Son of Odin

AN: Hey guys. So, basically what this is, is a series of one shots I'm doing that's meant to kind of explore the relationship between Odin and Loki, and explore basically how their relationship got to the point we see it at by the time the films roll around. Since Loki's relationship with Odin is arguably the most vital, impactful relationship in Loki's life, and we see so few fics actually exploring it, I wanted to give it a god.

Basically, I'll be updating this periodically, when I have ideas of scenes I want to explore between them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think if you get a chance!

Chapter 1:

Loki is a frail child.

Odin can do naught but acknowledge this truth now, begrudging an acknowledgement though it may be.

He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, when he'd first taken the boy in from the wastes of Jotunehim, that his lack of size and strength had merely been a result of what had been obvious and severe neglect, and that, eventually, he would outgrow it.

The child had been badly underfed, malnourished and left exposed for what must have been several days, to temperatures which could easily have brought death to even the hardiest and most hale of Aesir men if abandoned in such similar fashion.

That the child had survived as long as he did, that he had survived at all, was nothing short of a miracle.

Eir had declared, upon completing her examination of the boy, grim faced and tone heavy, that he would likely not live past another week, and that he and the All-Mother would do well to begin planning funerary riges. That assuming the All-Father did not just simply intend to have the child sent back to whence it had come, to expire as it had been meant to expire.

But Frigga would not hear of it, and in truth, Odin had not the heart to send the boy back to that Hel forsaken land. Back to that cold, prolonged and painful death.

And so they had kept the child, fully expecting him to die and die soon.

They did as their head healer advised, making the necessary arrangements, steeling themselves for the loss, not of a yet loved member of their small family, but an innocent being yet, who did not deserve to die so young.

A week came and went, and still the boy remained. And both he and his wife waited in dread filled anticipation, expecting the pall of his demise to arrive any day then.

They did not bother with giving him a name, knowing to do so would only worsen the pain of his inevitable loss. Though they did everything in their power to make comfortable his life, little what they were certain remained of it.

Nor did they tell Thor of him, not wanting to expose a child so young to a thing so ugly.

Another week, and then another, and somehow the boy clung stubbornly to life.

He barely grew stronger in that time. His health scarcely improving.

But he did not die, and both Odin and Frigga began, in turn, to grow fond of, even attached to the boy.

Still, they had worried, and it was not until Eir herself declared the child likely to go on living, when finally they had nursed him, if not back to health, then in the least, farther from death than he'd been, they finally bestowed a name upon him.

Loki, Frigga had chosen, and Odin had thought it a fine name.

They had made quick work of establishing a story to tell both the Kingdom and Thor himself, easily believed for the months Frigga had spent hidden away to the royal wing while Odin had been off to war.

The only one's who knew the truth of their adopted son were themselves, Eir and Heimdall, their Watcher. Both of whom Odin knew he could trust to not speak a word of Loki's true heritage.

And Thor… Thor had taken immediately to the tiny child.

Already a growing boy, near old enough to begin weapons training, Thor had been instantly protective of Loki, handling him with a care and concern neither the King nor his wife had ever before observed in their usually rambunctious, energetic son.

He'd been filled with questions, naturally, the first among them a worry filled query as to his new brother's size.

"Why is he so small?" Thor had asked, gazing up at both Odin and Frigga with distraught eyes.

And that had been a question difficult to answer.

Loki had been small not merely in contrast to an infant of the Aesir, which still he had been, but next to the babes of his true kin, he was what the Jotnar might only describe as deformed.

Not in that he was not perfectly shaped, for indeed he was. But his size was beyond remarkable in its demureness. It had not taken Odin more than one glance at the boy to know the reasoning behind his abandonment. Likely, Laufey, for Loki was Laufey's son, had not believed the child capable of surviving the harsh climate of Jotunheim, not small as he was, and in truth, that belief had been steeped in probability. Beyond that, strength and power, above all else, were prized assets among the Jotnar.

Loki's physical frailty would have brought nothing but immense shame to the Jotun King.

It was more like than not none beyond Laufey himself, and whatever woman had birthed the child, knew of Loki's existence at all.

And that was just as well for Odin and his wife.

Loki had, over the years, become a true son to them, as loved and cherished as Thor himself.

Though still Odin had thought, perhaps one day, if the boy so wished it, when they would reveal his true heritage to him, he might return to Jotunheim, to rule as her King, and broker a new age of peace and understanding between the two Realms.

But such possibilities remained centuries away.

And Odin's concern lies now with Loki's most fragile constitution.

It has been this way since the beginning, and the King thinks to himself he should not continue to feel so distraught, so anxious each time his youngest falls ill. It has been such a recurring circumstance.

But Odin cannot help himself, the furrow along his brow deep and worried as he stares down at his child, lying pale and still, face and body beaded with sweat from how his fever burns him hot.

Odin holds Loki's hand, dwarfed within his own, and he is amazed still at how tiny, how fragile the boy is. The All-Father realizes, as he gazes down on him, Loki is perhaps half so big as he should be at his age, if indeed he were even Aesir.

A Frost Giant at Loki's age would be big as Odin himself.

The King contemplates his son as he looks upon his gaunt, too thin face.

Loki is a strange child, that he cannot deny.

He is painfully intelligent. Painfully, Odin thinks, for the boy sees entirely too much, understands entirely too much for one so young, and it causes in Loki a burden, and at times it seems, a grief, most unnatural to any child his age or even centuries older.

Perhaps it is the Norns, gifting Loki such a burning bright mind to equal out the fragility of his body.

Sometimes, though, it would seem more a curse than a gift, to grasp the world around you so completely.

Odin struggles to relate to him, though try he does.

In every way, he is perfectly opposite his older brother, whom Odin has always held a deep connection with and understanding of, for how like him at his age Thor is.

Where his eldest is whole and hale and demonstrating already a physical strength of legendary proportions, spoken of in awed and venerating tones, Loki spends more than half his days confined to bed, either within Eir's halls of healing, or when he is not so very sick, his own chambers, denied leave until he is so determined well enough.

And where Thor is boisterous and outgoing and popular, charming and well liked, Loki is shy, and withdrawn and timid. Rarely does he speak, and when he does, it is with the lightness of a whisper, caught only if already you are paying your undivided attention to him and straining your ears for his voice.

And where Thor is surrounded constantly by other children, closest to him being Sif, Fandral and Hogun, where his friends are numerous and enthused in their companionship to him, Loki remains without such company. Has no, true friends to call his own.

He tags along after his older brother with a fierce and sometimes blind loyalty, and because of Thor's instance, Loki is allowed to participate in their games and outings.

But Odin is not so oblivious as to miss the way the other children sneer at and dislike Loki. They tolerate him, because Thor demands it of them. But only just.

More than once has been the occasion, Loki has come home from a day out among them, bruised and battered where the rest of them are not, and the old King knows he is being bullied.

It fills Odin with a despair, knowing it. Knowing that Loki does endure such treatment if that be the price of spending time with his brother, whom he so obviously adores.

Knowing that the other children attack Loki because to him they cannot relate.

Indeed, there are moments when the All-Father worries that somehow it will be discovered, the truth about what his son is. For his frailty alone, his youngest is an anomaly among the Aesir. There has never been a child born upon this Realm so constantly plagued by illness. Nor so physically weak.

Loki's unusually mature disposition, his intense seriousness, lends only more to the growing dislike and mistrust for him amongst his peers.

There is a thoughtfulness, an introspection and outwardly awareness to Loki which Odin himself has found strangely unsettling.

At times, he will find the boy staring at him with an unflinching intensity, a kind of question in his eyes, undercut by a thing closer to longing, even… sorrow.

And it looks so wrong on the boy. On such a youthful face.

Children are meant to be without burden. Without fear or worry of that sort.

It is a sadness, Odin supposes, which Loki has to him.

And mayhap he should not be so surprised by it, for the despair the child has already experienced in his short life.

Though he may not remember being abandoned, left to die alone in the cold, undoubtedly, the All-Father is certain, there remains in Loki the impression of such utter rejection.

He senses it, if he does not know it.

It is, Odin supposes, the same reason for Loki's oft suffered bouts of anxiety.

The child often becomes, seemingly out of nowhere, severely distraught and so wound with nervous tension, he feels as nothing so much as a bow string pulled taught, the times the All-Father has attempted to hold and sooth him from his attacks.

Loki cries during such episodes. Bursts into painful, heaving sobs, with no real, clear trigger to trace the distress back to. Sometimes it takes hours to calm him. And during such displays, Odin has found himself unable to cope, removing himself entirely the boy's presence, leaving the matter to his wife.

Odin is wrought with a sense of guilt and regret following, knowing he should be there for his son when he is so inexplicably frightened. But it is just such an awful thing to behold.

Odin, All-Father, King of the gods of Asgard, who has faced innumerable of the most vicious and blood-thirsty of enemies upon countless fields of battle, and he finds himself frightened of a little boys tears.

The irony of it fails to amuse him.

His attention is drawn from his musings when he feels Loki's fingers shift and spasm within his grasp, and he lowers his gaze to the boys face, seeing his son's eyes begin to flutter open, looking out blearily and unfocused at the ceiling above him.

His lips are dried to cracking, dry saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth, and Odin sees him swallow thickly several times over.

His youngest is used to this, Odin thinks dismally. Used to waking up here, in this place, upon his back and in pain, unable to really focus through the haze of his fever.

The King reaches then for the basin filled with lukewarm water, gathering up the cloth floating in it, ringing it out before bringing it to rest upon Loki's forehead.

Only then does the child seem to realize his presence, green eyes shifting, landing on Odin's face and struggling for long seconds to clear in recognition.

"Papa…" he croaks, voice dry as dust and barely even a whisper.

Odin smiles down at him, and he can feel how his own expression is strained.

"Aye boy, 'tis me." He gives Loki's hand a gentle squeeze. "How fare you?"

It is a ridiculous question.

He need only take the briefest of glances at his son to know he suffers.

Loki's eyes slide from him, tears gathering thick at their corners and slipping free, down his temples, tracking into the dark locks of his hairline.

He swallows again, and his thin chest rattles with his next, labored breath.

"I am well." He answers after a long moment, voice youthful and small.

The All-Father feels an unpleasant lurch through is insides.

Loki is too young for this. Too young to have to fight for his life like this. Too young to feel such pride that he lies with the maturity of a grown man and hides the fact of his struggling.

Odin knows not how he came to be this way. Norns, he isn't yet old enough to begin weapons training.

And he knows not how to respond to such defiance in his boy either.

It feels wrong, in some way, to check him on his claim of well being.

"That is fine then." The King settles on, again squeezing Loki's tiny fingers. "You are a strong boy. You'll soon be out of here again."

At that, Loki's eyes shift back to him, and for a moment, there is such a raw, naked expression of fear upon the child's face, that Odin feels his own throat tighten in dismay.

"Papa, I'm…" he starts, and then his voice trails off, more tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

"Speak then…" Odin encourages, gentle and hushed.

"I'm sorry." Loki says, and his voice wavers, cracking and thin. "I'm sorry."

Odin frowns, forcing the tightness of his throat away, feeling his teeth clench a moment.

"No need for that, child." He at last answers. "You must simply work at getting better. And that means rest."

He removes the cloth from Loki's forehead, wiping it gingerly across his lips, washing the spittle away before dumping it back in the basin.

"Can you do that for me Loki?" He asks.

Loki nods weakly, his lids already growing heavy, already beginning to drift closed.

"Good boy." Odin whispers to him.

He waits until the child is again sleeping, chest rising and falling in a steady, if shallow, rhythm, before allowing himself to stand from his son's bedside and take his leave.