A/N: A little change of pace with this chapter. It is written from 1st Loki pov in a very freeform journal style (I have no idea what I'm doing with 1st person), and it overlaps with the previous chapter where he first meets Ollerus.

Thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoy.

(p.s. The title is taken from a Jem and the Holograms song, proving once again my 80's nostalgia has no shame)

I haven't made an entry in quite some time. It is not for lack of events to report, just none I've cared to relive in detail beyond haunting memories. That is not the case here in Glasir. In the Temple of the Healer, grounds I could not trespass until now, I would be a fool not to document all I have seen and yet to experience. There is time to take a few notes before the students arrive.

I had always heard of the aura surrounding the temple. It is a mystical force, born of the land it was built upon, which enhances the workings of magic, a forbidden fruit always beyond my reach upon my prior, cloaked visits to Glasir. Much like my view of Ollerus, I could only ever see it from a distance, the glimmer of the temple's golden spires as untouchable as my son's golden hair. But no longer are they unattainable. I now feel this oasis of magical energy course through my body, reinforcing my power, even strengthening my muscles and sharpening my mind. It is truly enchanting. Everything I see, breath and touch brings a tranquility that I didn't know I could feel. It is like a dream, the kind I do not awake from in a petrified sweat.

Sif had led me through these grounds—her home—with a childish ease, twining her fingers in mine as I absorbed it all. My jealously for her fortune of upbringing came out as teasing, taking jabs at her intelligence, playful and comfortable conversation—punctuated with her retaliating shoves and punches—behavior reminiscent of times past, long before my 'fall' as they call it. She knows I don't really believe her mind inferior, I see it in her lupine grin. In fact, I doubt anyone sees just how sharp her instincts are the way I do, how admirable her wits and cunning.

It occurred to me, even before my slip of tongue as we stood over the Jotun spellbook, that her senses are attuned to my treachery. She is aware of the bargain I struck with Hela, not to that specific of detail, but leery of a dark cloud hanging over us. Beneath the sadness she felt for Ollerus's absence, beneath the smiles my kisses pull from her lips, there is an expectation that chaos is impending. I've seen the same weary resignation in Thor's face.

I had attempted to divert her suspicions with talk of dancing, a charade which she saw right through and probably would have called me on had my son not entered the library then. We hung in a moment of shared paralysis until Sif was drawn to him. I remained still. The boy avoided Sif's attempted embrace and I caught a glimpse of her heart breaking a little more. Ollerus then crossed the room with confidence, his gaze hard upon me, my heart palpitating. I greeted him and attempted to find common ground but he said nothing. He had established control. He has lived a mere breath of time compared to me and yet he had attained dominance of that moment. I was impressed.

What he did next, I did not anticipate. He embraced me. He addressed me as Father. His arms held me tight, squeezing my ribs, sparking a pain in my chest wound. There was a longing there, within both of us, present at least a dozen years, a need satiated with the simplest of actions. My eyes became cloudy. They would. My arms limply held him, despite what my heart told them to do. They would. Of all times for my traitorous body to make a coward of me.

Time had slowed and I glanced at Sif. She was dumbstruck with a heartrending joy. Her tears weren't as hesitant as mine, for once, and she tried to hide them beneath her hands. I wish she hadn't hid her smile. I adore her smile. I could see by the slits of her eyes that her face was split joyfully in two. That is until Ollerus ended the hug—as quickly as he initiated it—and spoke to her, essentially asking her to leave, which she agreed to do with only momentary hesitation. At the time I wish he hadn't, not only for her sake but for mine. I needed her moral support, someone to clue me into what I was supposed to do next. I had no idea what to expect.

Once Sif had left the room, the boy's eyes critically scanned me, studying every inch, and I did the same to him. I haven't seen eyes like his before, intense hybrids with rich auburn irises and only a hint of orange around them, not saturated enough to be considered devilish by the Aesir. His complexion is lighter than my true color as well, softened by his mother's paleness. And then there's that hair: a resurrection of Sif's former splendor, golden as dawn, radiant, begging to glow through the weight of melted, dirt-laced snow. I have never, in all of my travels, seen a more complementary combination of skin and hair coloration. Sif and I have created a masterpiece with this child, and that isn't even considering his capacity for magic in tandem with his mother's physical strengths. There is so much I want to learn about him. And teach him.

I was about to speak to him—about what I do not recall—but he spoke first, asking me a most petrifying question. "Do you love my mother?"

The nerve of this boy. "Yes I do." My words tumbled out quickly and without grace, but not for lack of sincerity. I knew I was being truthful but was worried he didn't. I also had a sneaking suspicion Sif wasn't out of earshot. What did she make of my confession?

"I know you lie a lot," Ollerus then said. He had done his homework, that was obvious by the history book he brandished.

"When it suits me, yes." I wanted to be as honest as possible.

"But you're not lying now."

"No I am not."

His next question was nearly as unexpected as the first. He asked if I wanted to go skiing! Said he had extra gear for me, said some student named Svala will transport us there immediately with her magic. I was initially reluctant to put the spatial displacement of my body in the hands of a novice sorceress but my son's insistence convinced me otherwise. He said how he does it all the time and that Svala could be trusted because Eir taught her the spell and Eir doesn't let any student use her spells willy–nilly without proving mastery of it. I couldn't have argued with the boy even if I wanted to. So, we went skiing.

There isn't much time for talk when one is strapped to a pair of planks and fated for a quick and painful death via impact with a boulder. It had taken all of my focus to stay in one piece and I wish I could say my efforts were executed with grace and style. I had lost count of the times I toppled, my skis mercilessly twisting my legs around, my face bluing by the repeated planting of it into the snow. If Ollerus was hoping for a father gifted as him in adrenaline stoked hobbies, he was going to be disappointed. Fortunately, he seemed more intent on showing off than judging my skill. Plus the look on his face at seeing my blue skin was well worth the pain involved in creating the moment. He is the first one who hasn't flinched at first sight of my true form. He even touched my cheek, fascinated.

"Feels like Fylla's saddle," he said, as if it was a compliment. "No wonder frost giants don't need full armor like other warriors. You have it naturally."

He certainly put a positive spin on it. I smiled and touched his cheek in return. It felt like Sif's skin and I told him that. He smiled and proclaimed how it's taken him only a decade to toughen his skin whereas she's been at it her entire military life. He makes Jotun skin sound like a badge of honor, not a curse to be concealed. Odin could afford to take some lessens in tolerance from this boy.

Then, in an act of pity, Ollerus removed my skis—a set he informed with great pride had been hand carved for me in anticipation of my arrival—and we began our journey back to the valley, a walk that would occupy the remainder of the day. Conversation began lightly and pleasantly. He asked me about many things and I answered him with carefully hand-picked truths. He was eager to hear about Midgard (fortunately not about my latest visit) but about various points in history I had visited and what I thought about notable events he'd read about. He also asked about sorcery: who were my teachers after Frigga? what spells do I use on the battlefield? did I realize Sif was magically challenged before I fell in love with her? (that one made me laugh) I said I did, and that was part of her charm, along with the animal-like noises she makes while charging into battle. Judging by the quirk of his brow, he didn't get my sarcasm.

"Why did you try to destroy Jotunheim?" he then asked, out of the blue, words that slapped the smile from my face.

"You certainly don't beat around the bush," I replied. "I can't decide if I like that or want to sew your lips shut."

"I just don't get why you would do that." A sadness had tinged his voice. "You don't seem like the bad guy my books make you out to be."

"Don't believe everything you read." I dreaded to think of which books he had been subjected to. "Every word ever penned or spoken is shaped by someone else's bias."

"I know that," he sighed. "But there isn't much room for interpretation over the recorded fact that you tried to murder an entire realm."

There was no skirting around the issue with this boy. I was forced to speak plainly with him, something I've grown out of the habit of doing. "I believed destroying Asgard's enemies would deem me worthy in the eyes of the man I used to call father."

There was an eternal pause before he responded. "That's taking it to an extreme."

"It was," I continued, speaking truths both convenient and sickening, "but that was the way I was taught. Elimination of what was different, and frightening. I thought I was doing exactly what Odin wanted, based on his history of poor choices and violent resolutions, and I truly thought my actions would impress him. I was wrong. Nothing I could have done would have impressed him. He cast his opinion of me the moment he beheld my blue skin."

Ollerus paused again, his face shifting through contemplative expressions that were becoming difficult to read. He then asked, "What will he think of my blue skin?"

The question chilled me. "I don't care what he thinks."

The boy blinked. "You're more honest than I expected you to be." He then smiled.

"I have no reason to lie to you the way your books do."

Ollerus then slowed his pace, turning to me with a look I cannot place but will never forget. It warmed my heart and filled me with an unfamiliar pride, perhaps a feeling reserved only for fathers. I will cherish it always. I think he wanted to speak but he could not find the words, so he instead let the moment dissolve naturally, his eyes shifting down to behold the very unnatural paleness return to my flesh.

"You can let your blue skin show here," he said, "The Valkyries don't care."

If only Asgardians could learn from the Valkyries. "I...wish I could. But you see, I cannot control the magic altering my appearance. It is Odin's spell."

"Is Grandfather's magic stronger than yours?" He said and I flinched

"Laufey is your Grandfather," I corrected. "The All-Father is merely our king. And yes, Odin's magic is more powerful than my own." One day that will change.

"The All-Father is king, when he is awake," Ollerus added, correcting me right back. "Thor is king now. I asked Mother if I could get a spell that changed my skin color too, so I could go to Asgard and meet Thor and the Warriors Three." I rolled my eyes. "She said I wouldn't want that but she didn't explain why. There are a lot of things I wish she would explain but she doesn't."

"I cannot speak for her but I imagine she discouraged your change of appearance because she wants you to be comfortable in your skin, literally." I was pleased to hear that Sif wouldn't allow him to be subjected to an identity crushing veil. "You don't need a disguise to visit Asgard and you really shouldn't feel an urgency to meet my brother. The Medina is far more fascinating than the palace, and unlike the well-to-do of Gladsheim, its people will accept you as you are."

"What's the Medina?"

"The Undercity." I smiled at the curious twinkle in his eye. My diversion from the subject of Thor had worked. "Beneath the city's pomp and frivolity is the engine which fuels her: the workforce, the artisans, and the nightlife. It is a bustling commerce that attracts anyone looking to profit from the excess of the upper class."

"Are there frost giants there?"

"There are beings from all realms, mostly elves and dwarves but I have seen goblins, trolls, and the occasional giant. It is not uncommon for giants to be in the troupes of street performers, their size an attractive novelty." He was utterly fascinated by all of this, and explained to me how his books never mentioned Asgard's multiculturalism. I went on. "The best breweries are Dwarven, not to mention some of the best blacksmithing, although you will encounter heated debates between drunken soldiers about whether the dwarves or light elves are better sword smiths. I personally think a blade should be made Elven and a blunt weapon Dwarven. That is one of the few things your mother and I agree upon." I felt like I had begun to babble but Ollerus didn't seem to mind. "You could visit the Medina with no problem. Your looks will turn a few heads but most likely you will be mistaken for a mixed elf. I see them from time to time."

"A half light half dark elf?" He asked and I nodded. "How would people react if they learned who I really was?"

I had to contemplate that for a moment. It's not as if I hadn't thought about it before, it's just I hadn't considered how my currently vacillating reputation would effect the people's opinion of my offspring. "Well, to be honest I really don't know what the people will think. They are a fickle kind, Ollerus, opinions fluctuating with the fads like an anchorless skiff in capricious waters. If they have any common sense, they will adore you and recognize you as heir to the thro–"

I cut myself off, realizing I was speaking my thoughts too openly.

"Heir to the throne? Me?" With a crinkle of his nose, Ollerus regarded me as if I were a lunatic. He then laughed. "You must be smoking the plants Eir tells me not to touch if you think Asgardians will make me King."

I was both relieved and disheartened, a strange dichotomy of feeling. I didn't want to promise him an impossible future yet I also wished he wouldn't write off his birthright so carelessly. "Yes, I must be..." I spoke absently as I questioned the extent of what he should know in regard of my hopes for his future. My plan all along has been to bring him into my life so I could condition him into my successor, to craft him into the caliber of ruler Asgard is in desperate need of, but with each word we exchanged that day, each set of footprints we carved in the snow, I was starting to doubt my intentions.

I see now that Ollerus is not a soul to be tethered by anyone else's plans but his own. His freedom is the essence of his character, his very lifeblood. This he had revealed to me in the mere blink of an afternoon. Yggdrasil alone knows the extent of his wonders and potential. I cannot risk stunting this. He is my only child unbound by Asgardian law and prophesy, and he needs to stay that way unless he chooses otherwise. I would be no better than Odin if I were to start shaping him with my speculative ideals. I, of all Asgardians, should recognize the difference between a child and an asset.

"Ollerus," I began as the Valkyrie village starting coming into view. "Where will you go once you are grown? I cannot imagine the Valkyries will shelter you in manhood."

He snorted. "Even if they did I wouldn't want them too. I'm going to travel to the other realms. Hunt game I've only ever read about. Ski mountains I've only seen in pictures."

His enthusiasm was inspiring. "Does your mother approve of this?"

"Yeah, but even if she didn't I wouldn't care. She can't tell me what to do anymore now that I know she's a liar."

Such a familiar bitterness. "Can you ever forgive her?"

He began kicking up flurries of snow with each step, clearly irritated by my question.

"Should I take that as a no?"

"I don't know," he said petulantly. "I'm really mad at her. I don't get why she lied. I mean she said it was to protect me, but from what? Sure you tried to kill all the frost giants, but that was well after I was born, and it's not like she hasn't killed Jotun warriors in battle. She could have told me years earlier. She should have told me as soon as I was old enough to understand. She tells me all of the gory details of the wars she's fought in. She let's me go off on my own into the forests alone, for days at a time, hunting large animals. She gives me Orcish maces as toys. Why would she possibly think you would be a danger to me and not any of that other stuff. It doesn't make any sense. She doesn't make any sense!"

It took all of my self control to prevent his pain from rousing my own. Our circumstances are much different but the emotion is the same, the confusion and frustration that comes from being betrayed, the heartbreak in learning that words cannot be trusted simply because they wear the guise of love. If my bitterness had taken control of my tongue, I could have caused lasting damage, driving the wedge deeper between mother and son, but it didn't. I am not certain what drove me to respond to him the way I did but I am grateful for whatever force was at work. Perhaps it was nothing more than my instincts grown weary from familial grudges.

"Your mother was justified in her decisions because she was always acting out of love, and the one thing we can trust to be consistent in love is its irrationality, especially in a creature as passionate as The Lady Sif. Love will perpetually drive us to make stupid mistakes, to act out violently or to lie. It will wound deeper than any weapon, disease, or large green behemoth can. However, just like physical wounds are healed in time by our own bodies, our minds can repair the damage caused by love. That is the act of forgiveness. I know you hurt now, Ollerus, but I promise you the pain will subside. It will be powerless against the strength of your mother's love for you. You will grow to understand why she made the choices she did and you will forgive her. You would be a fool not to."

I hadn't a clue whether or not my words had sunken in. I wasn't certain I understood them or even cared to. Everything we had discussed from that point on was focused on the the trick I suggested we play on Sif (why not follow up a lesson in forgiveness with one of mischief?) That had become a more familiar and comfortable subject.

It wasn't until we returned to the temple that Ollerus had confirmed he had taken to heart my most long-winded speech. He wrapped his arms around Sif with a sentiment neither of us had expected. It left her both elated and baffled. She never imagined I would be the one to help alleviate her heartache, and neither did I for that matter. It was an odd feeling, knowing I could take credit for their reconciliation, being the catalyst of a positive and healing event rather than an upheaval of chaos. It felt oddly fulfilling.

I have no memory of being taken to Sif's bedroom. I was too exhausted from two day's worth of back-to-back trials. I have no memory of seeing her undress or feeling her slide beneath the covers and envelope me in her warmth. My next memory was simply waking up that way, her limbs draped across my body, her breath humid on my cheek. It was the confirmation that the unlikely events of the day before were not a dream.

I turned my head and kissed her. When she kissed me back I could practically taste the curiosity in her, the anxious wonder over what exactly I had said to soften Ollerus's heart. If I had been feeling mischievous, I could have withheld everything but a few key words that aroused suspicion but explained nothing, cast her into a cerebral whirlpool of maddening assumptions. But I did not. I instead kissed her again, cupped the back of her head and hummed into her an assurance that she would get the information she sought.

I recalled to her much of what I have recorded here, leaving out the parts that would induce unnecessary arguments. She listened attentively, responding with sighs, laughter and the occasional kiss. Only once did she threaten to cut my throat, a relatively unprovoked gesture that I believe was done more to save face than anything. We were both acutely aware of how far removed we were from our usual antics, and yet neither of us acknowledged it, not wanting to spoil the mood. It felt as though we were on holiday and we basked in it, putting the inevitability of my departure from Glasir in the backs of our minds.

After a very drawn out and delightful awakening, we were unavoidably dragged out of bed and into the dining hall by our impatient son who came to deliver an important message he had just received from Eir.

"She's not coming home until tomorrow and won't be able to teach her classes today. She's asked if Father would substitute for her."

Sif burst into laughter, nudging me with her elbow. "Didn't take her long to make you earn your lodging."

"That's hilarious," I said, unamused. Apparently, there was no such thing as leisure time in the land of the Valkyries.

"She also said," Ollerus continued excitedly, snatching a handful of berries and slamming them in his mouth, "that I could sit in on the beginner's class. Can you believe that Mother? I finally get to learn magic!"

Suddenly the teaching gig became less of a chore and more of a privilege. I had hoped this opportunity would arise soon, to teach my son the art which my mother had taught me. Sif, however, didn't seem as enchanted by the idea. There was a hesitation in her response. "That's wonderful, darling."

"I'm going to go tell Svala and Ingrid," he said as he dashed off, unaware of Sif's concern. "See you in class, Father!"

I waved even though he didn't see it, still processing everything just assigned to me. Sif waited until she heard the front door slam before she spoke. "I feel uneasy about this."

"You don't say..."

She crossed her arms and tilted her head, a stance she could always make intimidating even while wearing a silken robe. "This means a lot to him, Loki. You can't take this lightly. Learning magic is a big step."

"You don't think I'm aware of that?" I sighed, closing the distance between us and placing my hands on her shoulders. "Don't worry, Sif. I can do this. I want to teach him, as badly as he wants to learn."

"I don't know..."

"Trust me." I smiled.

She rolled her yes. "Ha!" She then narrowed them at me. "Fine. But no dark magic."

"Do I look like an idiot?"

"Sometimes," she said childishly.

"How rude! Just for that I will teach him a dark spell or two.

Her eyes widened. "Do it and I will cut your tongue out."

"Oh Sif," I laughed, snaking an arm around her waist. "How am I supposed to teach if I cannot talk?"

"You'll get creative," she said with a smile, warming to my touch now that she got her threat in.

"Very well," I leaned in, grazing my lips over hers and flicking them with the tip of my tongue. "But you can't cut it out until you catch it first."

"At least make it a challenge for me," she smirked, nipping at my grin, ready to go in for the kill when we were interrupted by the clearing of someone's throat. I looked up to see who I presumed was one of Eir's students standing in the doorway."

"Um," she began awkwardly, "I'm supposed to show you, Prince Loki, where the Elder Eir's teaching books are."

"My dear young lady," I said, "you have no idea the fate you have spared my tongue."

She blinked in confusion. "I'll just um..." she then gestured down the hallway, "I'll just meet you in the library."

Sif shook her head and and waited until the girl was gone before speaking. "Discretion is something Eir wants her classes to be taught with."

"Pity we all can't get what we want."

"Loki." She went dead panned. "Promise me you will neither instruct our son in dark magic or toy with these girls in any way. Eir has no tolerance for mischief in her classrooms."

"Then why in the nine realms would she ask me to—"

"Think of it," Sif cut in, "as your final trial."

I sighed. "Out of the boiling pot and into the frying pan."

"More like the fires of Muspelheim if you botch this up."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence."

Do you promise?

"Yes," I relented. "I promise."

She then kissed me sweetly on the cheek. "Good. I'll go get your leathers. We can't have you wearing my nightrobe to class now can we."

I don't see why not," I said with a smirk as she turned to leave. She rolled her eyes at me one last time. She was so beautiful, especially when she was on the verge of strangling me.

How lucky I am to be here. With Sif. With Ollerus. And now with the Elder Eir's trust in me and my capacity of our shared craft. I have to constantly remind myself that this isn't all a dream. I'm not used to the tides turning this much in my favor. It is one thing to have everything go far better than I ever could have planned it, and it is another thing entirely to be able to ignore my master plan in preference of this interlude of enjoyment. The throne of Asgard, the Infinity Stones, the Collector: these matters can all wait while I get acquainted with this alien feeling of belonging, and of happiness.

Music: Life is Long by David Byrne and Brian Eno