AUTHOR'S NOTE: First installment of a four-part series on Loki and his children.
I draw from a mixture of Norse myth, marvel (mostly movie!verse cause I haven't read the comics) canon, and my own headcanon for this:
The characters' pasts I still think of as being from movie canon, as well as character relations. So Thor and Loki are brothers, and Odin is their father, but in terms of the actual events, I try to stick as much to Norse myth as I can, with a couple changes so things make a little more sense.
You'll see what I mean. xD
Also, this series is inspired by ask the odd family on tumblr, mainly the graphic about loki and his children.
because ask the odd family is amazing. |D
Now, without further ado:
Everyone seemed so distressed about the situation that Loki almost began to feel guilty for not being as wrapped up in panic as the other Aesir. Arguments and suggestions launched across the room in hurried voices, tense and stressed. There wasn't a lot of time left to make a decision. The builder would be finished with the walls within the next few cycles of the sun, and that doomed the Aesir to fulfilling their end of the bargain with the man. In exchange for the fortifying walls surrounding Asgard, the builder was to be granted the hand of Freyja, and additionally gifted the sun and the moon if he could complete the work within three seasons. At the time, when the builder had agreed, the inhabitants of Asgard had all shared a merry laugh at his expense.
"Three seasons!" they had all guffawed, "no being alive is strong or fast enough to do such momentous work in such a short time. We will have much of the wall built by the time he realizes his foolishness, and with no loss on our behalf!"
Only Loki had remained silent, separate from the mockery. He had watched the builder begin his work, and a seed of doubt had planted itself in the trickster's gut. Something was wrong. The builder could not have been so foolish as to agree to such an outrageous demand without having a plan. Through keen emerald eyes he had observed from a distance as the man had prepared his tools. There was something the Aesir were underestimating – in the end, Loki did not think it would be the builder who suffered from a lack of forethought.
And now Loki had been proven correct. Three seasons would meet its mark in merely a week's time, and already the wall was nearly finished. It had been the horse. That was what the Aesir had overlooked. The horse they had allowed the man to use as his only assistance, a tall, dark slate gray stallion by the name of Svaldifari. Within the first several weeks it had become clear that the horse was capable of doing twice the amount of work that the man could in the same amount of time. He towed enormous blocks of stone with barely any effort, and hardly needed to rest, from sunrise to sunrise straining against the ropes about his powerful shoulders to drag the rock many miles from the quarry, only stopping to deliver them to his master before returning for the next load. Once the Aesir had seen such capabilities, the laughter had gradually faded into nervous titters of uncertainty. When a season and a half had passed and more than half the wall had been completed, the uncertainty had shifted to outright dread. No one wanted to hand over Freyja – none of them had had any intention of going through with their promise. The sun and the moon belonged in their place above Asgard. Something had to be done. Loki only watched and listened, knowing this would come to pass, silently chastising those around him for how poorly thought out this deception had been.
"We must take away his steed!" one nobleman shouted with a shake of his head. "That beast is the only reason he is able to work so quickly."
"Yes," the Allfather agreed gravely.
"But how?" another noble chimed in, unsure. "We gave him our word that his horse could be to his use. To go back on our word now… he might very well destroy what he has already made."
"We cannot remove his horse while he watches," Odin spoke. "Such a breach of our word will not be permitted." Loki bit his lip and his jaw shifted. Ironic that Odin should speak of honor now, when here they were in a council to decide how best to go back on their word. It had been a simple transaction with the builder, and in Loki's mind they ought to be bound to their oath, or else should not have made the deal in the first place.
"Perhaps with magic, it can be done," he spoke softly during a lull, drawing the eyes of the assembled men towards him with curiosity. Loki did not speak often during these gatherings, or indeed often at all. Very few paid him mind even when he was there, as if they knew the only reason he was even obligated to attend was because he was a prince. In hindsight, the trickster was not certain why he even offered his assistance. He disapproved of the entire situation, but he felt as though maybe if he did something about the dilemma everyone was so tangled about, perhaps they would think better of him. It was a periphery thought though, and when the room fell silent most of the looks cast his way were dubious. "I might lead the stallion away; take him from his work long enough that the wall cannot be finished."
The Allfather's single eye came to rest on him. "Loki, are you certain this can be done without betraying our intentions? If you can achieve this…"
Then what? thought the trickster as he returned the gaze calmly. I will have the realm's gratitude for all of time? No. He would still just be the trickster, the god of lies, the younger prince who fell short of his brother. He would have just been useful for once, his magic at last helpful. But no one would want to speak of it, lest they give him the credit he was due. "I can," he replied instead of his scathing thoughts, and rose from his seat. "Give me the day to prepare, and in the morning, your troubles will be resolved."
He didn't even look at Thor as he strode from the room. He knew he would find gratitude there, a genuine appreciation for his offer, and somehow to Loki that was even worse than the falseness he met from the others day to day.
By the time the sun rose the next morning, Loki had his plan. Every last detail had been thought through, though in practice it wasn't a difficult or complicated scheme. A lot of magic had gone into it though, and in order to ensure that nothing would go wrong, he'd had to spend the better portion of the night working through the enchantments and perfecting what it would take to shift himself fully into what he needed. There could be no room for error. If he did not succeed, he could only imagine the retribution. Not only would the wall be completed and the Aesir forced to uphold their promise, but the builder would likely demand further compensation for the attempt to deceive him. Loki had no doubt that should he fail, the compensation would fall on him to provide.
Light and swift footsteps took him to the edge of the forest, and the sharp slide and drag of the builder's tools became louder as he drew close. Loki concealed himself behind a tree and extended his head out past the trunk to peer into the meadow. The builder was sliding his hands under an enormous block of stone and, with a grunt, hefted it up and brought it down on top of the stone below with a dull crunch. The other end of the wall, where he had begun less than three seasons ago, was within sight, and there was no wavering on the fact that at this pace he would be done well within the week. Beside him, the large gray stallion rested, grazing idly. He was easily twenty hands at the shoulders, perhaps taller. Loki swallowed and took a deep breath. His plan was simple. As a mare, he would flirt and beckon to the stallion, and lure him away from his master so that he followed. Then Loki would run, and take him on a chase through the forest. Eventually the stallion would tire, and either way Loki was certain he could escape. He knew the forests better than Svaldifari, and his heavyset frame would make it difficult for him to keep up with a fleet-footed mare. Once losing the mare, it would take Svaldifari a good while to find his way back to his master, and by then hopefully it would be too late.
Svaldifari raised his head from the grass at the sound of a neigh from nearby. His ears swiveled with interest and he turned, snorting at the sight of the dark brown mare standing at the edge of the trees. His master's attention was diverted – Svaldifari took a step forward, twitching his nose.
Loki turned to face the stallion and gave a toss of his head, whinnying low with a swish of his tail. It was working. He was catching the gray's interest. He nickered again and then trotted a couple steps into the trees before tossing Svaldifari another glance. Loki almost wished he hadn't. There was an audible snap of leather as the ropes holding the stallion back tore under the strength of the straining horse, and then he was tearing across the meadow. Loki didn't even waste time being startled by the stallion's speed – he launched into a full gallop, the trees blending into a harsh blur around him as he dove into the underbrush, hooves thudding over roots as he ducked beneath branches and leaped logs in the rush for escape.
Svaldifari's hoofbeats were like rhythmic thunder on the ground behind him, and Loki pushed himself harder, darting around the trees in hopes of confusing his pursuer, disorienting him and losing his trail. But Svaldifari matched him, rounding every trunk just seconds later, never losing his scent. And he had also underestimated the stallion's speed despite his bulk. He was nimble for his size, and as the seconds drew into minutes and still Svaldifari didn't show any signs of tiring or even falling farther behind, dread began to sink into Loki's gut. Could he outrun the horse? What would happen if he couldn't? Loki hadn't planned for that, sure in his ability to lose his pursuer after a little while. And he realized that he had fallen into the same trap that the Aesir had: he had underestimated his adversary.
He tried to go even faster, pushing himself to the limit in the panic beginning to mount in his chest, but Svaldifari easily kept pace, chasing him with the same determination and tirelessness with which he dragged endless quarries of stone for the builder. Sweat was glistening over Loki's coat, and his legs and lungs felt as though they had been soaked in lava. He could not run forever, but Svaldifari wasn't tiring at all. Every breath made his muscles scream in agony, and in his exhaustion he was beginning to lose his concentration, stride loosening and becoming sloppy. No, but he had to keep going, or else he would be overtaken –
Something hard struck against his hoof and Loki let out a sharp scream as he felt himself airborne for a fraction of a second, realization of what was happening hitting him with the impact of the ground. He landed harshly half on his chest, forelegs crumbling underneath him. Loki rolled onto his side and neighed in panic, trying to gather his legs under him to push back up, but every muscle was aflame and his legs wobbled like unstable wood when he put pressure on them. A crippling pain tore through the tendon of his left shoulder when he attempted to move, and anyway Svaldifari was hovering over and beside him in an instant, huffing and shuffling his hooves agitatedly in the leaves and dirt. Loki cried out again, the noise coming out a sharp neigh, and continued to struggle, but everything was hurting and he instinctively recognized that heavy musky scent in the air. Green eyes widened in terror when he felt something wet and firm push under his tail and then Svaldifari's muzzle was at his mane, hot breath washing eagerly against his neck. Loki released a series of desperate whinnies – no, no, no, please, gods no! Help, please someone help me! – but he knew no one would hear or understand him, and soon he lost the energy to try anymore.
Somewhere overhead, a night bird warbled as it woke to hunt under the glow of moonlight. Cool summer wind breathed against the leaves and rustled them in greeting, stirring the mussed strands of ink black hair strewn in the dirt, tangled with leaves and the occasional twig. The bands of light filtering in from the canopy to illuminate patches of the undergrowth settled on a pale figure sprawled on his side, barely moving save for an occasional twitch of a hand. His chest rose and fell slowly, and though his eyes were open, they were glassy, jade irises diluted with hopelessness. His muscles had stopped burning sometime in the interim hours since that morning and eventually even the pain between his legs had dulled to a twinging ache every now and then. But he hadn't so much as dragged himself a foot from where he had fallen. The wetness on his thighs had dried, as had the sweat that had covered him in a light sheen. The tear tracks down his cheeks, gathering at the curve of his jaw, had long since evaporated as well, leaving only dryness in his mouth and crimson edges around his eyes.
He had succeeded, at least. His plan had worked. Too well. Loki had never had intercourse with anyone before, having never entertained any romantic notions for others that had progressed to such a level, and so the pain of this encounter had been immense. The fact that it had been with an equine, a passion-driven beast seeking only to mate and not tending to his well being or possessing a mind to his fears, only made it worse. The trickster's chest jerked with a scattered sobbing noise, but he had run out of tears some time ago and anyway all that he knew was a faint pain and a dull emptiness.
Eventually another breeze made him shiver involuntarily, and Loki forced himself to move. He wasn't going to die here. He was stronger than that. The god pressed his arm against the ground, but agony lanced through his shoulder and he slumped back down again with a cry, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling tears he hadn't known he had left bead at the corners. His body was battered, and how badly, he wasn't even sure. Biting his lip, Loki used his other arm this time, and slowly, inch by painstaking inch, eased himself onto his knees, whimpering a couple times when the bruised muscles of his backside screeched in protest. He should not have waited so long to move – now his body had cramped and he felt like an old man trying to walk. But he preservered, keeping pressure off his injured shoulder and any other part of him that hurt particularly badly, and eventually managed to stand, dirt crumbling off him like powder as he leaned against the nearby trunk of a tree and tried to assess the damage done.
Pushing away the trauma, Loki was able to settle into a slightly calmer state of mind and assess himself with the detached serenity that he was known for. His shoulder was the worst, where he assumed he had landed after stumbling over whatever had been his undoing – likely a root. Lifting his other hand, Loki poured what energy he had into a healing spell and grunted as as the bone shifted and popped back into place, gasping for a few seconds as the pain ebbed away. He tested his arm and when it seemed to be fine, turned his attention to the rest of him. He was covered in minor cuts and bruises, but none of it was enough to expend magic over. Letting his head fall back against the tough bark, Loki closed his eyes and just breathed, unsure what to even do. He had to return to Asgard; he had to see if his plan had helped at all, if his sacrifice had at least done Asgard some good. Loki had no intention of paying anymore recompense for a failure when this had already been punishment enough.
And yet, all he wanted to do was collapse back onto the ground and sleep in hopes that when he woke, this would prove to all be a nightmare, a warning from his subconscious to think of a better plan the next time. There was no such luck however, and Loki eventually opened his eyes again and pushed himself off the tree, wincing at the agony that licked up his spine from moving his legs. He had to go back. He had to return. Letting that singular thought drive him grimly onward, Loki shuffled towards the tattered remains of his clothing where they lay scattered about the forest floor. Bending over made him feel as though someone was holding a torch to the base of his spine, so much so that he nearly gave out from the pain, but he managed to retrieve the largest scrap of what used to be the upper half of his tunic, and fastened it about his waist for some semblance of modesty.
Thus began the long trek back to the palace. The first hour or so of it was the worst, every step aggravating the soreness in his lower back, and he had to pause every couple dozen of them to simply rest and fight back the urge to lie down and not get back up. Onward. Onward with every movement. Loki focused on placing one foot in front of the other until at last, at last the palace came into view and somehow, exhausted and in pain, the god of lies made his way home. The ground turned from dirt to polished stone at some point as he dragged himself through the halls by side entryways so he wouldn't be seen and questioned. Loki simply wanted to return to his chambers and never leave them again. Luckily it was the dead of night, and hardly anyone was awake, much less wandering the hallways. His shame kept him concealed behind pillars and drapes whenever guards passed, and finally he stumbled into his room, longing for the plush softness of his bed but knowing that he should rid himself of the filth covering his skin.
He could not have felt more drained when he at last climbed into bed, the pain having dulled to a steady, negligible ache. But he was clean now, for better or for worse, his scratches well on their way to healing. Unfortunately, there was a heaviness in him that no amount of time or magic could rid him of. A weight had wormed into his heart, but when his head touched the pillow and his eyes closed, he was asleep in an instant.
Loki remained in his chambers for the next handful of weeks, refusing to emerge, refusing to tell anyone what had transpired in the forest. The only company he entertained was that of his brother, who had come to see him the next day, expressing relief that Loki had returned safely. "I had worried ill fortune had befallen you when noon passed and you had not come back," he had said as Loki had lain in bed with a book in his hands as if everything was natural. "Everyone was delighted when your scheme succeeded. The builder was a hrimthurs, brother."
Loki had lifted his head then, eyebrows lifting in interest. "Worry not, I dispatched him," Thor assured him, and Loki's gaze flickered for a moment, brow knitting together. Why hadn't the Allfather simply ordered Thor to kill the builder earlier then? That would have solved the problem much more efficiently than waylaying Svaldifari… Loki swallowed and tried to push away the memories of the stallion. In the end, he had been useless after all. "I am glad you found your way back," Thor said with a smile, and Loki frowned. That was when he realized that no one had been searching for him.
The palace hardly missed his presence. He was not much of one to begin with, and spent so much time secluded in his chambers normally that no one thought any differently of it, merely that he was being his usual self. As the days turned again and again, Loki ventured out only to train at night and to fetch his meals from the kitchen, bringing them back to his chambers to eat in solitude and peace. He thought little of the events of that morning – what was done had been done, and though it had been terrifying and unbearably painful, jarring even, there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. Though part of Loki was saddened that no one, even Thor, cared to inquire about the details, a piece of him was also glad for it, for it meant he could continue to ignore it.
Until some weeks later, when he realized that things were different within him. It hadn't taken him long to put the pieces together, but when the cold realization struck him as he stood in front of the mirror, one hand resting over the tiniest bulge in his belly, almost unnoticeable, he felt that same dread sink over him, soaking through his skin like water and permeating down to the heaviness of his bones. He had not escaped that morning. It had never let him go, and it would never let him go, because now he was facing the consequences of his miscalculations. His gaze slid down over the mirror to his stomach when he felt something tiny, minute, shift inside him, accompanied by a feeling of faint queasiness.
What would he tell the palace?
Nothing, he decided. He would tell them nothing. He would continue to hide it, like he had hidden everything else about that morning. But eventually it would become obvious. What then? Loki swallowed, fighting down the urge to panic, and tried to calm himself enough to think clearly. He would… face it then. When that time approached, he would think of something.
It never quite got that far. A couple of months in, the pain became excruciating, and Loki was often biting hard into his pillow at night to keep from screaming as cold sweats of agony broke out over his skin. From the sensations that felt as though his stomach was ripping apart inside him, it became clear that he could not continue to bear the child in this form. It occurred to him then that he might actually be carrying a foal, and for some reason that thought filled him with trepidation. Was that even possible? Of course it was. Svaldifari had mated him in the form of a mare, so it stood to reason that the offspring would be equine as well. The days were restless and he hardly slept from the constant pain, so that he decided that something had to be done, and now, before carrying killed him.
Loki decided to tell of his departure to the one person he trusted enough. The thunderer was clearly concerned about the sudden announcement, and questioned Loki repeatedly as to why he had to go, and for how long, and if he would be safe. Loki simply responded that there was a bit of spellwork he wanted to learn, and he couldn't do so here. He crafted an elaborate lie about going to perhaps Vanaheim, where he could study for a little while under the tutelage of their sorcerers on the finer points of magic. He almost convinced himself, too. As for how long he would be gone… Loki didn't know. He wasn't sure just how long he would be carrying the foal, and frankly the idea of being far away from Asgard for the duration of the pregnancy, handling the trials of being with child by himself, without anyone to turn to for assistance or advice, and giving birth without anyone nearby to help him, terrified him. What if something went wrong? But he knew he couldn't afford to reveal the truth just yet – the shame would not let him.
After a bit of convincing and promises to remain safe (that Loki wasn't sure he could keep), Thor relented and agreed to tell the Allfather and Frigga after Loki had left. That didn't take long. The trickster wasn't sure he could have handled the pain of carrying a foal in this humanoid body for longer than another couple of days. He departed the next morning before dawn, taking nothing with him. Hoofbeats once more sounded dully across the meadow as the dark brown mare, belly slightly rounded with foal, fled Asgard. Loki knew he would have to remain in this form for as long as the pregnancy lasted. He could not shift back, lest the strain of such an abnormal child killed him. Fear was constant in his bloodstream as he took to the far plains of the realm where no one lived, resolving to spend the remaining months of his pregnancy in the same seclusion he had spent his life.
At first it was terribly lonely. Loki had nothing to entertain him or keep his mind occupied, not even books. Spellcasting was distinctively harder in this form, but he could manage a few things to keep predators at bay. After a couple of initial run-ins with the beasts that stalked the grasslands, they learned to keep away from the strange spellcasting mare and Loki was once more left in peace. At times, the loneliness was all-consuming, and he thought he might lie down in the grass and simply waste away as the hours drifted by, but he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to. So hours dragged into days, into weeks, into months, second by grueling second. Loki had plenty of time to think on what he would do, and to recount what had happened that fateful morning. He had become numb to the event at this point – yes, he had been taken against his will and impregnated by a stallion who was now nowhere to be found, but really it was his fault for his idiocy. What mattered now was the life stirring inside him, growing larger by the day. He knew that once the foal was born, if he survived, he would have to reveal the truth to Asgard. Loki could not simply leave it here to be devoured by predators without a chance for a life of its own. He would have to bring it back with him to the palace and raise it as his child, for that was what it was. And then perhaps one day, he could let it free.
Loki wasn't entirely sure how much time passed since he had gone, but summer had turned to fall, then winter, back again to spring when one evening, Loki was standing with a faraway gaze cast to the spires of Asgard that he knew loomed far in the distance when a sudden agony seized him, nearly toppling him to his knees. Panic flooded him as if someone had poured water down his throat. It was time.
Fear and adrenaline, more so than instinct, drove him to push, but at the same moment terror gripped him with cold talons. The pain returned again and again over the course of the next few hours, and each time with less chance for recuperation in between. Was he going to die? Loki had no idea how to go about giving birth – it wasn't something he had ever, in his wildest thoughts, anticipated having to do. No one had ever spoken to him about it. What he knew about it, he had gathered from books. There was no midwife in the field to help him, or anyone to soothe him and tell him it was all right, that this much pain was natural. Loki was on his own, as alone as he had been months ago, lying in the cool shade of the forest after Svaldifari had planted in him his seed, which had led to all of this.
The next several hours were filled with pain. Loki was not entirely conscious for the entirety of the birthing, and he was only aware of agony and the scent of blood in the air and, every now and then, the sensation of something being pushed out of him, accompanied with more pain. He knew that the prevailing thought in his mind was: am I going to die? again and again like some mad repetition. When it was finally over, dawn was breaking out over the sky in ribbons of soft violet and orange among the clouds, which was what Loki first noticed when he next opened his eyes and the pain was over. He lay there on his side, heaving and covered in sweat, for a couple of minutes as haze eased away from his mind and he realized that he hadn't died, that somehow he was very much alive.
Something shifted in the grass beside him and bumped against his hind leg, and Loki's head snapped up instantly. The foal! Despite his tiredness, Loki's urgency gave him the strength to turn a bit so he could crane his head around to assess his newborn child. It was an odd feeling and thought, to know he had given birth even though he was a man, or at least he thought of himself as one. Certainly, he was in a female body currently, but when it came down to it he had little instinct as to how to be a mother, or how to go about caring for a child, especially when it was a horse. However, those discordant thoughts were momentarily banished as soon as he laid eyes on the wet bundle of long limbs in the grass. The foal was of a pale grey color, spotted with flecks of darker slate, mirroring the coat of its father. Loki swallowed and felt a wash of strong emotion settle over him, easing the nervousness out of his system as if his bloodstream was being flushed through. The danger was over for now – both he and the foal were alive. But there was something… odd about the child. In a heartbeat, Loki realized why he had initially seen it as a tangle of limbs – it possessed twice the number of legs of a normal horse! For a moment Loki was surprised and a bit alarmed. Was this some sort of deformity?
But then the baby stallion lifted its head weakly and unsteadily tried to wobble onto all eight of its legs, and Loki's misgivings were again doused away by a flood of what he suspected was maternal affection. Either way, this was his child, a life he had nourished in his body and given birth to.
"Sleipnir," he nickered gently, pushing himself back onto his feet as well while nudging his son to help him stand. "I will name you Sleipnir."
If given a chance, Loki would have liked to return to Asgard that day with his new child in tow, but firstly, Sleipnir was too weak to walk that entire way, and secondly Loki had to remain in the form of a mare to nurse his son for a while longer. Four more months passed in this manner, and those months were spent in more relative peace than the ones beforehand. Loki was no longer as lonely as he had been – he had Sleipnir to tend to, and the young foal proved to be as tenacious and strong as his father and as intelligent as his mother, occupying Loki's attention at all times of the day. He displayed a human-like intelligence, though he could not speak in a verbal language Loki could understand. That mattered little though. Instinctively, Loki knew what Sleipnir tried to tell him whenever he uttered little neighs – it soon became clear that, having been born from a body that was not truly equine, Sleipnir boasted a mind that operated on a level of Aesir proportions. Of course, those first few months the foal was but an innocent newborn, very unsteady on its eight legs and often stumbling over himself. The trickster frequently had to assist him with walking the first couple of weeks, and even after that it was a little while longer before Sleipnir could muster anything faster than a trot without tangling his legs.
Even so, Loki was deeply fond of him. He nourished an affection and love for the foal of the intensity that he had never loved anyone before. Every little moment brought him contentment and pride. It didn't matter to him that Sleipnir had been conceived by accident, without Loki's consent or desire – this was simply his son, and he loved him from the bottom of his heart.
Sleipnir grew quickly, likely thanks to the impressiveness that had been Svaldifari. His energy knew no bounds, and within the third month he was often waking Loki, urging him to go on a merry chase through the field, which the god often obliged, dashing after his foal and smiling inwardly at the nickers of glee pealing from the bright gray little stallion. Their world was each other – nothing else existed or had any influence. No one from Asgard had sought Loki out, and for once he wanted it to remain that way. The two of them, mother and son, existed in a vaccuum where time was at their command. When Sleipnir wished to play, Loki had no work to busy him, and when he grew tired, Loki was more than happy to lie down with him and smooth his muzzle over the foal's slender flank until he had eased to slumber against his mother's side.
But eventually Loki knew they had to return, and he would have to present his son to the rest of Asgard and explain what had happened and how all of this had come to pass. It seemed funny to him that this was all a secret from the rest of the realm – the morning running from Svaldifari, and carrying Sleipnir, and all the happiness they had shared since he had been born. No one else knew, when for more than the last year this had been all he thought about. One day in late summer, Sleipnir bounded up from sleep, still a little gangly on his long, numerous legs, but energetic as ever, and when Loki informed him that they had to go to the place he called 'home', his son was nothing short of excited. It warmed the trickster's heart to know that he was enthusiastic, but he was also worried. Additionally, that was the morning he revealed to Sleipnir his real form. At first his son had been alarmed, confused that Loki should look so different in reality, but he soon came around to the idea. It was made easier when Sleipnir found that when his mother looked like this, he could easily outrun Loki. That had made the trickster laugh.
One hand on Sleipnir's sloping proud neck, Loki walked with his son the long way back to Asgard, sometimes racing him when the foal asked to, and chuckling with amusement when his son outpaced him every time, knowing that that was exactly what he had wanted. They spent the hours conversing, for Sleipnir had the abiity to understand speech even in a human tongue, and Loki told him of Asgard so that he would not be too surprised when they returned. There were a lot of things he had to explain – how everyone there looked like him, for one thing, and how the Allfather ruled over all of them. Things had gotten somewhat uncomfortable when Loki had tried to tell him that the creatures that Sleipnir looked like, called horses, were usually beasts that had much lower intelligence than he, and were often used as steeds for the men and women of the realm, carrying them places and doing as they ordered. They were not treated as people were becausethey were seen as comparatively ignorant animals. As Loki had expected, Sleipnir's young mind had become nervous when he began to grasp this concept, but his worries had been eased away when the Aesir promised him that he would never let the same fate befall him.
"You are different from the other horses," he murmured, rubbing a hand lovingly against the soft velvet of the foal's nose, "you are stronger, smarter. You are my son, and I will not allow that to happen to you."
Sleipnir's anxieties had been soothed away with the innocence that only a child who believed their mother to be the only being in their life could be soothed, and Loki had looked into those bright, trusting eyes and known that he had to keep his oath, no matter what the cost. He could not let Sleipnir ever know the touch of a bridle or the weight of the saddle, never let him be penned in a dirty stable and eat only oats. He wasn't sure how Asgard would feel about his son being granted the richest pastures in the realm, left to run free as he chose, or if they would permit it, but it pained the god to think of any lifestyle less luxurious.
Arriving back at Asgard was a mixed affair. As soon as he approached the gates, the guards welcomed him courteously, and then one of them immediately headed off to inform Thor of his return. Apparently months ago, when his brother had told the palace of his departure, he had also added that the moment Loki showed himself again, he was to be instantly told of the news no matter where he was. In spite of having enjoyed his solitude with Sleipnir, Loki couldn't help but be somewhat happy that at least one person had thought of him. "Thor is my brother," he murmured to Sleipnir, rubbing his neck comfortingly as the young foal shifted nervously in the presence of so many new faces that looked at him with curosity. They seemed even more bewildered when it appeared that the eight-legged horse could understand Loki's words.
Thor arrived, all bright smiles and warm welcomes, for his brother that had been gone for almost a full year now. They exchanged greetings, but the trouble started quickly, as soon as his brother good-naturedly offered to lead what he saw as Loki's new peculiar steed to the stables. Instantly Loki had tensed, and Sleipnir huffed and nickered with renewed nervousness. "No," the trickster said carefully, watching the thunderer's expression closely. "Thor, allow me to lead Sleipnir into the palace, and I will speak with mother and father. There is something you all must hear." That had caught Thor's attention, and he nodded, though Loki could see his brother was perplexed as to why Loki would want a horse to be walking the grounds of the palace.
It did not take long for the trickster to explain to those gathered the circumtances of the situation. As expected, he was met with astonished gasps and incredulous stares. How had he managed to keep this from them? Where had been all these months, then? When had this happened, and how? Though none had accused him outright of the perversion of mating with a horse, Loki could feel the disgust in their eyes and on the unspoken tips of their tongues. Sleipnir, not quite realizing what was going on and why all this was so important and devastating, nosed his mother and whinnied that he was hungry. Loki turned to him with somewhat troubled eyes and stroked his son's nose as he ordered one of the servants to take Sleipnir to the best grasses in the city, but not, under any circumstances, to wash him or place him in the stables. The foal didn't need to hear the truth about his conception – not yet.
"I am certain you all remember the builder called in to design the wall ringing Asgard, and his horse, Svaldifari," he began, and slowly, in as calm a voice as he could muster, explained what had happened that morning. He detailed the intentions of his plan, how he had only meant to lure Svaldifari away and then escape before the horse could overtake him, but that he had unfortunately misjudged the stallion's speed and endurance, and that he had been helpless to stop what had happened afterwards. That was the reason, he said, that he had not been able to return to the palace until nightfall. It was a strain to keep the bitterness from his voice as he recalled how difficult the walk back had been, how none had sought him even though he very well could have perished. Accusing the nobles would not assist his case now – he was merely recounting a story. The whole time of his telling, Loki kept his eyes on the Allfather, for he was the most serene of all of them, his expression barely changing.
Afterwards, a slow silence enveloped the hall. "Sleipnir is my son, and I will care for him as my son. Horse though he may be in body, in his mind and heart he is Aesir. I insist that he be treated as any of your children would be."
To his relief and surprise, Loki won a grudging acceptance from the gathered. Clearly there was still much misgiving about treating a horse as if he was a citizen of Asgard, but it looked as though Loki would have his way and his child would be safe. That was all he wanted.
Over time, Sleipnir slowly and steadily grew. With every passing year, his muscles thickened and lengthened, his body shaped and levelled out so that his flank was even with the withers, and he no longer seemed unsteady and strange, his legs longer than usual. His body set and began to take on weight, and by the time he was three years old he was already keeping pace with the best horses in the realm. Loki could not be prouder as he watched his son race with the greatest warhorses the realm had seen and defeat them, as elegant on eight legs as they were on four, covering more ground and with greater stride. He inherited Svaldifari's even combination of impressive power and deft nimbleness. His hoofbeats became rapid thunder on the ground as he ran, majestic and intimidating when his mane rippled in the wind and he reared to his full, enormous height, joyful neighs piercing the air.
As Loki had promised him, Sleipnir never became familiar with the tightness of leather around his neck or the bitter bite of steel in his mouth. He never bore the weight of someone on his back like the other horses, and was free to come and go from the palace as he pleased. Loki spent ample time with him, running through the trees and spending whole days playing with each other before lounging by a river to relax and cool off. Loki would then reach up to take Sleipnir's muzzle in his hands and press a kiss to the wet nose, resting his forehead against it as Sleipnir huffed, causing Loki to smile. Inevitably then his son would step forward and playfully butt Loki in the middle of the chest, causing the trickster to stumble back and tumble to the ground, whereupon Sleipnir would snuffle and nudge him happily, urging Loki into another chase.
Five years passed in this manner, and then Sleipnir was an adult – young, but fully grown. He easily outran Asgard's fastest horses, and like Svaldifari, could tow great weights when he wanted to show off, which was fairly often. He was entering his prime, and Loki saw him and his chest swelled with parental pride, knowing it would only be a matter of a couple more years before he let Sleipnir go his own way, which likely did not belong in the palace.
However, something did trouble the prince. He had not missed the way that Odin had occasionally eyed the stallion as well, as if gauging him for something. Loki knew that look well – it was the gaze of a warrior assessing a horse as a mount. Loki could say nothing about it, but in every way possible he tried to make it wordlessly clear to Odin and anyone else that Sleipnir was under his protection and he would not allow anyone to tack him like an ordinary steed. He was far too human for that. His wild spirit could not be broken in such a manner. Yet, some part of him had foreseen this. Sleipnir was, without a doubt, the most stellar horse in Asgard, in the Nine Realms, because of his intelligence and lineage. Any other horse of his caliber would have gone to the Allfather long ago.
Thus, he was somber, but not surprised, when Odin called him to stay after supper one evening after the rest of the banquet hall had emptied. Loki stood from his chair with a sharp scrape of wood against stone, and turned to face the King, his gaze steady and unreadable, but in that steadiness, unwavering. "I wish to speak with you about Sleipnir," Odin began, his voice slow and emphatic, for he must have known that Loki would not take to the idea he wanted to propose. "You know that my old steed perished in battle many years ago," he said, and Loki tried to keep his breathing even. "I understand that Sleipnir is your son, and in many aspects not an ordinary horse. But even you must realize that he is exceptional, and would make a brilliant mount."
"I will not permit it," Loki replied cleanly, clearly. "My son will not be tacked and ridden into the line of battle."
Odin's gaze narrowed a fraction, realizing that this was going to be more difficult than he initially imagined. "Have reason, Loki." The trickster bristled – reason? Was he not being reasonable by wishing to protect his child, wanting the best for him? "I am in need of a new horse – "
"There are plenty of other excellent horses you might choose from," Loki interjected, anger seeping into his tone. "Sleipnir is not to be ridden."
"You dare speak to me in such an insolent manner?" Odin began to sharpen as well, his temper rising. "Your first duty is to the realm, Loki. I am your father – "
"You are not," Loki hissed, furious that Odin was attempting to use guilt and a false familial tie to convince him when for millenia he and everyone else had always been so dismissive of Loki, the trickster, the lesser prince. He called forth their relation now, when it was convenient for him? "Laufey. Is my father. Regardless of where my duty lies, Sleipnir is my son. You would not permit such an injustice to befall Thor."
"The circumstances are very different," Odin answered. "Sleipnir is a horse, and even as an Aesir, he also shares a service to the realm. What can he do but put his skills to use in this manner? He is clearly the greatest horse to have ever lived."
Now he was attempting flattery to achieve his ends? Loki clenched his jaw. "No," he seethed again. "No tack will touch Sleipnir. He is meant to be wild one day, not shut up in a stable with others who only resemble him in appearance and treated like a beast." With that, he turned and strode from the hall, uncaring of his disrespect toward the Allfather. Loki had promised his son that he would never be subject to that treatment, and he intended to keep that oath.
Late that night, Loki was awakened by noises outside of his window. Heavy thuds struck the ground, rhythmic and quick, punctuated with voices and shouts of pain. The trickster rose from his bed, blinking blearily to clear the sleep from his eyes, until a sharp neigh of panic slashed the air like a knife and Loki was instantly awake, that same dread from so long ago clenching his chest hard.
Help me! the neigh begged. Mother, help me!
And then suddenly it was his own voice, and he was in the forest, and it was early morning. It was six years ago, and he was in so much pain, his muscles burning from exertion, his shoulder throbbing, and Svaldifari was leaning over him and mating him furiously. Help, please, someone, help me!
"Sleipnir!" Loki cried sharply, turning and dashing from the room as quickly as he could, carelessly knocking a candle holder from his desk in his frenzied rush. Emerald eyes caught the light in the darkness as he barreled through the halls of the palace in his light sleep wear, adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. Loki burst from the palace door and sprinted urgently to the covered overhang where Sleipnir slept a ways away from the stables and the pasture, heartbeat like war drums in his ears. The noises became louder, and this time filled with more shrill whinnies of pain and fear, and Loki burst in on a chaotic scene. In front of the overhang stood more than half a dozen men, a couple of them seasoned warriors Loki knew and the others experienced stablehands, arranged in a jagged semicircle around Sleipnir, who was stamping the grass in agitation, occasionally rearing and lashing out at one of the men if they got too close. None of them wanted to come within striking distance of those hard hooves, but Sleipnir couldn't escape. Loki's heart lurched to see a thick cord looped around his son's neck, drawn tight to a thick tree nearby, likely thrown about him when he'd been sleeping. One of the men carried a bridle and reins in his arms, and the trickster suddenly realized that they must have been sent here on Odin's orders to tack and break Sleipnir despite his dissent.
Anger ignited in his body and mixed with the panic and worry in a volatile combination, and he rushed forward, shouting a single word as a couple of the nearest men turned to face him. There was a bright explosion of light and energy, and the men grunted as they were knocked backwards by the force of his spell. With another word, Loki bound each of them to the ground with invisible restraints, and they spat and cursed against the binds as Loki approached Sleipnir and drew forth one of the daggers he kept clasped to his waist at all times. At the sight of it the horse stirred in anxiety, but Loki reached out his other hand and soothed him with a few strokes to his neck, rushed and tense. "Calm, Sleipnir. Don't move. I don't wish to harm you." He slid the blade between the rope and the horse's withers and began to saw at the cord with all his strength, gritting his teeth as he glanced occasionally at the men on the ground and at their surroundings to see if anyone else was coming. No one so far.
Sleipnir fidgeted against the bindings, and it was hard not to accidentally nick him with the blade of the dagger. His eyes were wide and white with panic and confusion, and had Loki had time to think about it, his heart would have clenched with pain. He had promised to protect his son, had promised nothing like this would happen. But there was still time yet. He had wanted to wait another year or two before letting Sleipnir into the wilderness where he could run with the herds and Loki could visit him from time to time, but it couldn't wait anymore. He had to get him out now. A couple of the men had begun shouting for help, for reinforcements, and Loki's grip tightened on the dagger until, at last, with a snap, the rope unraveled and Sleipnir wasted no time in bolting forward, miraculously not trampling any of the men on the ground as he rushed for the woods. Loki followed afterward quickly, sheathing the dagger and then shifting quickly to keep up with the panicked stallion, fighting to keep him in sight as the trees enveloped them both.
"Sleipnir!" he called, and drew up beside him as he slowed. "Run. I need to get you away. You must never come back to the palace." As they galloped, as fast as they could, Sleipnir's ears pinned back against his skull in terror, his eyes flicking to Loki as if to ask him how they would see each other then. Loki shook his head. "I will think of that later. For now, you have to escape." At the stables, men would be quickly saddling their horses to chase after them. This night would not be safe for either of them until Loki was able to ensure that the men had given up the pursuit. They put the palace behind them and raced through the underbrush of the forest, mother and son side by side, the moonlight their only guidance on the dappled forest floor.
After what seemed like hours, they slowed to a stop so that Loki could catch his breath. Sleipnir had certainly inherited his father's endurance, but Loki was not an equine by nature. Through the heavy hammering of his heart against his chest, it was difficult to hear if there were men chasing after them on horseback, but he didn't think he could make out any noises. They were deep in the forests beyond the palace now, and it would take teams of men to find them. As long as they were careful, they might be able to avoid detection. Slowly, as quietly as they could, the two made their way through the underbrush, further and further away, constantly keeping their senses alert for pursuers. Any soft sound was easily mistaken for the approach of one of their trackers, and Sleipnir especially was on edge.
Loki tried to ease his fear with gentle talk. He pressed his flank and muzzle comfortingly against his son's now and again even though Sleipnir was much larger than him now, and told him fond stories of when he had been but a small foal, clumsy and constantly stumbling over his own hooves. Loki spoke of the first time Sleipnir had asked him why he only had four legs, and Loki had replied that the more legs a horse had, the more intelligent and strong they were. Disbelievingly, the young gray foal had told Loki that he didn't believe him because there couldn't be anyone smarter than mother, and how did he balance on only four legs anyway?
He spoke of the first time Sleipnir had outrun him, and how he had been so proud of himself that he strutted straight into an oncoming stream, not having watched his step because his head was held so high. They had enjoyed a good deal of amusement at his embarrassment then, and Loki had employed that moment to illustrate later to Sleipnir that he should never let arrogance and pride get the better of him, but to always remain humble even in spite of his great skill, lest he tumble in many, many more rivers, some deeper than just that stream.
Some hours later, when dawn's light began to break out over the clouds and the blackness of the sky slowly rose to a light indigo, Loki and Sleipnir were resting in a small forest clearing when something that sounded like a branch cracking caught the trickster's attention and his head snapped up from the grass, eyes wide and breath still. Nothing moved, not even the wind, but as Loki turned his head again slowly he saw something dark shift in the trees just beyond the clearing, and instantly he broke into a gallop, urging Sleipnir to do the same with sharp neighs. Immediately, footsteps followed after them as the men abandoned the cover of surprise and gave chase. Sleipnir, being faster, surged ahead in the underbrush, and Loki whirled around and reared to stall the pursuers, fury poisoning his fiery green eyes. But no sooner had he landed back on all fours and backed up a couple paces, tossing his head and stomping his hooves aggressively then did he hear a sharp whinny from somewhere behind him, and his head turned in alarm.
The sound of additional hoofbeats made the trickster's heart plummet as another one of Sleipnir's neighs cut the dawn and Loki realized that they were penned in, pincered from both sides. He turned again to rush to his son's defense, but something rough and thick landed about his neck and tightened hard against his windpipe, and Loki released a startled scream as he bucked and reared again, straining against the rope fastening around him. How dare they! How dare they restrain not only Sleipnir, but him like a common horse! A series of panicked cries from ahead turned his rage to desperate worry, but then he saw something approaching and realized it was Sleipnir, dark eyes wide with panic but pulling with all his might, the rope drawn about his neck cutting tight against the thick muscle. He dug his hooves into the ground again and again, so determined to return to his mother's side that he was towing the rider behind him on his steed. The rider at the other end of the cord was pulling as hard as he could, his own horse snorting as it fought in vain against Sleipnir's powerful strength.
At the sight of Loki, Sleipnir nickered pleadingly and surged forward, but at that exact moment the rider behind him yanked harshly on the rope and caught Sleipnir off balance, jerking him backward and to the side.
"You are different from the other horses."
The gray stallion released a scream of pain and slammed to his side on the ground, eight legs thrashing as he fought to stand again, and Loki neighed shrilly, so distressed by the sight that his spell unwound and there in the forest dawn light stood the god of lies with a rope drawn taut around his neck, spluttering his son's name with what little breath he could draw.
"You are stronger, smarter."
Loki's hands flew up to his throat, trying to dislodge the rope, and his windpipe closed as he strained with all his might against the cord. Whoever was holding him back was evidently stronger than he was. The voices of the men surrounding them were lost on his ears as he pulled at the restraint, tears welling in his eyes at the sight of Sleipnir writhing in the dirt, screeching again and again for Loki as his legs kicked in the air. Loki managed one more strangled shout before something struck him mercilessly in the back of the head – the pommel of a sword, maybe – and he slumped to the forest floor, the image of his son pleading for him seared into his mind as his consciousness faded.
"You are my son, and I will not allow that to happen to you."
Loki woke fighting. It took him two seconds to realize that he had bracelets fastened about his wrists that prevented him from using magic, so he lashed out with his arms, legs, kicking, scratching, punching, and it took three of the healers to restrain him and tie him down to the bed again, strapping his limbs to the mattress, and not a single one of them managed it without some heavy bruises and more than one black eye or broken nose.
"You will aggravate your injuries if you move," one of the healers, his lip swollen where Loki's fist had met his mouth and cut the flesh on his teeth, reprimanded him. Loki tried to laugh bitterly, but the sound came out harsh and choked. His injuries were the least of his concerns! "The back of your skull is fractured," the healer informed him through the swollen lip, "and your windpipe severely damaged."
"Where is Sleipnir." His voice was indeed a whispering croak, barely passing as speech, but the venom came through all the same.
"Speaking will only damage you further, my lord – if you would but – "
"I asked you, where is my son."
The healer fixed him with a sharp look, but seemed to realize that he wasn't going to take any sort of scolding for an answer. "Likely in the stables, where he belongs. I'm afraid you can't see him now, my lord. Your injuries must heal." Where he belongs. Loki could have throttled the man right then, and likely would have if he hadn't been strapped down so tightly. Instead he simply tried to kill him with the force of his gaze.
Loki was forced to remain in the healing ward for three days. Those three days passed with agonizing slowness, but he had much time left to himself. Aside from being furious at Odin and at the situation, all Loki could feel was a terrible, heart-cutting guilt. He had promised. He had sworn to Sleipnir he would keep him from this, and he had failed. Now he would be broken and tamed like any of the other wild horses they caught for use as steeds, his vivaciousness dulled to a blunt obedience. The last moments he had seen of his son tormented Loki in his waking and sleeping hours – Sleipnir had been begging for his help, and he hadn't been able to go to him, to save him.
When he was at last released from the ward, Loki made his way from the bed to the stables, his step heavy and despodent the closer he drew. It wasn't hard to find Sleipnir, held in a cell of his own, his proud head bowed, the brightness in his eyes dimmed to a sad kindle when the trickster approached. He nickered quietly in defeated hello, and reached out his nose to rub against his mother's chest like he always did. Biting his lip, Loki lifted his hands to cup his son's muzzle as he used to, and felt his throat close up when his fingers touched the cool steel of the tack. His face crumpled as his gaze ran over the bridle and reins looped over the stallion's head and neck, the bit fastened at the corners of his mouth. A saddle hung on the wall beside Sleipnir's head and he realized that the bit was entirely metal. For a moment he wondered why they had done this, and then saw the chipped edges of the horse's molars and realized that Sleipnir had chewed through the last one in his attempt to get it off, and had tried to do the same with this set.
Something inside the trickster fell apart then, and he slid against the door of Sleipnir's stall that separated them, hands falling from the stallion's nose to fold against the wood as his face pressed against his forearms. Loki's shoulders began to tremble with quiet sobs as the burn of tears wetted the fabric of his sleeve. His beautiful child, who he had gone through so much hardship to carry and nurture, whom he had sworn to protect, broken. Sleipnir's spirit for the wilderness had cracked and crumbled like the planks of a rotting bridge and with it had gone the part of Loki's heart that had dared to hope with him, that had flown on nimble hooves over untamed grasses and breathed air free of iron.
He inhaled brokenly, breath dying halfway down his throat, expelled again in a series of sobs that shook his pale frame. He mourned, openly and bitterly, for the death of his firstborn. For even though Loki would always love Sleipnir, tame or wild, chained or free, he knew that this was not what either of them had wanted, what he had fought so hard for.
A gentle nudge pressed against his arm and Loki bit down on his tears, forcing down the boulder in his throat as he rubbed his eyes on his cuff before lifting his head slightly. He looked Sleipnir once in the eyes, and regretted it instantly, needing to clench his jaw hard to suppress the wave of anguish at the hollow hopelessness he found in those dark gems. Raising a hand, he rubbed the edge of his son's jaw with the grief of a doting parent who knew that their days with their child would never be the same again, and Sleipnir nosed his palm with the beautiful trust of that child who still thought of his mother as his entire world, just like Loki had been during their first months in the meadow, laughing and free of worries.
Eventually, Loki turned and pressed the back of his other hand hard to his mouth to bite down on the sob that threatened to escape him as fresh tears slipped from his eyes, and he slowly walked away until even Sleipnir, reaching out as best he could with his neck and muzzle, could not touch Loki's hand that had fallen away to his side.