The World He Sees
Watched 'em rise, witnessed it and watched 'em blow.
Watched 'em all blossom and watched 'em grow.
Asgard glitters in the warm glow of the afternoon light, a glorious view to any who should come to look upon it. Even after all these years, Salvig still finds himself, on occasion, overcome with the sheer beauty of it.
"Salvig."
Salvig turns, tearing his eyes reluctantly away from the window, to answer the call.
"Yes, my King?"
Odin, All-Father, King of Asgard, ruler of this magnificent realm, sits in his throne and waves a hand, beckoning him to approach. Salvig climbs the stairs of the dais and stands before him, hands clasped behind his back.
"Salvig, friend, I have need of you."
"Of course, my Lord."
Odin shifts in his seat, and were he anyone else, Salvig might think him nervous.
"I need you to watch over my sons."
Salvig waits for Odin to elaborate, but, when Odin remains silent, he simply nods and bows his head, respectfully. He moves his fist to his chest, a salute to his King, before making a swift exit.
"Thor, catch me! Catch me!" Loki screams.
He darts out from his hiding place beneath the banquet table, little legs carrying his skinny form with surprising speed.
Thor, currently standing at the top of the dais, surveying the room with narrowed eyes, spots his brother and charges, skipping down the stairs and sprinting as fast as he can towards the opposite end of the room.
Loki's laugh is high and delighted when he glances back and sees Thor chasing after him.
Salvig watches with quiet amusement as the two princes run around the room. Their shoes skid on the polished floor and more than once, Salvig thinks one of them will fall. But, they don't. At least, not for a while.
Soon though, Loki is tiring. Salvig can see it in the way the wiry muscles in his legs strain more with each step, the way his breathing has ratcheted up and the way his arms move as though trying to drag him forward, just a little bit more.
The boys are running back in the direction of the dais – where Salvig rests on one of the steps – when Loki falls. He hits the floor with a resounding smack that reverberates around the empty hall.
Salvig jumps up and rushes down to him. Thor reaches Loki first. His eyes are wide and his hands clench at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.
"Loki, child, are you hurt?"
Loki looks up at Salvig with wet eyes. His lower lip quivers as he moves to sit and examine the wound.
There is a small graze on his right knee, a tiny cut on his left, and it is probably the shock more than anything that is causing the tears to roll down Loki's cheeks.
"Come," Salvig says, gathering the boy up in his arms, "we shall go down to the healers and they will make it better."
Loki nods. Salvig looks over at Thor.
"Will he be alright, Salvig?" Thor asks, and though he tries to stand straight and tall, strong and stoic, the tremble in his voice belies his fear.
"Of course, Thor. Do not worry, Loki will be fine." And Salvig gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, is tempted to press a kiss to the top of his head, but thinks better of it, and makes for the exit.
Loki drapes his arms around Salvig's neck and fastens his hands at the back. He leans over the curve of Salvig's shoulder and says,
"Thor, don't go in my room while I'm gone." and Thor laughs, a rumbling sound that foretells the strength of the man he will one day become.
Salvig laughs, too. Loki rests his head upon Salvig's shoulder as he is carried away.
The hall is alive with the buzz of chatter, a low hum that grows louder as the night wears on, the guests all nursing huge tankards of mead that are filled and refilled by the servants who circle the table. Candles are lit around the room, flickering in the sconces that adorn the golden walls.
Odin is suitably seated at the head of the banquet table, Frigga, his faithful wife, at his side. Salvig sits near Odin with the two princes opposite him.
Thor and Loki are only teenagers, neither having even reached their sixteenth birthday yet, but Salvig thinks they already look like men. Thor, the eldest, is large and broad, his body thick with muscle – but his face reveals his youth. Loki, though the younger and smaller of the two, has an air of intelligence and maturity about him that adds many years to his mere fifteen.
Salvig takes a swig of his mead. Odin is saying something and, though Salvig tries his hardest to concentrate on the words, blinking through the haze of alcohol which is finally taking its toll, he can't quite decipher what exactly is being said. The guests around him laugh and Salvig laughs with them, hoping no one realises he joined in too late.
Odin continues speaking and Salvig's eyes drift across the table. His gaze lands on the two brothers and he spends a moment watching them.
Thor and Loki appear too wrapped up in their own conversation to notice him staring, their heads bowed and bodies leaning into each other slightly so as to be heard. Their mouths move, seemingly noiselessly as the conversations around them drown out their voices and Salvig is too drunk to even attempt to read their lips.
He is just about to look away when a sudden movement draws his gaze back. Thor is raising his hand, bringing it up as if to scrub at his face, but instead, moving towards Loki. Salvig stares as Thor pushes a stray lock of raven hair that has fallen into Loki's eyes, back behind his ear, his fingers brushing against Loki's cheek.
For a moment, the brothers simply look at each other, then, in complete synchronicity, they each break into easy grins and resume their conversation.
It's as if, in that brief moment, all the sound in the room had been silenced, and now, as Salvig comes back to himself, the noise of the feast crashes over him. His eyes squeeze shut automatically and his brow furrows as his head pounds.
"Salvig, are you well?"
Salvig looks up into Frigga's concerned face.
"I'm afraid I may have indulged a little too much. Please, excuse me." he says, pushing his chair away to stand on unsteady feet.
"Until tomorrow, Salvig." Odin calls.
"Aye, until tomorrow. Good night." Salvig replies and exits the hall.
Today is Thor's eighteenth birthday, a momentous occasion as the eldest prince becomes a man in the eyes of the nation. So young, Salvig thinks, still so young. Too young to bear all the responsibility Odin has placed on his shoulders. But it is not up to him how Odin raises his children. Thor is Odin's son and Odin will choose how best to bring him up.
A celebration is held, one of the largest and most extravagant since the King's coronation itself. There is food – mountains of it – there is wine and mead – barrels full – and joyous music and dancing.
Salvig has been present from the very start of the festivities in the late afternoon, till now, when the moon hangs suspended in the vast blackness of the star-studded sky. And if he feels the beginnings of fatigue creeping up on him, he must be the only one, for the other guests have only become more and more lively as the day wore on and are now near manic with joy.
A new song starts up, even more upbeat than the last, and Salvig decides to skip this one, slipping out of the crowd to sit on a stool nearby.
He watches the lovely young maidens skipping to and fro, the handsome men all trying to catch their eye. They dance with the freedom of youth, and it makes Salvig's heart ache a little.
The song ends and Salvig sees Thor edge around the mass of bodies to the reach the band. He says something to one of the musicians who nods eagerly in return and Thor smiles, huge and beaming.
"Would you not join us, Salvig?" Odin stands beside him, a firm hand placed on his shoulder.
"Perhaps in a moment." he says.
Odin barks a laugh, claps him on the back and nods. Frigga comes up behind him and takes his hand.
"Excuse us, Salvig." she says.
They walk together to the space in the centre of the room, cleared for the dancing. The men and women link arms, moving around the floor, then, after a few beats, swap partners. The couples swirl around the room, somehow managing to avoid colliding with any of the others, bouncing on their feet and twirling in circles.
Salvig looks on with a smile upon his face. He spots Thor in the crowd.
Thor releases the pretty girl from his arm and moves towards his next partner. At the same moment, Loki – who Salvig is mildly surprised to see dancing to such spirited music – comes into Thor's path. Thor threads his arm through Loki's and Loki turns his head to identify his new partner. When he sees his brother he smiles, small and private – a smile only for Thor.
Salvig looks away. The song finishes, another starting up almost immediately after and a beautiful woman snatches his hand.
"Dance with me, Salvig."
How could he refuse?
"Salvig, how are you, my friend?"
Salvig embraces the man before him.
"It has been too long, Fari." he says, and it has; Salvig barely recognises Fari, his dark hair now hanging by his shoulders, new, deeper lines etched into his handsome face, the evidence of the time that has passed.
Fari smiles.
They spend the day together, Fari leaving the day's agenda to Salvig, who opts to take Fari around the palace grounds and gardens, before the evening feast.
They walk down corridors, pausing at rooms which Salvig deems of particular interest, Fari making appreciative noises as they peer in.
On their way out they pass Odin making his way to the throne room with a group of armoured men trailing behind him. He pauses momentarily to wave his greeting to Salvig and give Fari a hasty handshake, before carrying on. After that, Fari walks around with a boyish, toothy grin plastered on his face.
As Salvig leads Fari down the set of stone steps to the entrance to Frigga's gardens (who had, of course, given Salvig her permission for them to enter), strange sounds reach their ears.
"Salvig, what is that?" Fari asks, halting a moment to listen.
They stand still and strain their ears, attempting to discern the origin of the sounds.
"Oh," Salvig says, suddenly in understanding, "it is merely the sounds of the men training. They often practice out here."
"Ah," Fari replies, nodding, "may we watch?"
Salvig had had other plans for the rest of the afternoon, but he feels, as this is Fari's only day here, he should try to make it as enjoyable as possible. And if Fari wants to watch the men fight, then that is what they shall do.
Salvig grins. He tugs on Fari's sleeve and leads him away from the gardens, taking a sharp right, a left, and then walking straight on down a stony path till they reach the sparring ring. He hears Fari's small gasp as they approach.
In the centre, Thor sits atop a young warrior, whose name Salvig can't quite place, smiling smugly. Another warrior fallen to the Mighty Thor.
There are a few other spectators hanging around the circle, cheering good-naturedly. Thor releases the man beneath him, standing up and running a hand through his tangled hair. He sees Salvig and waves.
"Ah, Salvig, come to watch me spar?" He ambles over to the edge of the ring, smug smile still firmly in place.
"Indeed. My friend here, Fari, wished to see the warriors train."
Thor nods at Fari, who blushes, bashfully.
"Don't forget to tell Father of my triumphs today." Thor says, then jogs back to the middle of the ring, preparing himself for his next opponent.
"Sif!" he calls, "Sif, I would spar with you, now."
The Lady Sif shakes her head.
"No, Thor. I would not want to embarrass you in front of your Father's friend." she says, eyes flitting over in Salvig's direction.
Thor scoffs, but seems to think arguing further would prove futile. He scans the crowd.
"Loki! Brother, come, it has been so long since we last did fight."
The crowd's heads turn. Loki is sitting reclined against a tree, reading a tattered old book beneath the shade of the leaves. He looks up at Thor.
"As much as I enjoy fighting with you, Brother," Loki says, "I am in the middle of this book and I – "
Thor cuts him off, grabbing Loki's wrist and yanking him up. Loki's eyes glitter dangerously.
"Thor, get your hands off me." he hisses.
Thor pays him no mind and in a few more strides they are both standing in the training ring, separated by a few feet of dirt ground. The onlookers are all silent.
Thor shoots Loki a devious smirk then lunges, his shoulder colliding with Loki's middle, and they fall to the ground, a cloud of dust rising around them. Loki lashes out with his right arm, hitting Thor square in the jaw. Thor throws his head back and laughs. He lunges again, this time with more success as he manages to render Loki helpless beneath him.
Loki twists under Thor's bulk, but Thor pins his hands above his head, now straddling his brother's thighs. Seconds pass in stillness, then a cry of pain escapes Thor's mouth and he wrenches his hands away from Loki's – only Thor notices the icy blue tinge to Loki's fingers in the few moments before it fades. Loki snarls, savage and animalistic, twisting and bucking violently beneath Thor, but cannot escape; Thor doesn't move an inch.
"Brother, release me." Loki growls, punctuating each word with a shove to Thor's chest.
Thor stares down at Loki, then complies, lifting up and off his brother. He offers a hand to help Loki to his feet, which Loki ignores completely.
The crowd stare, some with open mouths and comically wide eyes, as the younger prince stalks off, leaving the book forgotten on the ground.
Thor remains unmoving, and then, before anyone can stop him, he chases after his brother.
Salvig looks over at Fari.
"Well," Fari says, feeling Salvig's gaze, "that was certainly entertaining."
In the week before the day when Odin asks for Salvig's assistance, the palace is in disarray.
Two days ago, a small group, no more than four or five, Jotunns had entered Asgard under the darkness of night, stolen into the palace and almost reached as far as the throne room, before being found by a guard on patrol. The guard was killed, but not before he could alert the palace to their presence, and in the minutes that followed, every Frost Giant was apprehended. The guards had wanted to murder the Jotunns, as revenge for their fallen friend, but Odin forbade it.
And now, the All-Father is in the midst of negotiations with King Laufey of Jotunheim, attempting to reach some arrangement that will not result in battle between the realms. The people of Asgard fear war, but Salvig, personally, feels secure in that Odin will prevent this incident from going any further; Odin is a good King and will do anything to protect his people from war.
Odin gave Thor responsibility of Asgard in his absence and ordered Salvig to serve him until he returned. Together, Thor and Salvig have been trying to restore peace to the realm, but it is proving difficult. Fear is not an easy thing to control. It spreads with incredible speed and every day the hysteria builds and grows.
Today is the third day since Odin's departure and Salvig has just finished his duties for the day. The night is upon them, and the rising fear in the air is almost tangible. Salvig just hopes there will be no call for him in the middle of the night to calm down weeping women or break up another frenzied riot.
He walks down the long corridor leading up to the throne room, with heavy feet.
He is so completely submerged in his own thoughts, thinking longingly of his large, warm bed – plush pillows and crisp white sheets – waiting for him in his chambers that he forgets to knock, pushing the staggeringly heavy door open a few inches, before realising his mistake.
Salvig freezes in place, and raises his fist to knock, when he hears the sound of two people talking quietly beyond the door. His curiosity piqued, he peers into the room through the crack between the two doors.
"Is it true, Thor? That Asgard will go to war with Jotunheim?"
Salvig sees Thor shake his head.
"I do not know, Loki. But, Father is there now and he is – "
"Yes, I know, Father is doing his best." And there is the faintest hint of bitterness to Loki's tone.
Thor nods, solemnly. He reaches a hand out to touch Loki's shoulder, delicately, as though afraid Loki may startle and flee if not handled with proper care.
"Do not fret, Brother." he says, gently, "All will be well in the end."
Loki stares at the ground. Thor's hand travels slowly up his shoulder to his neck, cupping the back of his head and Loki leans slightly into the touch. A small smile curves Thor's lips. He tugs Loki to him and wraps his arms around his lean frame. Loki responds almost immediately, wrapping his arms, in turn, around his older brother.
Salvig's hand is still raised, poised and ready to rap against the golden door. He lowers his arm to his side.
Inside the room, the two brothers are still locked in their embrace. Thor is whispering something into Loki's ear, words not for Salvig's ears. Thor moves and presses his lips to Loki's cheek. His mouth lingers a little, and then he buries his head back in the crook of Loki's neck.
Salvig turns on his heel and strides back down the corridor.
He has seen too much, already.
As it turns out, Salvig's long held suspicions (and he has had his suspicions for a while, now – tiny, nagging thoughts at the edge of his mind, that he had tried his best to ignore), are confirmed by accident, when he isn't looking.
After Odin's request, he has been keeping a watchful eye on the princes at all times. There are, obviously, times when he cannot watch them – when his duties call for him to be out of the palace, or when Loki locks himself away in his room, or Thor takes his prized mare for a ride and doesn't return for hours.
But, when possible, Salvig ensures the brothers' movements are constantly under observation. At times, he feels a little guilty – Thor and Loki are entitled to their privacy, after all – but, he is under strict orders from his King and, for Salvig, that is the final word.
And then, one night, Salvig is lying in his bed, twisting and turning and unable to find sleep, and, on a sudden impulse, decides to take a calming stroll around the palace gardens.
He pulls on his clothes on top of his sleepwear and leaves the room.
Outside, the air is warm and heavy, heated from the sweltering afternoon Sun. Salvig treads slowly, shoes crunching on the gravel path, the low, reassuring hum of insects buzzing around him as he moves deeper into the gardens.
His eyes feel heavy, his head drowsy, but his feet keep walking and soon he comes to a clearing – a few wooden benches circled around a magnificent stone sculpture of a fair woman, with long hair that cascades around her delicate shoulders and down her curved back.
His feet come to an abrupt halt as he realises he is not the only one out in the gardens this night.
On the bench barely six feet away from where Salvig stands, are Thor and Loki. Loki straddles Thor's muscular thighs, knees placed on either side of Thor's body, his hips pressed flush against his brother's. They are kissing, and even Salvig cannot convince himself that is simply brotherly affection, as their tongues search blindly in the dark recesses of the other's mouth. When they pull away, the moonlight illuminates their faces, bounces off their spit-slick lips, their flushed cheeks.
Thor looks up at Loki with an expression of absolute adoration, heart-aching love for his brother. And Loki looks down at Thor, the hint of a smile about his thin lips. They gaze at each other, then move in again to crush their lips together, more heat, more desperation in this kiss than the previous. Teeth nip, tongues slide wetly, lips moving sensually together.
Their hips are moving now, too, rocking in an unfaltering rhythm, growing steadily faster and Salvig should leave, has to leave right now, but he doesn't, he can't. And instead, he stays and he watches.
Salvig stays and watches.
Watches their bodies move, watches their hips grind. Watches as Thor lowers his head to Loki's neck and sucks hard, watches Loki arch backwards, only prevented from falling by Thor's hands which have come to circle around his brother's waist.
He listens to the lewd, wet noises of their mouths as they kiss. He listens to the choked gasps and stuttered inhales, listens to the faint brushing of their clothes.
The speed of their rocking escalates as the urgency increases, rubbing against each other with fierce intensity, small moans and whimpers swallowed in their kisses or escaping parted lips when they break for air.
Suddenly, their bodies tense and still, their movements halting, their mouths gaping soundlessly as the pleasure reaches its peak and crashes down over them.
Loki's form sags exhaustedly, collapsing atop Thor's, his forehead dropping to lean on Thor's shoulder. Thor pants, breathlessly, brings a hand up to stroke Loki's damp hair. His eyes close briefly and when he opens them, the intense blue gaze is focused on Salvig.
Salvig's mouth opens, but nothing escapes save for a panicked exhale. Thor stares at him, defiant, unblinking, and Salvig understands.
Thor and Loki are bound by the bond of brothers, the bond of family, but what Salvig finally realises now, is that it so much more than that. What he has just witnessed is the fruition of a lifetime together – a childhood of chasing and running, of hide and seek in the throne room; an adolescence of teasing and taunting, of shy flirting and secret exchanges behind closed doors – the natural, inevitable culmination of years of mounting feelings and boiling passions. And it is something beautiful, something to be cherished. It is more. Salvig cannot deny them that.
And so, when Odin casually asks a week later if Salvig has anything to report, Salvig answers with just this:
"My Lord, your sons are great, honourable men. I have naught but good words to speak of them."