Author's Notes: Sorry for how slow this one was in coming… the point of view gave me some trouble here and I ended up having to rewrite quite a bit. I also wanted to make sure I had a pretty good idea of where I wanted to take it from here, so that I could have the plot points I needed in place for later.
Sorry for… pretty much this whole chapter, by the way.
Intervention - Chapter 8
Once, long ago, when the humans of Midgard had been more apt to acknowledge their betters, Odin had been called Wayweary, been called Sage, been called the One Who Rides Forth. They were names apt in their choosing, for the Father of All had knowledge of many things, and among them was the knowledge to walk between worlds, to craft magic the way his adopted son had been able. And so it was that no sooner had Heimdall finished speaking, no sooner had the news reached his ears, than the spells were being crafted, being put to use, small notice paid to the power it required.
He stepped foot into the cavern rife with outrage- for in this place of solitude, of punishment, there had gathered two mortals and his eldest son, and scattered about the floor like a dragon's hoarde were treasures of comfort whose denial had been intended. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, and his voice filled the chamber, shook it, declared his presence.
A bearded man that cradled in his hands a contraption all of metal adjusted that which he held, and the whirring that came from out increased twofold. "Come on," he said, "You've still got the one eye, don't you? You're the god of gods. You must be good at guessing games."
He dared? In an age before games, before there was anything about which to guess, there had been the All-father. He had been present the first time mortals had come together to propose this childish fancy.- had seen more with this one eye than the human that stood before him would begin to comprehend if he lived thousands of lifetimes. And yet the other mortal was raising a shield to stand beside him like a warrior intent upon battle, and his own son stepped forward now to join the man bedecked with stars. "The mortal speaks true," said Thor. "Our purpose stands clear to any who would see it."
"Plain as the path of fate," Odin agreed gravely. "No guile to hide your intent. No trickery to mask your way. Surely you must have known that when at last Heimdall chanced to mark your plans, it is I he would turn to." No shame showed in the face of the mortal in blue; the other, hidden behind the bulk of the men before him, remained out of sight. And his son- so brave, so foolish, so stubborn- had set his jaw the way he might before a test of strength. "And yet I cannot fathom why I must intervene at all. This is a judgment pronounced for grievous wrongs, or have you forgotten?"
"We haven't forgotten anything," said the human with the shield in hand. For all that he was mistaken, he displayed his bravery like a prized battle scar, standing shoulder to shoulder with the son of Odin and refusing to cow. "But where I come from, we've got lines you can't cross. This is one of em."
Odin felt the dull throb of indignation well within him at the words. How dare this mortal, this puling child, stand before him and insist that his tiny kingdom, with its laws mere centuries old, know better than the High One? "It is your people he wronged," Odin reminded the man, single eye narrowed with displeasure. "You and yours are the ones that most benefit from an arrangement such as this. It is the reward for your triumph."
"I always kinda thought triumph involved more confetti," said the other human, "and less blood." He was not visible where he crouched by the prisoner's side, but his voice was raised enough to be audible over the incessant whine of his device.
"All-father. I wish it known that I did not gather them here." This time it was the voice of the prisoner. That he, too, was blocked from view by the bodies of those that would keep him hidden was a blessing. Since the day that Loki had been brought before him, accused of atrocities for which he must answer, Odin had sworn to himself that he would not be swayed by what bonds of family had once lain between them. But even so, it was an effort not to look upon him and think him "son."
Son or stranger, however, some things were so: that this man had killed many. That his tongue was like a serpent's tongue, forked and sinuous. That it spewed lies like honey, and had since Loki had been a mere slip of a boy. "Silence," Odin told him.
But he did not cease- continued speaking, words coming closer together, as though in a rush to finish them all. "I counseled your son against this action, for your wrath is all that I could foresee it succeeding in. I know not how many times I told him-"
It had ever been Loki's way, to make lies so sweet that they sounded of the truth. To make lies so sweet one wished to believe them. And yet there were some tricks that become suspect the more they are performed. "Still your lying tongue," Odin commanded, "lest I see it pulled from your mouth."
Silence came so quickly that he could hear the sound of the prisoner's teeth as they clicked together, and for an instant, looking toward the place where Loki's form lay hidden from his view, he knew regret. How far he had fallen, this man once named "son." Before, though his madness ate away at him like poison, though his deception knew no bounds, Odin had been able to see in him the pride of the boy he had come to love. Now, even that had gone, all courage fled to leave a shameful husk behind.
"Father," Thor was saying. "Please. Can you not declare the sentence served? It has been two years. Can you not deem that his punishment is complete?" His son's hands clenched and opened at his sides, like a maiden distressed, and Odin looked from the sight, for it suited the mighty god of thunder ill. "You are the Father of All. If you say it is so, who will argue with your word?"
"I can think of three," Odin intoned, and drew himself up- looked down at the mortals and at his son, held great Gungnir beside him like a pillar of pure power. "Three fools at least, who dare to contradict what is decreed by the king of the gods."
From behind his son and the mortal soldier, there was a muttering, as though words spoken in anger, too low for him to hear. There was a sound as of metal on stone, and the very distinct, muffled crack of something breaking. The creator of creatures of iron doubtless attempted aught- perhaps sensed what was to come. Let it be so. He could do nothing.
Odin tipped his spear forward, let the deadly point face those who would stand before him. "Stand aside," he commanded.
But they did not. They remained before him like statues, his son and the mortal arrayed in the banner of his homeland, neither moving, neither flinching. In another time, he would have taken pride in Thor's bravery, but now there was only the anger that surged up to sear his chest, a sudden slow burn at being not only disobeyed, but ignored.
If it came to blows, they would be as infants before him; this was certain. This was not an outcome that it took time to determine, for he knew that it was so. A winged insect could not hope to stand against the hand that crushed it, and so too would the mortals and his son fall if he turned this into a contest of strength.
But he would not give them the honor of combat. He would not allow them to fight for this, this breach of the justice that he had so carefully wrought. They thought that they knew more than the Father of All, believed that their intentions were loftier than he who had seen slow eons pass. He would not grant their assumptions credence by acknowledging them- would treat them instead as the ignorant children they were and banish them from their foolish notion of aid.
"As you will," Odin said. He turned his eye from one to the other of them- let them stir under the weight of a gaze that had made the fire giant Surtur falter. "Let this place be barred from any living being," decreed the All-father, "be they man or god, elf or dwarf, troll or giant. Be they any of the other myriad creatures that make up the wide reaches of the Nine Realms."
"Father," Thor had realized what he meant to do, for there was something like fear in the crease of his son's brow. "Please, consider what you say-"
The soldier was speaking, too, as though his input mattered aught in these proceedings. "Not going to happen, your majesty."
Odin continued seamlessly, ignoring the words of both. "For all of eternity, let this place house only Loki Laufeyson and the instruments of his punishment." The All-father closed his grip harder round the haft of Gungnir and lifted the mighty spear to a height with the crown of his head. "Let it be so."
There were words of protest, but they died unspoken, for when the spear touched the stone of the cavern floor, the forms of his son and the mortals faded away as though melted in the heat on sweltering summer's day. Their goods went with them: the consumables and cushions, the cylindrical containers, the bag of cloth. The metal contraption suspended above the prisoner faded as well, and as soon as it had gone, the form bound below it strained and convulsed, wracked with pain as the venom drizzled down upon him. The only light that remained was the soft glow from Gungnir's blade.
"Father," the prisoner gasped- and Odin might have wondered at the choice of word, at what it was that had driven the recognition of family from him after so long of acknowledging only title- but fledgling curiosity was stilled ere it had emerged, for one of the hands meant to be chained was lifted as though in supplication. The prisoner had raised it from where it lay upon the rock, the shackle still firmly in place but the stone itself carved free, cut away in neat lines as though by a tiny blade. The All-father felt a new swell of fury as the prisoner held it above his head, attempting to block the flow of poison- a wave of indignation at the fact that, not only had the mortals dared to intervene, they had nearly succeeded.
It would not do. He was the king of the Aesir; he was the god of gods. This had been decreed, and he would not leave it half-done.
Odin seized the newly-freed arm and pressed it down upon the rock, feeling scarce resistance though the prisoner struggled to pull away. He had no tools upon him, nor materials to remake the spell, but neither were needed. The All-father only pressed down upon the half-moon of the binding, and soon he felt the rock beneath it, the rock that had been cut away and now clung to the metal, begin to crumble. He pressed again, and this time the stone acknowledged his strength, shied from him and began to give. It fell away as though it had been nothing more than clods of dirt, leaving only the metal meant to encase the wrist, and Odin guided it so that the shackle pressed firm against the bulk to which the prisoner was chained.
The butt of Gungnir served as a hammer; he lifted it high above his head and aligned the strike, then brought his strength to bear, forcing the metal back into the stone. The second blow secured it- and yet he feared that it would not hold, not for all of eternity, and so Odin summoned forth all his might and let fly a final time. The third strike wrung a cry of pain from the prisoner as the metal was driven home, near flush with the surface to which his wrist was now secured. The low crunch when bone gave was not intended, and yet all the same it assured the All-father that his work had been sufficient. The prisoner would not free himself from the new binding; he would not be able.
Odin stepped back, considering; things were as he had deemed them, the intrusion erased as though it had not been. For a long moment, the one who had been his son had no words, attempting only to test the fortitude of this new enclosure. He shook and thrashed, voice raised in a wail that contained nothing sensible, but the hand so recently free held tight, immovable.
His time here had drawn to a close. There was nothing left for him to do- now, or ever in the long future of nows. Odin had turned to go when the prisoner's voice reached him, harsh and uneven. "All-father," he gasped. "Hear me- hear me yet a moment."
Odin did not turn back to face him- did not wish to look upon what had become of this child he had once held such hopes for. And yet he lingered. He could spare this small boon, at the least. "A moment only," he said.
"This attempt," said the prisoner, "was no doing of mine. I swear it. Surely you must know me wiser than that."
Odin closed his eye and took a slow breath in. "I know you to be many things." There was a hiss of pain behind him- a sudden jerking sound that signaled the poison had found its mark. "But hear me well. This closure, this seclusion- that is a punishment intended for your brother. Not for you."
He did not wish to imagine what crossed the man's face in the silence that followed, and nor did he turn to behold it. "Will you not reconsider the sentence?" The words were intent- asking a thing they did not truly expect to receive and yet driven to request it all the same. "Name it death and carry it out yourself. None will ever need to know."
Odin opened his eye once more. "I will know."
"But none other." Each word was harsh and brittle, as though the prisoner was biting off shards of diamond. "Only you and I need have this knowledge. And if ever it comes to another, what matter? Declare to all who would dare question you that the All-father, in his wisdom, has the compassion to change his mind."
He improved nothing by remaining here. There was no purpose to dragging this argument further and granting false hope- and so the Father of All lifted Gungnir once more, the shaft thrumming power softly in his hand. "You disappoint me," he said softly, and found it to be true. "I did not think you one to beg for mercy."
With that he brought the spear down and faded from view as had the others before him, leaving the cavern in darkness.
