door. The crowd was still present, but there was a new distance between the watchers and the holding rooms, as well as a new face: Frigga.

Standing three feet above the top of her hair, Loptr examined the Allmother and her woeful eyes. Frigga’s skin was paler, a symptom of too much time spent indoors, and her hands twitched anxiously. Imitating the watchers, she stared in wondrous disbelief at the Jotunn version of her son. 

“Hello, it is good to see you. I have missed you...” Her voice trailed off, but she maintained eye contact. With a surety of hopeful beginnings, she changed her words, “I have wondered all these years, what your new name was. What you wish to be called now.”

Loptr was not unfeeling. Softly, he answered, “The first name ever given to me was Loptr, and it is what I am known as now.”

Frigga nodded, eyes dragging down to Loptr’s arms and face, indecision formed in her expression. Loptr waited placidly on her judgment on the ‘monster’ her son had become. 

Frigga cleared her throat, sparing a glance at the now whispering crowd and the quirked eyebrow of Angrboda. “Well…Loptr, May I have a hug?… Please,” Frigga stilled, preparing herself for a denial.

Loptr took in the Dowager Queen before him and tilted his head in amusement, his mouth stretched into a grin. 

One step forward, then two, by the third step, Loptr had shrunk into his Aesir form, remaining taller than Frigga, but more comfortable to hug. Wrapping his arms firmly around her, Frigga squeezed back tightly. Loptr returned the pressure as he felt the tears drop onto his shoulders. 

“I am sorry. I am so sorry that I did not protect you.” A whispered plea.

“Hush now.” Loptr pulled back to look into her eyes and kept his words just for her, “I forgave you long ago. After all, how can one prisoner blame his cellmate for their cage.” 

Frigga nodded along to his words, but her expression was no less guilty.

Loptr twisted away from her to face Angrboda, reaching a pale hand toward him. Angrboda, with no doubt in his heart, placed his giant blue hand in Loptr’s smaller palm. The transformed skin slowly crawled onto the other giant as well, leaving a tall, brown-haired Aesir man with gleaming dark eyes.

“Allmother, I would like to introduce you to my mate, Angrboda, Head Diplomat of Jotunheim. Angr, this is Frigga-Allmother, the woman who raised me.” Loptr stated lightly, secure in his love that no judgment could change it.

Angrboda reached out for a handshake and he bowed with respect. Frigga accepted instinctively, but her posture was dismayed. Loptr could not imagine her being accepting of a Jotunn child, but not an Ergi one.

Frigga turned despondent eyes toward him and spoke with a hitching voice. “You are married? Does that mean I missed the wedding, the celebration?”

With a booming laugh, Loptr embraced her once more, pulling back with a soft chuckle. He should have known better than to underestimate Frigga. 

He leaned forward, sharing a secret, reaching one hand to grasp Angrboda’s hand, and the other to take Frigga’s wrist and press her fingers onto his stomach. 

“Worry not, Mother." - Frigga gasped at the endearment- "I will make sure you are there for the other important milestones.” 

Frigga only took a moment to understand Loptr’s implication, noting the position of their clasped hands. Her posture transformed, incandescent with joy, eyebrows high and lips tilted up, “Truly?” 

“Truly,” Loptr confirmed. 

Chapter Text

The crowd was tittering once more. Loptr closed the door on their assumptions and perhaps accurate hypotheses.

Before the hinge could latch shut, a knock sounded again. This time Loptr was correct about who was on the other side of it. Thor stepped through the opening Loptr gave, smiling lightly as he let the door snap shut. 

Taking in the scene before him, Thor gave an analyzing look at Frigga’s mounting happiness and the closeness the three shared. There was a possibility of rekindling the damaged relationship he had with Loptr; Thor refused to miss out on his chance. He wanted the privilege of having a brother again. 

“You know, I never imagined that of the two of us, you would be the first to marry and… create heirs.” Thor nodded respectfully at Angrboda and flashed a conspiratorial smile at his mother.

Eyebrow raised, Loptr asked the silent question that Thor answered, “The audience we left behind is eager for any scraps of information about your life. And you gave them much. I do believe an impromptu festival has ignited in your honor. The whole of Asgard may arrive to catch a glimpse of you and your growing family. Expect birthing gifts.”

Angrboda led Loptr to a seat while he pondered Thor's words, “A great question, you prompt. Effervescent joy was not the reaction I believed the people would have to our presence in Asgard.” Angrboda questioned the King and Queen Dowager, handing a plate of nibbles over to his spouse.

Frigga, who had gravitated to Loptr’s other side, nodded her agreement to Angrboda’s words. “The politics of Asgard were strange for many months after your departure. The people, spearheaded by Orla, began to protest Odin's reign. Citing evidence that his abuse of his son meant that his care for Asgard was also untenable; that the Allfather did not deserve to be a father to anyone. Honestly, if our society was not a kratocracy, with monarchs literally having unachievable powers, Thor may not have been able to hold onto his title.”

Thor signed deeply. He often wondered if he should have allowed himself to be pushed out or to abdicate peacefully without any heirs. The job of kinghood was not the endless party he thought of in his youth nor the total control his father favored. But true peace in the nine realms for the first time in many millennia would make everything worth the trouble and sacrifice. 

Thor cleared his throat and thought, “Loptr, you were a martyr, a figure to rally around for change. Many still wear your colors and tell your story, even after the years and all the compromises I have made to keep a more …constitutional monarchy. That is why you should expect more praise, acclaim, and grandiose treatment as if you were all the Norns placed into one body. You are the symbol for the common folks' of higher status and an increased quality of life.”

Loptr finished his plate, setting it down before laying to rest his head on Angrboda’s shoulder, who welcomed him by wrapping an arm around his waist. “Well, that is a bit uncomfortable. People placed on high pedestals only have one way to fall, and I have no time for more disconcertment in my life. That statement leads my thoughts to the Hela predicament. Can I have more details about the situation outside of the council room?”

Frigga, in a manner she thought very sly, cautiously linked fingers with Loptr. Her actions gave Thor a rare opportunity to make eye contact with Loptr and share a moment of uncomplicated amusement.

“I admit that I do not quite understand the seidr knowledge of it all. Yes, yes, I should have paid better attention in class and not disregarded any talk of seidr. But as I understand it, Odin trapped Hela in a separate pocket dimension linked to his soul's energy, and once his soul… fails, so shall the door." 

Thor continued his explanation, "The best advice we have gotten was from the Alf mages. They suggested shifting the spell's energy onto a more… immortal object. Several of their seidrkona and madr have been researching different manners and ways to accomplish that. But, of course, we still accept your aid, and perhaps your expertise would allow for the discovery of a swifter solution.”

“I would be willing, but I make no guarantees. And any solution I may find cannot put Jotunheim or myself into harm's way,” Loptr placed his free hand onto his stomach. “I have something more important to me than Asgard and the universe itself. So now tell me, what did Alfheim ask for in exchange for their aid.”

Thor blushed, still not quite comfortable with the subject, “Trade and economic advantages, of course, and an arranged marriage. The next queen of Asgard shall be Alf. Lady Alruna of House Bodil and I shall marry sometime in the upcoming autumn season. Uhm, I hope you will accept an invitation.”

Loptr smirked, “I look forward to seeing how well you can woo a woman, who is already won. I anticipate much laughter on my part. But before any invitations can be issued, I will decide if I wish to set foot on Asgard again after a reunion with Odin. Hela must be taken care of before any celebrations, right?” Head tilted in question now.

Chapter Text

The walk to Odin’s current chambers was strange, to say the least. This side of the palace was slightly more isolated than others due to the lack of boarding dignitaries. Walking down the corridor with Thor and Angrboda, Loptr’s expectations of what was to happen in a reunion with Odin began to take imaginary routes. 

Frigga had already begged off walking to Odin with the group, not even wishing to be in the old king's presence. And the crowd at the door thinned and dissipated once they had realized the royal’s destination. 

Thor had already explained Odin's isolation and disgrace, but Loptr can admit to himself that he never expected any comeuppance to reach the untouchable Allfather. He does not much mind his new martyr status if it had been used to take Odin down several notches. 

Hand grasping onto Angrboda’s arm during the journey, Loptr began to work his magic. Carefully, blue began to creep up the bodies of the two Jotnar. Thor kept his calm, watching and walking with the men at his side, as they grew in height to tower over him. 

Turning down the final hallway, Loptr could only breathe deeply, letting out some frosted magic with the expelled air. It is time to meet the man he once lived his life to please and then spite (in a manner of speaking).

“This door,” Thor gestured to the room whose entryway was easily misplaced in the mundanity of the rest of the hall. “I do not know the mood he would be in, but his wants do not truly matter anymore,” the flippant tone in his voice surprised the couple.

“Can we speak with him alone?” Loptr knew this question was inappropriate. Leaving old enemies not yet allies alone with an former king would be unimaginable. But there was some dignity he wanted to keep and Loptr could not guarantee an even-tempered reaction.

Thor acquiesced to the request, “As long as we leave the door open and you give me your word not to hurt or kill him, then you can be physically alone with him.”

“Of course, no harm shall come to Odin at our hands,” Angrboda answered for him, but Loptr also nodded when Thor sought confirmation of the statement.

“Very well,” Thor stepped up to knock, open the door, and shift aside for the entering giants.

Passing the threshold, Loptr steeled himself for the oncoming conversation. 

Resisting the immediate urge to sneeze and bat at the flecks of dust in the air, Loptr trailed his eyes over the room looking for the old king. Finding, instead, grand furniture in disrepair and wonderful artifacts and fabrics scattered haphazardly over any available space.

The couple took soft steps deeper into the room, vaguely acknowledging the crack left in the door and distracted by the sound of a shuffle.

Odin All-father strutted into the receiving room. Any anger or trepidation left Loptr’s body at the sight of his ‘adopted’ father. The man truly looked all five thousand and twenty-seven years of his age and behaved like so. Wearing a bathrobe adorned with his military epithets and matching his war helmet with fur slippers, Odin looked quite the sorry sight.

There was an impregnable minute of silence that was ended by a derisive snort from Odin. The man rolled his eyes and proceeded to sit in an armchair like it were a throne. “Is this Thor's next venture in breaking my soul-bound spell? Seidrkona from Jotunheim? Even though the last of their competent mages were …taken care of by Hela herself.”

“Seidrmadr.” Angrboda corrected, and Odin ignored.

“This room has had a rotating door of mages for months. Each one leaving disappointed that my magic, the magic of Odin All-father, is not so easily undone. Jotunn, tho? That is a new development from the high council. I thought the unrest between the two realms would last until Ragnarok or at least until Hela destroyed everything.”

Odin's tone was so thoughtless and unbothered that Loptr could not help but ask. “Do you wish for Hela to conquer Asgard and the realms? Why are you not more concerned about the timer that is your life?”

Odin looked down his nose condescendingly at the larger being and his answer was patronizing. “Hela will come and go, Asgard's name will be eternal. Do what you came to do.” he waved a dismissive hand, “Seeing as these efforts are fruitless, allowing Jotnar around my person is undesirable, do be quick about it.”

Loptr stood statue-still after that statement and it took a touch on his arm from Angrboda to get him to approach an entirely relaxed Odin. Weaving seidr more easily than blinking, the air thickened around the sitting elder and the looming giant.

Loptr, in his mind's eye, observed the glamour held around the pocket dimension prison. It was very similar to the one used to hide Loptr’s true nature. Odin was not very creative.

Banishing the illusion, Loptr ran incorporeal hands around the frame and woodwork of the door, all solid stone and intricate décor. There were no bars, no holes except the keyhole, and the air within was filled with the essence of Odin's life force. Once Odin was dead, it would create a small space for a being of great power to slip through.

One step back from the keyhole to take the entirety of the door altogether, Loptr could picture a turn of his life like this one. Back when he was Loki, if there was ever a time that he defied the King, would it have earned him an impenetrable prison? If after any one of his punishments, he had rebelled, then would that have ended in the horror of being thrown away and forgotten?

Loptr flexed his fingers with indecision but forced himself to place his hand on the face of the door. Hopelessly trying to get a feel for what was on the other side he could not see. He snatched his hand back in shock when a great bang came from the imprisoned goddess. Then a series of bangs came, each angrier than the last. A feeling of bloodlust and revenge washed over Loptr so strongly that he was immediately pushed out of Odin's mind space. 

Panting heavily against an Angrboda, who caught him before he could fall, and asked a question he could not hear. Eyes trained onto the smirking father, no repentance for the eons of solitary confinement torture he was inflicting on his eldest.

“You knew her prison was not a permanent solution, right? She gets more enraged by the day, and you do nothing to abate her wrath, why? Are you always so willing to throw opportunities and away children?... Of course, even in your hatred, I am not unique.”

“Hela served her purpose and she will do so again. But you speak as though you know me. You are not old enough to personally know ‘Odin-the Conqueror’. Hmm, who are you?” Examining the blue skin and red eyes in front of him, calculations and ideas were computing in Odin's mind.

“Ahh, the runt Loki. Returned after your dramatic exit, I see.” Odin laughed brightly without humor.

Chapter Text

The door banged open.

“That is enough.” Thor interrupted, words pointed in derision toward Odin. Unwilling to let his father's poisonous behavior drive his brother away again. Turning dismissively from the old man, King Thor asked, “Loptr, did you see what you needed to?”

Angrboda helped Loptr stand, “Let us leave. There is nothing left for us here, but to return home and make sure that the little one is alright.”

“Little one? Oh Loki, do not tell me you have chosen to be Ergi, in the womanly role as well. I tried to save you from your origins, and this is how you repay me. Disappointing; Children never listen.” Odin shook his head at the embrace of the blue giants and shot a disapproving look at Thor, who was trying to herd them out the door.

“I no longer care for what you have to say. I have not cared for years. You should be happy to know that I do have the power to shift Hela's prison dimension onto something that cannot die. Perhaps, the Casket of Ancient Winters itself. Have Asgard forever know which beings saved them from Odin, the deceiver.” Loptr spoke without doubt, and the reaction was instantaneous.

Odin leaped from his makeshift throne, “No, you will not . My magic will hold. You are not stronger than the King of Asgard,” his foot stamped onto the ground in childish anger.

Thor stepped in front of the couple, “You are NO LONGER the King of Asgard, and our people will survive your death. No matter how much you must wish it; Asgard is not yours to possess and destroy. Asgard is its people, and they have spoken. You shall not have any will or influence on their future. I shall make sure of that.” 

Thor gruffed out his diatribe directly into Odin's face, noting that the idea of Asgard being more than his plaything had horrified Odin. Thor snarled in disgust and managed to get his brother and brother-in-law away from the mad former king and out the door into the deserted corridor.

In the silence following the encounter, there were too many unspoken words flitting through Thor’s mind. There was no time like the present to set them free.

Eyes cast downward, Thor shook his head, “I am sorry, I am so sorry that I never noticed how much pain you were in. So deeply ashamed at the part I played in your torment. I want you to stay. Not stay on Asgard, or be an Asgardian, but I miss my brother, and I would like to have him back. So please, stay, stay in my life. Do not disappear again.” A breathless, fearful confession.

Loptr let go of Angrboda's hand to approach Thor. The man he became was so different from the boy he remembered. Thor’s body was slightly trembling from the held tension, anticipating a negative reaction. 

Slowly, Loptr wrapped his arms around Thor's form, utterly dwarfing the golden god in blue. Thor shivered from the slight chill, but he wrapped his arms around the blue waist. Loptr morphed easily into his Aesir form, head now lower than Thor’s, arms tightening. 

Loptr spoke into his shoulder, “I missed you too. I am relieved that you wish to be brothers again. It will be a joy to have an older brother again. I am willing to admit little brothers can be very… persistent. And my child would always appreciate the love of more family, three uncles and three grandparents.”

Thor wiped at his watery eyes. Pulling back to hold Loptr’s arms in happy camaraderie and quipping back. “Absolutely. I would spoil them rotten if you would do the same to mine.''

“Come now, we should find out what else the Alfheim mages uncovered. I should be able to undo Odin's soul tie and prevent Ragnarok. We should also talk of attempting to make a suitable compromise with Hela. No one deserves eternal imprisonment, and certainly not on Odin's justifications.” 

Loptr pulled out of the hug, transforming once more and meeting Angrboda's surprised, yet pleased, expression with a soft kiss. “After all that is said and done, we can then make plans to join our two realms together in peace, to keep our family together, and certainly to help you plan a wedding. Otherwise, I know you will botch your big day.”

Blue eyelids paired well with rolling red eyes and teasing amusement.

Chapter Text

Empty silence and tepid wind. The expansive, unending prison was the color of dull gray, rough stone, and bedrock. Centuries spent subsisting on the life force of the Allfather, no food, water, or change.

The Allfather!

Even the thought of him sends Hela's psyche into a spin. How dare he?! Creating her out of the cosmos to be his sword and shield, with no other purpose.

Before she had drawn breath for one hundred years, Hela had already spilled the blood of his father, his three brothers, and every extended cousin with a claim to his throne.

Odin's conquest didn't stop with Asgard. He sent her off to conquer the other realms with various success: Vanaheim, Alfheim, Nidavellir, Svartalfheim, Muspelheim, and Jotunheim. Niflheim had been too useless, and Midgard had been far too primitive to even bother with. 

By her first thousand years, the entirety of the Nine Realms (in essence) had bowed to Asgard. But for some unfathomable reason, the Conqueror became satisfied. Satisfied with the five realms of acknowledgment, when there were others in the universe with hundreds of thousands.

He had arranged a marriage to a Vanaheim warrior, ordered Hela to set down her sword, become some pampered princess with siblings to dote on, and suitors at every turn- like he hadn't been one to wash her face with viscera. 

So she rebelled; there was no other choice. Striking the whole of the Valkyrie army down with her, ultimately, she could not subsume the life force that had created her. 

It has required all her patience, but Odin will die because of her. She will pull at his seidr until he crumbles to nothing. And the moment her prison door opens, she shall step through and mark her ascension to the throne by preparing all of Asgard for conquest.

Soon.

Soon.

A mote of rock dust shifted, and without conscious thought, a sharp column of Hela's will speared through that atom. Nothing moves in this world. The warrior sits surrounded by those spikes. Every twitch in her environment was met with violence and force, in between a few moments of anger, her existence is numbing boredom. 

Hela looked ahead. Staring at nothing, lost in her mind, the only interesting place she could access. Her only escape from the depressive and manic moments is her mind, and for a soldier, her imagination is lackluster. She can only conjure scenes of killing Odin in the worst ways, laying blood upon the worlds, breaking the spine of his bride, or slamming the heads of faceless siblings.

Occasionally, her mind gives her the view of a field of flowers before a battle or the rocking of the ocean before the firing of blasters. Hela lives for those few moments of peace. Well, that, and the idea of slamming a fist through an old man's ribs.

Then a change occurred.

Seidr seeped into her lonely prison. An unknown feeling, like someone was touching her door, watching her like she was a caged pet. 

The only person who knew the entrance to this dimension, the only one who would be here to mock her, was Odin.

Hela reacted rightly and destructively. She shook the floors of her entire dimension by pulling a multitude of spikes out of the ground and sending them shooting into the blank sky. Her rage did not end for long after that intruding seidr had snapped away.

Her void returned to its usual state with no other interruption from any watchers, and Hela returned to her limited imagination with only occasional smiting of a speck of nothing.

Hela bolted upright, mind awake once again. An oddity had re-occurred.

Odin's seidr announced its presence at the edges of her mind. Was the Allfather playing games with her? Poking the wolf through the bars only to pull back before it could claw at your wrist? Well, the man will find her equal to the challenge, no matter how many years (or centuries, or millennia) she has idled in this prison, her abilities have never faltered.

Ever so timidly, like a predator creeping on prey, the seidr started to coagulate at a single point roughly twenty meters in the grey distance. Hela prepared herself. At the first twitch, a spark in the cloudless dim distance, she struck.

Her rock spike made a twanging sound as it connected and pushed through. The seidr disappeared, retreating. After investigating the space, Hela found no evidence that would indicate an opening portal or any essence bleeding through. Then what was the point? It does not matter, Hela would stay ready.

The Goddess of Death was always ready. That build-up and pointed concentration of seidr happened fifteen more times, with an unknown amount of time passing between each reoccurrence. Once the sixteenth sharp ting of rock spear hitting seidr resounded in the emptiness, Hela had another thought.

Whoever was on the outside could not be Odin. That man would not try so hard, so many times, to gain access into her prison. The traitorous king would either force his way through or give up on the second try.

That means that someone else is trying to gain access to this space. A rescuer or an assailant? Hela has not felt the blood of an enemy on her skin for far too long; she hopes for an assailant.

Once again, the shift in seidr builds, Hela waits for its completion. The air sparks. A sound clangs- her spear reacted without her say. The seidr is gone, and Hela let out a growl of frustration. She had prepared to bide her time, but instead, reacted prematurely.

Her perfect control faltered.

Okay then, next time. (If there were a next time. Would the not-Odin person get tired of this game? She was trapped here, and they held the power to end the most simulation (fun) she has had in millennia.)

Her determination did not make her propensity for violence easier to manage. By trial forty-nine, Hela was well and truly losing her mind.

No matter her desire, she could not stop herself, her will from reacting, and a spear from halting the incoming seidr.

But next time.

But next time.

But next time!

Chapter Text

Trial Run: twenty-five, sixty-eight, one hundred and two.

Hela was sitting on the hard stone, waiting. (She does not know for how long.) Knees tucked up to her chest, arms locked tight around the fold of her legs, and she shakes from the effort of holding herself together.

This time, whenever or wherever the seidr approaches from, she will let it manifest. See what it is trying to accomplish for the first time and hope for a rescue party. (Not that she needs someone to save her, she can do that all on her own.)

Seidr builds.

Hela holds herself even tighter, putting all of her concentration into not moving any part of her body, mind, or will . The spark ignites and pauses; Hela's body trembles from her rigid posture. The whirl of seidr rises exponentially. Hela removes her mind from all thoughts of anything else, but stillness. Still like a hollow weather, still like the void of space, still as her life has been until now.

Eventually, the spark grows to the size of a human head, and it pauses again. Hela waits. Nothing reaches through. The seidr continues to bolster the hovering circle. Once it reaches the size of her torso, the growth halts.

Hela takes a moment to relax, disappointed but curious, that is not the size of a portal. 

The intruding seidr created a window to a not-gray world, which now hovers stagnant meters away. 

Hela rises, making sure to keep hold of her Everything, and approaches the glass. From a distance, all she can see is blue. But as she sharpens her brain, facial features are picked out from the mass, until she is a foot away from the window and a jotunn is staring back at her.

Hela is confused more than anything. She defeated quite a number of those frost giants in many bygone wars. Why would one of them be so desperate to reach her now?

The jotunn stands in disbelief, and Hela has time to take in his horns, jewelry, and clothing more suited for a humid climate than Jotunheim's tundra.

Carefully, the jotunn raises his hand, and Hela prepares herself but keeps control. He gestures to his throat as he speaks words that Hela can not hear.

"Hello," Hela resists the urge to cover her mouth at the rough sound of her voice. Screaming into nothingness has done damage to her vocal cords. She subtly tries to clear her throat, and it is surprising how hard that feels.

The other doesn't seem to notice her distraction and instead begins to move his hands in a pattern that Hela can recognize as Asgard's soundless language, which she had never bothered to learn. In this moment, she wishes she had bothered to learn. She shakes her head to translate her ineptitude to the jotunn, and he stops his vocal attempts and gesturing.

Instead, he stoops down for a blackboard and a piece of chalk and crisply writes out: 

'I can hear you, but you can not hear me. Yes or no?'

Hela nods her agreement, afraid to embarrass herself with her voice.

He nods his understanding. Before he takes the board back and begins to write. Hela has more precious seconds of opportunity to take in the figure of the first being she has seen in so long.

He looks royal. He must be at the very least a noble, probably a prince. His movements are elegant, and so are his writing patterns. His body does not tower over her in his comfortable cross-legged position. And the vast space surrounding him is the light blue mist of an early morning rising sun. It is the most beautiful scene that Hela has ever beheld in all her centuries.

He ends his paragraph and looks his words over, while Hela tries to maintain her facade of stoicism without a hint of curiosity. (She is failing at that calm, her fingers tap on her thighs.) He turns the board to face her, and she reads:

'My name is Loptr Laufeybairn, I am here to help. You have been within this mindscape for over two thousand one hundred years. We recently learned of your existence and Odin's mental manipulations-.'

A spike slams into the glass, and the viewing window and the jotunn disappear.

Hela rages against nothing, because she understands what he hesitated to say; Odin erased her.

Chapter Text

The room was just as Loptr remembered it. Well, dustier, with all of Loki's personal belongings gone- many of them were Loptr's now. Still, the emotions trapped in this room had yet to fade.

The two brothers had come here for the privacy and the memories of a simpler time, before lies and secrets tore them apart.

Loptr collapsed onto the couch and blinked a little faster as some dust motes flew up. He ignored the flecks to continue his report to Thor. "All my progress instantly regressed with the mention of Odin."

Loptr massaged his temple, trying to stave off the building headache. He took the offered cup of water from Thor, allowed himself a simple sip, before continuing. "She looked reasonable enough after a lifetime of isolation. No signs of self-harm and no attempts to use the two-way window to escape. Calmer than I expected."

"Calm? Is that how you describe her one hundred and forty-three instances of rejecting your seidr?" In Thor's humble opinion, risking his brother's life was not worth the small possibility of gaining an unstable sister.

Loptr opened his eyes, but did not raise his head to make eye contact, "If you were locked in some grey void for eternity any change in your environment would cause panic and violence. The problem is I do not know how to have a conversation with her in any solid manner of getting answers or providing rehabilitation, without mentioning her circumstances."

His brother was too kind, "She is not your responsibility; It is not your responsibility to fix what Odin broke again. Why not simply move the door into the casket and allow Alfheim's mind healers to interact with her instead? You should be concentrating on the baby."

"Babies, twins."

"Really!"

"Yes, our mother noticed the splitting in my seidr yesterday. I have informed everyone else; My dam, sire, younger brothers, Angrboda, and you are all in agreement that I should leave this alone. Leave her alone, and care for more important things." Head tipped back, eyes closed once more. Loptr was excited for his growing family and the love he had surrounding him, but he could not let this, let her, go.

"Why not heed our advice?" Thor moved to sit next to Loptr so their arms might lean on each other. Noting the expression on the mage's face Thor had to ask, "What does she mean to you?"

A sigh pulled from a deep well of heartache. Prince Loptr of Jotunheim may pretend that Prince Loki of Asgard never existed some days, but that man and his lonely experiences were locked away somewhere within him and loathed to be brought to the surface.

"She looks like me or rather, to be more accurate, I look like her. We have the same narrow face framed by long black hair, piercing bright eyes, and smirking lips. Odin must have modeled my Aesir appearance after the daughter he had imprisoned not five hundred years before. Every time he looked at me he was looking at her. How many of my childhood punishments were influenced by him judging me by her actions and outcomes?"

Loptr leaned his head onto Thor's shoulder, and an arm wrapped around him in response. "What would I have to have done to deserve her fate? In another life, are we cellmates in a gray world? I cannot help but want to save her from him, from herself, because I got the wake-up call she never did. Help her understand that Odin is not worth the anger and the grief."

Thor tightened the half hug, trying to keep his brother present in the moment not floating through possibilities that will never come to pass. "I understand, or at least I hope I do. But if she is too far gone and you can not save her, that would have no reflection on you. Just remember to blame the appropriate person."

"Such wise words, King Thor."

Thor took a deep breath, "I have been thinking. And I am starting to believe that I was never meant to succeed. Odin wanted to be the final good. For the prosperous age of Asgard to begin and end with him. I do not remove my culpability; The numerous privileges I wasted ignoring all the people who depended on me to attend princely classes and champion the downtrodden."

He hesitated a moment, "Odin encouraged my arrogance and narcissism, because he wanted me to fail. And now, I am left playing catch-up to all that I should have learned earlier. You say I am a wise King, thank you, but I do not feel it. There are too many mistakes in my head."

Loptr brought the voice of reason, "Well, you, unlike him, can learn from your mistakes. And I, unlike her, repurposed my anger for freedom. We will be better than the expectations of those that came before us."

Thor did not know how to answer that statement, so he just nodded. "I say give her a timeline. If by your seventh month she shows no solid improvement, pass the work to another mage. I need you to stand with me at the altar and I cannot have any added complications."

"I will endeavor to be done by your nuptials. But, to be clear, a jotunn's gestation period is twelve months long, I will still be pregnant during the ceremony." Amusement poured off the expectant dam, at the incomplete plan.

"Twelve months?!" Fear scrunched Thor's eyebrows.

Loptr could not help but laugh, it felt lovely.

Chapter Text

There was nothing to destroy in Hela's prison. A flat landscape of gray sky and gray stone, even so, the effect of destruction was still present. Rock dust filled the air, broken chunks of earth littered haphazardly around gigantic protruding spears.

An emotionless Hela sat as the focal point of the debris. She felt his seidr build again for the forty-third renewed trial.

She does not understand Loptr Laufeybairn, child of a king she had faced in battle many times. Why was a prince of another realm trying to reach a prisoner they had no stake in? Ultimately, it was in questioning the jotar's intentions that Hela allowed the glass window of seidr to form.

The man looked surprised. Behind his large frame, Hela could see a new glowing wall. How curious.

Loptr gestured to the object and slowly demonstrated. His lips moved with sounds Hela could not hear; In tandem, the enchanted wall began forming text on its surface.

'Now that we know I can hear you, but you cannot hear me. I have brought this speech-to-text instrument to make our communication easier.'

But why? How many times are they going to communicate that would make the very endeavor of finding or making such technology worth the effort?

"Why?" Hela's voice was as rough as gravel, but the low tone did not prevent the other from understanding.

Loptr nodded, considering the simple question and answered as the text appeared behind him.

'There are some of us who believe your punishment is undeserved; We would like to release you... after an understanding that you will not be a danger to yourself or the public around you. Are you willing to work with me, us?'

Hope blossomed in Hela, and a path for revenge and retribution had appeared. But no, there had to be some hidden trickery; An underhanded bid to use Odin's warhorse against him. Turn the tide in the unending conflict between Asgard and Jotunheim with her as the blunt weapon. 

"Do not attempt to deceive the Goddess of Death. I know the Allfather is still alive. My freedom would gain his ire. What does Jotunheim gain from such kindness , but the mighty hand of Asgard's warriors?"

Loptr sighed, the way one does when they are tired of repeating a story.

'I am not here as a representative of Jotunheim, but rather of the King of Asgard, Thor Odinson. He has, of late, become conscious of his sire's mistakes, and he wishes to undo your imprisonment. There shall be no wrath from Odin for he has fallen out of power in his old age. I am circumventing his sight to visit you.'

The response given tasted like sugar in Hela's mouth.

Odin was weak, and his soft-hearted heir was on the throne. Both of them should be easy enough to get rid of in her quest to regain Asgard's army and return the populace to its conquering days. Hela wants to be gleeful, but maintains her stoicism in front of the man she knows is only half-explaining himself.

"So my little brother, thief of my joy, wishes to be contradictory to Odin's expectations? Fine. But that still does not explain your role in this. Has Asgard lost all its sedir mages that it had to outsource this dirty work to Jotunheim?"

Unlike his other swift replies, Loptr had a great pause of deep thought as he examined his hands. In a manner of a fading mirage, the figure of the beautiful giant slowly slipped away, shrinking and lightening until a copy of her stood across the glass pane. 

Hela has not had a reflective surface to view herself for hundreds of years, but she imagines she would look much like the Aesir that Loptr had become. Tall, solid muscle, long dark hair to his mid back still braided in the style of Jotunn royalty, thin face, piercing eyes so similar to her own.

Hela took a step back in surprise and was doubly stunned that her will had not struck the viewing window clean through in her moment of shock. "What's the meaning of your transformation? Being able to see myself in you is not a welcome sight."

Her counterpart smirked, incredibly similar to her own. 'This is not your face, it is mine. My birth name, my chosen name, the only name I will answer to is Prince Loptr Laufeybairn of Jotunheim... but the second name given to me was Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard. I am technically your little brother by adoption, although I do not imagine that Odin signed any papers when he decided to take me.'

What.

Wait, what? "Are you serious? Odin resorted to kidnapping the Crown Prince of Jotunheim?"

'He did, I found out four years ago. I have rejected the man as my father, but I do claim Frigga Allmother and King Thor still. And I have reclaimed my stolen family, title, life, and future. I am here because I hope I can help you to do the same; Be more than the man ever wanted you to be, ever thought you could be.' His face, her face, was too kind.

Hela did not know how to react, nor what to say. In the end, she shook her head to push the ensuing thoughts away, and the pinging sound of the broken connection filled her prison.

Chapter Text

Loptr was once again in his blue form. (Looking into warped mirrors is not Hela's idea of fun.)

'If you want the whole story, I would have to introduce you to someone who can answer the details. Would you be able to handle that?'

She would never admit it, but she is also grateful for Loptr's presence, no matter how many times she rejects his hand, he keeps reaching out. What she is not grateful for is his accurate observation of her lack of control. She can not guarantee that more change in her routine would not inspire violence. 

She would struggle to maintain her reaction if the 'another' is Odin's wife or Thor, but if she gains knowledge regarding the story of Odin's downfall, then there is much she will endure. 

"I will not harm the messenger." Hela's reassurance is mostly hollow; without the restrictions of this prison, she could not guarantee anyone's safety. For the first time since her birth, control was something she was struggling with. "Who is the person you would have to bring?"

Loptr examined her, perhaps reading between all her unsaid lines, 'Give me a moment, I will be returning with Thor, King Thor.' 

The viewing glass slowly shrank out of existence and disappeared, having a natural 'death' for the first time.

With her sole watcher gone, Hela took a moment to rage internally. She kept a tight hold on her will as her thoughts expanded on the boy who replaced her. Odin's desire for Thor to grow up in an 'innocent and forgiving' world was the final nail in the coffin for Asgard's expansionary destiny.

It might not have been directly his fault; Thor had not even been conceived yet, but the idea was there all the same. Without Odin's desire for a controllable heir, the war would have never stopped.

Hela was shaking with the effort to calm her agitated blood when the initial blossom of Loptr's seidr arose. She forced herself to uncurl in that split second, to straighten her back, and put on a face of ease by the time the looking-glass had settled.

Hela approached cautiously, consciously maintaining control before glancing at the second person she has set eyes upon in two millennia. 

Thor was tall, obviously not taller than Blue Loptr, but was taller than what she remembers of the average Asgardian. Just like his stature, everything else about him draws attention and shines, from his shoulder-length golden hair to the bright blue eyes and winsome athletic frame. Hela can imagine how glad and boastful Odin must have been to bring forth such a child- her complete opposite.

The only thing unpleasant about the young King was his expression; it was fierce, unforgiving, and in many ways reminded Hela of Odin. She bared her teeth back in defiance.

Loptr stepped between the two of them. 'Settle down before this situation escalates.'

He raised meaningful eyebrows at Thor, who lowered his shoulders a little bashfully and relaxed his frown. Hela followed suit.

'Loptr said you wanted to know about Odin's... disgrace.' The words formed steadily on the blackboard behind the men. Just from the differences in how the men's handwriting was magically represented, Hela could draw many conclusions regarding their personalities.

"I am bursting with curiosity." Spoken with a sarcastic deadpan tone, Hela raised a rocky seat from the ground and sat as comfortably as she could upon it, "I am all ears, storyteller."

What followed was a tale of hubris, of an old man desperate for grand mythologies, no matter the cost. Hela oddly could not help but pity Odin, whose plans for a glorious end to his golden age tripped at its final moments.

At the end of the story, Thor spoke himself hoarse answering both her and Loptr's extensive questions. Cautiously, Hela reached for the most pertinent question hovering around her like a miasma.

"Will Loptr truly let me out of this prison? As King of your people and secondary heir in truth, will you allow for such a threat to your position?" It is the kind of inquiry Hela could have kept to herself, but she had to ask, just in case the hope burgeoning behind her chest was all for naught.

Loptr blinked red eyes at the change to such a sensitive subject, but made no move to interrupt the forthcoming answer.

Thor breathed deeply, contemplative, 'I do want to let you out of there. I do not believe in Odin's justifications for your imprisonment, and I can explain away your murderous reaction as self-defense. But... after so many centuries of forced isolation, I wonder if your instincts for violence are unmalleable.'

'If or when you see Odin again for the first time in so long, would you be able to walk away and not retaliate?' Th e golden god paused for a moment thinking through his words before: 'I wonder if we can trust you.'

The end of the line brought uncomfortable thoughts to the surface of Hela's mind. For truly, she did not know the answer to his question and could make no guarantees on her ability to change.

Chapter Text

Thor had initially been against the idea.

Thor has accompanied Loptr on several visits, and even after four months, he is still unsure about his sister's intentions. It is always a fifty-fifty toss-up on whether the meeting will end calmly with parting words, or if Hela would be triggered by something said or done and strike the mirror glass in a violent fit of anger to close the connection.

Because of that instability, Thor could not predict what Hela's reaction would be to Frigga's presence.

The Dowager had insisted, of course. 

Once Loptr had established that Hela was cognizant and thus hopefully reasonable, Frigga had wanted to lay eyes on Odin's first child and only daughter. Thor was quite aware of Hela's unsubtle rage towards him. For whatever reason, Hela saw Thor as the instigator of her downfall, and if that was so, how would she feel about the one who birthed him?

Regardless of Thor's apprehension, here they were, ready to enter into the dimension next door to the pocket space where Hela was imprisoned. Loptr had gone ahead to warn Hela of the third person she was going to see in a millennium. Thus, Thor and Frigga were waiting in a side room adjacent to the unknowing Odin, prepared for a portal to open.

It spiraled before them. 

Thor set his arm out. "If you are sure, Mother?"

The former queen gave her son a gentle look and took his offering, "I am sure, Thor."

Together, they stepped through into the dark gray mists with the viewing glass hovering in the air. 

In this way, Thor got to examine Hela's appearance through his mother's eyes. The most surprising thing about her is the 'almost Loptr'ness' she holds, the black long hair, curved brows, and green eyes. 

Thor knows Odin must have modeled his brother's features after his sister's, but still, among the three siblings, he looks like the adopted one (not when Loptr is blue, of course).

Thor comes back to himself at the initial acknowledgements. 

Hela had been examining Frigga just as closely. "You are the younger sister? I thought for sure he would have chosen the older, more war-worthy sister for his bride." Hela paused in thought, "Actually, no, it makes sense that he went after the younger, weaker girl, considering his plans for 'peace'."

The Allmother let the insults wash past her. Her voice wrote out a beautiful script, 'Hello Hela, I am Frigga, birth mother of Thor, adopted mother of Loptr, and I suppose stepmother to you.' 

The introduction was lovely, but Thor wondered if the reference to her being family would set Hela off.

It did, in the most unexpected way, Hela laughed. Not a simple chuckle or tittering noise, but a full-breasted guffaw peeled its way out of her.

It took a moment for the chortling lady to calm, "Nothing about Queen-hood or Odin, just motherhood? Have you accomplished nothing else in two millennia? At least my excuse is that I was stuck in here."

Both Thor and Loptr bristled at the jab, but Frigga signaled them down; It was obvious Hela was trying to get under her skin.

'I mentioned what I am most proud of. If it were a possibility, I would have divorced Odin eons ago. As for Queen-hood, the title would not long be mine; there is no need to hold onto it. But Hela, you speak as though you knew me, or at least of me. What memories of you were taken from me?'

Hela's expression turned dark. Staring into the face of a person who should know her, the knowledge that she was erased was more plain to see. 

The dark-haired woman held herself together, "We met twice. You were in the background of the assimilation negotiations with Vanaheim. I remember the look on your face when Odin proposed a marriage alliance. I am sad to see you here." That was the kindest thing Thor had ever heard Hela say.

Frigga nodded, lost in recalling the past for a moment, "I cannot regret that which brought joys with its hardship. I remember those days, but no mention of you or your presence there lives within me. Odin's spell was thorough."

There was an empty silence for a moment. 

"I do not know if either Loptr or Thor would have emphasized it, so I will,' Frigga settled her shoulders with determination. 'Hela, no one remembers you. We have recordings, tales scrounged up from the libraries of Alfheim, and pittances Odin would admit to. But your victims and your enemies have lost their thirst for vengeance along with their memories. You have a real opportunity to step out of that cage and become someone different. Someone untarnished by war, isolation, and Odin. I hope you do not waste it.'

Again, words that Thor expected to trigger Hela did not. His sister simply hummed in understanding. "Do you not fear that I may do the exact opposite. Earn my prison with this new generation."

Frigga smiled ruefully, "No. If I understand anything about your childhood and what Odin put you through, then Hela, I know that you desperately crave acknowledgement, and freedom, and love.' Frigga's smile became more genuine, 'And I have always wanted a daughter.'

The expression that flashed on Hela's face was a gaping wound, and in the next breath, the viewing glass blinked out. Hela had cut off the connection. 

Thor gave her some props; she lasted longer than he had thought.

Chapter Text

Now that Hela understood the value of days, weeks, and months once more, she spent most of her time waiting. Waiting for Loptr to visit, sometimes accompanied by Thor, or Frigga, or all three together. Waiting for the day one of them would say, 'Unlock the cage.' Waiting for revenge or redemption, she still has not decided which.

On one hand, revenge would be sweet. She can imagine it now: stepping over the threshold of her prison door, making eye contact with a shocked and blustering Odin. He may try to prevaricate with excuses, or beg for mercy, or more likely, stand firm in his choices and demand Hela be returned to her confinement. 

Whatever he says, Hela will smirk, raise a hand, and have a spear straight through his skull before Loptr or Thor or Frigga can save the bulbous man's life. That path leads back to isolation.

On the other hand, there is a saying that the best revenge is living well. Hela is not sure how much she believes that, but she is being offered redemption on a platter. She can look Odin in his eye, whatever his reaction may be, and walk away. 

She can attend Thor's wedding to the Alfheim princess, visit Loptr to see the changes he describes of Jotunheim, or sit with Frigga at her wheel and imagine she was two thousand years younger. 

It is a nice dream. The scope of her capacity to conjure beautiful things has widened, but Hela is uncertain about her ability to maintain such beauty.

It would be easier to conform to the negative expectations and violent contingencies that she knows have occurred behind closed Asgardian doors than to try to live every day being a little better than the day before.

Hela feels the expected spark of Loptr's seidr in the air and stands eagerly, before schooling her excitement into a façade of indifference.

Loptr looms tall and blue with his chalkboard, 'Good Morning, Hela.' -Oh so it is morning, that is nice to know.- 'There is someone new I would like to introduce you to.'

Curiosity alights unbidden on Hela's face. She imagines General Tyr or some other soldier to scare her away from improper behavior with threats or punishments. It could also be Lady Eir or some other healer who would appear to ask about her mental state and determine if she is fit enough to rejoin society. She does not know which she would prefer, nor can she conjure a third option.

After Hela makes no protest, Loptr beckons to someone in the dark. 

Out of the shadows steps another Jotunn, as massive and blue as Loptr, with a different pattern of swirls and dark brown hair in a high bun.

The giant wears a searching look of distrust, but bows with some respect. 'I am Angrboda, Loptr's mate and head diplomat of Jotunheim. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.'

Loptr's mate?!

"You have never mentioned a mate before." The words are mildly accusing, directed toward Loptr.

'I have not mentioned many things, in an attempt not to overwhelm you.' Was the matter-of-fact answer from her adopted brother. 'This is Angr, we met over four years ago now, and have been mated for just about three. We are expecting twins in the autumn season; the delivery will be soon after Thor's nuptials. Anyway, I felt it was time to introduce the two of you to each other.'

Wait a minute, expecting? 

Hela peers intently at Angr's midriff, searching about his hips and abs for the smallest hint of a pregnancy. She finds nothing under the giant's knowing gaze, Hela turns her attention to Loptr's torso, being careful to piece through any signs she had previously missed. 

The way Loptr's posture is shifted inwards, prepared to defend his stomach. If Hela were in the same room with them, she might even be able to feel the fluctuation of Loptr's seidr with two extra souls attached. 

There is a question on her mind.

"You are pregnant. Why are you here?" Why are you risking the lives of your unborn on a genocidal, homicidal, maniac, not-blood related sister? Is the more proper unstated phrasing.

'I have been asking him the same thing. What he feels he owes you, that he places above the well-being of his parents and brothers, who have already lost him once. The answer he has given me is that he believes in your ability to change. And for his sake, I hope that is true, for if you harm my loved ones I shall go down fighting.'

'Angr!' Loptr's body language was reprimanding in contrast to Angrboda's determined one.

'I shall not apologize.' His expression was firm.

Hela was statue-still, keeping hold of her will as the unequivocal threats from the mostly stranger continued. 

'She needs to understand what you are putting at risk for her sake. She must not squander or diminish the hazard that she is to the future of the Nine Realms and all.'

Hela nodded. This was a man she could get along with, one who knew her power and threat and treated her accordingly.

She responded most unexpectedly, "It is much too late, of course, and may mean nothing to you, but I heartily give my blessing to this union. May your joining flourish until the beginning of Ragnarok and eons beyond its end."

The expressions of the mates reflect utter surprise at her sincerity. She smiled, quite amused. 

Angr tipped his head in acknowledgment of what she did not say: that of all the people in the universe, Loptr is the last she would ever wish to harm. 

Loptr looked between them, suspicious about their sudden agreement, probably regretting the introduction.

Chapter Text

Thor is new to the feeling of anxiety. Nervous sweat and a rapid heartbeat used to be something that only happened on the battlefield, but now they are constant friend. Every decision Thor makes as King affects millions and he can never estimate the negative ripple effects borne from one positive decision. 

Nevertheless, the entirety of the High Council has finally agreed to release Hela from Odin's punishment. Hela gains her freedom with the caveat of a prepared army just in case, and they only agreed to one release date: Thor's wedding day. Their arguments made some sense; the representatives of the allied Nine Realms would already be present for the nuptials, and if it turns into a blood bath with Hela, then various fighters would be able to delay and defeat her.

If things go well, Hela can be reintroduced to all the allies of Asgard as a reformed princess and make a favorable impression of reassurance to their allies.

To be clear, Thor does believe in the work Loptr has put into Hela's rehabilitation. Whenever Thor has a chance to visit his sister, she smiles more, with quippy jokes and playful sarcasm, and now every conversation ends with Loptr peacefully closing the window. But should anything go wrong, should she not be ready, the deaths of so many would fall on Thor's shoulders.

"Come on, Thor." Loptr wakes him from his thoughts, one foot already through the portal.

Thor jogs to catch up and enters the grey world with the sight of Hela's viewing glass already opened.

"Hello, what news can you bring me of the outside world?" It has been her first question for the past month or so. Loptr has been collecting interesting stories of all the technology she has missed and intergalactic sagas from beyond the Nine Realms.

Loptr turns to him with a smile. 'Well, today Thor is the one who brings information from the outside.'

Thor feels the swoop of a rolling stomach.

Hela turns curious and promptly pokes, "You are not much of a storyteller. Have you been practicing?"

It is incredibly strange to wake up one day with an elder sibling, and the fact that Thor has yet to panic about that is amazing. The King nods and begins, 'My wedding preparations have been in full swing. Two weeks from today-'

Hela rolled her eyes, interrupting, "Yes, I remember the Alfheim Princess. Honestly, at this rate, Asgardian royalty will barely have any Asgardian blood." She made her stone seat and settled in, annoyed at the repetition of information.

Thor continued after a deep breath and a nudge of encouragement from Loptr, 'Two weeks from today is also when we have agreed to open your door.'

Hela startled so terribly that her seat deformed, and she fell to the ground in shock, "You are letting me out of here?"

'In two weeks.'

"I get to go to your wedding? I have never been to a wedding before." Hela stands; the expression on her face makes her look three thousand years younger.

'Do you believe you will be ready?' Thor asks the most pertinent questions, 'To face crowds? To feel hunger, tiredness, and irritability? To have rude words and rude assumptions thrown in your way? Would you be able to manage the negatives and positives of life with unanimity and calm? Can you be more than all that which led you to that cage?' Thor's inquiries were an unstoppable spew, and at the end, he panted from the exertion. Loptr's blue hand found its way onto his shoulder, both their attention on Hela.

Hela had taken a step back at the questioning. Slightly defensive, she answered, "I want to go to your wedding."

'That desire is not good enough to base the safety of the universe on.' Thor's tone was edging on hysterical.

Hela had her arms wrapped around herself, looking down. Slowly, she lifted her head, "I can't promise perfection, and I will always act in self-defense. But I have better control of my will, and I would never intentionally jeopardize the kindness extended to me." Her expression was defiant, ready for Thor's disbelief.

The King only nodded with a thoughtful pause, 'Okay then, I will tell mother to set out a banquet dress for you. What colors and style would you prefer?'

Hela's face lit up with anticipation. The rest of the conversation revolved around the changes in women's fashion and all the ways Hela may join in and stand out.

Chapter Text

It was, unfortunately, unavoidable that Loptr would have to be in Odin's presence once more, on what should be such a joyous day no less.

Thirteen days can pass by so fast, but here they were, roughly a year later, in the position where it all began.

"Why are you here again? I was quite glad to have scared you off last time. Where is your Ergi mate?" The old King, in his bathrobe and armor, was pitiful, but still his words had a bite that Loptr did not miss. 

If he had had to use Odin as an intermediary to see Hela, he might have given up on her in the very beginning.

Thor moves to stand between his father and his brother, "Go on ahead, I will wait here." 

The reassurance was unnecessary, but Loptr appreciated it, and he ignored whatever response Odin had to the interception.

He entered back into that gray world for what he desperately hoped would be the last time. Loptr flooded his seidr through the empty space and opened the scrying window slowly, while summoning the Casket as a focal point in tandem.

Hela was waiting a foot away, showcasing an eagerness in contrast to an expression prepared for disappointment.

Just like their first meeting, Loptr and Hela stood silent for many seconds on either side of the glass panel. The only difference was Loptr holding the Casket of Ancient Winters in his hands, the metaphorical key to unlock the prison door.

'Are you ready, Hela?'

Hela, shaking with constrained energy, nodded her head tightly as if afraid to use her voice.

With an equally sharp nod, Loptr closed the window and brushed Odin's glamour aside.

The ornate structure of the double-wide prison door appeared. The wood and iron frame, unconnected to walls and yet tightly shut, gave the impression of permanence. The chiseled patterns did not warn of who lay beyond the door, but the golden doorknob with its powerful aura gave enough of an aversion.

Loptr bent down carefully, peeking through the keyhole once more, before channeling his seidr through the Casket and bidding it to grasp onto Odin's death spell. 

The magical totem resisted for some time; the strain on Loptr's shoulders was enormous, and just when he was beginning to believe he had miscalculated and the door would not open without sacrificing Odin- 

A pop resounded throughout the void.

The bubble of Odin's seidr had broken, and the door was open, but Hela did not come charging through. Loptr banished the remaining seidr in the air and sent the Casket back into his pocket dimension.

Perhaps Hela did not realize she was free. Loptr grasped onto the handle and pushed forward, opening the door to a rocky gray landscape and a frozen Goddess.

"I never thought you would truly open it." The words were vulnerable, and hearing her smooth voice for the first time was mildly startling.

Loptr did not step over the threshold, but reached out his blue hand, "But I did. Come, it is about time you see some new colors.'

Hela was entranced by the first sound her ears had heard in so long. Grabbing onto the big hand of her little brother, and with two careful feet, Hela stepped out of her cell for the first time in two thousand years. Behind her, that little world collapsed into nothingness, and the two beings watched the spectacle implode.

When Hela made a ready signal after that satisfying sight, Loptr made another portal to the material world.

Hela squinted her eyes at the change in environment. Odin's room may be gloomy and dusty, but it was an overwhelming visual, olfactory, and auditory simulation for someone so deprived.

Loptr gave her a moment to acclimate, nodding at the monumentally relieved Thor, before remembering Odin.

The elder had shifted back with fear, single wide-eye locked onto Hela's form, and she had yet to notice the arbiter of her suffering. 

Loptr internally berated them all. Why did they not plan ahead of time and hide Odin? Surely, they should have remembered that, however much Hela has improved, there was no need to test her level of control.

Loptr braced himself when Hela turned her head downward to the sitting elder. But there were no instantaneous spikes, no bloody works or screams. 

Hela only looked at her blubbering father.

There was indecision in every minuscule twitch of Hela's face. A panicking Thor was no help at this moment, and Loptr needed a distraction. There is a sanctuary full of wedding guests ready for battle and soldiers at the end of the hall tuned in for any loud signal, so his distraction had to be small.

The perfect way came to him. Slowly, Loptr let his Aesir-form layer on top of his Jotunn body. The shift in seidr had not startled the staring contest between father and daughter. Ever so carefully, Loptr looped his elbow within Hela's limp arm, drawing her attention to him. "Pardon my presumption, but I could use someone to lean on."

Loptr's Jotunn form only had the slimmest protruding bump to indicate his almost full-term pregnancy. In a high contrast, his Aesir form had his distended belly hanging heavy with twins, and made the ache in his back painfully fierce. That genuine tint of pain showed on his face.

Was it manipulative? Yes. 

Hela could, no doubt, perceive his gambit, and she stared at his belly and arm for many moments before turning back to the former King. The man was rapidly regaining his voice, getting ready to spit accusations. 

Thankfully, Thor found his composure first, "This way, you two. If we stand here any longer, my bride will have to wait for me at the altar." The teasing tone did not quite overshadow the nerves, but Thor moved with ease toward the open door and beckoned Hela forward.

With both her little brother's expectations upon her, Hela made a choice. Tightening her arm, she also grabbed a hold of Loptr's hand and took some of his weight. Keeping her head up, she made her way out.

"What is the meaning-? Hela, no, get back here!" Odin kept blustering as Hela turned back at the exit of the room. 

Loptr no longer feared her reaction. Hela's face, body, and seidr were meditative, "Goodbye, Father. Let us never meet again."

Thor closed the door after her words and cut off the muffled yells behind it. Loptr could see the guards at the end of the hall breathe a sigh of relief, and one of them split off to inform the audience that all was well.

Hela took several patterned breaths before turning her gaze to Thor, "Surely, that is not your wedding attire? You will disgrace your new bride."

Never let it be said that Thor did not know how to play the game. "Hey now, there is nothing wrong with my outfit, and Alruna would appreciate my true self. Besides, I am King, I can wear whatever I want."

"That is the very opposite of true." Hela snarked back.

Loptr snorted, reaching his free hand to link it to Thor's arm, "Thor, I am better dressed than you, and I have two extra people to consider."

"Oh, now I see how it will be. The two of you would never get me into green and black, it is simply not my color." An upturned nose as they made their way to the changing rooms.

"No, green is not your color, but neither is red." Hela prodded with a snicker. 

The three reunited siblings spent their little journey in teasing laughter.

Chapter Text

Hela swirled around in the prettiest dress that she has ever worn. She does not believe she owned anything apart from battle leathers and armor before her imprisonment. What need did a weapon have for soft shoes and brushed hair? Well, she has had both today (and forever, hopefully).

Just after the midday sun turned to cooling hours, the royal family was finally getting ready for Thor's big moment. Hela admires herself in a floor-length double-wide mirror. The dress is of the deepest green with lace shoulders and gold embellishments on the skirt's hemline. Frigga picked well. 

Her stepmother also styled her hair, combing through it in a manner that made Hela weepy with the softness and braiding an intricate pattern for her banded tiara. Hela had never felt more human than in this moment. 

Odin would have had Hela believe that she was forged from his will and desire for victory over his enemies. But now, Hela has a mother, two brothers, and people who can gaze at her without fear, and it is more than enough. It is a heady intoxication.

"We will be late if Hela cannot pull herself together." Loptr, back in blue (It is just easier to walk that way), is seated comfortably with Angr next to him, providing little bites to nibble. 

Hela already tried to have a pastry as an appetizer. The flavors almost made her faint; she would be careful not to get overwhelmed next time she tries food. Water, by contrast, had been so refreshing that it had taken three jugs before she was satisfied.

"I think we have lost her again." Frigga came to stand beside Hela in the mirror, linking their arms, her finery of yellow and green made her look as bright as a field of daffodils.

"Perhaps the bride should be brought here? It might be easier," Angr pointed to the two women distractedly posing within the ornate looking-glass.

Thor stepped out from the side room, fully attired in golden brown cotton, white ornamental furs, and a full crown perched upon his brow, "No, no, there are many expectations of a King, and I cannot start my marriage on a dissatisfying note." He began to shoo his family out of his chambers.

"Have you not met her several times already? No more first impressions?" Loptr held onto Angr to stand, proceeded to straighten both of their gold and silver-laced ceremonial Afghans.

"This shall be my first impression as a trustworthy husband with a trustworthy family, so out the door, please." Thor herded them passed the entrance with only mild resistance.

Hela graciously let herself be pulled away from the mirror in favor of taking in the hallways once more. All the gold gilding could probably be considered overdone, but for Hela's deprived eyes, the glaring brightness was a welcome sensation.

Standing before the final doors, King Thor moved his shoulders back and nodded to the guards on either side, and bam- a crowd of thousands. For Hela to go from zero to four to ten thousand, she is surprised she kept herself together so well to walk down the aisle of cheering watchers.

By the end of the ceremony conducted by the Alfheim King, the bride's uncle, Asgard had a new, elegant Queen in beautiful robes of white and silver, and the celebratory feast began immediately after. 

At the royal table, Hela is introduced and perhaps reintroduced to so many people that she cannot keep proper track. Exchanging kind words with Laufey and Farbauti, towering twelve feet above all, is so strange considering the last time they met, it was with swords and viscera. She finds nice things to say to them, a magnanimous Lady Eir, and a suspicious General Tyr, but on the whole, she sticks close to Frigga and breathes deeply to center herself.

She spends most of the party holding her mother's hand; it is the most fun she has ever had.

"Is that the eldest, the warmonger?" Hela hears the whisper to the side and controls her will for whatever gossip she is about to overhear.

"Looks normal, does she not?" The one named Orla replies, "Another instance of cruel and unusual punishment from Odin-liar."

The world opens up, like a beam from Valhalla. 

Hela's face splits with a grin. She did not consider that the better she acts, the more Odin loses grace. She had already decided to strive to be an honorable person to stay in the good-graces of her family, and now she has something like insurance to remain faithful to that promise: Spite.

Chapter Text

"I confess that I was quite terrified of storms in my younger years. I used to run to Loptr's room for comfort. He would always tease me for my fear, but he would also let me stay."

"Truly, but you are the God of Thunder?"

"See, I am not quite sure the reasoning for my title either. I suppose it came from Mjolnir, which can project and redirect lightning strikes."

Should Hela be disgusted or amused by the scene of husband and wife still getting acquainted after ten days of marriage? Hela does not know how to play the part of older sister, treading the line between teasing and loving. She is trying, though, so for now she will leave them to it.

Hela steps closer to the metal box of contained fire. Her wool robes and warming spells are enough to keep the chill away, but the freezing environment of Jotunheim has her instantly wishing for more heat.

This side room in the clinic was created for the waiting royal families, though she is sure the grate of fire was a new addition entirely for Loptr's Aesir family. Helblindi and Byleistr, Loptr's younger brothers, Jotunn teens of equal height to Thor, sat on the colder side of the room. They were playing some kind of chess game, but with different rules that Hela did not care to decipher. Thor and Alruna were conversing on the cushioned seating, and Hela has chosen to stand many lengths closer to the fire. 

All their activities were separate, but every once in a while, after a loud yell or reverberating grunt, they would turn their faces toward the door and pause. When no one appears, there are breaths of relief and agitation. No news is good news.

Another yell, another pause. Most definitely, Loptr's labor was not easy on him. Childbirth is something Hela has never witnessed nor does she wish to. How mothers and dams could choose to have multiple children, Hela would never understand. Another yell, another pause.

It has been a long ten days since her release, and Hela has been exploring the little planetoid of Asgard. Rediscovering its hidden cervices', lamenting on the people, places, and events that have disappeared in her time away. She also sent the souls of her undead army to rest in the Norns' arms, but kept Fenrir, whom she had to leave behind for this expedition. She had to be present for the birth of Loptr and Angrboda's twins; Another grunt, another pause.

How long does birth take anyway? Should Hela be relaxing as her companions are? Maybe she should check on Loptr, but then again, she may be in the way. With Angr, Frigga, Laufey, and Farbauti, not to mention the countless helpers, the labour room may be too packed for Hela to join the fray. Indecision.

"I am very partial to morning glories, especially over the traditional roses."

"I will do my best to remember that preference."

The clacks of game pieces.

One last whoop, then silence, then the door opened,

Hela's temporary companions stood in unison as Farbauti entered and gestured for them to follow.

Hela was nervous. Should she be around in the same space as such delicate, fragile beings with impressionable young minds?

Thor did not let her fall behind, pulling his sister and his wife along eagerly.

The room was packed as Hela had predicted, but some space was made for the newcomers.

"Come look, everyone," A hoarse-voiced Loptr reclined on the cushioned mattress, holding two wrapped bundles in his arms. Mate and parents beaming around him, the Crown Prince announced, "Let me present our twins, Sleipnir and Jormungandr."

"My goodness, such strong names for such tiny beings," Thor bullied his way through for the first peek. Hela should strike him where he stands, but she does not want that to be the twins' first impression of her (plus she would miss the oaf).

Hela is patient and good, waiting for her turn at introductions. Eventually, two equally blue and tiny babies are placed in her arms. She is quite speechless.

"Would you not say: hello?" The new sire grins, teasing her, and the only reason Hela does not growl at Angrboda is not to frighten her nephews.

She turns back to the blinking babies, "Welcome to the land of the living, Sleipnir and Jormungandr. I am your Aunt Hela. Your only aunt, and I suppose that makes me your favorite relative."

Hela ignores the protests from the gallery. Thor, Helblindi, and Byleistr can argue that it is on the children to choose favorites when they are older, and Alruna can fall back on the technicality that she is their aunt by marriage, but Hela knows better. The multiverses shall collapse before she lets any harm befall these precious infants.