This work is a mix of MCU canon, Norse myth, and my own imagination. The movies show us so little of the past, and this story contains my random imaginings and mythological inspirations to create a possible past.
I did go with Norse myth for the names of Loki's birth parents—Farbauti is his father, and Laufey is his mother. In the myths, Loki chose to use his mother's name for his last name (Laufeyson) due to childhood difficulties with his father, which works just as well in the MCU. It's always frustrated me that the writers at Marvel dropped the ball on this detail, so I am setting things to rights in this story.
Notes:
This work is a birthday gift to the lovely ladymacbeth99, who was the first to welcome me to the wonderful world of fanfic. I hope you enjoy the family drama, angst, and the Kid!Loki and Kid!Thor!
The chapter titles are taken from the text of Handel's "Messiah", with some alteration to fit the text. I have no explanation for that, other than jetlag-induced insomnia sparks unexpected mental connections.
"My King!"
All around him, the cries of the wounded and dying, both Aesir and Jotun, seemed to diminish as he heard the voice of his cousin and aide-de-camp.
"My King!" Sirel raced up and knelt before his liege.
"The Queen is delivered of a son. The boy is early, and small, but both he and the Queen are healthy and resting."
In spite of the death surrounding them, Farbauti broke into a smile.
"This is excellent news, Sirel, and I thank you for it." However much Farbauti, the husband and father, wished to be with his family, the duty of Farbauti the king was to remain on the battlefield with his troops.
"Please return to the Queen, and give her my love, and thanks. Tell her I will be with them as soon as I can."
Sirel rose. "I shall carry the message, my King."
Sirel had delivered the message to Laufey, and returned to fight at his King's side. Farbauti appreciated Sirel's constancy and calm, even in the face of the terrible odds of their battle with the Aesir.
A flash of light at the far edge of the battlefield caught Farbauti's eye. What he saw cast a pall of dread over him.
More Einharjar had arrived. Again.
Every time Farbauti thought they had made progress in the battle, more Asgardians appeared. Farbauti wondered at Odin's casual deployment of seemingly endless numbers of his own people.
"Sirel." Farbauti pointed to the Bifrost site.
His aide's eyes flickered for the briefest of moments. "We will defeat them, however many there are."
"Yes, Sirel, we will." Farbauti looked at the Bifrost, then back at his cousin.
"However, just in case it does not go our way," Farbauti's voice dropped. "Please take the Queen, and my son, to the Temple. He should be anointed as my heir, and then the Temple will give them sanctuary if the tide of this battle does not turn in our favor."
Sirel looked at Farbauti. "My King! We will be victorious. I have no doubt."
Farbauti put his hand on his aide's shoulder. "Cousin, I wish to have no doubt. But we have deployed all of our troops, and the Aesir seem to have endless platoons. We must do all we can to ensure the safety of the Queen and Crown Prince."
Sirel nodded. "I understand, cousin." He bowed, and took his leave.
The doors of the Temple had been barred, and Farbauti's personal guard had been stationed at the outside.
Laufey, still exhausted from the difficult and overly-long birth, held her son close to her, for reassurance of love in this time of war.
The priest and priestess had hurriedly prepared the altar. The ice candles glimmered in the darkness, casting erratic shadows over the small group of the Queen's ladies and the Temple servants. The sounds of the battle were still distant, but closer than anyone wished to acknowledge.
The priestess addressed Laufey. "This is the child of our King and Queen?"
Laufey, despite her exhaustion and worry, kept her voice calm. "He is the child of your King and Queen."
"The King is not here." The priest was clearly displeased with this break from tradition.
Sirel stepped forward. "Your King is defending his people. I am here in his stead. This is the child of your King and Queen."
The priest's lips pursed a bit, but he continued. "And he is acknowledged as the first-born child, the Crown Prince, and Heir to the Throne of Jotunheim?"
Laufey kept her voice strong. "He is the first-born child, the Crown Prince, and Heir to the Throne of Jotunheim."
Sirel wished the priest would hurry things along. The battle was definitely closing in to the vicinity of the Temple. "He is the first-born child, the Crown Prince, and Heir to the Throne of Jotunheim."
"What is the child's name?" The priest raised his voice to counteract the nearing sounds of fighting coming through the Temple walls.
Laufey sighed inwardly. She and Farbauti had not agreed on a name, even with all the months of expectation. "His name is 'Vonir'." Hope is as good as name as any to give to a child in this circumstance.
"By the bones of Ymir, I consecrate you, Vonir, to the land of Jotunheim." Laufey moved the blanket just far enough from the baby's forehead for the priest to mark him with the ash made from the bones of the ancestors.
"By the blood of Ymir, I consecrate you, Vonir, to the crown of Jotunheim." The priestess marked the baby's forehead with the ceremonial blood of the ancestors.
"All hail Vonir, the son of our King and Queen, our Crown Prince, our Heir to the Throne of Jotunheim!" The priestess and priest called out together.
Before the small assembly could echo the pronouncement, Laufey swooned, and the gates of the Temple splintered.
"This way! Quickly!" The Temple staff formed a circle around the Queen, and made to rush her and her ladies to safety.
"Sirel," the Queen called, weakly. "Take Vonir."
There was no time to argue. He took the child from the Queen's arms. Supported by the priest and her ladies, the Queen was led to one of the side passages, Sirel following, holding the baby.
Despite the support, Laufey stumbled, and fell to the ground. Blood seeped through her skirts as her ladies looked on in fear.
"I can go no further." Laufey looked up at Sirel. "Guard the prince, cousin. Take care of my boy."
Laufey laid her head on the priestess' shoulder, and passed to join her ancestors.
The priest knelt next to Laufey, and he and the priestess began the Prayer for the Dead.
Sirel turned to the remaining Temple staff. "Get the Queen's ladies to safety!"
Laufey's attendants, weeping for their Queen, were shepherded down another passage.
Once he was certain they were on their way, Sirel pulled the baby close, and headed for the private chapel reserved for the use of the royal family. Behind it was a secret chamber known only to the King and Queen, and a few of the oldest clergy. Even Odin, with all his magic, would be unable to find it. Vonir would be safe.
Odin stood next to Tyr, and tried to take in the sight of so many bodies lying dead in this sacred space.
Tyr's voice was low, and rough with grief. "My King, none were spared."
Odin bowed his head. This was a grave insult to the Jotuns, and a terrible black mark on the Aesir.
He forced himself to walk the entire place with Tyr, seeing without blinders the havoc his soldiers had wrought.
Approaching a staircase, they found the bodies of a group of women, well-dressed and bejeweled.
He looked at Tyr. "Wives and daughters of the nobles. In the Temple for sanctuary." Odin's heart was heavy.
The bodies were surrounded by those of the Temple staff, dressed in simple robes.
Tyr's voice shook with anger. "There is no honor in killing those who serve the Gods, my King."
Odin nodded, unable to speak. What had happened that his men had lost all sense of honor? What rage had driven them to slay the guardians of this place, and those who had rightfully claimed sanctuary on this hallowed ground?
"We shall deal with them once we return to Asgard."
The men continued up the passageway. A bit further on, they found three more victims. One, a well-dressed woman draped in furs, and another woman and a man in the ceremonial robes of the Temple.
Odin's heart froze. He looked at Tyr.
"This can be no other but Laufey."
Try nodded, filled with shame that Asgard's army had killed not only the Temple residents and nobles who had sought sanctuary with them, but their enemy's Queen. Such actions broke all the rules of combat. Members of the royal family were taken alive whenever possible, and held as hostages for bargaining during the treaty talks.
Odin knelt next to her, gently scanning with his magic for injuries. To his surprise, there were no marks on her anywhere. He ran his hands carefully over her fur-clad body, just outside her energy field. Well, where her energy field would have been, had she lived.
"What do we know of her, Tyr? She is dead, and yet, she bears no wounds."
"She was a skilled magic-user. Perhaps the surface wounds healed, even as the blood loss was too great to sustain her life."
Odin shook his head. "There are no wounds anywhere, not even under the skin, but there is significant blood loss."
"We had reports that the Queen was with child. Perhaps the shock of the war brought her to an untimely birth."
Odin nodded. "Very likely." He thought of his own Queen, his beloved Frigga, and her recent miscarriage. "May the Gods bless her soul on its journey, and may she join her ancestors in glory."
Tyr, for all of his dislike of their enemies, nonetheless respected the royal house, and the souls of the departed. "May she join her ancestors in glory."
They had walked the entire Temple, and returned to the remains of the splintered gates.
"See to our dead, and theirs as well." Odin sighed inwardly. He knew his men would resent showing any care for the Frost Giants, but it was a very small way to make things right in the face of having committed such a monstrous wrong.
"Yes, my King." Tyr bowed, and took his leave.
Odin looked around the vast hall. Something had been going on at the time of the attack. The ice candles on the altar were lit, and even though the ceremonial items had been knocked from the altar, they had clearly been in use until that moment.
Odin closed his eyes. Norns, guide me. Help me to clear this blood from Asgard's hands.
Taking a deep breath, Odin opened his eyes, and walked the building again.
As he walked, he sent out his magic to sense for what remained hidden.
As he walked, his magic found nothing.
He reached the far end of the Temple, and stepped into a small chapel.
Paintings of kings and queens of Jotunheim lined the walls, with empty spaces in the arches closest to the door for those yet to be born.
Clearly, this was the private chapel for the royal family. Odin sent out a feeler, but found nothing. He closed his eye.
Norns, guide me. Help me to do right for the innocent souls who suffered here.
Odin sensed the presence before he felt movement. He opened his eye to see a Frost Giant brandishing an ice sword.
"All-Father. What a surprise. The Fates have favored me this day."
Sirel advanced on the Aesir King.
"Today has seen enough blood shed in this hallowed place. Let us not add further to it." Odin knew this wasn't Farbauti, as he was in custody, but was certain it was some member of Farbauti's family.
"The only blood today yet requires is yours." Sirel continued to move towards Odin.
"My blood will not set anything to right. Join me in making the peace."
"The only peace I will make with you is sending you to the peace of Helheim!" Sirel launched himself into the air, blade extended.
"Helheim is not on my agenda for today." Odin waved Gungnir, and Sirel froze in place.
"Nor is it on yours." Odin patted the Frost Giant as he walked past. The man would stay locked into that position for an hour. When the spell wore off, he would be unharmed, and have no memory of what had transpired. Odin would have time to finish what he needed to do.
Odin walked the edge of the chapel, examining each painting, sensing for secrets. Nothing.
He paused at the front of the chapel, and regarded the painting of Ymir and Audumhla.
Aeons ago, his own father and uncles had killed Ymir, and created realms out of the giant's body. The great flood had killed many members of all the races, including many of the Aesir. Had Bergelmir and his small flotilla of giants not rescued Ask and Embla, even the humans would have been wiped out.
We must do better. We have learned nothing in thousands of years. This cannot continue.
Odin turned for the door. Whatever he had hoped to find was eluding him, and he had no more time to pursue it. The battle was won, but now the real work of war began—clearing the aftermath. He knew his generals would manage most of it, but he knew it was equally important to the army to have their King active and visible during this phase, as much as any other part of the war.
Odin took a step, and stopped. He had to try, one last time.
Norns, guide me.
Then he heard—a sound.
A sound he knew.
A sound made by a tired infant, fighting sleep.
Odin smiled.
He sent out his magic, a gold thread.
A slender blue thread reached towards him.
Odin followed it, and found himself staring at Ymir and Audumhla again.
He reached forward, and pressed the jewel over Ymir's heart.
The panel swung inwards, revealing a small but well-furnished chamber.
In one of the chairs was a bundle of furs, and the blue thread came from them.
Odin cautiously followed the thread to the chair, where the thread pulled back into the furs.
Leaning over, Odin found himself regarded by two crimson eyes from a tiny pale blue face.
Odin recognized Farbauti's markings, and what he assumed were ones from Laufey.
"Hello, little princess." Odin spoke softly.
The infant looked up at Odin without blinking, and without fear.
Odin reached out to adjust the fur, and noticed the markings of blood and ash.
Farbauti and Laufey's newborn child.
Odin reached under the furs, and scooped the child into his arms.
The baby wriggled, and an arm broke free from its bundling. A small blue hand reached towards Odin, who caught it in his own large, pink hand.
Odin stroked the child's face, looking at the marks of its royal family.
To his surprise, he saw the baby's skin grow smooth, and pale. The lines disappeared, and the baby's skin turned as pink and warm as that any of Aesir child. The crimson eyes glowed green, and softened into two bright orbs, gazing openly at him.
"You have great magic, little one."
Possibilities flew past, faster than thought.
Thank you, Norns.
Odin hid the child in his cloak and wrapped himself in a glamour of invisibility and silence, lest the child start crying. He hurried back to the main hall, carrying the fur-wrapped bundle close to his chest.
Stepping over the bodies of the fallen, he left the silent Temple.
The ice candles shattered, and the Temple was dark.