Hi guys! Just a little one shot that's been bouncing around my head for a while. Finally had time to write it down with my last fic finished. Hope you all like!
Odin sighed. This had been the longest day of his life. Probably because it had now been significantly more than what any sane mortal would have considered a day and was approaching the limit for a sane Asgardian as well. He had just finished a long and trying battle with the last small forces commanded by Laufey the day before, had scarcely slept for the dreams he'd had, then awoken to settle the matter of what should be done about the conquered Jodenheim. He had to fight through indiscriminate details with idiotic officials not truly worthy of the titles they had been promoted to on the field. His eye socket ached where his eye used to be, and his entire skull resounded with the argument that had lasted most of the day. Finally, he reached his limit and dismissed his officers, claiming that his reasons were not involving his pain at all, but instead saying several uncomplimentary things about them, their sires, and the unfortunate state of mind they all shared which was commonly referred to as stupidity. Then he sent them all running with one of his characteristic bellows of kingly rage and sank down into the uncomfortable seating in the Joden home he had briefly commandeered. And that was how he remained for several hours, not even able to summon the energy to rise and find the sleeping quarters. Pain was body wide, and his soul stung with recent loss and nagging worry. He had lost more men than he dared to admit to himself, but there were some losses which the soul simply cannot deny.
The first loss was his wife, before the war even began. In the days before the Frost Giants made their fateful attack on the helpless mortal Midgard, his beloved had gone into labor with their first child, a day he had looked forward to for many, many months. However something went wrong, something which not even the healers and all their magic could have predicted, and before he could even react he was holding his dead wife in his arms. It was so sudden that sometimes his mind still denied it, still thought eagerly of the day he would return to see her and his son waiting to greet him. Then a heavy curtain of pain would fall over his mind, and it was all that he could do to function as a general.
And then there was his little son. He had been forced to leave him only four days after the boy's tragic birth to fight for a race of mortals, and he still could not fully convince himself that it was worth it. The boy would be a decade old now, which would be around the size and maturity that he had seen of a child of one year on Midgard. He longed to see him, hold him in his arms, and introduce himself again as the boy's father. He would still be so small. He had not even been able to settle the matter of the poor child's name before he left. Odin had found a sensible woman for care for him while he was away, a noble woman who had been a friend of his late wife. Her name was Frigga. She had sympathized with his plight and promised that she would keep the boy safe until his return. He hoped that both were safe and that his caretaker was good with him.
After a while, Odin could no longer stand to sit in his thoughts and pain. He stood slowly and allowed the world to steady itself before he began to walk. The healer traveling with them had been killed, and so he was forced to endure his small injuries until he could return to his home on the following day and leave this ball of ice and stone for good. He walked to the door and opened it, finding with both irritation and empathy that the guard who was supposed to be standing before it was instead slumbering deeply against the wall. He chose to side with his empathy and let the man rest, continuing on his way without touching him.
Odin walked through the pathways of what was left of the city around him. Not surprisingly, he was met with a few of his men, all of whom saw his expression and thought better of speaking to him. But there were no Frost Giants, civilians or otherwise, that dared show their faces in public since their defeat. He could hardly blame them for being cautious, no he rather encouraged their fear, and still Jodenheim seemed all the more eerie without its residents. As he trudged through the ruins about him, he could hardly keep his mind from wandering to the events of the last few years, which lead up to this one last battle. First there had been the struggle on Midgard, and a mighty one it was. At first it had seemed as if the Asgardian victory was assured, as they had caught the Jotuns completely off guard. But then his general, advisor, and lifelong friend was killed before his eyes (for he had two then) by a frost spear to the heart and the battle became more vicious.
His mind rebelled, again rejecting the idea that his friend was dead. They had known each other since they were children. When the first world disaster, the first Ragnorok, struck Asgard and killed the rest of the Bloodline royal family, he had been the first to call him Odin Allfather. He had a lighthearted wit and was deadly in battle, slinging lightning and thunder around him as easily as they had slung rocks as boys, his red hair flying up in the electricity like a fire. He wielded the mighty Mjolnir worthily for many years, taking it with him wherever he went like it was his dearest companion. Whether it had been his bellowing greeting or his thunderous war cry, Odin had loved the man like a brother, and the respect he had had for his wisdom surpassed his respect for all but one. His name had been Thor.
Odin's mind went unwillingly to the funeral fire which he had watched consume his friend. The mortals, struck with sadness at the deaths of so many of their protectors, had constructed many, many boats so that the fallen warriors could be properly cremated. He remembered watching them float out onto the water slowly, following to current. He had seen the faces of his men and watched as some of them wept, some of them cried the names of their lost companions. One even collapsed. He was a young man, watching the fire catch to his elder brother's corpse, and it was simply too much for him. But worst of all, Odin remembered watching the fire catch Thor and turning to his brother to find tears spilling from both their eyes.
Oh, Ancestors, his brother. Odin found a suitable bit of rubble and seated himself, not able to stand while he thought of his most recent loss. Thor had been like a brother to him, but his second in command and first advisor had been a brother. They were not related by blood, but his family had adopted the child when his family was killed due to some interracial bias (his mother was a Wind Giantess). They had both been eight. Odin had never had a dearer companion, nor known a better man than his brother. They had been opposites, cause and effect, action and consequence, and so they had always been at their best when they were working together. His name had been Loki.
Odin had seen the enchanted shard of ice that Laufey had launched at him, he had seen his death coming swiftly towards him and known there was nothing he could do to stop it. Then he had seen his brother, Loki, standing before him, holding his shoulders to brace himself so that the knife could not kill them both. He heard his brother's last words, saluting him as king, before his eyes had become terrible and blank. He had seen his brother's blond hair stained in his own blood as he laid him down to renew his attack on Laufey. And yet he still could not come to terms with the fact that he was dead, and that it was his fault.
Tears streamed down Odin's face as the loss of the three people he held dearest in the world cut him in half. It was at this time that he wished, yet again, that the shard of ice that Laufey launched at his eye on Midgard had managed to find his brain and that he had joined Thor in the funeral boats. Perhaps then Loki would have returned home. After all, following the Frost Giants back to Jodenheim and finishing them had been his plan, and Loki had argued against it. If it were not for him, his brother might still be alive. Odin slumped against the bit of wall behind him, glad that there was at least one structure to lean against that was still standing. After a short time he found that he was no longer able to weep and so decided to investigate this queerly stable structure, his mind blankly curious from overstimulation.
He found it to be a temple of sorts and smiled at the irony that, of all places, his grief would bring him here. It was in ruin, of course, but it seemed to best built structure in the city, as it was the only one that still seemed somewhat sound. Odin walked up to the alter and leaned against it, trying to grasp something to stop himself from fainting. His head was splitting in pain and he felt weak for the first time in many decades. He was glad of the silence, of the peace of this place.
Not knowing why, he knelt down and began reciting the warrior's oath for forgiveness and perseverance. It soothed him, somewhat, to say the words he'd said a hundred times with his brothers, the words he'd said on his wedding day, the words he'd said those many years ago, when his father had declared him a man. They stung deeply, like a salve in an infected wound, but he could feel the healing in them. And so he forced them out. These words were an apology, a promise, and everything in between. They were simple but profound, written before his existence by his father's father's father. So he vowed them again, and the past was with him once more, carrying all the pain and happiness of days gone by, reminding him of every time and place and person who'd heard this oath from his lips.
"I am called Odin Allfather," he began quietly, "I am a god. I am a king. I am a warrior, brother, and friend. I am a husband. I am a father. I am a man."
Here he paused, his throat closing against his will. But just as he'd done every time this oath had been said in apology, he continued on, forcing the words out through sheer will.
"I am imperfect," he admitted painfully, "I am flawed. I am the cause of pain, of injury, and of death. I am a man of mistakes, both past and future. And of these mistakes I am not made. I am strong in my weakness. I am powerful in my learning. I am going to struggle. I am going to fight. I am going to live on. And I am going to strive for a better state then I have yet experienced. For I will be more than I am."
He paused again, then as was custom with such an apology, he recited the names of the people he'd wronged or lost or regretted hurting. Each name felt like a burden laid down, yet he knew he would carry them just the same, their weight as ever present as his armor.
"Fjörgyn," he began, stating his late wife's name sorrowfully, "Thor. Loki. I will be more than I am."
The Allfather stayed there kneeling at the altar. He was drained, tired, and depressed beyond belief, and for a moment he thought he'd never have the strength to rise again. He pressed his head against the cold stone of the altar leg and wept again, blood mingling with the tears from his lost eye. All was quiet around him, and for a moment he wept in peace. Then that peace was lost.
A terrible, wailing cry shot out into the echoing ruins, and Odin's head shot up, his hand going to his spear even as he fought the dizziness the struck him moments after. The cry sounded again, and his blurry mind was able to distinguish that this was neither a battle cry nor a cry of death. This was the sound of a child.
Confused now, he carried his spear and began to search for the source. The sound reverberated through his head and pinpointing where it came from was made difficult by the throbbing it caused, but he had never been a man easily discouraged and eventually he found his quarry. At first he could barely tell the child was there, as it was hidden by the rubble that had somehow, miraculously, not crushed him when it fell. The infant cried out in weak pain and hunger, its little limbs moving languidly as it poured its very life into those cries. Odin stared at him for a moment, then reached down and lifted him up from the ground, holding him carefully. He stared for a moment in shock. He'd seen the markings on the child's skin, seen this child's kin. He knew this child.
As he was thinking it the child changed and confirmed his suspicion. He'd put a warming spell over himself as soon as he'd landed on Jotumheim and when he touched the child it enveloped him as well. The infant's blue skin changed to a light peach, his red/orange eyes to dark green. This was Laufey's heir.
Laufey had married a woman of Asgard centuries ago, a woman named Fárbauti, in an attempt to hold on to the peace between the kingdoms. He'd taken her with him when they left for earth, so sure that his attack would go untouched. She'd been killed in the battle. Odin remembered the mortals setting her body on a pyre, thinking her one of the fallen gods, and he hadn't the heart to tell them she was not. None there had cried for her that day aside from them. This child was half Asgardian, he could see that clearly. And those green eyes were a haunting reminder of the eyes of Fárbauti, large and round, when she'd left Asgard with her husband.
Spies had told him that there were rumors of an infant heir born by Laufey's wife, an heir he had been seeking for some time. Jotunheim was a treacherous place after her fall from power, and it was still uncertain what was to be done about the royal family before they left. This child was part of that family and as such dangerous.
But the more he looked at the baby, who was now futilely sucking his thumb in hunger, the more he realized that this child was not the danger. This child was in danger. What would happen to him should they choose to end Laufey? The majority would say that this child should be ended as well, as he carried Laufey's blood. And what would happen to him if they left Laufey as the king of his fallen world, powerless and vengeful? Odin knew. This child was not Jotun or Asgardian, and would be hated by all. There was no place of safety for this orphan, for the boy's mother was gone and his father had abandoned him. The strangest of feelings overtook him as he held the boy in his hands. Pity was present, definitely, but it was far more than that. The child looked up at him and smiled, and a fatherly smile overtook Odin's face. He was an innocent child. None of this was his doing. And he knew what he had to do.
He pulled his cloak around his arms as if for warmth (who would not believe that?) and bundled the baby inside. The child made a small cry and Odin shushed him gently, looking down to see the green eyes staring back at him.
"If there is one thing you must not do, child," he said gently, holding the baby close, "It is cry. Be silent. Agreed?"
The baby stared at him and he swore he saw a searching in those green eyes, an understanding. So he walked forward, putting on his best "angry king best to be avoided" expression. Not surprisingly, just as before, he walked back to the house where he'd been staying undisturbed. He even noted with some gratitude that the guard was still asleep, and he hurried into his chambers, shutting the door quietly. He had already threatened the lives of anyone who dared disturb him again today, and he found himself being glad for the stupidity of his officers as he unwrapped the baby from his cloak.
When he pulled the cloth from the baby's face, there was a mischievous little smile on the child's face, as if he knew that he'd just gone through at least twenty Asgardians and nobody noticed him. Odin couldn't help but smile and bounce the child a little bit in his arms. Then he went to the bedchamber of the house and placed the child on the soft furs, putting a finger to his lips as he left and earning another gleeful little smile. He rummaged in the kitchen area until he found a jar with some preserved fruit that had remained unbroken, and he brought it back to the child quickly, allowing him to suck it from the tip of his finger. Those large green eyes stared up at him all the while, and Odin knew then, more than ever, that this child could not be left behind.
When the infant had had his fill, Odin laid on the bed beside him, carefully placing him on the opposite side atop the furs, so he wouldn't smother. He watched the baby and the baby watched him; they lay there for some time just looking at each other as if asking what to do next. Odin smiled at the child and the boy smiled back, making a soft cooing sound. Again Odin put his finger to his lips, and to his amazement the child did the same, with a mischievous grin nonetheless, though he was just barely old enough to be weaned. He laughed softly and reached out his hand, allowing the little one to take his finger in his tiny fist.
Odin knew that the child could not be left in anyone else's care but his own. After the length of the war, any Jotun seemed a monster to many of these men, and he was certain this child would seem even more so for his heritage. And he was to return to Asgard on the morrow, with the rest of his men, leaving Jotunheim behind them at last. He could hide the child until they were home, but then what would become of him? He had no wife, he could not pretend the child was his own. What was to be done with him?
But these were matters to be attended to when they were on Asgard. Until then he just had to keep the little one safe and hidden. When they returned he could see his un-named son and the his caretaker again, then he would find a way to care for the baby as well. Odin realized with a start that the child had no name. Not only his own son, who was far away and safe, but the child lying beside him who he now risked significant stakes to protect. He looked over to the boy again and whispered softly to him.
"You have no name," he said, his brow furrowing slightly.
The boy cooed and smiled in that clever way again, as if he knew very well that he did have a name, but swore never to tell it. Odin almost laughed at the little trickster, looking so self-satisfied. Then it hit him. The Trickster.
His brother Loki had always been one for jokes. He would always play the cruelest ones on Thor, for they enjoyed a rivalry in their youth, and Odin had enjoyed that spirit immensely. It was what he was sure he would most sorely miss in his lost sibling. Every room had seemed lighter for his quietly merry presence, every gathering more interesting as they awaited whatever minor catastrophe Loki'd planned. And that smile, that knowing look that the child wore now was so similar to his brother's prankster grin that it was almost uncanny. Surely this was a sign.
"Would you accept the name of my brother, Loki?" he said to the child, trying to stay serious as the child giggled softly in response, that clever look growing.
It was as if it had been his name all along. And on that spot, Odin decided that this abandoned child would be his son, the namesake of his brother. And his son at home he would call Thor, to carry the names of the great men he'd lost so that their legacy might live on. He'd lost two brothers, and now he'd gained two sons.
"Then Loki you will be, my son," he declared quietly, picking the child up to hold him against his chest.
The baby giggled again and pushed close to Odin's chest with his face, making a happy sigh as he did. He was asleep in an instant, and Odin stared down at his son as he had stared down at the newly named Thor the first time he'd been brave enough to hold him. He rocked Loki gently and hummed to him for a while, then leaned down and pressed his lips gently to the child's head, repeating his promise of earlier that night. This time the apology was gone, however, and it was a promise as on the day of his wedding and the same promise he'd make to Thor when he arrived at home. He finished the oath in barely a whisper, and smiled at the sleeping babe as he said the final words, sealing his promise.
"I will be more than I am."
Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think, always glad to hear!