Freyja picked her way through Heimdall's Observatory, astonished at the amount of debris. She was fortunate she didn't wear a dress or she'd never be able to walk. Tears had appeared in the metal floor, leaving rifts large enough for her to fall through if she didn't watch her step. Below one was nothing but stars. If she fell she'd fall off Asgard. Debris from the portal mechanism lay strewn across the floor, but the pieces were mostly small.
She sighed. "It's going to take forever to repair this."
Huginn and Muninn circled the Observatory, taking in information to report to Odin. Freyja knelt by the podium where Heimdall typically stood and picked up a sword hilt. Two inches of the blade were all that remained of the sword. The metal that remained was badly bent; it looked like the rest of the blade had been twisted off. Freyja tapped the protruding metal with a fingernail and her eyebrows shot up in surprise as the movement cracked the metal.
"Hmm," she mused as she took a closer look at the hilt. "The molecular structure's been weakened. Now what could cause that?"
Her magic detected traces of energy embedded in the blade and she noticed it was Bifröst's.
"Isn't this…" she started to say before her voice trailed off.
She sighed again as she straightened. It was. She glanced at the nosy ravens, noting how Muninn watched her while Huginn stuck his beak into a crack.
"Did you two find any shrapnel?" She asked them.
Muninn tilted his head quizzically though Freyja knew the raven understood Allspeak. There was a squawk from Huginn as he backed away, holding something in his beak. He glided to her, hovering until he dropped what he held in her palm. Then he flew and sat by his brother.
Freyja looked at what was in her palm. It was a piece of metal shrapnel. The shard of Uru was about as long as her pinky, though irregularly shaped. The edges looked almost scalloped, twisted in too many directions at once. When she applied pressure to it, the shard snapped in half. It wasn't a clean break, but brittle, crumbs of metal fell when she snapped it.
There was no way. Had Bifröst's breakdown truly been caused by this? It was so simple! Sometimes the simplest answers were the best she thought ruefully as she dropped the shards.
"Idiotic men," she snarled under her breath.
Mundanes just couldn't do anything right. Now her mages had to clean up their mess, slowly sealing the cracks in the Rainbow Bridge before it broke and the Observatory fell over the Edge. Turning her back on the ravens, which she knew would do whatever they wanted, she threaded her way through the wreckage. She kept her gaze straight, but still saw the body out of the corner of her eye as she left the Observatory. Useless. Useless and senseless.
Once the sky was overhead she tossed the sword hilt into the air and transformed. Her cloak of feathers molded onto her as she spread her arms, the fingers fusing together as they turned into wings. By the time the sword hilt began falling again, Freyja was in the air.
She caught it in one of her talons and beat her wings as she angled towards Gladsheimr. There was a certain joy in turning into a falcon. While it was simple for a mage of her caliber to use an anti-gravity spell to fly, a falcon was able to spread its wings and perfectly streamline the body, the sensation of wind moving across feathers intoxicating.
Animal transformation was a forbidden magic, but her feather cloak allowed its owner to become a peregrine falcon without complication. She didn't need to worry about her mind transforming into an animal's along with her body, making it so inhuman she forgot she had once been Vanir. There was no fear of not being able to fully transform back, her body twisted so it was perpetually part-animal. No, the cloak protected her, the only safe way to shapeshift into an animal in all the Realms.
Only the sword hilt in her talon dampened her mood as she glided with the aid of a thermal. As long as she was carrying it she couldn't streamline herself properly, and there was still the report she'd have to make shortly. Well, she didn't mind that part. Odin would be terribly embarrassed.
She circled the palace once before tucking her wings in and diving through an open window. The ground streamed before her, colors blurring into kaleidoscopic hues. This was a unique experience, though there was no way she could go the full peregrine full diving speed of over 200mph with the hilt in her talon.
She spread her wings once she was through the window, angling them so she turned. Below, she saw the throne room. Odin was in his usual throne with two of the Jötnar on the floor and Star Guard scattered around.
Odin looked up and she dropped the sword hilt. He reached up and caught it with one hand as she did a tight turn towards the center of the room, transforming as she landed. She heard a choking sound behind her and assumed, correctly, that she'd surprised the Jötnar by returning to her Vanir form. Odin turned the hilt of the sword over.
Before he had a chance to open his big mouth Freyja half-turned to face the Jötnar.
"I found the body of your companion," she addressed Hӕra softly.
Hӕra's expression gave little away, though Freyja knew that had to sting.
"I thought as much," was all the ambassador said.
Her remaining escort member shifted where he stood, likely thinking that if he had been standing to Hӕra's left instead of her right he'd be the one who was dead.
"What is this?" Odin asked, interrupting them.
"Heimdall's sword," Freyja explained shortly.
Odin gave her a flat look, wanting more of an explanation then that.
"The damage to the sword is fracturing," Freyja duly explained. "The molecular structure of the sword has been weakened. I image the centripetal force of Bifröst simply tore it apart. That would account for the shrapnel tangled in Bifröst's workings."
Odin sat stilly in his throne. "Meaning."
Freyja was surprised that he wasn't dismissing the Jötnar, but decided to go with it. Political nonsense was his domain.
"When Bifröst is activated the power flows through the sword," Freyja repeated what she knew he knew. "Evidently, the sword couldn't take the strain of it. So it snapped."
"Snapped," he repeated.
"Shattered might be better," Freyja said thoughtfully. "The force of Bifröst's movement caused it to shatter and it swept up the shrapnel into the gears. It's hardly surprising it overloaded it as it did."
Everyone stared at her. Freyja took some pleasure in Odin's disbelief and shock.
"An accident," Hӕra spoke first, voice soft.
"There's no such thing as perfection," Freyja agreed.
She felt sorry for Hӕra. One of her people had been killed for no good reason.
"Perhaps if Heimdall hadn't thought he was so perfect he might have noticed what was happening to his sword," Freyja added in a more brittle tone. "Then this wouldn't have occurred. Molecular wear isn't instantaneous."
"Freyja," Odin hissed.
"What?" Freyja retorted shortly. "I'm just calling it like I see it. Arrogance is one of the dominant traits of the Æsir."
She and Odin glared at each other tersely. Freyja didn't care what Odin thought of her. She answered to a queen, not an Allfather. Perhaps if she annoyed him enough she'd be sent home, though she had scant hope of that happening.
"It was an accident then," Hӕra repeated, voice a little louder.
"I find it unlikely someone could have damaged Heimdall's sword without his knowledge given he's always holding the damn thing, so yes, it does." Freyja concurred.
"Freyja," Odin hissed again.
"You asked," she retorted again, patience wearing thin. "Now if that's all, I'm going to check on my mages and see if I can't help them repair the Bridge any faster."
She looked at Hӕra.
"You might as well get comfortable," she advised the Jötunn. "Bifröst isn't going to be working for a while. Though I suppose we could weave a gateway to get you back home – later, when we're sure the Observatory isn't going to go plunging over the Edge."
She gripped the edges of her cape with her hands and raised her arms as she transformed. A falcon was soon sitting on the marble floor and took off, flying back through the window.
Odin tried hard not to scowl. Freyja was incorrigible and disrespectful at once. How could she act like this in front of the Jötnar? He hadn't even gotten a chance to ask her about the gateway, which she wanted to do now that she'd mentioned it. He didn't like the idea of the Jötnar staying. Loki had a habit of being too curious for his own good.
As for what to do with the Jötnar in the meantime. Odin turned his attention back to Hӕra and her surviving escort member.
"I will arrange quarters for you until you can be returned to Jötunnheim," Odin informed them. "I advise you remain there. Few will take your presence here favorably."
"Understandable," Hӕra agreed.
Her voice was calm but there was tension in her movements. Odin was unsurprised given the circumstances. She'd just been stranded on the world of her kind's blood enemies. If an Asgardian was trapped on Jötunnheim they'd probably wind up dead, but Odin wasn't nearly so barbaric. They were guests, even though they shouldn't have questioned him and come in the first place.
Using Gungnir, he telepathically spoke to four nearby Star Guard, telling them where to take the two Jötnar. They saluted in acceptance of his order, walking to form up around the Jötnar. Odin noted their blades were bared instead of sheathed and was pleased. The guards were prudent.
Without so much as tipping her head to him, Hӕra allowed herself to be escorted away. The Militia member walked beside her. Odin thought that strange. As her escort, shouldn't he walk slightly behind or in front of her to better keep watch? He accounted it to Jötnar strangeness and inefficiency. Perhaps they simply didn't know better.
Hӕra walked along the hallway with the remaining Militia, escorted by the Æsir. The Æsir were so small. None of the men came up to Hӕra's shoulder. She found it fascinating and a good distraction, though she knew she couldn't allow herself to be distracted for long. Viddi really was the size of an Æsir. If her son used a glamour to change his appearance, he probably would be indistinguishable from a normal Æsir.
A small figure detached itself from one of the columns in the hallway and walked in front of their group. They stopped and the Asgardians instantly raised their weapons, on edge from the nearness of the Jötnar. After a hesitant moment they lowered them again.
"Prince Loki," one of them greeted the figure. "You shouldn't be here."
"Just curious," Loki assured him, speaking softly.
Slítas, as per orders, was out of sight in his jacket. Loki had decided not to go to the library after all. There was another source of information on ice magic besides the books. There was one other question he had beside the magic as well, one he bet only a Jötunn could answer.
"Too curious," a Star Guard muttered.
"Ambassador… Hӕra was it?" Loki asked, speaking to Hӕra and ignoring his father's men.
Hӕra was surprised to be addressed by the proper title as she said, "yes."
"Why is my name strange for an Asgardian?" He asked her.
He was still thinking about that, was he? Had no one told him? She might as well tell him. There was no harm and he had addressed her with respect.
"Because Loki is a Jötunn name," Hӕra explained.
It took a second to sink in, but bewilderment spread across his features when it did.
"What?" He whispered.
Hӕra nodded that he had heard her correctly and continued. "It is an old name and rarely used, based on one of our words for fire. The most recent use of the name was Laufey's son."
"Laufey had a son?" Loki asked distractedly.
"Loki, my prince, was born shortly before the end of the war and killed soon after it ended." Hӕra paused and then added. "You Asgardians have a tendency to get carried away in combat and don't always differentiate between civilian and soldier."
Loki flinched at the thought his people had killed a newborn, but Hӕra knew they had. The body of Laufey's son had never been found, but that was not unexpected. Scavengers had found the building Loki had been hidden in after the soldiers protecting him had been killed by Æsir. Their bodies had been mauled and everyone assumed that Loki, such a small thing, had been eaten. He might not have even been dead before the wolves entered.
The Asgardians encircling her shifted uncomfortably, which made the Militia wary. Hӕra understood why. With the Barrier's tampering, they would be hard-pressed to create even a basic ice spike. If they got into a fight, they'd probably be unarmed and without their magic to aid them.
"Please step aside, my prince," the Star Guard gently told Loki.
Looking down, Loki silently stepped aside and stood against the wall of the hallway. Hӕra felt a touch of regret. She shouldn't be so sharp with a child who, judging from his age, probably hadn't even been born when the Ice War was being fought.
Dúrnir, walking beside Hӕra, noticed with some surprise as he passed Loki that he felt elemental ice magic emanating from his aura. As Asgardian with ice magic? That was rare. He hadn't yet figured out how to balance his ice, which was a common problem, at least among Jötnar children. The Asgardian apparently hadn't figured out the trick to it. That was probably for the best, given he was Æsir.
He went back to the problem at hand. Was he going to try to complete Forad's orders and open a gateway to Jötunnheim? If he could get a Jötunn attack force onto Asgard they could do significant damage, but he now had to do that alone. Could he convince Hӕra to help him? The Raiders intended to steal the Jötunn artifacts and use them against Laufey, but Hӕra didn't know that. Dúrnir could claim they wanted the artifacts back to help their dying planet, which was also true. Would she buy it?
Loki remained standing in the hallway after the group left. Turning over the information he had just received, he began to walk to Vingólf where he assumed Sigyn to be. He needed to tell someone what he had just heard. Perhaps that would help the news sink in. Normally he would find Thor, but didn't think that was a good idea. Strange. That was the first time he'd ever thought that.
Loki barely noticed the snow as he left the palace and went to Vingólf, a building nearby. Vingólf looked small on the outside, only two-stories tall with half the floor space of Gladsheimr. He opened the doors and walked inside the entrance hall, letting the oak doors close behind him. The entrance hall was short and plain, nothing but wooden walls and a floor grey flagstones with a pair of benches against the walls. He scuffed his feet to shake the snow off the boots as he walked to a second set of doors. They were made of willow and engraved with twining designs of leafy vines, flowers and birds tucked among them. There was no gold accent.
The double doors were much lighter then the first set and swung open easily at his touch. Warmth flowed from the door to him, ruffling his hair. Golden light, very different from the dull grey of outside, touched his eyes. The mingled scents of hyacinth, lavender, rose, and a dozen other flowers touched his nose, a sweet, but not overwhelming, cacophony of scents.
Slítas momentarily poked his head from Loki's collar to look around as the doors closed behind him before remembering Loki's orders and hiding himself again. Loki stopped walking, taking in the colors of the flowers at his feet. There were dozens of colors.
The ceiling, charmed to reflect what the sky looked like, was filled with dark grey clouds, low and heavy with snow. Floating silver lightcrystals and white-gold witchlights supplemented what gloomy light the sky provided. He followed a cobblestone path through the flower garden at the entrance as he brushed snow off his jacket, his shivering easing now that he was in the warmer temperatures. It felt like he was in late spring.
He walked under a wooden archway festooned with honeysuckle and his boots crushed grass beneath his feet. The cobblestone path through the flower garden ended at the archway. The center of Vingólf, most of the hall actually, was taken up by the Meadow, a grassy clearing interspersed with trees, bushes, and a large pond. Classrooms, studies, and bedrooms merely lined the edges of it.
Loki sighted the visitor's pavilion ahead of him. It was made of several dozen oak trees that had been charmed to grow into the pavilion's shape. The trunks made up the walls and the canopy the ceiling. Pine boards made the hardwood floor and that, coupled with the lilac bushes outside, created a unique scent inside. Not only was it a good study hall, visitors were usually greeted there and it doubled as the mage's war room in times of need.
He knew Sigyn wouldn't be hanging around there so he turned and took a northeast path. Away from the garden at the entrance the riot of flower scents waned. Loki noticed, not for the first time, that there were a lot of flowering plants in Vingólf. He supposed it wasn't too surprising. This was the mage's hall and over ¾ of all mages were girls; girls liked flowers.
He hoped Sigyn was at Vingólf. He didn't know if she was but he felt he'd find his friend here. If he had magic he would have accounted the feeling to that.
Loki's path took him to a jasmine bush, one large enough to be counted as a small tree. He didn't quite understand how the mages had coaxed jasmine, a vine, to grow as a tree. A single mage sat cross-legged under its branches with her back against the trunk, a book in her lap and head down. Loki exhaled in relief.
Sigyn paused in turning a page and looked up, directly at him. She smiled at the sight of him though Loki had a hard time to mirror her movement. The jasmine's white flowers were currently closed, waiting for night, but traces of the scent lingered in the air. She liked sitting under the jasmine tree, which was probably why its scent always seemed to cling to her clothing.
Upon seeing his failure to smile, Sigyn paused.
"Are you alright?" She asked as Loki approached.
"I'm fine," Loki said shortly, sitting on the grass across from her.
"I doubt that," Sigyn disagreed.
He glared at her but she remained unruffled.
"Fine enough," Loki corrected.
"I doubt that to."
Loki rolled his eyes and looked away. Sigyn remained quiet, waiting for Loki to speak as she was certain he would.
"How's Heimdall?" He asked.
"Fey stabilized him," Sigyn responded. "He'll regain consciousness and will be able to return to his post as soon as Bifröst is fixed, though I don't know when that is."
"I overheard Freyja's report but she didn't say," Loki shrugged.
"She didn't notice you?" Sigyn asked curiously.
"She did," Loki sighed, "she always does. But father didn't. She thinks it was just an accident. Heimdall's sword was molecularly weakened so when he activated it…"
"The force of Bifröst being channeled through the sword shattered it and carried the fragments into the gears," Sigyn finished when he paused. "That makes sense."
Loki nodded.
"If Odin didn't notice you, then did you get to speak to the Jötnar after all?" Sigyn prodded, feeling that was the reason behind his distantness.
"Yeah," Loki agreed. "and I found a friend."
At his words, Slítas poked his head out again. Sigyn stared at him and smiled at the cobra. "He's back?"
"He's not supposed to be," Loki scowled, "but he came with Hӕra. I just don't know if she knew he was stowing away."
Slítas vanished and slithered out of Loki's sleeve onto the grass, heading to Sigyn. Instead of flinch or scream, Sigyn smiled and held out her hand. Slítas nudged the tips of her fingers before laying his head in her palm. She smiled and stroked his spine with her other hand. The snake began humming, a sound suspiciously similar to purring.
"I asked Hӕra about my name," Loki continued, tension seething into his muscles. "She said it's Jötunn in origin."
Sigyn's eyes brows shot up. "Jötunn? It's not an Asgardian name?"
Loki shook his head, and his expression betrayed it was likely the cause of his hesitance.
"Hæra said it's a rare name on their world," he continued, "and the only person she knew with the name was Prince Loki Laufeyson."
"Laufeyson," Sigyn repeated levelly.
Loki nodded again. They sat in silence for several seconds. It was hard for Loki to grasp. Jötnar were barbarians and monsters. All his life he'd heard terrifying stories about them. Parents frightened children with stories about him. Stories of the horrors Laufey had done – torture, breaking his word (and his honor), and regularly cannibalizing Æsir thrummed in his skull. Why had he been named after the son of their race's most terrible enemy? Had Odin truly hated him so much, truly not wished he'd been born?
Other Æsir children had called him Ice Runt, taking into account his ice magic and shorter, smaller stature. He'd never thought the taunts would make sense.
"I didn't know Laufey had a son," Sigyn mused idly. "He must be long dead for there to be no mention of him."
She lowered her hand to her lap and Slítas, looking between the two of them and sensing this wasn't a moment to interrupt, coiled silently on the grass.
Loki hesitated when she didn't speak again. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"
"You expect me to say something else?" Sigyn asked with a smile.
Loki looked away. Sigyn's smile softened. He was so sensitive, so used to being taunted and belittled. That trait allowed Loki to see the darkness and hidden meaning behind words, something he was taking advantage of to lie better. But.
"You shouldn't take everything so personally," she scolded him. "You don't know why Odin named you that and it doesn't really matter."
"No?" Loki challenged.
"No," Sigyn agreed without hesitation. "Because, Jötunn or not, it's your name and I like it."
Loki looked down, unconvinced. Sigyn recoiled inside at how cruel Odin had been to name his son after such a monster, but stood by what she said. It was his name and whether the name Loki went down in fame or infamy depended on what he did.
Her eyes flickered to his right hand. There was a bit of blood on the knuckles. He must have skinned them. Had he hit something? This must be frustrating for him. What was it like for a mage to not have their magic? It would be like losing an arm, no, more then an arm. Their magic was tied to their lifeforce.
"Did you ask Hӕra about ice magic?" Sigyn questioned, remembered how he'd mentioned doing something like that.
Loki stopped and stared at her, blinking. Then he groaned and leaned backwards, toppling onto the grass to look at the ceiling overhead.
"I forgot," he said flatly.
Sigyn looked at him for several seconds before sighing. "You were so surprised by the name, huh?"
"Oops," Loki said shyly.
And he had no idea when he'd be able to see them again.
"I'm an idiot," he growled to himself.
"I could have told you that," Sigyn shook her head, wheat-colored tresses rippling with the movement. "But they are staying here for a bit, right?"
"Yeah," Loki agreed. "Freyja mentioned something about weaving a gateway since it would be awhile before Bifröst was repaired."
"I've only heard rumors arguing who sabotaged Bifröst," she raised an eyebrow, surprised. "It was a stupid accident?"
"Freyja thinks so and her argument made sense," Loki moved his head so he could see the jasmine bush.
Its dark green leaves were festooned with clusters of white flowers, the petals shut, patiently waiting to bloom. He inhaled deeply, detecting traces of its sweet scent. It had mostly faded, the flowers having been closed for nearly ten hours.
"Say," Loki said distantly. "Why do you like jasmine so much Sigyn? I know the Dökkálfr loved them, but they were a nocturnal species. The flowers only bloom when you sleep."
Sigyn wondered why he'd changed the subject but accounted it to not wanting to mention his blunder. It was better than venting his frustration by hitting something, if that was what happened.
"Jasmine is one of the few plants that grows on all the realms," she told him, gazing at the leaves overhead, "and the meaning of the flower changes between cultures. Some say it means love or motherhood, others say beauty, and some say purity and good luck. It's not like the rose, which everyone agrees is a symbol of love. Yet no matter how different each race's opinion is, its scent is so sweet that they have to smile. I'm sure even the Jötnar and Æsir could agree on that."
Loki watched the leaves rustling in the artificial breeze that circulated Vingólf. For the Jötnar and Æsir to agree on something, for them to think the same way… to have that much in common. He looked away from the flowers. Sigyn was daydreaming again.
Sigyn smiled to herself as Loki averted his gaze. He didn't agree with her. She probably was daydreaming.
Loki was very good at seeing the hidden meaning in another's words, at cutting through the layers of tact to the secret agenda. But. She looked at Loki as he turned his gaze away from the jasmine. But sometimes she feared he was so good at seeing the dark, he had trouble seeing the light.
Slítas sighed and laid his head on the grass.
I'm not sure if you understood that comment Loki made about Laufey having no honor. In viking culture, which Æsir culture is based on, the two worst crimes one can commit are kin-slaying and oath-breaking. Of the two, oath-breaking is actually the worst. To break one's oath, one's word, is to say they had no honor. A man without honor is no better then an animal.