Loki always considered himself clever. He learned young to take bad situations and turn them in his favor with scheming and oft times subtle but outrageous plans. He was secure enough in his own cleverness that he had no problem giving credit where it was due in the rare case he did rely on someone else's idea. Granted, the only person for whom he'd ever done so was his mother.
A mother's most important duty to her child was to teach him to hunt the giant subterranean worms that was the staple of the women and children's diet. Loki's mother was incapable of stomaching the flesh of the worm, much less teach him how to hunt it. She relied solely on the food Laufey brought for her. But Loki was born of Jotunheim and therefore welcome to all the pleasures it had to offer, and while he learned to favor the taste of fresh meat, he still salivated at the memory of warm, yellowed fat from the worm's underbelly sliding down his throat.
Loki was also his mother's son. She taught him the art of moving through walls and hiding in shadows, and he used this to follow his brothers and sisters safely and learn the hunt from their actions. He discovered that his small proved advantageous as, dropping onto the worm from above, he could move between its curved, sharp spines and plunge his ice blade between the armored plates separating its head and body, killing it nigh instantly. He also learned that this tactic had its risks. When attacked, the worm would thrash and flail, whipping its long body about at such speeds that Loki had been impaled on its spines more than once.
Instead he discovered another method that proved far less dangerous to himself. He would let his siblings hunt the worm and place themselves in danger, moving through the cavern walls unseen. When the worm lay dead, Loki would dash in and cut free what he could for himself before returning through the walls where his angry brothers and sisters could not follow. They learned to expect him, but he was small and quicker than they.
He carried on this way for a little while, collecting spines to make blades that did not shatter as easily as ice, the plates and skin for clothing, and the delicious fat that he could also use to make candles for his mother. Her people dwelled underground as well, but unlike Jotunheim her home was warm and lit by the fires of many forges. The pathetic bit of fire was a small comfort, but Loki wanted to make his mother happy. He also wanted her to be proud of him and so told her of his new method of hunting, expecting praise for his ingenuity.
She slapped him across the face and scold him.
"You are the prince of Jotunheim, the son of its king, yet you steal and slink about like a common beggar! Who will be sitting upon the thrown one day? It will not be any of them, I assure you! Those wretches should be fighting over who gets to present you with the best of the kill for your favor!"
After his initial shock (his mother had never struck him before), Loki began to realize he liked this idea much, much better.
"I wish to participate in the games. It is my right."
Laufey regarded his runt of a child a long moment. He'd been on the surface for a few turns of the seasons now, but he was still very much a boy. Small even by the standards of the other races. Had it not been for his mother's death, he'd still be in the tunnels with his siblings of the season. They would not emerge for many years yet.
"Indeed it is," Laufey said, his voice low, "and yet you have never shown an interest in the gladiatorial games before." There was an angle he was missing, here. Loki was his son and could fight, much as a rabbit may fight a wolf, but he never did so for its own sake.
"Perhaps I wish to shame you no more," Loki added a bow to his words, he was learning, but he was not all that subtle yet, "the sons of the king have always fought in the games. I'm sure my absence has been noted."
Yes and no, Laufey thought, no one expected anything of the halfbreed prince save that he stay out from underfoot, and Laufey preferred that. To place him in the public eye, outside the realm of rumor and scorn, would be all the shame he needed.
At least his mother had tried to make him presentable during her life. In some attempt to make him appear taller, she attached two spines from one of the subterranean worms to a leather band she then tied around his head. (Laufey noted, with some annoyance, that while his former queen had stressed to keep Loki's hair managed, his son had developed a liking for letting it grow offensively long and wild.) She had savaged one of the fine white pelts Laufey had brought her and sewn it to her son's baldric and along the hem of his cloths. She'd even managed to make him a damn pair of boots. The precious gems Laufey had presented to her season after season (for let it be known that Laufey King was generous in his gifts and lavished them among those who pleased him, or in her case, even those who displeased him) she had sewn into his belts and headband. Everything he had ever given his queen she had immediately bequeathed to their undeserving, accursed child.
The games were contests of skill, and while Laufey knew his son to be cunning and capable of finding alternative methods to his needs, (had he not been harassing the previous Shaman on lessons of magic for that reason?) they would not serve him there. Perhaps that was what Loki wanted, to truly humiliate Laufey in his inability to perform even the simplest tasks of Jotunn strength. On the other hand, the games were not meant to be lethal, but accidents always occurred, and who more likely to fall from a blade wielded just too strongly than his son? He could afford it now, his second son, Byleistr, had been born not too long ago. Or perhaps not, he had managed to find a use for Loki, after all. Fortunately, or not, Loki was tenacious and had managed to survive so far.
Very well, he'd let the undersized whelp go fetch himself a beating.
"You have my blessing," Laufey said, and waved his son away.
Loki bowed and turned to leave. He was at the entranceway when Laufey spoke.
"How fares your serpent-child?" he asked with a smile showing teeth.
Loki did not turn around. "I have named him Jormungand."
"And how soon until he can join us here?" Fenrir's time underground had been very short.
"Soon," Loki's voice is tight, "he is too large for the tunnels already…"
"Good, you will begin his emergence after the games. Come the light season I expect another coupling from you and Angrboda."
Loki looks over his shoulder then, and in his eyes Laufey could see nothing but hate.
The dark season draws to a close and the skies grow lighter with each passing day. Soon the light will become too strong and the males will retreat underground to the waiting arms of their women. Their wives who expect bloody tales of battle when there has been none. So the games are held, to give them tales, to test their skills, and to release their own lust for battle. The first match is the largest and, sometimes, bloodiest. Nearly a hundred warriors push into the arena for the first melee to determine who shall stay for the remaining contests. Those who do not last the first few minutes are removed from the arena with nothing more than hope for a better chance next time. The seats surrounding the arena, as always, are packed with the young, old, and those who traveled far.
Laufey sat himself comfortably in his seat above all others. At his side are the most trusted of his court, his best generals, and the new Shaman, the only female permitted on the surface. He surveyed the warriors below, seeking the minute form of his son. He does not see him and quickly decides his cowardly child found something better to do with himself.
But Loki came. He did not walk into the arena, tiny and unnoticed, but rode.
Fenrir snarled and snapped at any too close to him as he padded across the hard-packed snow. He had grown, his shoulders nearly reaching those of the Jotnar warriors, and his eyes were bright with bloodlust. Loki sat just behind Fenrir's shoulders, one hand resting between them while the other held his spear close to his body. The wolf stopped just before Laufey and waited while Loki raised his spear in a salute to his kingly father. Laufey ground his teeth; Loki at his most proper was in fact when he was most mocking.
He had planned for this tournament a long time. Instead of his headband, Loki wore upon his head a cervelliere, the giant horns of one of the beasts that roamed their realm curving in graceful arches from its front. To counteract their weight, Loki had attached the beast's thick, long hair to the back of the cervelliere in likeness of a horse's tail. Over his shoulders Loki wore the beast's pelt, black and heavy and it made him look larger and, in a strange way, older. Blackened bones crisscrossed across his chest and coiled down his arms and legs in armor representing death. Melting down a bit of his gold to liquid, Loki had traced his Jotunn markings with it, and they and the runes he inscribed glistened in the moon and starlight.
He looked like the sorcerers of old, when fire and ice dominated the edges of the realms and chaos and power flowed from the Ginnungagap.
Voices erupted around the King of Jotunheim.
This is not a mounted tournament, some argued, he should battle on his own two legs like the rest!
But the majority answered, It is the resourcefulness of our prince to find a way to overcome his deformity! Let him battle as he is!
And Laufey, a little curious, agreed. A ferocious steed and armor did not a warrior make. What did his son have to offer otherwise? He would know.
Fenrir howled as the battle began and then was drowned out by the clash of weapons on shields, the grunts and cries of warriors, and the screaming cheers of the spectators. The first melee was the largest and bloodiest contest, but it was also the quickest. Within minutes, half of the warriors had been removed from the arena and would not continue to further games. Loki remained, the reach of his spear and Fenrir's speed allowing him to score many hits and contribute to the clearing of the field, but now many eyes turned to him. He would continue through the games regardless, but to be the one to land the blow that would beat the prince would be one the warriors would love to make.
Loki was not yet finished. It was time to make his point. Snarling and snapping his jaws, Fenrir dashed into the fray anew, and the blade of Loki's spear sang.
One warrior saw him coming and, as Fenrir sped past, leapt into the air, his weapon raised and swinging down towards the prince. Loki saw him, but it was too late to dodge. Green crackles of energy swept up his arm like fire and exploded outward, striking the warrior and sending him flying backwards.
The cries of battle continued, but the cheering had stopped dead, the spectators staring.
Another warrior leapt for Loki, and he flew right over Fenrir and through the simulacrum, landing awkwardly on the other side. Loki, hanging sideways off of Fenrir, struck him with the flat of his blade and then right himself, his magical duplicate vanishing. Weapons were thrown, and he deflected them. Fenrir burst into a sprint, and then there were two Fenrirs, then four, then eight, and then more who dashed through the warriors. They moved independently, the Loki upon each of their backs making swings that the Jotnar did not know whether to ignore or dodge. The real Loki, hidden among his simulacra, scored many hits.
The spectators voices rose in screeching cheers. The melee was forgotten; they saw only their prince.
Laufey rose to his feet in shock. This was sorcery. He'd known his son spent time with the old Shaman, learning her womanly ways in spells and rituals. Powerful magic, but useless for direct combat. Not like this. The Shaman had told Laufey of Loki's nature, a remnant of the Ginnungagap, she said, and he had promptly made use of it, but…
This was no damned remnant. His son did not merely dress like a sorcerer, he was one.
On the floor of the arena, the battle still raged. Warriors still clashed, but most began to recognize Loki as the immediate threat and rose against him. He'd never used so much magic at once before, and he was panting, but he wasn't finished.
An elder soldier, one who remembered war, separated himself from the others. As Loki approached, he put the point of his weapon down and made a gesture of submission. Fenrir slowed and Loki, recognizing the stance from tales in old books, flipped his spear and tapped it on each of the soldier's shoulders. He stood, and the two of them charged into battle together.
Those in the stands also recognized what had just happened and again rose their voices in approval and excitement.
Just like the days of our ancestors, Laufey heard in many forms among the crowd, the days of glory!
And Laufey understood.
The melee was ended, and only Loki and the soldier remained. They could not both win, and the crowd sat silent, waiting. They regarded each other a moment, and then, to gasps and whispers, Loki slid from Fenrir's back and faced the soldier on his own. The old warrior smiled and shook his head, speaking words that only Loki could hear. Again, he lowered his weapon in submission. Loki stood startled a moment, then reached up with his spear and tapped the side of the warrior's head with the flat of the blade. The crowd erupted in cheers and approval as the soldier departed the field. He was met by his fellows with congratulations and respect; no warrior had fought alongside a sorcerer in such a fashion since the day the realms settled into their current shapes.
Loki struggled back onto Fenrir and would not have made it had his child not assisted by lowering himself to the ground. Again, he faced his father and held up his spear in a salute. His hand trembled. As proper, he dedicated his victory to his father and king, as well as other meaningless things. They were empty words, because his father understood.
Loki would not continue in the games, because he did not have to. He had not even expected to win, but it certainly didn't hinder his goal.
Laufey watched Loki as he sat alone in the arena, their people cheering for him, crying out his name. Mere moments ago he was the runt of which the people whispered, now he was a sorcerer, a symbol of ancient days when they did not live in the shadow of Asgard, when they equaled if not surpassed the Aesir.
Follow me, he seemed to say, and I will return you to those days of glory.
It did not matter whether he could or not, only that they believed he could.
Damn him!
Laufey dug his nails into his seat so hard it cracked. Loki was indeed in the public eye now, not as a humiliation, but as a sign of a better future, and Laufey could not remove that. It was a power play. His son's absence from the court had been something none bothered with, but now it would be noticed.
Loki would stand beside him, his eldest son, and his voice would be heard.
Were he anyone else, Laufey would have been proud. Even in his fury, a voice whispered in his mind, "that is your child, you have sired a sorcerer."
And Laufey smiled, baring teeth.
Loki watched his father closely, reading the thoughts flitting through his eyes. Fury, hate, he knew these too well, he did not know what else he sought. Perhaps a small, pathetic part of him still desired his father's approval. But then, for just a second, he saw something much, much more satisfying.
Fear.
His mother had promised him the throne, and he had promised her that nothing would stop him from attaining it. He could kill Laufey and, if done just right, the people would love him for it. But he still had to move cautiously; the people were fickle, and he could fall from their graces far too easily.
One step at a time. He had succeeded in what he'd set out to do.
The next time Laufey sat upon his throne and his court gathered, Loki stood not too far away. He was small, he was young, but he was there, and they knew it.
He was, however, forbidden to wear his sorcerers' horns.
It was actually gold, not merely yellow, he could almost see his reflection in it. Yet when he bit into it the gold flesh gave under his teeth with a sweet, satisfying crunch and juice slid down his chin. The Jotnar did not have a liking for fruit but Idunn's golden apples were exquisite.
All the realms knew of Asgard's closely guarded treasure, the apples that supplied them with their youth and vitality (Indeed, Loki could feel a sense of revitalization even as the apple chunks slid down his throat). How many of those realms coveted the apples, dreamed of their possession, and yet could never attain them?
Yet here was Loki Laufeyson, Jotunn runt, free amidst the gardens of Gladsheim, relaxing in a tree with a golden apple in his hand.
Since he'd arrived in Asgard, he began to scheme and plot to get his hands on one of these treasures. In the end he went for the old tried and true seduction tactic. It always worked in that it never worked. At best, women would hide a laugh behind their hands and turn him away. In Idunn's case, she threw an apple at his head. It yielded the desired result so he decided could deal with his injured pride later.
Soon after he was summoned by Odin who oddly insisted that Loki dine with the royal family. Loki accepted, though remained wary throughout the meal. (A thrilled Thor sat beside him, and became even more enamored with Loki's lack of Asgardian etiquette. He used no utensils and swallowed entire hunks of meat whole, reaching down his throat and removing the bones only after he'd swallowed. One had to eat fast on Jotunheim, and, despite his size, Loki ate a lot. Frigga had to slap her son's hand when he attempted it and firmly remind Thor that he was not on Jotunheim.) After the table was cleared, a bowl of glistening apples, the best of Idunn's crop, was placed before Odin and his family. After the royal family had each taken one, a lone apple remained in the bowl. Loki stared at it.
"That is yours," Odin said, his voice soft, "You are to be treated as one of us. Whatever you desire, you need only ask." The corner of the All-Father's mouth twitched upwards just slightly, "There is no need for schemes."
How dull, Loki thought as he took the apple, his eyes never leaving Odin's remaining one.
However boring, this new turn in his life opened so many possibilities for Loki. The Jotnar were long-lived, but only the Aesir were eternal. With the combined effects of the golden apples and the Casket, (To which Loki had demanded free access from Odin, who grudgingly agreed, but only on Loki's oath that he would never remove it from its pedestal. This suited Loki just fine.) Loki realized he could live forever, eternally young. His heartbeat leapt at the thought.
In his youth on the surface of Jotunheim, Loki ghosted through the walls, listening to the whispers of his people. When they spoke of him, they referred to him as the future 'Runt King of Jotunheim.' He had accepted this, since they were thinking of him as a king at all. But his mother taught him not to merely accept such things, and after his performance during the gladiatorial games, the whispers became different, filled less with scorn and shame and something far better.
The 'Sorcerer King of Jotunheim,' they called him.
The King named him well, one said, remember Loki of Utgard? His illusions were so powerful he fooled the Aesir for days on end! They only learned the truth because he told them!
But the prince is so small, others argued, none of the realms will take him seriously.
Small, yes, and so they will underestimate him. Then he will pull their skeletons from their bodies with a thought!
The young men grew excited, Can he do such a thing?
The sorcerers were many and very powerful, once. The children of chaos and masters of monsters, they were. They could do anything. But them came the Aesir who set order into the universe and the sorcerers died out.
An old man spoke then, missing teeth and a lisp marring his voice. No, long ago when fire and ice burned the universe from either ends, we were allied with the Aesir and the Vanir. We even intermarried…
What nonsense! everyone cried in shock and anger. Loki's ears pricked in interest.
Listen to me! the old man snarled, It was together with the Aesir and Vanir our sorcerers battled back the chaos and set order to the realms. Sacrifices were made on all sides, and when order reigned we realized ours had been the sorcerers. Our own folly; we emerged first from the Ginnungagap, and without it made ourselves lesser men.
To our tiny prince, then! cried another, A true sorcerer who will return us to glory!
To Prince Loki!
Loki knew then that never again would he merely accept what was, not when he had the power to change it.
Both he and Odin could gain much from each other, hence the All-Father's declaration of sudden brotherhood. It had nothing to do with their respect nor even the requirement of liking each other, but everything to do with political gain. When the time was right, Loki would only have to say the word, and Odin would back his return to Jotunheim with all the force of Asgard behind him, ensuring Loki the throne. And how would Loki show his gratitude but through continued good relations with Asgard? With his good, dear blood-brother Odin?
Loki was not Laufey. Asgard was the highest of the realms, an alliance with them promised trade and protection from other realms, not shame and subservience. And under that protection could Jotunheim rebuild, grow, and flourish until it would rival Asgard and such protection was no longer needed. Only then would he stand truly equal to Odin. Only then would no one dare challenge Loki.
Still, he thought, taking another bite of the apple, there was a chance that Odin had his own agenda, that once on the throne Loki would be nothing more than a puppet king, trapped under the power of the All-Father. Jotunheim would not be his, but always under the sway of the Aesir and thus never permitted to shine as it was meant.
Loki would not permit that. He was no longer the puppet of anyone, and would never be again.
Finished with the apple, he tossed the rind over his shoulder and stretched forward on the tree branch, resting his chin on his arms. Loki liked trees, they did not grow on Jotunheim, and their leaves were a vibrant green. A rare color on Jotunheim, only appearing on the horizon at the beginning of the light season. The word for 'green' in the giants' language was synonymous with 'dawn,' and from that word derived the words 'expulsion,' as they retreated underground; 'fertility,' as their women became receptive to them (and in that sense, also the word 'love'); and 'brilliance,' for the brightness of their world they could never behold. It was a good color.
There was movement in the corner of Loki's eye and he turned his head to it lazily. One of his simulacra walked across the courtyard, an excited Thor dancing around it, his arms waving as he told some extravagant story.
And Loki realized he'd gone about everything the wrong way regarding the boy; Thor was the key. Thor would become King of Asgard after Odin, and the young prince looked to Loki with a sense of hero worship, of love and awe.
How Loki could use this!
Instead of pushing the boy away, he could nurture that love, and in doing so ensure the prince's loyalty to him. When Loki sat upon the throne of Jotunheim, it would not be Odin All-Father breathing down his neck, but a young King needing his own guiding hand. And guide he would, for the combined strength of Asgard and Jotunheim, hand in hand, could crush any opposition against them. As allies, they would rule the realms, and with Thor's loyalty entrusted to him…
If Loki played this right, he could be the undisputed ruler of all the realms.
He swallowed the rush of saliva that flowed into his mouth. One step at a time, be patient, do not rush. He had a lot of work to do.
Just in time, as Thor's hand suddenly passed through the simulacrum's own. Loki sat up on the branch and dropped to the ground, dismissing the simulacrum as he did so. Thor stopped, shocked, and began looking around until he saw Loki, who waved to him. Thor hurried over, a look of wariness on his young face.
"That was a mean trick," he said, arms crossed over his chest.
"My apologies, my son. I had some business this morning and did not wish to leave you completely alone."
Thor mulled over that a moment. "I'd rather talk to the real you."
"As you wish," Loki said with an open face and slight bow, "I won't do that again. It seemed quite a tale you were telling, I would love to hear of it."
Thor's face lit up, his grievances forgotten, and he launched into a tale only great to little boys. He grabbed onto Loki's hand as they walked, as though to assure himself this was the real one. Loki sighed and let him. He would have to make sacrifices to attain his goal, and it appeared his personal space was to be first, fallen to the might of an excitable, touchy-feely prince.