Hawk's Thrall, Chapter 1: What the Watchman Saw

Thor Odinson would never have been caught voluntarily in a library in his youth. Though his brother Loki might often have been seen curling in a window seat, surrounded by stacks and stacks of old tomes, many of which were not even from Asgard, Thor had always prefered the sand and packed earth and straw mats and blunt weaponry of the training ring, or the heavy, elaborately painted targets of the archery range, or the deep, thick woods of Asgard, multifolius and gravid with the opportunity of the hunt. Even now, he might rather have been sparring with the Warriors Three...if not for the fact that his brother's life depended on him finding an answer. He sighed quietly (for him) setting down yet another useless book. Asgard was a realm ruled mostly by the mercurial tempers of its kings, after all, and thus many of its laws were obsolete, or contradictory, or simply too narrow to prove to be any use, and others had been proclaimed but were never actually written down at all. Gradually more and more books (and scrolls, and even knotted silk records from Alfheimr) joined their kin on the floor as he searched fruitlessly for an answer.

The sun rose higher, golden rays slanting in through the window and splashing on the floor, but he did not feel their warmth, mind still lost in the useless records and the speculation he had heard from the guards and the councils, of all the horrific punishments Loki might suffer. Lips sewn together, to stop that 'lying tongue', as a precursor to what might follow. Trials by fire, heat so great it would render him insensible. Cold so ravaging he would be forced into his natural skin to withstand it, so that the people of Asgard might mock the fallen jotun prince. All the tortures that a warrior race, fueled by spite, could contrive, especially to be visited on a being who, due to his jotnar nature, was even more resilient than any Aesir. The worst part though, worse still than the punishments whispered of in the ale halls and marketplaces of Asgard, was that Thor knew, knew with a sinking, chilling certainty, that Odin would no doubt sanction whatever the council agreed upon.

There had to be some way to fix this! He scanned the page in the elaborate old book he was reading with another faint sigh. His vision was beginning to become fatigued, and he would have given nearly anything to be able to have a respite- even godly eyes are not meant to be put into use all night by torchlight and into another day- but day by day the judgement approached, and day by day he could see the faint whisper of hope dying in Loki's once-bright green eyes and there had to be something he could do. Then he frowned, having just realised that he had lost the thread of what he had been reading. The books certainly didn't make it easy for one who was not a scholar to comprehend them, and Thor, while not stupid, was certainly no scholar, preferring the openness of combat and even negotiation with foreign realms to reading through musty, overly-illuminated old books- at least with diplomacy there are other beings to talk to. He reread the page twice...and then stopped dead.

The Law of Oppreisning, it read. Created by King Buri, this law states that if another man has a greater grievance against the accused he may step forward and argue his case before the High Council, and, should he succeed, the punishment may be changed to something of the victim's choice, usually something similar to the crime, such as if the wife of the man wronged was killed than the wife of the accused shall be killed also. Thor could barely breathe. True, it was not a quick fix, but there might be a possibility that he could use this. But as soon as he thought it, his heart began to sink again. Who, out of the many, many people that Loki wronged, would both have a great enough grievance to be able to come before the Council and successfully argue his case, and would also be willing to do so, even only for revenge?

He wracked his brains, wishing not for the first time that he had stopped to rest and perhaps have some of Healer Eir's rejuvenating tea before going back to his work. It felt as though each thought had to fight some sort of beast of the forest before it could reach the fore of his brain, and the dull pounding in his skull seemed only to carry that allusion out. Helblindi, king of Jotunheimr, would sooner kill both him and Loki than testify in an Aesir court, even if he were able to obtain diplomatic immunity in order to even enter Asgard, and the dwarves, though they had their own quarrels with Loki, did not have any greater grievance than a few stolen artifacts and a few words spat in mead and anger. Those of Alfheimr were mostly neutral, and some of the scholars even sympathetic, seeing as many of them had either taught or studied with the God of Mischief, while Asgard would hardly accept the testimony of a Midgardian. Unless…a sudden idea sprang into Thor's mind. Clinton, though a Midgardian, was a warrior, and he certainly nursed a grievance great enough that he could bring a case before the Council of Asgard and reasonably expect it to be listened to. But would he do it? The Eye of Hawk had no reason to want to save his erstwhile master's life and mind, but surely he still thirsted for revenge. If he had a chance to see that revenge play out, under his own hands…perhaps he could be persuaded? The Midgardian was not a cruel man, nor a calculating one, and surely he would listen. Would he? Thor didn't know, but he had to try.

With a law found and a tentative plan beginning to take shape, Thor let his buzzing head fall against the table that he had been studying on in the eternal silence of the capitol's library. He was meeting Sif and the Warriors Three for a hunt at midday, a decision he was sorely regretting now, as for once he had no interest in the chase, or in the princely duties that he would have to perform that evening. Every hour was one hour closer to his brother's sentencing, and if he wanted to do this, he would have to read everything he could find about the law and than contrive some way both to convince his shield brother to come and insure that he would be protected legally as a visitor to Asgard…all while keeping up a reasonable front before his friends and preventing any but the All-Seeing Heimdall from finding out what he was about to do and reporting it to Odin. He was not a creature of stealth—how was he going to manage this? It would be better, he reflected, not for the first time, if he had the silver tongue and circuitous mind of his brother, but he did not, and never would, so he simply had to do his best with what he had been given.

"Thor! Are you ready to go?"

Thor startled into wakefulness to realize that he had been sleeping in the library, head pillowed on the pages of a dusty old manuscript and thankfully not drooling, to realize that it was already midday and he had missed his chance to try to study more about the law. He slowly rose, trying to project an innocent front to Fandral, who was staring at the uncharacteristic piles of books and scrolls all around him. "I...yes...just a moment," he managed, blinking the grit out of his eyes. "I apologize for missing the time."

"It's fine, but what in Buri's balls were you doing? Are you becoming bookish?"

"I was just looking something up, calm down. And I really do not want to think of my great-grandfather's balls," Thor added, hastily closing the book closest to him and beginning to stack them up for the librarians to put away. "That's an image I do not want in my head."

And so the books were put away, and hunting gear put on, and bows collected, and then they were off, and Thor tried to lose himself in the hunt, to stop thinking of that one yellowed page and that fateful law for just a few minutes.

They hunted bilgesnipe and great white wolves in the wood around Asgard's capital, but Thor's heart was not in it no matter what he did, and black rage boiled up within him at the joyous laughter of his companions because how dare they laugh when Thor's own brother languished in his chambers—hardly his, considering that they had been stripped of everything which he might possibly be able to use for escape, from the personal effects to the very tapestries and furniture—"guarded" by men of characters so unsavory that they would not have been allowed within ten feet of the princes in previous days. Then they came back, bringing their prey with them (there was no use hunting prey and leaving it to rot when there could be a use for it in the kitchens, after all) and Thor was subjected to hours of empty political duties, loosely-concealed lessons on leadership and various other frustrating wastes—he knew already how to lead with clear head and firm hand, and no doubt he could pick up specifics later—until at last he was ready to set forth on his plan. And so he walked calmly out to where Heimdall stood, ready to present his case, to convince him.

Heimdall looked up as he approached, eerie golden eyes fixating on him, and it was he, after all Thor's nervous anticipation and well-practiced speeches, who spoke first.

"Do you believe that I can see everything that goes on in the Nine Realms?"

It was a strange way to begin a conversation, and Thor's brow furrowed at the non-sequitur. "Yes, what—?"

"Then believe me when I say that Loki was concealed from my vision for as long as he fell in the Void."

Thor stared. "What?"

"I, who can see a fly land on Sutr's ear, all the way in Muspelheimr, could not see Loki when he fell." Heimdall told him, voice tight. "And when I did see him, I noticed something strange. Tell me, what color are your brother's eyes?"

"Green," Thor replied without thinking about it, still staring at the watchman.

"But they were not," Heimdall said, golden gaze burning into Thor's face. "When he appeared on Midgard, they were blue, and his body shook with more than exhaustion."

All at once horrified realization swamped Thor. "You think that he was not himself?"

"I know so. You grew up with him, my prince, surely you noticed a change?"

"I—" Thor began, a hot flush of shame beginning to rise on his face. He had not—how could he not have seen it, his own brother! Had those icy, unnatural eyes been crying for help? "Why are you telling me this—why not Odin?"

"Odin will not listen. He is set in his ways and his corruption." Thor opened his mouth to defend his father, but something in Heimdall's face stopped him, and he snapped his mouth shut and let the other god continue. "He has already set the punishment," Heimdall continued, "more to reprimand Loki for the blow to his pride and the reputation of Asgard than for the wanton destruction, and he has not listened to my council these past years. And Loki's very being no longer fits within the neat lines and tailored roles that the Allfather wishes him to play—do you think that he will let him free?"

"Loki's his son!"

"No, he is not, not truly. Perhaps he may have felt pity for him, but Loki is neither his son by blood nor by caring. He plucked him from his hiding place in a temple in Jotunheimr, from what I saw—I know not why, but that is what happened."

Thor stumbled, staring at the other god. He'd known that Loki was not his brother, but "he was stolen?"

"Yes. Jotunheimr misses both him and the Casket of Ancient Winters—without them the world is a howling wasteland."

Thor had never thought he would pity the jotnar, but hearing that…"So this is all political then?"

"Undoubtedly. There is nothing more I can do, but you have other avenues open to you."

"So you'll help me then?"

Heimdall smiled, flashing a mouthful of golden teeth. "I shall do no such thing. But if you were to go on a pleasure trip to Midgard in…say…a few days, I will not stop you. And if you wish to bring any of your Midgardian companions with you, to show off the golden halls of Asgard…surely I can make an exception to the general laws for my prince, as long as your guests do not cause wanton destruction."

It took a few moments to parse through what the watchman had said, what with the exhaustion fogging Thor's brain, but when he at last comprehended he could have almost kissed the other god. "Thank you," he said at last, breathlessly. "Just…why? I thought you had no love lost for Loki?"

"I don't. But disliking someone and wishing him to be tortured are two different things, and I grow tired of Asgard's and of Odin's cruelty and stagnant ways when I can see that there are other paths. Perhaps once I would have supported such a punishment as well, but I have looked over the realms for longer than Odin has been alive, and not even Jotunheimr supports punishments as cruel as Asgard, though they did once."

Thor felt as though all the breath had been knocked out of him. "What?" he asked again weakly.

" Perhaps it is the glare of the Bifrost and the visions of other lands that have driven an old man mad, but I feel it is time that Asgard learned that some of the Old Ways are best left behind," Heimdall murmured. "But let us speak no more of it—pretend it is raining and go back to your duties. And stay wary!"

As Heimdall spoke, there was a flutter of black in the corner of Thor's vision, and he looked up in time to see one of Odin's messenger birds, Munin, winging his way towards them. Just in time, Thor straightened, and went on, louder "…I am planning to visit Jane early next week if Father allows it, please have the Bifrost ready for me, will you?"

"Yes, my prince," Heimdall responded, and went silent, looking out over the realms once more with that otherworldly shine to his eyes. And Thor returned to the palace to prepare his plan.