A small baby is lying in the crib, sleeping, blowing small saliva bubbles from time to time, not caring about a thing in the universe.
Loki, who is sitting by the crib, swinging it gently, does not know how much time has passed since he put his son to sleep, nor does he know when he will finally stop being so sentimental and at least try to do something other than stare at his child (his!) all day, burning into his memory every meaningless movement of his son, every quiet noise the child makes.
And maybe a decade ago he would have spat at anyone who dared to even assume that Loki, the God of Insatiable Fire, would be spending his days by a crib, watching his offspring like a dragon watches its gold, and not believing that a long time ago he was such an idiot to detest the idea of having children from the beginning of his immortal life. 'Children slow you down, make you vulnerable, tie you up,' he always reminded himself upon noticing parents brag about their brat's achievements. And it didn't matter for them that the child was slow-witted and preferred to think about glorious days he would spend getting drunk with his brothers-in-arms, rather than focus on now and today. Loki always thought that if he would ever get a child, he would leave it to his mother and continue on his þekking studies rather than abandon all of his ambitions for a bundle of screaming needs.
And yet when Loki looks at the delicate finger stuck into the baby's mouth, tiny button nose, fiery fur on the baby's head, he cannot help but think of this miniature person as his everything: the one he loves, the one who gives him reason to push forward no matter what, the one he will forever call his son, and the one he will never abandon.
The young man whirls around when he hears the sudden crunch and comes face to face with Thor, who is smiling guiltily. Loki doesn't scowl, he just holds out his hand, beckoning Thor to come to him, which the older brother does without blinking.
"Look at him," whispers Loki, turning back to his treasure, "he is so peaceful."
"Aye, but in a few decades we would be rushing through the palace in search of him," Thor responds affectionately.
Loki actually glares at Thor and the poor man is not even sure what he said wrong. All children always run away from their parents when they know that no punishment will come to them, and with the whole palace to explore, they will be lucky if they can find their heir on time for the evening feast.
"Did you actually think I would allow my son to get lost when I have runes at my disposal?"
"He is half your son; do you actually think that he will not find a way around runes?"
"But he is half your son, too. And you have poor memory when it concerns runes."
Thor doesn't have to say anything else to once again be proven just how stubborn Loki is when it comes to their seven-week-old scion, who still cannot understand all the importance of his position and all the difference he has made already. Thor smiles and puts an arm around Loki, who is cooing sweet nonsense to the sleeping child and looks so happy, content and at home that Thor thanks the Norns that he was at the right place at the right time to do exactly the right thing for the House of Odin.
And Odin, sitting in his study in the west wing of the Valhalla, waves his hand at the crystal ball and sees his wife give him a grateful smile. And the old man (and also a King, who can step down from his position and pass it to his son assured that the throne won't be left to one of Thor's bastards, but a child of two descendants of great bloodlines) believes that it was one of his best ideas: Thor will never allow the wrongs done see the light of day, and Loki will never leave Asgard. And the House of Odin will be remembered as one.