Introduction
"The House of Loki" is a fic I started in 2014. I pulled it from in 2016 after publishing multiple chapters but never finishing it. I am re-releasing the story in an attempt to finish writing it. I can't guarantee how quickly I can post chapters, but I hope it is something that fellow Marvel Cinematic Universe Loki fans can enjoy. It is my first stab at a fantasy-ish story, with characters both familiar and original. If you read it on its first release, not much has changed, but I have a few more chapters written. I hope to continue to add to it more regularly!
"The House of Loki" takes place after Thor: The Dark World and does not include many MCU events after that, especially Thor: Ragnarok, for the simple reason that I started it before T:R was even in production. I tried to use canon information (up to that time) as much as possible. After that, I made a leap into the fantastic. To fill in the MCU gaps, I used comic book and Norse myth canon as I felt appropriate.
A note on character names: For original characters, I tried to follow comic canon where I could find it. For elves and dwarves I used the pattern set out in the Thor: God of Thunder comic series, especially the arc of The Accursed, by Jason Aaron. It's an excellent read and can be picked up in graphic novel form. I highly recommend it. I also used this series as the basis for my descriptions of the nine realms. By now, of course, you've seen a few more in the movies... and they don't necessarily match up with mine. I decided to stick with the settings I used in 2014 when I first began writing, so there are many ways in which this story diverges from the MCU.
Where I could not find MCU or comic precedent, I used traditional Norse/Viking names as laid out by The Viking Answer Lady on her wonderful website.
Chapter 1
O, my dear ones, what shall I tell you of the Hidden Kingdom, that land of poets, that Last Home for the Lost? What shall I sing to you of its people? Of Ellisif the Silent, Child of the Infinite, whose power was Boundless, whose spirit was Gentle, and whose beauty was Unspoken? Of Magnus with the Skin of Stone, his valiant wife Kolla, and their sons, the Pebbles Three, bravest and heartiest of warriors, who guard the King's right hand? Of the Lawspeaker, the Blind Seer, Ulf the Just? What of the realm's secret treasures and treacheries? What of that great people that conjured such a paradise out of a forgotten land that it became the envy of the Nine Realms? And what, O dear ones, shall I sing of their King, the founder of their city, the giver of their law, the defender of their fields and protector of their little ones, the beloved of Ellisif, he who was once prince and prisoner in Asgard, the Rightful and Good King Loki? What shall I tell you of my home, the Most Peaceful Realm of Eddaheim?
- Erik Selvig, from The Chronicles of Eddaheim
Hjalmar
"Off duty already, Hjalmar? It's just now past mid-day."
The speaker beckoned to the yellowcloak passing between the columns of the open-air tavern. The smell of wood-fire and roasting meat met him as he crossed the threshold. The soldier was tall and willowy and moved with an easy grace.
"Ho, there Gunnar," Hjalmar replied. "Aye, they wanted fresh guards on watch. The All-Father's making the rounds today. The lieutenants wanted everyone looking pretty."
He removed his helmet as he crossed over to Gunnar's table. Gunnar, who was swarthy and broad in the shoulder, was carving rude runes into the rough planks of the table with his knife.
"Again? That's, what, the third time this month?"
"Fourth," Hjalmar said. Still standing, he removed his vambraces and set them on the table next to his helmet. "He'll be going by here, so we should get a good view of him. He's on his way to inspect the memorial to Queen Frigga. It is nearly complete, which means that Asgard's reconstruction is almost finished."
"Took long enough," Gunnar grunted. He shouted at the tavern keeper across the room. "Agnarr! My boon companion is here! Bring us mead and meat!"
"I blame the elves more than the All-Father," Hjalmar continued as he sat down on the bench across from Gunnar. "The most skilled at that sort of magic died the same day as the Queen. They have had to use actual tools in some instances. Reconstruction has moved along pretty quickly, considering."
The tavern keeper plunked down two mugs between them and shuffled off.
"Speaking of the Queen," Gunnar said, raising his mug high into the air, "Valhalla's the better for having her, and we're the poorer for losing her. To the Queen!"
"Aye," replied Hjalmar. "To Queen Frigga!"
They clinked their mugs together and drank deeply. Gunnar spat his out, spraying it onto Hjalmar's face.
"Phaugh! Agnarr! What is this dishwater you're trying to pass off as mead?"
"You can blame the damned elves for that, too," Agnarr replied as he approached them with a platter of cold sliced beef and a wheel of cheese. "Barrels of the best stuff got burned up in their first attack, along with half the realm. The bee hives are recovering, so we have honey, but the mead from it hasn't had time to age yet."
"It is rather foul, indeed! Sleipnir's piss would taste better," Hjalmar said as Gunnar's mead trickled down his face and off his chin. He made a futile swipe of his face with the back of his hand.
"Or that Cloudless Swill from Jotunheim," said Gunnar. "Got any of that in the cellar?"
"Aw, quit yer moanin'." Agnarr flung the platter down upon the table. As it rattled to a stop, he barked, "Jotunheim's not had proper bees in centuries. You know that. Let me see if I have any Foaming Bull left. The Vanaheim barrels are almost dry now." He stalked off, muttering about cranky Einherjar under his breath.
"And a towel, if you don't mind," added Hjalmar.
The normal clamor and scuffle outside the tavern increased, growing louder as they waited for the tavern keeper's return. Gunnar turned on his bench, sitting on the very end so he could see out the open side. Asgardians were gathering on either side of the street and staring with wonder at something approaching.
"I believe they're coming," said Hjalmar.
As Agnarr emerged from the cellar door, towel in hand, the people pressed back against the building even more to allow an entourage to pass. He handed the towel to Hjalmar as he passed the table. Hjalmar stood next to him to get a better view as he wiped the mead from his chin.
Great gray Sleipnir, the All-Father's horse, trotted by, majestic, strong, and rather loud with his eight hooves. In his saddle was Odin himself. His face turned slowly from one side of the street to the other, fixing each Asgardian with his single eye for just a moment before moving on. His golden armor gleamed in the bright mid-day light, and a light breeze stirred his cloak so that it floated over his mount's back.
Hjalmar pointed to the small man skulking behind the great horse. He carried a shovel over his shoulder and an enormous sack strapped onto his back. Its contents bounced against his legs as he shuffled along the route.
"I do not envy him his task," Hjalmar said. "I'd rather guard the old dungeons for a year than have a single day of that." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and added, "Prince Loki's ghost walks there sometimes, you know. My brother's captain's cousin said he knew a guard that's seen him. They've not used the cell since his brother broke him out. All his books are still in there. The bed, too."
"So I've heard." Gunnar snorted and nodded toward the be-shoveled man. "That's one of the Marauders, isn't it? All-Father's getting more creative in his punishments these days. No, I wouldn't be that fellow for all the uru in Nidavellir. Can you imagine mucking out his stall?"
Hjalmar grimaced. "The yellowcloak behind Odin is called Einar," he explained. "We joined the Einherjar at the same time, so I've known him for a while. Decent archer, fair spearman. Told the best bawdy stories. Even guarded the Prince down in the dungeon for a while."
"He ever tell any stories about this ghost?"
"That is the odd thing. After the battle last year, he stopped speaking, stopped drinking. Took a vow of silence, or somesuch. Valhalla knows why. But Einar is always by the King's side, especially when he leaves the palace, which is a lot these days. I don't recall him ever being this close to the people in the streets so often. It's a refreshing change, even if I don't get to hear any more of Einar's tales."
"Well, at least Einar won't be wagging his tongue about the goings-on in the palace, unlike some people I could mention," Gunnar said with a meaningful flick of his eyes at Hjalmar. "I will say that Odin's getting out of the palace rather more than he used to. Used to be pretty hard to see."
"Losing a wife changes a man," Agnarr said in a soft, hoarse voice.
"Who's the fellow beside the king, in front of Einar?" Gunnar asked. "The one that looks like he's left over from Bor's reign? He's so decrepit he can barely stay ahorse."
"Refkell," replied Hjalmar. "He is left over from Bor's reign. He retired from public life when Odin took the throne, I hear, but he was recalled to service when Prince Thor renounced his claim to the throne last year. The Prince has been everywhere but Asgard ever since. I hear he's taken a fancy to some Midgardian lass."
"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened," Agnarr said with a roll of his eyes. "Maybe he'll return when he's gotten her out of his system. It'd be nice to have proper patrons again. What with him gone and the Warriors Three always trotting about the realms on the King's errands, I'm stuck with you lot."
"They're probably on a mission to find better mead," Gunnar grumbled.
Hjalmar shrugged. "Anyway, the King recruited experienced advisors after that, especially for the rebuilding. Refkell answered the call."
"Think he'll remarry?" asked Gunnar.
"Refkell?" asked Hjalmar.
Gunnar punched him in the shoulder. "No, the All-Father, witless."
"Why do you ask?" grunted Agnarr. "Man's got a right to mourn his woman as long as he sees fit."
"The House of Odin is thinning out," Gunnar observed. "The heir renounced his claim to the throne, and the spare died saving the heir. Line of succession is looking a wee bit shaky. A realm is always stronger for having a crown prince in the wings. Not fair to the people, leaving them in uncertainty like this."
Hjalmar nodded. "I agree. The All-Father's not getting any younger, you know."
Loki
"You are not getting any younger, you know," Refkell said. "There are rumblings amongst the nobles that you should remarry, and soon."
Odin nodded with regal slowness at the crowd as the entourage moved through the streets of Asgard. The mountains of rubble that had once blocked the way were long gone, and the path was clear for both people and horses. Buds popped from the branches of newly planted trees. Roses and chrysanthemums would soon bloom in courtyards beside fountains that were flowing freely again. The air smelled fresh and clean. His people cheered and clapped as his party rode by. He gave them a firm, yet gentle, fatherly expression in return.
He spoke from the side of his mouth so that only Refkell could hear. "That is too private a matter for the marketplace."
Refkell's voice shook, but only with age. He pressed on. "The line of succession is never private, my lord. If you wish for your house to continue the rule of Asgard, you must make preparations. A crown prince takes time to birth, let alone groom for the throne."
"It also takes a queen," Odin replied. "We are not ready-"
"There are many noble families with daughters ready to take on the responsibilities of royalty. I do not think you would have to search very hard for a likely candidate. The Lady Jord is still young enough for childbearing, but old enough to be dignified company for you. Amora has the glamour and the power, but she is terribly ambitious. Then there's Sigyn. Not quite as stately, nor as ambitious, as she is a bit younger, but she has a gentle spirit and could learn quickly. I believe that at one time your younger son was quite fond of her."
"Later, Refkell. I would rather complete the memorial to my first queen before I take on a second."
"But as you just witnessed, your majesty, it will be finished quite soon."
They halted in front of the stable gates. Odin dismounted and approached the ancient adviser's horse. Leaning slightly against Gungnir, the spear that was his badge of office, he grasped the bridle gently and rubbed the horse's nose.
Refkell gazed down at him with weary eyes. "Please, your majesty. I speak only in your best interest. The rebuilding of the realm has gone so well. Please do not neglect your own House in the process."
"I know, old friend. I value your advice, as did my father. Very well, I will consider it. Go. Rest now, and we will discuss this tomorrow over some mulled wine."
He watched the adviser ride away to his own house, escorted by two Einherjar. When he was well away, the King turned to Einar, who was standing back and holding the reins of both his own horse and Sleipnir.
"Einar, I am off to the vaults for a bit. Please see that Sleipnir is cared for, then have a meal as well. It was a long morning, after all. I will call for you later."
The silent soldier made a gesture of assent and led the horses away. The king strode off, not bothering to watch as the yellowcloak made his way through the stableyard. He did not have to; Einar could be trusted to perform his tasks above the call of his duty. Einar was the one guard who had bothered to deliver news of Frigga's death to the dungeons the year before. He had delivered it to the man that everyone now recognized as Odin; but that man only wore Odin's face. Underneath the illusion lay the face of the rumored ghost of the younger prince of the realm.
While it had been hard news, horrible news, the worst of news, Loki had been grateful to the guard for telling him. Loki had discovered later that the man had done so without any orders from Odin. Even if Einar did not know he now served the former prisoner, Loki felt he should have some sort of reward for his actions, so he had promoted him to personal bodyguard. The man never argued, and he never stepped beyond his place. He found Einar's presence soothing when he needed company but did not feel like conversing. Einar had not spoken a word since he had taken on the role; even Loki did not know why. But he was one of the few, outside of some specially-trained grooms, that could lead the mighty Sleipnir by the halter. The great steed had plenty of horse sense; if he trusted Einar, then so could the King of Asgard. The soldier was a mystery, but he was a welcome one.
Loki slowed his pace. A year into his reign, it was difficult to continually act the part of an elderly ruler. Even in the heavy armor of the All-Father, he felt that he moved too quickly for an old man at times. No one had yet pierced his disguise, and he had kept those most able to do so far away from him. He had seen no point in harming the Warriors Three, or the Lady Sif, or even Thor, even though he was now in the best position to revenge himself on the ones who had teased him so painfully and kept him in shadows all those years.
They were far too useful for that.
At the same time, they might have found some chink in his illusion far more easily than the eager-to-please nobles; they would have caught it not because they knew what Odin would not do, but because they knew what Loki would do. Ever since he had sent Sif and Volstagg off to the Collector with the Aether, he had kept them all busy with various errands and peace-keeping missions; they were banished in fact if not in name.
His footsteps echoed off along cold stone as he made his way down the stairs into the vault. The guards saluted and moved aside from the doors quickly and silently. Even before Malekith's brutality, they were used to the All-Father spending time with his treasures. Everyone knew that they needed a little extra magic to bring Asgard back to its accustomed glory.
Thor had not yet seen the work that had been done. The last Loki had seen of him was his retreating back after he had turned down the offer of the throne. Loki had savored that moment like a sip of well-aged wine. Even though the expression had been meant for Odin, the look of awe and filial love on Thor's face just before he left had scratched an ancient itch deep within Loki's heart. It had been easy to let him walk away, then, after Thor had finally looked at him, albeit camouflaged. Loki had been content to rule in peace without the worry of Thor discovering who had really turned down Mjolnir that day.
But contentment was not Loki's lot. The itch had returned, as itches always do.
But Thor had not.
Loki relaxed his disguise for a moment, allowing his taller, leaner figure to emerge. He studied his reflection in the metal wall and brushed at his long black locks with his fingers. The vault was the only place that he dared show his true face. Even in his chambers, someone might be watching. He always slept with the curtains drawn about the bed, in case the spell slipped while he dreamed. This would be a problem, if he did actually take a wife. He knew kings and queens often had separate chambers, but they did not always sleep apart. He could hide well enough as an isolated bachelor. How could he hide from a wife?
He gazed up at the latest addition to the vault: a statue of Laufey. It was not a memorial to his jotun excuse for a parent; it served as a stand for the Casket of Ancient Winters, which it held between its enormous icy hands. He had molded it from ice himself, and he had kept it frozen using the magic contained in the Casket. But it also served another purpose. It stood upon a high wide block of obsidian, a fitting tombstone to cover a being not quite dead. It was his own private joke: one father of Loki guarding another, and each the other's sworn enemy and under control of their shared - and wrongly rejected - son.
He rested his hand on the block beneath the statue. "Resting well?" he asked as he traced the edge of the dark rock with his finger. "You will find this funny, but I am so glad I spared you, Odin. At the time it was only for Frigga's sake. I could not let you reunite with her in Valhalla too soon. Besides, I have grown to enjoy our little talks. You're the only one I can speak with and be myself. Oh, except for Sleipnir, of course. He remembers me. But he is good at keeping secrets."
Loki sighed as he strode over to another ornate casket across the room. "Even your ravens avoid me. The House of Odin, it seems, is getting rather empty," he said. "The nobles want you to marry again."
He set Gungnir aside and waved one long hand over the chest's intricate lock in a single elegant gesture.
"I should have foreseen it, really. I knew eventually they would find it odd that you were living long past the usual five millennia, but I had forgotten their eagerness to gossip about royals. Sometimes the throne feels like its own sort of prison. But it is certainly a good deal better than the dungeon. So much more scope for the imagination."
He picked up a set of tongs made of dwarf-forged uru, with which he lifted the Tesseract. He turned the cube in the cold light of the vault, watching the blue flame within it writhe and turn in upon itself.
"The people are pleased with the progress we've made. Asgard looks even better now than it did before Malekith's arrival. The talk of Odin's success is all the rage now, and they thank you all the day long. Here you sleep, and you get all the credit for my sweat and sleepless nights." Loki laughed, but the laugh was without mirth. "Now that the aqueducts are functioning again, they are demanding an heir. To be honest, I'd much rather focus on the House of Loki than the House of Odin. But, I suppose that will come in time. It is almost too bad that you are napping. You might have something sage to say on the matter."
He replaced the cube in the casket and set the locks with another graceful motion of his fingers. "I would pity such a wife, truly," he said as he reached for Gungnir without looking. "She would not know if she were married to you or to me, should you ever-"
He stopped mid-sentence as his hands grasped empty air.
Gungnir was gone.
Sudden pain and a stab of light hurled him to the cold floor of the chamber. Stunned and aching all over, with his ears ringing, he was barely able to turn his head to view his attacker. A young man, garbed in Odin's robes and eyepatch, pointed Gungnir directly at Loki's face. Loki watched, paralyzed for the moment, as the man removed the cover from his eye and tossed it aside, to reveal a whole unpierced orb staring at him, full of fire and vigor.
"Pity yourself, Loki," the man said through a crooked smile.