Odin Allfather stood on the threshold of the temple in Jotunheim, and for the first time knew in his heart that he had won. Intermittent noises of battle still reached his ears, the clash of metal on metal, screams, heavy footsteps, but the Frost Giants were finished. Odin walked forward, among the rubble and fallen bodies, his bloodstained sword held ready in case some of those bodies still harboured cold life. But no-one moved.
He looked around, seeking Laufey's body. The Frost Giant king had staggered in this direction, terribly wounded. Odin had heard that Laufey had hidden his family here in the temple. It made sense that he would head here, to assure their safety, or perhaps to ensure that the Asgardians did not take them alive.
Odin raised a hand to his face, and wiped away the blood that was oozing down his cheek from the empty eye socket. He would feel the pain of that wound later, he knew, but for now the heat of battle was still upon him, and he felt no more than mild discomfort. There was no sign of Laufey, and Odin was about to turn away and rejoin his forces in mopping up the last of Laufey's army, when a noise caught his ears. He turned back, hesitating, and the sound came again, the cry of someone injured, he thought. Odin was a warrior, but he was not without feeling for the suffering of others. An opponent who had fought bravely at least deserved the consideration of a quick death. Odin would not leave them to die slowly.
He picked his way through the snow that drifted through the rubble of the temple, towards the noise. As he drew closer, he frowned. It sounded less like a wounded warrior, more like... as he pushed aside a heavy curtain that hung, half-torn, across an alcove, he saw it.
A baby. From the blue skin, livid red eyes and strange markings on its face, a Frost Giant, but very small, for a giant's child. Why was it here? The temple of the Frost Giants was not the place where a child should be found, unless... Odin moved closer, observing the objects around the child, such items as one would expect to belong to the child of a king. So. This was the son of Laufey. He'd heard whispers from his spies, of Laufey's queen producing a child, but the child seeming to disappear. Laufey, to whom the appearance of strength was so important, might well have been ashamed of a child so undersized for a Frost Giant, but perhaps the child's mother had pleaded for its life, and so he had been hidden away instead.
The child appeared to be unharmed, certainly the strength of his cries indicated that he was healthy. But he was now, it seemed, abandoned. His father was dead, or had fled, and this mewling scrap had been left to die. Odin sighed. It was one thing to dispatch a dying warrior, quite another to kill a healthy infant, simply because there was no-one to care for it. But in the end it was more merciful, one quick blow of the blade, rather than hours, perhaps days, of screaming, of hunger and neglect until it finally died.
Odin reluctantly raised his sword, taking careful aim. He wanted to be sure that he did this as quickly and cleanly as possible. And then the infant quieted, attracted by the movement, and turned his head. One arm thrust out towards Odin, and he couldn't help seeing in it some hint of supplication, an appeal for comfort and care. Odin lowered the blade. A few years ago he might have killed the child anyway, but raising his own son had, he admitted to himself, changed him. Suppose when Thor was the same age as this child, Asgard had been overthrown, and Odin's son had been found by the conquering king. Wouldn't Odin have wished for mercy, for someone to take his son and raise him, give him a chance at a life. And Thor loved life, that much was clear in everything the four year old did, from the enthusiasm with which he devoured his meals, to the way he laughed when he played with his father.
Sheathing his sword, Odin reached out and lifted the infant from the cold stone on which it lay. The boy was icy to the touch, as one would expect from a Frost Giant, but as Odin watched, a pale colour bloomed where he held the child, a pink flush that gradually spread until it reached the boy's face. Even the strange markings on his forehead and cheeks faded, and the red eyes became blue, until Odin was holding a child that could have passed for an Asgardian, paler than his own son, and dark haired. The child gazed up at him intently, eyes fixed upon his face. A small sound came from the infant's mouth, not a howl, but a softer sound. At last, it seemed to say, someone came in answer to my cries.
A thought struck Odin. Though vanquished, the frost giants were not wiped out. They would one day regroup, reassemble their armies. And they would come seeking revenge. There would be war again, unless... unless, at that time, Odin was able to say, see, we do not hate you. Have I not raised this frost giant child, Laufey's son, as my own, does this not prove that we can coexist, if not in friendship, then content to let the other live in peace?
His decision made, Odin wrapped the child in a fold of his cloak, then turned and made his way back to his army. His warriors looked curiously at the sight of their king cradling a baby, but when he gave his orders, described which objects they should retrieve from the temple, and which they should destroy, they turned in obedience, leaving Odin to seek his horse. His generals could be trusted to mop up the last resistance. He had other concerns.
Thor stood at the window of his mother's room, and stared intently out. From here he had a clear view of the palace gates. They said Father was nearly home. The little boy knew that his mother had been very worried, all the time Father had been away, but Thor hadn't been scared. Father was the greatest warrior in the nine worlds, no-one could defeat him. Of course he'd come back safe. And, as he always did after returning from an absence, he'd have a present for Thor. Father always brought him a present, sometimes a strange new toy, sometimes some tasty treat from a far land. But always something.
There was a flurry of movement from the guards at the gate, and then his father rode into the courtyard, and dismounted, hurrying up the steps towards the palace. "Mother! Mother, Father's home!" Thor yelled, and raced from the room. But of course, Mother was there before him, and when Thor ran into the spacious hall, she was already there, talking to Father. She seemed cross about something, and Father seemed to be reassuring her. "Father!"
At the shout, his father gave something to his mother, and turned to catch Thor up in a hug, swinging him around. "Well, Thor? Did you miss me? Were you a good boy for your mother?"
"Yes, Father!" Thor said promptly. Well, there had been that incident with the spider and the lady-in-waiting, but Mother wouldn't tell, Thor was certain. "Did you win the fight, Father? Is the war over?" He paused, and looked around. "Did you bring my present?"
Odin set his son down on his feet. It must be the first time that he'd forgotten to bring Thor a gift from his travels. Certainly, a battle was not the time to be seeking presents for a child, but even on the journey home, he hadn't even thought about it. He knew Thor would be disappointed, but every child had to learn to deal with disappointment. "Thor, I'm sorry, but..."
The boy wasn't listening. He was peering eagerly at whatever it was that his mother was holding. "Is that it?" he asked eagerly. "Is that my present?"
A look passed between his parents. Odin amused, as if he'd just won some argument, his mother exasperated but resigned. Putting a hand on his son's shoulder, Odin said, "Yes, Thor. This is your gift. Didn't you tell me just a little while ago that you wanted a brother to play with?"
Thor nodded, and reached to pull back the blanket that swathed the bundle. "What games can he play, Father?" Thor asked, looking up at his father.
Odin smiled. "I'm afraid he'll have to grow a bit before he can play games. But you can help your Mother amuse him. Show him your toys, he'll like that."
Thor nodded, and turned back to the baby. It was watching him, looking baffled. Thor reached out to touch the baby's hand, and the infant's fingers curled around his own. For a moment they stared at each other. And then the baby smiled. "Look, Father, he likes me. He's smiling at me," Thor said excitedly. This was the best present Father had ever brought him. A little brother, someone he could play with, someone to keep him company in the big palace where grown ups had little time for small boys. "What's his name?" he demanded.
Odin hadn't got that far yet, too concerned with thinking of arguments to persuade his wife that taking in this war orphan was a good idea. But he didn't have to think about it. Somehow the name came to him without any thought. Yes, it seemed to suit the boy who would be raised as a prince with his own son.
"His name is Loki."