.

Bereft

"Loki had three children with Angrboda; Fenrir, the serpent Jörmungandr, and Hel.
Once the gods found these three children, they learned their fates from prophecies
and knew they would bring great turmoil down upon the Realm Eternal because
of the nature of their mother, who was a deceiver;
but more so because of their father, for he was a clever trickster in all the realms."

~ Fenrir ~

Perhaps he was not entirely honest, but he was never entirely deceptive. If one looked searchingly enough—if they bothered to know truth—they would have uncovered the lies, the tricks, easily. But they never did, and Loki suffered for their stupidity; for their need to have everything visible and simple.

But now— now it was not he who would suffer.

Again Loki threw himself against the restraints of the Einerhjar. "Father, don't! Have pity, I beg you!" He twisted in the soldier's grasp, but could not come loose.

Odin did not seem to hear his cries, and instead eyed the wolf-creature before him. Lord Tyr held the golden chain Loki had unwittingly fashioned for them. How could he have have been so blind, he reprimanded himself harshly. When his father's adviser had come to him, asking for an enchanted chain of gold so fine it was but a thread, yet so strong not even a giant could sever it, he had been flattered. At last they needed him; at last they did not mock his power as tricks.

Loki's heart beat wildly, and he wished fervently there was some way to turn back time; some way to undo what was to come. He had argued and fought in vain, even though mother had sided with him also. Prophecies could be changed, fate was not carved in stone. But stead of heeding him they had locked him away, punished him for love and happiness that had been his just a brief while.

Perhaps it had been foolishness of youth, as Odin proclaimed, but he had been drawn to the girl, with her hair, the color of fire and her skin warm bronze. He had been charmed by her laughter and her magic. He had not questioned her, and he had erred, but he would not change what she had given him. Even if there was some way he could reverse time and have discovered Angrboda's cunning swifter, he would not have regretted his children.

A snake materialized on his palm, and he hurled it at the Einherjar. One cried out, and the other became alarmed. Caution and schemes aside, he pushed through them, ran across the stone, and came to his knees beside Fenrir. Fear edged his voice, and tears stung, but he refused to weep, lest Thor—who watched from behind the barrier of guards—think him resorting to yet another womanly trick.

"Do not do this, I beg you. Father I have been foolish, but do not listen to a witch's words; prophecies can be undone, fate can be remade. You of all here must know my love!" It was his final plea; his last defense.

Perhaps he was young, and foolish and blind to certain truths, but he would not allow them to chain his son in eternal darkness while he could argue against such cruel punishment. Surely Odin could understand a father's love for his child? Surely. . .

He sunk his fingers into Fenrir's inky coat, unwilling to let the soldiers part him from his son. Earnestly he stared at the All-father.

Odin sighed, and motioned for the Einherjar to stay themselves from hauling the second prince back behind their ranks and then away from the throne room; back to imprisonment in his chambers. He stared down at the boy—when had he grown into a man? Surely he was not old enough to sire children of his own and plead their cause?—and his heart constricted. Yes, he knew well the love that burned fiercely within Loki's eyes. Yes, he understood that fate could be changed; more than the second prince knew. But it was because of a father's love that he did what he did now.

"My son, not all children can be made pure. Even with our most fervent pleas," he replied, a measure of kindness in his voice to soften the coming blow.

Loki's pulse pounded, and his breath seemed difficult to gather. He shook his head imperceptibly.

He felt chilled, and wondered distantly how he could be so cold in high summer.

"No." His voice was a ghost of breath; soundless and unheard.

"I place this judgment now because of my love as a father, and less as a king." Odin murmured, almost with absence as he took his eye off his youngest son and regarded Fenrir with caution and thoughtfulness.

Perhaps, someday, when the pain was less—no, he knew that such a day would not come—but, there would come an hour in a day when he would tell Loki the wretched fate of this beloved wolf-child. For though Odin understood that the future could be changed, he knew also that this child would be so mad with darkness he would destroy the only parent who ever showed him love. Or another of the many prophecies could unfold.

The Einherjar who held the enchanted chains that bound the wolf in place stiffened, uneasy as silence fell in that golden room. Fenrir growled deep in his throat, claws etching the floor as he shifted in place, and Loki fisted his hands in the ebony coat; relishing the warmth of the black hairs between his clenched fingers, knowing in spite of his denial that this would be his last time to touch his child.

"Fenrir Lokison, you were beloved by Asgard; beloved by your father, but you shall prove traitor to this realm, and you cannot go free. You shall be bound for all of eternity or until you perish. You heart is black, and cannot be changed." Gungnir's weight echoed in the hall as it struck the stone.

"No! He is my son!" Loki cried out, refusing to move from the wolf's side. Hands grabbed on to him, and he found himself fighting Thor's hold as he was dragged from the throne room.

"Wait."

The All-father's request was accented by the deepening growls coming from the black-coated wolf. The world seemed to cease moving. Loki stared wildly, his gaze passing over his mother, who stood in the shadow of a great pillar while tears coursed down her cheeks, to Lord Tyr, to his father, and lastly his eyes found and held Fenrir's. They were green, like his, and again it felt as if his heart would tear asunder and never be whole.

"This is your child, and it was by your skill that this chain was fashioned," Odin paused and could not seem to find words to finish, an aged hand resting atop the coil of gold Lord Tyr held as if were no more than mere rope.

Loki felt Thor's hold on him loosen, and he broke away easily, taking hesitant steps closer. No one stopped him. Now he stood before Odin, nothing more than a half-grown Asgardian who still must tilt his head to meet the eye of his king. Then he turned from his father. He wrapped his fingers around the coiled chain, breath shuddering and eyes burning with unshed tears.

"But—my king—what if he does not bind the monster as it should be bound?" Lord Tyr's voice was cultivated mistrust and anger. His hands held steadily to the enchanted chain.

"He is my son, and he is not a monster!" Loki hissed, wrath rising at the insinuation. He faced the lord, green eyes bright.

"And Loki is my son; a Prince of Asgard. Give him the rope, my lord," Odin spoke. Hate seethed in Tyr's face and his blue eyes were dark as the ocean before a storm; a sure sign of his displeasure. Reluctantly his fingers released the chain, and he stepped back with an inclination of his tawny head.

Loki turned away from them all; mother, father, Thor and Lord Tyr.

He stared at the wolf and his fingers clenched the chain until the links chimed against one another, the thrum of their magic an ill melody in his hands. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, and he did not bid them cease. His glance met Fenrir's.

The wolf bowed his head, and his form shimmered. Frigga's gasp could be heard, but no other voice spoke. A child stood in place of the massive wolf, and the shackles that once bound the creature's fore-legs and hind-legs fell useless to the stone. Midnight hair spilled onto slim shoulders, and Odin's heart sorrowed, for this child was a great likeness to his father.

Loki knelt, one hand reaching out to touch the boy's face. The child raised his eyes, and the hatred that burned in the wolf's expression was absent in the face of the child's fear. Slowly, Fenrir held out his hands, and a sob caught in Loki's throat as he brought up the golden chain.

Tears fell from a matched pair of emerald eyes as Loki bound his son.

His mind was a relentless torrent of schemes and hopes as he searched for a way to undo this sentence, yet he could fathom no avenue out. His fingers brushed over the bindings around Fenrir's wrists, and he wondered if his magic was anything but weak when in the face of Gungnir's might. Tears fell on the gold, and it hummed faintly.

He dropped the remaining length of chain, and embraced his son. "Never doubt my love, little wolf," he whispered fiercely, his fingers lost in the soft black tresses of the boy's head. Small hands wrapped around his neck, and they trembled. He broke the embrace bitterly, and no longer hid his tears. Swiftly he came to his feet.

He looked once at the boy and could look no more. Loki began moving away, his steps fast. A hand touched his sleeve, and Odin met his eyes. Loki swallowed painfully, and shook his head, freeing himself with uneven motions. He ran from the throne room and did not give it a parting glance.

Frigga wrung her hands fitfully in the shadows where she stood, but finally stepped out close to her husband as Lord Tyr recovered the fallen length of chain that acted as a tether to the bindings. The child stared up at the warrior lord, blinking quickly.

Without thinking, Tyr reached out, feeling pity that perhaps Loki—out of fear that he would be doubted—had chained his son too tightly.

A shadow passed over the child's face, and suddenly the boy was a great black wolf. With a thunderous crack the beast's jaws latched over the blond god's hand and he cried out in agony as he stepped away, grasping the place where his hand had been. He stumbled back from the animal, his blood dripping to the stone. A dangerous glint brightened the emerald eyes of the wolf-child, and in spite of the one-handed lord, Frigga thought she saw tears wet the fur on the creature's face.

Five Einherjar reached out, taking up the abandoned chain. The golden thread pulled taut, and the giant wolf could not longer move. The shackles they returned to his legs, and then loosed their hold on the golden cord. With spears they forced the wolf from the grand hall, and Odin watched silently.

Thor stood off some ways, and he felt torn. He did not understand how such a monster could be loved, but when he had seen the child it could become he had wondered how such an innocent could be abandoned because of a prophecy long into the future.

Frigga brought a hand to her tear-stained face and shook her head sorrowfully, though she still appeared to her son as brave and stern as any battle-hardened shield maiden. With a press of her hand to her husband's arm, she turned and went the same way Loki had fled; Thor knew she would find him and offer solace until his grief eased.

A/N:

Sooooo. . . This was completely random. Basically, I was just reading around and thinking about Loki's kids in the mythology (also looking at some great fanart about Loki and his kids) and I decided that, with a spin on things, they too could be Marvel-ish. I mean, Marvel took huge creative license on Loki and Thor and Asgard, so I took some with Loki's kids. All in good fun, of course! :) I own absolutely nothing!

I figure that this could take place a couple centuries before the stuff in Thor. Which would make Loki about 1,000?

I pegged Fenrir for this as being around 400 or so when this happened (if it were to take place in Marvel's Cinematic Universe?) Which would make him look in kid-form around 8? I didn't really work all that out, I just kinda guesstimated. I also created the quote at the beginning from several different sources, which is why I didn't give one. I "adapted" stuff to make one quote.

"His Brightest Star Was You" and "Turin" from Two Steps From Hell's latest album "Vanquish" helped inspire this little story. You can listen to 'em or not, I suppose.

I hope you enjoyed it! I'm planning on doing Hel, Jörmungandr, Sleipnir and maybe those other two boys. . . *can't recall their names* But, we'll see! Happy reading!

WH