It was early spring in this part of Vanaheimr and the Gefn Forest was waking from its long wintery slumber, with new shy leaves budding on the branches and a thick flowery scent of blossoming fruit trees mixing with the smell of decaying leaves and moist undergrowth.
The Bifröst site had a well-used path leading out of it and Loki followed it until he reached a broader, paved trail. Taking some time to orient himself in relation to the sun – only one of the twin stars that the planet orbited showed in the sky at this time of the year – he headed west, towards the city.
He wasn't in a rush. The road was clear and the Fólkvangr lay but a few leagues ahead. Besides, his arrival was undoubtedly spotted by the court mages and an envoy would be sent to meet him and escort him to the royal castle.
Vanaheimr of old was a land of nomadic tribes, self-ruling and living by the law of the land, but millennia under Æsir rule had forced them to change their ways. If they were to hold any hope of having a voice, they needed someone to speak for them. So, they had chosen one of their chieftains – the fierce warrior and powerful seer Njörðr – and the royal palace Sessrúmnir had been built amongst the sacred Vanir fields to serve as his seat. He ruled the lands – if only in name and not in truth – until his passing, and then the new king had been chosen from his bloodline – his nephew, as the biological offspring he had sired with his wife, Skaði of the Jötnar, would never be officially recognized by the Asgardians.
The Jötnar were just mindless beasts after all, it was inconceivable to have one with that blood in their veins sitting on the throne of one of Asgard's vassals.
Oh, the irony tasted delicious on Loki's tongue.
These days it would be King Freyr and Queen Freya, his twin sister and wife. At least officially. King Freyr was old, older than Odin by a good couple of centuries, and frail in his advanced age. The queen hadn't been seen publicly in years. The real power rested in the hands of the crown princess Gersemi – the eldest daughter and the heir to the throne, as Vanir customs did not limit their inheritance lines to male offspring – and her husband, Lord Kjell. They were the ones Loki needed to speak to.
He had already passed the edge of the forest and was now riding across the vast, open fields when he spotted the outriders among the mists on the horizon.
They were two of them, a man and a woman, wearing plain clothes in gray and green tones that blended well with the surrounding. Freyr's house colors – blue and yellow – were nowhere to be seen. They rode on lean, swift horses and carried daggers at their sides and crossbows on their backs. Scouts or assassins. Perhaps both. They weren't here to meet him. They were here to spot the approaching enemies and report back. Or take them out, perhaps.
The latter, at least, seemed to be off the table.
"My Liege," the woman said with a courteous bow as she jumped out of her mount. "We were expecting more of an entourage."
Her Vanir carried a prominent Eastern lilt. She was not from Fólkvangr originally. A tribeswoman from the Wild Lands looking for a better life in the capitol?
"I come alone," Loki said carefully but still brought forth a smile. Even though those were but soldiers, one got only a single chance at making a good first impression. "I'm here to talk, not to wage war."
She and her companion exchanged glances.
"Excuse us that untoward assumption, my Liege," she said finally. "My name's Ingibjǫrg, this is my shield-brother Léif and we are loyal subjects of King Freyr. We can offer you an escort to the royal halls, if that's where you're headed." Léif elbowed her in the ribs. "Uhm, your majesty."
"Lead on then."
His guards didn't speak unless spoken to, and when Loki did, only Ingibjǫrg answered, in curt, quick sentences that carried very little actual information, no matter how general the questions he asked were. Not a talkative bunch, those two.
Then again, he was no longer a young princeling taking a vacation on Vanaheimr. He was the All-Father now and their reservation towards his status was well justified.
As they rode through the fields in silence, Loki's mind wandered back in time.
Princess Gersemi was Frigg's oldest sister and the All-Mother had been taking him and Thor along for visits with her family when they had been still young. Thor hated it with a passion – it meant time spent away from his friends and usual entertainments. Loki, on the other hand, loved every moment. It meant not only escaping Odin's attention for a short while, but also served as a welcome change of scenery. And attitudes. His reputation didn't reach that far back then and the Vanir people treated him like Thor's equal, offering him the same smiles and kindness that were always Thor's exclusive right back in Asgard. He had treats brought to his table at mealtimes, companions to play with, and the royal librarian had taken a special liking to him since that one time he'd wandered to the silent halls, looking for a moment of calm after all the excitement.
That had riled up Thor even more. It had been pleasant to witness, at least until they'd returned to Asgard and Thor had paid him back for all the perceived injustices he'd suffered while away.
But, as every good thing in Loki's life, that had come to an end too soon. They had grown too old for holding onto their mother's skirts and one year Frigg hadn't asked them if they wanted to accompany her on her yearly visit and had just gone alone.
Loki hurled a fruit plate at the servant who had come to deliver the news of the Queen's departure. He missed – he hadn't even particularly been trying not to – but it still cost him ten days in the dungeon. He'd been allowed out just in time to witness Frigg's arrival back in Asgard, smiling and rested and radiant, while the darkness still clouded the corners of his mind.
Ages had passed since then, but the memory still burned in Loki's mind as if it had happened yesterday. The first time he had felt utterly betrayed and abandoned. There was a whole lot more of it later, but it had never stung as much as that first time.
And now he would never get a chance to tell Frigg that he'd forgiven her. Not that he would ever use it. It would require admitting a weakness first.
The city of Fólkvangr was a peculiar sight – less an actual capitol and more of an idea of how a capitol should look like by people who had never built cities in their history – an eccentric mix of Asgard-inspired architecture and upscaled nomadic huts, thrown together without much sense or coherence that had expanded over the years as the city grew, until it looked like a tangled mess of space trash that crashed in the middle of the endless open fields that still surrounded it.
On the top of the pile stood the Sessrúmnir, with its white towers and red tile roofs. The highest tower was crowned with a golden cupola instead – a gift from King Bor after one extraordinarily ample tribute – now covered with a layer of patina and more brown than actually golden. Unlike the Æsir, the Vanir didn't care about presentation enough to send servants to risk their lives polishing the walls and domes of their buildings. And the weather was a lot less hospitable.
They rode through the narrow, winding streets and people came out of their abodes to see what the commotion was all about. There was a lot more hesitation in their stares and the whispers carried an uncertain edge.
It was to be expected. The news about changes on the thrones of faraway lands did not travel fast among the common folk, so many of the onlookers might not even know who Loki was. He wasn't wearing the crown; he didn't even have it retrieved from the vault since it had been placed there after he'd fainted like a sickly child at the coronation.
Even those who knew, had full right to their misgivings. Odin rarely bothered to visit other realms officially unless it was to raise the tribute or to impose new laws or restrictions.
Or squash a revolution or two.
This one hadn't reached the capitol yet. The report had said only a few trading port towns on the coast were rebelling and it looked like the situation hadn't changed. That was also why he had decided to go alone. Loki was not naïve enough to venture without support into a war-torn land, no matter how well meant his intentions were. An arrow shaft through the ribs hurt the same, whether he came to parley or to fight with the one who let it loose.
It was a matter of time though. The capitol relied heavily on the trade routes – its location was picked because of the symbolism of the place and not the strategical viability – and the population relied on goods delivered by boats, via the Mardöll River from the ports in the North. Once that supply chain got disrupted, the unrest would soon follow.
Unless Loki did something about it.
There was a more formal-looking delegation waiting for him at the stables. Officials, not warriors, in fancy, colorful clothes the Vanir nobles preferred to the Æsir metal and leather.
Among the faces, a familiar one drew Loki's attention. Lord Börje, Asgardian steward to Vanaheimr. It'd been decades since he had last seen the man on Asgard, as his preferred way of dealing with Odin was simply not to.
Loki dismounted and handed the leads to a stable boy.
Lord Börje bowed and a fake smile bloomed on his plump face. "It's an honor, my king." His beard was braided – as per custom in Vanaheimr – and his outfit was following the Vanir fashion. The royal emblem of the Asgardian crown – the mark of his station here – was nowhere to be seen. Either Loki's unannounced arrival had given him no time to change into something that would have reflected his role better, or it was a meant as a statement. There was nothing to hint at either and Loki forwent deciding which one it was, for now. The Elders, of course, had a lot of reservations about Börje's loyalties, stooping as low as to bringing up his Vanir concubine he allegedly had taken as a replacement for his barren Æsir wife and that the wench was – according to Njal's flowery rendition – spewing new bastards every couple of years.
"Lord Börje," Loki nodded back. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Oh, of course not, your majesty. Please excuse this austere circumstance. Your arrival came at a short notice and we had no time to prepare."
There was not an ounce of regret in the man's face. In fact, he looked positively peeved by Loki's presence. Or perhaps by Loki's kingship as a concept. There was no telling what version of the events had reached Vanir ears, and even if it was the full truth, the man had spent enough time on Asgard for his resentment of Loki to bloom and bring fruit.
Too bad, someone who Njal hated that much would have made a good ally.
Loki waved his hand dismissively. "I'm used to worse."
The expression of preponderance on Börje's face wavered, but he controlled it quickly. "Pardon my inquisitiveness, but could you perhaps reveal the purpose of this visit? We are overjoyed to receive you, of course," he said, "but this is a trying time for all of the Nine Realms and there must be many places that require your attention. Vanaheimr is troubled right now and it might not be the best place for such notable guests as yourself."
Loki smiled at the veiled jab, but let it slide. "This is exactly what I'm here to discuss. I believe an honest talk could solve many issues before they grow out of control. Now, shall we?" he said and gestured them on.
"Of course, your majesty. King Freyr is sadly indisposed, but Princess Gersemi will receive you in the Morning Hall."
The Morning Hall was where the less official social affairs took place, which was right up Loki's alley.
"Would it be too bold of me if I asked what the topic you're here to discuss would be, my king?" Börje pried as they strolled towards the palace.
"The Council is afraid the skirmishes on the coast may turn into another civil war, and so soon," Loki said matter-of-factly. Börje must've known that. He wouldn't be allowed to hold the position he did if he couldn't put a couple of easy facts together.
"Oh, that's… Thoughtful of you, your majesty, but I assure you, there's no risk of another rebellion. Yes, there's trouble in the harbors, but it's just a bunch of misguided mutineers. They'll be dealt with promptly. There's nothing for Asgard to concern themselves with here, less so to inconvenience the king himself," he lied, then – in what he indubitably thought was a discreet manner – he signaled his entourage to stay a few steps behind. He leaned over but hesitated for a few heartbeats before speaking. "This is a very bad time for you to be here, my king," he said quietly, switching from the Vanir he had spoken before to Æsir, as if it would make a difference. "Many people here held great hopes for Thor's ascension to the crown, as he always was a great friend of the Vanir and he might've been the change the realm needed. The same people are very unhappy seeing you on the throne instead."
They can get in the line then, as there will be quite a crowd, Loki thought. "I assure you, Lord Börje, that I hold only the best interest of the Nine in my heart."
Börje murmured unconvinced acknowledgement, then added, in an outright conspiratory whisper, "There're talks of Princess Gersemi planning to officially support the rebels. Once that happens there would be no stopping the war. It would be a disaster, for Asgard and Vanaheimr both."
"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding and it can be straightened out in no time," Loki said. Of course it was not. The Vanir had had enough of Odin's hunger for power and now they had seen the opening to finally break free from Asgard's rule, once and for all.
The envoy sighed, mistaking Loki's diplomatic answers for naiveté. There had never been a shortage of people to underestimate Loki's skills in politics – or any other area for that matter – and Lord Börje was just another voice in that crowd. Which actually might work in Loki's favor, for once.
"There's no love lost between me and Odin's methods of governance, Lord Börje." Or Odin himself. "And while I'm certainly not my golden brother, I'm sure Princes Gersemi and I can find common language."
That had a bit more of an effect, although the man's gaze was still rather mistrustful. He had spent many years of his life in Vanaheimr and held prosperity and welfare of the realm in high regard, to the point that it might have already outweighed his loyalty to the Asgardian throne.
The soldiers standing guard at the gate stepped aside as they approached. The chimes were rung and the drawbridge slowly descended, opening the way. Loki took that opportunity to admire the ceremonial armors the guards wore – made of lacquered and dyed leather scales, with broad helmets and colorful threads adorning the hem of the cuirass – that he always had found fascinating to look at. He'd often used to wish the simpler and more utilitarian version of the Vanir armor Hogun used looked more like this.
Had the man's family ever been notified of his demise? With Thor being gone immediately after, there might have been no one to tend to that duty, Loki realized. He would have to look into it when he returned to Asgard. He had no idea which part of Vanaheimr the man was from, but he did have a family, that much Loki knew. A mother and three older sisters, which was often a ground for jealousy among the Æsir. Having more than one child was a privilege reserved only for the most accomplished, noble bloodlines on Asgard and even then, it was limited to two. The royal family was of course exempt from that law, but it was still rare for a king to have more than two children, unless no precautions were taken to ensure one of them was male.
That accounted for all the times Loki had overheard Thor being offered condolences for "being stuck with that."
The drawbridge clattered down on the pavement and they walked across.
What used to be the main courtyard, had been turned into a garden, with an openwork structure spanning above, serving as a roof. The trees and bushes were in bloom, filling the area with a heavy blossom scent.
"Quite a lot has changed here since I last visited," Loki pointed out. He wasn't in a mood for small talk, but he also needed the man on his side, at least for now, and appearing as courteous and polite as possible might put at least a chip of doubt in Börje's idea of where Loki was going to stand as a ruler.
"The princess likes nature, but her obligations don't allow her to enjoy outdoors very much. Lord Kjell commissioned the garden on her name day a couple of springs back," Börje explained, "but you probably knew that already, with Princess Gersemi being your maternal aunt, am I correct?"
It was a bait and a poorly constructed one at that, and Loki was not going to fall for it. "My lessons on Vanir politics pertained to more important things than the crown princess' favorite past times," he said nonchalantly. "Like the fact that the royal steward is directly responsible for maintaining order on the realm that was entrusted to them. One might even say that they could be held personally responsible for any unrest they failed to control. And should discrepancies in the amount of goods in the tribute be discovered – in, say, the last four years – they would have to cover the difference from their own coffers and suffer the consequences for the atrocious act of betrayal of their home kingdom."
Börje visually deflated and most color drained from his face. "My king…"
"Now, it would be childish to harp on the details, am I wrong, dear Lord Börje? We're both here because we want to ensure peace and a smooth cooperation between two realms, not because we want to outdo each other in pointing out mistakes of the past."
"Of course, your majesty," Börje said thinly.
"I knew we would come to an agreement," Loki said and smiled pleasantly.
The Morning Hall too had gone through a serious redecoration since Loki had been here last, turning the spacious room into a greenhouse, with various plants in huge pots lined under the tall windows.
Princess Gersemi was lounging on a daybed, sipping wine, surrounded by a couple of ladies-in-waiting and three young children playing with an intricate model of a castle – a boy and two girls, with fair, almost white hair and pointy ears, the hallmark of the Ljósálfar.
"My princess, King Loki of Asgard," Börje announced with a curtsey. "My king, Princess Gersemi of Vanaheimr."
She nodded in acknowledgement and waved her hand. "Leave us, please," she ordered and the court ladies gathered their skirts and hurried out without a word. "You too, Lord Börje."
The man huffed in displeasure but bowed again and vacated the room without voicing his protest.
Loki crooked his head and folded his arms at his chest.
"Care to sit down, my dear nephew?"
"Your father is not coming?" Loki goaded in return. He already had put together a rather accurate idea of how things worked here, but the situation still called for a little test. "Or Lord Kjell, perhaps?"
She sighed. "Asgardians and their outdated ideas about leadership," she said shaking her head. "You'd be better off discussing politics with my grandson than with Freyr. At least Haldir can tell his morning meal from his chamber pot."
"So I figured," he said and sat down in one of the vacated chairs, crossing his legs. It wasn't following the proper protocol. Under the law of the treaties, the king of Asgard held higher power than the ruler of Vanaheimr – and even more so than an unofficial one – and Loki should be offered a higher seat. Then again, this wasn't an official meeting and he couldn't care less about the rules.
"Wine?" she asked, then proceeded to pour two chalices from the flask at the side table when he nodded. She handed him one and took a sip from the other. "I'm not stupid enough to try to poison you," she added when she saw his hesitation.
He laughed and took a swig. It was quite strong for such an early hour.
Princess Gersemi smiled knowingly. "It's good to see you well," she said, pulling herself up to a proper sitting position. "There were all sorts of horrible rumors about the fate of the young Odinson."
That, too, was bait, and Loki decided to bite this time. "I'm not a son of Odin, neither by blood nor by conviction."
She chuckled and it sounded like a kind-hearted laugh. "Took you long enough. I assume the other part of that secret was also revealed to you?"
"You mean this?" He let his Æsir skin fade away.
The princess crooked her head and raised an eyebrow. There wasn't much familiar resemblance between her and her youngest sister, but Loki could now easily see they were siblings, as Gersemi looked at him with the same amused curiosity Frigg had done each time he had discovered something new about magic and had run to her to show it off, in the ancient days of his childhood.
It was a bittersweet notion, to say the least.
"Woah!" the boy – Haldir – squealed and trudged over to his grandmother's side, the toys forgotten immediately. He trained his huge, golden eyes on Loki. "Are you a mage, sir?"
"Yes," Loki said and smiled at the boy. "A mage and a Frost… Jötunn." The Æsir common name for Loki's race – Frost Giants – was considered derogatory in Vanir.
The boy's eyes went wide. Not with fear, but with excitement.
No Æsir child would react this way to his obvious looks – or the admittance of being a male magic user for that matter – and for a moment Loki wished he had grown up here instead, where neither magical inclination nor his heritage would have been grounds for condemnation. Before the time of Asgard's rule, neither Vanaheimr nor Álfheimr ever considered the Jötnar their enemies and were known to hold an openly friendly relationship with Jötunheimr, until Odin broke it up, forcibly rallying the Vanir and the Ljósálfar for the second siege of Utgård.
"I can do magic too! Look!" the boy exclaimed and raised his tiny hand, summoning a wisp of power. A cascade of sparks rose and drifted towards the high, vaulted ceiling, shimmering as they went. It was a simple spell, but still an impressive achievement for a child this young. "Gran says I'll be the most powerful mage in the whole world when I grow up!"
"That's quite likely," Loki said with a smile. The boy and his younger twin sisters were the offspring of the union between the late Vanadís – Gersemi's daughter – and Gyfli, the heir to the Álfheimr's throne, a culmination of two strong bloodlines, with potent magical abilities presenting on each side. The Vanir upbringing would make sure the talents were properly cultivated.
The boy beamed and let go of the hem of his grandmother's skirt then carefully trudged his way towards Loki, to sit by his feet. "What else can you do?" he asked, tugging at Loki's clothes.
"Haldir," Gersemi reprimanded, but there was little true reproach in her tone, "show some respect for our guest. Your uncle is a king and he is here on an important mission."
"You're my uncle?!" the boy blurted and his eyes sparkled with joy at the very notion.
This was by far the hardest question Loki had been asked since he had come to Vanaheimr.
Luckily, Gersemi answered for him. "Loki is your great-aunt Frigg's son."
Haldir's grin faded. "I miss her," he said with a pout. "She was always nice to me. She brought me those red fruits I love."
Loki blinked, then said, quietly, "I miss her too." He cleared his throat. "How about I bring you some apples the next time I'm here?"
"Yes, please!" Haldir said and wrapped his plump arms around Loki's leg in gratitude for the promise.
"Now, go play with your sisters," Gersemi urged, "The adults need to talk."
The tales would later say the wise king and the noble princess discussed the matters that would decide the fates of the Nine until nightfall and that the talks paved the way to a new era of prosperity for the people of Vanaheimr. That there were cheers on the streets when King Loki rode out of the city and that the celebrations lasted for a month.
It didn't go quite like that. First of all, there was a lot more alcohol involved. Also, there was no cheering – the people of Vanaheimr wouldn't learn about the results of their deliberations until much later. But Loki and Gersemi did reach an understanding. The tribute would get slashed and replaced with a tax owned to the crown on all external trading deals that the Vanir would now be allowed to make, to be paid either with goods or with coin.
The Vanir insurgents that had been judged and imprisoned or enslaved under Æsir law in the past would be returned to their homeland, to serve the rest of their sentences according to the rules of their realm.
In return, the princess would officially avow Loki as the king of both Asgard and Vanaheimr and deal with the rebels in a timely and violence-free manner, ensuring the peace without Asgardian involvement.
It was a good compromise that both realms would benefit from in the long run.
The Council of the Elders, of course, called it quite differently. A madness. An idiocy. The end of Asgard's might and glory. Not the right way to solve problems. And the like.
Loki listened to Njal's tirade, kept his expression thoughtful, nodded in important moments and then completely disregarded it. He was now the Protector of the Nine as well as the king of Asgard, and the Vanir were his people too. And Asgard had been sucking their world dry for long enough.
"You called, my king?" asked Heimdall, walking into the chamber.
"I did not," Loki said without looking up at the Watcher, still eyes firmly on the pod in which Odin was sleeping. "But we both know that's not why you're here."
Heimdall laughed. "I take your trip to Vanaheimr was rather enlightening."
"Yes, definitely, but you knew that already," Loki said, keeping his voice neutral. "If you came here to talk me down from murdering my not-father in his sleep, you need not fret yourself. I won't."
"I was just making conversation," Heimdall said and sat on the bench next to Loki with a heavy sigh. "So, now you know the full truth."
"Do I? Oh, I'm not sure. Perhaps there are even more secret children of Odin I have absolutely no idea about, an entire dungeon somewhere, filled with other unfortunate Odinsons and Odinsdottirs?"
Heimdall shook his head. "You have to understand, she was not like you. She was a monster."
Loki breathed out a humorless laugh. "So, exactly like me then."
"Loki…"
"Unless you have any other lifechanging revelations to drop on me, you can leave, Heimdall. I'm really not in the mood for your excuses."
Heimdall's hand shifted on his thighs as if he were considering getting up and leaving, but he remained seated.
"I know where she is," he said, not looking at Loki.
"Excuse me?"
"Hela is alive."
"What about this then?" Loki pulled out a scroll. He had found it in Odin's private office, locked in an enchanted chest, along with many old edicts and notes. A lot of it was quite informative. "It says here she was too dangerous to be left to her own devices under the terms of banishment," he added, before Heimdall even unrolled the parchment. He wasn't in the mood for games either.
"That part is true. She wasn't banished. She was imprisoned, on Niflheimr. There would be a record in the locked part of the archives."
Loki ran his hand through his hair. "And she is still there? Still alive?"
Heimdall nodded and his eyes turned glassy and empty, as each time he was using his gift. "She is growing restless. She can sense the time of Odin is coming to an end and his magic is the only thing still keeping her in her prison."
"Good for her," Loki said, numbly, then pinched the bridge of his nose. It seemed that Odin had practiced his parenting style long before Loki had even been born. It also looked like, between himself and Hela, Loki was the lucky one.
"On her trial, she had vowed to bring ruin to Asgard and her people and the ages of imprisonment only grew her determination."
"As those things usually do," Loki shrugged and moved to get up, wondering if said trial had been anything as fair as his. Well, if she could vow her revenge, she at least had gotten a chance to speak.
Heimdall's gaze was on Loki, piercing and inquisitive and Loki held it, unabashed. There was no version of this where the Watcher could claim moral superiority.
"What do you intend to do?" he asked after it became clear Loki was not going to say anything else. The unspoken warning sounded clearly in his tone.
"Well, I'm going to go to Niflheimr. And you are going to tell me exactly where I need to go."
"Loki, please! You can't be serious, Hela is beyond reason, she won't listen to you."
"Maybe not. But I'm still going to try. I've got a feeling we might have quite a few common subjects to discuss."