"Your son has been struck barren."

Laufey did not turn around. He'd heard his new Shaman enter, unbidden, and while he'd always allowed his Shamans certain freedoms from formality, he was a little annoyed she had not waited for him to give her permission to speak. Her words did not help. But Laufey had not remained King this long without developing patience.

"If he cannot bear, then he will sire again, as he did before. I will find another woman willing to tolerate him."

"No, my lord, he can no longer birth or sire. I have tested this myself."

Laufey rolled his eyes at her smirk. Turning, he settled himself on his throne, sighing as the weight of ages settled upon him. It had been a good plan, one that would have supplied Jotunheim with much needed weapons to use in the coming days, for Laufey was not satisfied with one lonely realm and was looking beyond the stars for better. But, as always, his damned chaos-spawn of a child thwarted him at every turn.

The Shaman watched as Laufey's eyes darkened in fury, the very storms of Jotunheim seeming to boil within, and she shuddered.

"My Lord, it is a temporary condition. Regardless of your son's nature, he is still a man, and the stress of such a birth can be damaging even for a woman, but with enough time..."

"How long?" Laufey snapped.

The Shaman swallowed. "One year for every babe he birthed."

"Nine years!" he bellowed, his fist smashing down onto his throne so hard it shattered and cracks ran up the wall behind him. The Shaman, feeling his rage and fearing for her life, threw herself prostrate upon the floor, ready to beg forgiveness. Instead, Laufey grew calm and had his eldest brought to him.

Loki was dragged in between two guards like a prisoner, rather than a prince, limp and unwilling even to lift his head. His hair was unkempt and filthy, his clothes in tatters. Laufey reached out and took hold of Loki's chin, lifting his eyes to meet his own.

"Take heart, my son," the Jotunn King smiled, his voice sweet and mocking, "your punishment is at an end. You are free."

Loki said nothing, his expression unchanging.

Fingers sliding from chin up past the jaw, Laufey held his child's cheek in his palm, feigning affection. His hand could encompass all of Loki's head. Was this as large as the boy was going to get? He pulled Loki close, whispering to him.

"You have nine years, my son. Nine years until before we start this all over again. And next time, I will succeed."

Loki emitted a small, choking sound, and Laufey couldn't tell if it was from relief or apprehension.

It was the most delicious thing Laufey had heard in a long time, either way.


As soon as Byleistr heard of Loki's release from the torment their father had concocted, he ran back to their shared chamber, quick as he was able, in hopes to find his brother there. Loki sat on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under him so he looked less like a child with his feet dangling. Already he'd tried to return to some semblance of what he was before; his hair was clean and brushed back and he was dressed in his rarely-used long tunic. His kilt wouldn't hide the marks he'd received. He beat his fist against the edge of the bed, slowly in a methodical rhythm, leaving blood he neither felt nor saw.

"My father..." Byleistr began, entering the room with careful steps so not to startle his brother.

Loki did not look at Byleistr, his eyes far away with his mind. "This will not break me," Loki hissed, his voice crackled from misuse, "I am Loki of Jotunheim, son of the King. This will not break me. Tomorrow...I will return to court tomorrow, and they will all see..."

"No," Byleistr said, kneeling before Loki so that they were at eye level, "You need to get well."

"No?" Loki's eyes finally met his brother's, though his hand continued its rhythmic assault, "My son will tell me 'no?'"

Even now, Loki was dangerous, and Byleistr knew he would not win this battle, not directly. Blood trickled down the side of the bed, diverting this way and that as it found a path along the ice, and then froze. A red lightning bolt emblazoned upon the pale blue. Byleistr would kill their father himself for this, but for now he grasped Loki's hand, tiny in his own, and held it from further harm.

"Just one day, then," he said, running his fingers along the abused flesh of his brother's hand, soothing the pain he knew Loki now felt, "Please, you need rest. One day is all I ask."

Loki regarded him a long moment, his gaze sliding down to their joined hands. Byleistr, his younger half-brother whom he'd brought to the surface, as much his child as a sibling, who'd stood by him throughout his ordeal best he could. Who'd remained outside the door when he couldn't, listening to his brother cry out and moan through his torture. Who cleaned him afterward and soothed him into something akin to sleep. All this from a brother's love, not from pity, like Helblindi.

Loki could not deny him so simple a request. He nodded.

Byleistr sighed in relief and leaned forward, resting his head against Loki's own. Where Laufey's closeness had been mocking, Byleistr only sought comfort, and Loki let him have it, turning his face so that they were cheek to cheek in a sign of affection.

"If I am to lie about, tomorrow, there are some spells I wish to look over," Loki began, breaking contact before their stimulated ridges started to burn, "I recall one that allows the caster to whisk himself about with little more than a thought. I would learn this spell, it could come in handy, and best if I prepare myself for Laufey's next round."

Byleistr winced at the idea of Loki's future, but said nothing on the matter, instead agreeing to bring Loki some spell books from the temple. Books were inscribed tablets of stone, ice, and sometimes metal, bound by rings of gold and silver, but spell books were made only of ice, that they could be melted away without a trace should an enemy attempt to take control of them. With the sorcerers of old now gone, a majority of them were useless and would have met such a fate save that each book was a work of art. The ice pages so thin and smooth that one could be looking through glass, each rune carved delicately and with care, intertwined with detailed pictures of figures from myth and history, of animals and diagrams of stars. For this, the spell books were precious and forbidden to be removed from the temple.

Not that this ever stopped the sons of Laufey from sneaking them to and fro as they pleased. Loki, small and born of the world of shadows as well as ice, came and went through the most sacred parts of the temple as easily as if they were his toilet.

Loki waited as Byleistr fussed about him a few minutes more, laying fresh, thick furs upon their bed, before he chased him out on his errand.

Alone, Loki had no choice but to surrender to the torment of his own mind, riding on a wave of fresh memories. His back bent under the weight of dark shadows, and his hands started to shake.

"This will not break me," he chanted, "This will not break me..."

Nine years until before we start this all over again...

All over again...

Loki collapsed onto his side on the furs, burying his face in them, and began to sob.