The son of a king | shall be silent and wise,
And bold in battle as well
(Hávamál)
suggested music for the fight scene: „Fehu" by Wardruna, or „Tanz mit mir" by Schelmish
disclaimer: not mine, no money made
„Come spar with us, brother!"
Loki rolled his eyes and did not move an inch from his perch on the balcony.
„What's wrong with him?" asked Volstagg, one of his brother's goons. „Too weak?"
„Of course he is, just look at him.", Sif, the shieldmaiden, answered. „Has anyone seem him at arms, away from books? I mean like: ever?"
Of course she wouldn't have. These past years, he had been training under captain Höðr of the nightwatchmen, to improve his skills in poor light and with the less honourable weapons, whatever was at hand in street fights and bar brawls. Sometimes, he'd play the burglar or assassin trying to sneak into the palace. They did not catch him often, even when he abstained from using magic.
„Still pining for his little librarian, he is." laughed Fandral.
Thor laughed, too. „Is that so, brother? Why don't you just bed her? Fandral here would long have."
Loki counterbalanced against the inevitable clap on the shoulder and rolled his eyes. Sigyn was not one of those women. Of course he had asked her – and then wished the earth would swallow him, so disappointed had Sigyn been. But she had forgiven him.
Any of the handmaids would have jumped at the chance to bed a prince, but not the goddess of fidelity. The most desirable woman in Asgard, who by the Norns' grace happened to be interested in reading, magic, realms to travel (if accompanied as proper), had a sense of humour and didn't mind dark hair.
The wedding band lay ready in his drawer, waiting for its time to come. Exploding stars, the fluttering of butterflies, a stork's swaddling, a rose's breath, pink clouds and a black widow's web, melded by a beardless dwarf. Escaping the latter's wrath had been the most difficult part of the quest, in hindsight.
And yet, they were still waiting. The younger brother did not marry before the older one and heir. But he wouldn't shame the dork by pointing that out here in public.
„Leave him be, friends!" said Fandral. „No good will come of a man in combat distracted by fair maidens."
The other men chuckled. Sif glanced at Fandral, then at Thor. She chuckled not.
Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder once more, but whispered in his ear: „I worry for you, brother. You should really join us more."
Loki nodded. They left.
The god of mischief stole a last glance at the faraway library's door, then yawned and returned to his study. There were tax reports, petitions and complaints to address. Some landowners were protesting the new Landviði bypass lightbridge. Ullr, god of hunting, wanted to list the spotted bilgesnipe an endangered species; and old Mimir demanded someone do something about his neighbour Bragi playing loud music at night. Odin now delegated some of the day-to-day issues to the princes. Naturally, that meant Thor would swear in new recruits, whereas the paperwork piled up on Loki's desk. All going well, he could see Sigyn tomorrow. Tonight, she had a family feast to attend.
The following day, Loki dragged himself late into the hall for breakfast-lunch, to be greeted by cheers and carousing. Among the long-lived Aesir, births, weddings and suchlike were so rare events that even a commoner's betrothal was celebrated with a public feast. Last night, Sigyn's father had pledged her hand in marriage to one Theoric, a day watch seargeant on the outskirts with the Hawk Guard.
Loki's legs gave out; he slumped down heavily. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to cry. Servants came rushing to his aid, dropping trays with food and wine in their haste. The prince pulled himself up by head cupbearer Kvasir's tunic and grabbed the man by the arm.
„Is it true? Sigyn Sigmundsdottir, the librarian, is betrothed?"
„Yes, mylord."
„Bring me to her intended!"
The fiancé sat at the first table to the right below the high one for the royal family; Sigyn and her kin opposite. For an instant she looked relieved to see him, bedraggled though he was, his hair in disarray and smeared with wine and gravy. But then she looked down and hid her face in her hands. Her mother sought to comfort her, while her father took more interest in the spectacle that was their prince. And Loki felt a burning rage at the world in general.
„Theoric Thietmarsson?"
„Yes?"
The young man did not seem to recognize him. Only after an older man – his father probably – elbowed him in the side and whispered something did he rise from his seat to bow.
„Your highness."
The fellow was of Loki's height, but broader built; dark-haired for an Ás (speaking of Vanir ancestry), the nose broken. One of those rabidly anti-magic guys then, who rejected even healing stones.
Loki curtly nodded to the man's elders at the table before focusing on him.
„I understand you are betrothed to the lady Sigyn, as of yesterday?"
Theoric beamed. „Of course, my prince. Before King's Day yet, I will lead her home to my house as my lovely wife."
„By Helheim no you won't!" Loki yelled, grabbing a knife from the table and jamming it into the wood right in front of his rival. „Stand down! Sigyn is mine, you hear me? Mine! You can not have her. I challenge you for lady Sigyn's hand. Everyone bear witness!"
Uproar.
Loki didn't hear it. Like a coiled snake he waited for the other man to act.
Thor rose, frowning with worry, but what broke the spell was Odin banging Gungnir to the floor.
„Silence. Loki, son, good morning. It is nice of you to join us. You're bleeding."
Loki looked at his hand. He was. Palm soiled with gravy, apparently he'd slipped down on the knifeblade. A brief flash of green magic, and the injury was cured. He bowed to his father-king.
„A challenge was made. Or do you withdraw it?"
Loki shook his head.
„You can, Loki, you know that. If you tell us that you spoke in jest, nobody will think ill of you."
Their eyes locked. ('Stop this folly', Odin seemed to will him do. 'She is a commoner.' 'I love her.' 'Foolish boy.')
Loki seethed. He wanted to yell and shout, or even to beg for his father's understanding, but that he wouldn't dare even in private. Unthinkable in the hall. Instead, he turned to Theoric.
„I made my challenge. Will you cease your claim and live?"
„Sigyn and I are promised, my prince. Of course I will marry her."
„Will you fight me for her, then?" Loki hissed.
The answer was a quiet „Yes."
„Good." The prince flipped the table to the side and snarled: „Now!"
Guests and servants scattered. Thor tried to restore order, while Odin was calming Frigga. A circle of warriors formed, eager to watch. Many wore the hawk guard uniform.
Theoric's father tried to pull him to the side, perhaps to talk him out of it, to no avail. Clearly the guardsman had made up his mind.
„One moment, prince: No magic."
„Of course not. My word upon it." For lack of sword or armring on his current outfit Loki raised his fist to his own heart.
Theoric coughed. „Pardon me, prince, but I would have solid proof. Of you being magicless, that is. We all know you are well-versed with concealing spells ..."
„What, my word's not good enough for you?"
„Does not all of Asgard call you 'Loki Liesmith'?"
Loki went very still. „Will you call me that to my face?" From the corner of his eye he saw two broken planks and a carving knife within easy reach.
Theoric ignored the question. „You must wear a collar, if you wish to duel with me."
„What?" Only slaves wore collars, or low-born prisoners convicted of magic crimes.
„An anti-magic collar, prince." As if he was slow. This was an insult to Father too, who could have prepared a place with counter-spells, but to explain that to some bonehead …
„You are aware that I need to kill you now?"
Once more Odin interrupted them, banging Gungnir on the floor. „Silence! No fighting in my hall. Move out! Wait for me on Idavöll, I shall prepare the place. No son of mine will wear a collar like a slave."
This would not do. The king of Asgard could not be suspected of granting unfair advantage to one of his sons. Loki bowed. „Forgive me, father, but I have already accepted this man's terms for holmgang. A collar I will wear – and free myself of it by his death."
Not an hour later, warriors were standing in a circle on the square outside. Word had spread; quite a lot of the spectators were of the Bat Guard, the Hawk Guard no longer in the majority.
Loki was shirtless, the magic-binding collar visible to all; long hair tied back in a ponytail, still wet and glistening from dousing off. Tjalfi, his page, handed him a seax, one of those he had crafted for himself: a small, well balanced one, engraved with writhing snakes. He took the knife, but his personal sword Lævateinn he waved away.
Forseti, god of legal action, announced the rules: „Each man may have his weapons and two shields. Once both shields are splintered, there can be no more replacement."
Theoric wore full plate armour; he was armed with shield and battle axe, a knife at his belt too.
Just then, Thor came running with a shield. Loki took it, bemused, broke it upon his knee and handed it back to his slack-jawed brother.
A Bat Guard Soldier pressed another shield into his hand. He grinned, and winked, and flung it like a discus over the palace roof.
„Now then, Theoric. Your chance to surrender and apologize. Do you? No? I thought not. My, have you not brought the weapons vault? You could bite into your shield a bit. Makes a man look fierce, I'm told."
The Bat Guard men laughed.
„Besides, don't you want a last meal?"
Theoric just grit his teeth. Glum guy.
The duelists started circling, and Loki could now see Thor tearing at his hair in worry. He knew his father would be watching from somewhere, Sigyn probably too, but he focused on the man he had to fight. The Hawk Guard men were banging their spearshafts to their shields. He nodded to his Bat Guard comrades, and they started clapping their hands in counterpoint.
The trickster made a show of drawing his seax slowly and licking it. His men cheered.
„Still not giving up? Do not cause your old man grief."
Theoric inched forward, axe wide to the side to swing, shield ready, raised a little to guard neck and shoulder.
Loki threw the seax, pinning the other man's left foot to the ground.
Theoric howled.
The blade in his foot kept him in place. His training did not allow him to drop either shield or axe to pull it out, while the enemy was standing just out of reach, unarmed though Loki was now. When the trickster started circling him again, smirking, the injured man could not turn around fully to face him; instead he flailed wildly to the sides and back with shield and axe.
The prince returned to face him. „I ask you for the third and last time: yield. I only offer you this chance because I know Sigyn would blame herself for your untimely death."
Loki twiddled his thumbs waiting for an answer, and Theoric sought to use this second that his opponent was not poised for strike to free himself of the hampering knife. Dropping his axe, he went down on one knee, gripping the handle.
Loki somersaulted over him, drew Theoric's own knife from the sheath at his belt, and rammed it into the seams of his armour, angling up through the diaphragm into the lung and twisting it. The guardsman collapsed in the prince's arms, dead before he hit the ground.
Loki retrieved his seax and gave it to the page for cleaning, putting on the proffered clean tunic. Forseti came over to free him of the collar, and he graced him with a smile, but otherwise, he ignored the audience completely.
Speechless warriors were of no relevance to him now. There was a ring to hand over to the woman he claimed. He'd talk to Thor and Father later. They all had been silent for too long.