The shock of it all was wearing away as Book grew increasingly tense, scowl deepening. This would not be pleasant. Loki took the last few minutes of silence to order his thoughts and try to understand his own emotions before Book recovered himself. Unfortunately, the boy moved rapidly from stunned silence to very vocal indignation.
"Do I even get a say in this?" he asked.
"It would seem neither of us do," said Loki has he sank onto the steps, propping his chin on his hand.
Book turned on Skuld. "How long have you been planning this?"
"I wrote you into his life when he," she pointed at Loki, "was but a babe in arms."
"I'm not some pawn in your grudge match with your sisters! Do you think I want any of this! You can't do this, send me home," said Book. He jerked his gaze toward Loki, all the betrayal and hurt boiling to the surface.
Loki glanced up sharply as the boy's anger sent a ripple of change skudding beneath his skin. Closing the gap between the two of them, Loki gripped Book tightly by the arm. The boy quivered beneath his touch, fists balled, eyes clenched against the wolf rising within him. Loki pressed two fingers to the boy's forehead.
"Breath," he commanded.
His lungs swelled alongside Book's shuddering breath. As they both exhaled, Book's brow smoothed as the wolf's burst of energy flowed from him and into Loki. The Trickster's eyes darkened with savage wolf-hunger. He blinked it away. For a moment Loki continued to crouch in front of the boy, hand still gently resting on his arm. Book remained with his eyes closed, slightly leaning into the touch.
"I don't belong here." He drew back, hugging his arms across his chest. He looked evenly at Skuld, accusation in his glance.
"And where else would a son of Loki belong?"
"I am not his son." There was cold, measured anger in those words.
How often had similar words snarled through Loki's mind. Not my father, not my brother, not my father, he's not, he's not, he's not. The anger tasted different in Book, but had an edge Loki recognized all too well. It was an anger that didn't belong in this child. Loki swallowed the bile rising in his throat—some coloration and shapeshifting wasn't all he had given Book.
Skuld knelt before the boy and brushed a hand through his hair. He twisted his head away. "The two of you share a bond of blood and magic—your ability to change your skin is his. In every way but birth, you are now his. I chose you to play this part because of who you are, Fenris, who you will yet become—but most importantly because he needed someone like you." Distant contemplation crept into the blackness of her eyes. The shadows of different lives, visions, and revisions swirled across like oil over water. "There are few others in the Nine Realms who could have done what you did, who would allow me to rewrite the doom my sisters had devised for Loki."
"Then use one of them!" Desperation clung to him as he paced the hall, the overlong mantle trailing crimson behind him.
The setting sun burned through the golden halls of Asgard, throwing a glimmer over the entire hall. Book's shadow stretched dark before him, a blot against the polished stones. Skuld stood, her own lean form engulfing the boy's.
"I could, if this were his story alone." The Norn passed her hand through the air, trailing runes that vanished nearly as quickly as they came. She gave an almost human sigh, face softening. "If you are not Fenris, Book of Midgard, what use are you? Yggdrasil has no care for a child of Midgard so unwanted his own mother threw him away."
Freezing, Book stood frighteningly still. A strangled intake of breath forced its way through his lips before he could stifle it. Emotion shone in his eyes and marked the harsh press of his lips into a thin, breaking line.
Skuld pressed a long-fingered hand to his heart. "See the lives upon his head, the blood upon his hands," she glanced over her shoulder at Loki. "See the burden of such evil choices, see the lost child of Asgard. The liar." A sliver of ice crept into her voice. "Know that he has lied to you, unwanted child of Midgard." She brushed aside Thor's cloak so that it dropped from Book's shoulder to hang over his arm and pool about his waist. A knot of welted scars puckered the skin of his chest in a criss-cross of ragged, pieced together flesh.
Long fingers traced through the air above the scar, not quite touching it. A smile crept into the corner of her mouth. "He lied. But not, I think, about all."
Book shuddered as she placed her lips to his forehead and vanished in a swirl of runes.
The empty space between Loki and Book gaped wide. The universe stood between them, vast and broken. Neither broached the silence, though the growing twilight was heavy with unspoken words; each grappled with their own thoughts.
The swirling majesty of Asgard's night sky pierced the clear blackness of space before either spoke. Loki had retreated to the steps, sprawled out in an unprincely manner. Book paced restlessly, hands knotting in the cloak. Abruptly he stopped in the middle of the room, back to Loki. Swaying slightly, he tipped back his head. His gaze swept the grand hall, taking in the massive pillars and then stopping as the nightly light and fire of the universe came into view. The boy folded in on himself, hunkering close to the ground, hands fisted in his hair.
Loki made to rise, but when Book remained completely still, he reconsidered and let the boy be—no matter how much some treacherous instinct wished to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
The night deepened and still Book stayed silent.
Emotion ran tight across his shoulders as he gave a strangled kind of laugh. "You know, not that long ago and I think I would have wanted this. You and me, I thought maybe we could be…" he trailed off, clutching the cloak around him, shaking his head in disgust. "Stupid little orphan dreams…you don't ever really grow out of them."
A fetid riot of emotion dragged at Loki's chest—sitting like lead on his heart and lungs. Book had wanted…him. The moment Loki had delved into the forbidden, he knew what Book meant to him—he'd simply refused to acknowledge the depth of it. As for Book…he'd known he held the boy's trust, his affection…his heart. That had been the goal after all. But he hadn't seen this, hadn't fully understood the turn of Book's dreams or the future he kept in silent desires too fragile and dear to be spoken. He was a fool. Book didn't just care for him. He loved him, loved him enough to choose him as his family. And Loki had poisoned it.
Book gave a sudden huff of decision. He uncoiled and closed the distance between them. Whatever turmoil had twisted through his silence he'd locked away behind red-rimmed eyes. He dropped onto the stairs near Loki, crossed arms resting on his knees, hunched over so that his chin rested on his arms. "Whatever your version of Hell is, it'll freeze over before I call you 'dad'," he said finally.
Loki rolled his shoulders. He didn't have the best history with fathers, and he certainly didn't feel like one. "That would be odd," he agreed. Until he'd read the human stories of his supposedly vast—and terrible—brood, Loki had never really thought about fatherhood before. In the abstract of course, he'd imagined that eventually he would find himself married to a decent Asgardian—or perhaps Vanir—girl of rank and that the natural progression of things would be children. Not being the crown prince had certain advantages—such as not being pressured to provide an heir for the kingdom. Besides, at little over a thousand, Loki still felt a bit young to have worried about such things. Perhaps in a few hundred years.
"We could run," he said suddenly.
Book rolled his head to the side so he could stare up at Loki.
"Find somewhere to avoid attention for a time, just long enough to train you." He glanced at his newly branded wrist. "I can get around this…probably. You're a quick study—and then back to Midgard you go."
"Trying to shirk your responsibilities already? Typical." The shadow of a tired grin showed through.
"I'd thought you'd wish to be rid of me, Book."
"Yeah, me too." He gave a grunt of frustration and lunged to his feet. The excess folds of Thor's cape trailed behind him as he paced. "But the thing is—Book's not my name." He raised his eyes to meet Loki's. "Fenris is."
Loki couldn't keep the confusion from his face.
"It's like…like I've been waiting all my life for someone to call me by it. I don't know how, but it's mine. Like it's been a part of me. It's right and it's home and it's me." He dug his hands through his hair. "And it doesn't make any sense!"
He blinked viciously. Hot drops of shame, frustration, and boiling emotions still escaped the corners, only to be dug away with a swift swipe of the back of his hand. How often had Loki done the same. Book blew out a long breath. "And if I'm Fenris…I'm yours. We're meant to be…family." He slowly shook his head. "We are seriously messed up."
That was perhaps the understatement of the millennia. "We are indeed."
Book shrugged and dropped down onto the stairs again. "Well, I guess I've had worse."
"I attempted genocide and led a bloody invasion of your homeworld."
The boy hunched his shoulders. "Which I am having some serious issues with—but you've still been better to me than some of my foster families—better even than Simeon. Even if you did basically turn me into a giant wolf that's going to kill your father."
Loki raised an eyebrow.
"What? I did some reading after we met."
Of course you did. Loki couldn't help the smile. "Wait until you see the library."
"And now you're the one showing me the ropes. The tables have turned."
The banter was a little forced, uneasy, but Loki would take it over the boiling anger. A smirk tugged at Loki's lips. "I will be your Obi-wan."
Book gave a huff of laughter. "At least you finally get the reference." He sucked the inside of his cheek, curling his bare toes against the tiles. Suddenly some of the tension went out of him. "All right then. Let's do this thing."
Sliding to his feet, Loki motioned for Book to follow him. "Very well."
"Just don't let anyone named Tyr put their hand in my mouth," muttered Book.
Loki managed a wan smile, "Fair enough, as long as you keep me away from mistletoe."
"Deal."
They made their way down one of Asgard's long, colonnaded walks, the golden towers of the palace stretching away to one side, lights from the city winking through. Starlight cast soft bands of shadow as it broke upon the columns. No one else disturbed the night—nor were they likely to. This had been one of Loki's favorite haunts due to its solitude. It was a path little used as it lay in an older part of the palace and other paths offered quicker routes to places still in use.
His magic curled contentedly within him, leaving a warmth that soaked through him, easing the ache of its long absence. It was like feeling every muscle loosen after being knotted with abuse and hard labor.
Idly, he brushed his hand along the sculpted stone railing. He paused. There was a presence here, layers of one. Frowning, he forced his magic to twine around this echo. Someone had walked this way many times, often lingering. His gaze softened as he deciphered who exactly had spent so much time resting against the stones. Mother. If anyone had seen his smile, they would have recognized a much younger, less haunted Loki.
A sudden trumpeted whinny startled both Loki and Book. The echoing clatter of hooves like a dozen horses stampeded toward them.
"Oh no," said Loki with a groan.
"What?!"
Loki interrupted Book by sweeping him to the side. "Keep clear."
The streaking gray form of a horse materialized from down the corridor, head down, running at top speed. He slipped a bit against the polished stones, but all eight legs dug in as best they could. Another whinny burst forth, shrill and elated.
Mother!
Loki barely had a chance to brace himself as Sleipnir crashed into him, sending him sprawling. Plunging in a dancing kind of hop, the great stallion circled Loki, butting him with his head and jerking playfully at his clothing. Finally, he stopped and lowered his head to blow out a whickering breath in Loki's face.
"This was cute—when you were little," Loki said as he levered himself upright, brushing at nonexistent dirt on his sleeve. Sleipnir's hooves flashed on either side of him as the horse skipped forward. Loki reached up a fond hand and gently combed his fingers through the horse's forelock. Sleipnir leaned into the touch as Loki lowered his forehead to rest against the stallion's, fingers twined through his mane.
Neither made to move. Loki let the sweet aroma of hay and open fields beneath the sky surround him. It had been ages since he'd taken Sleipnir running—even before the fall. His gaze had turned inward to his own pain and schemes. An ache of guilt twisted within, a tight knot just beneath his lungs. He glanced sideways to where Book stood in the shadows—he couldn't even parent a horse, what the Norns was Skuld thinking giving him a child?
Don't leave me again. Sleipnir pushed a bit more forcefully against Loki.
Loki merely gave Sleipnir a pat on the neck and then hooked his hand behind the horse's head. "Up." Sleipnir arched up, hauling Loki to his feet. "You're not supposed to be in the palace."
The horse pawed somewhat sheepishly at the floor, stopping when he saw the streaks he left. Suddenly he stamped. Don't care. Needed to know you were real.
Loki stroked his muzzle. "Real enough?"
Sleipnir gave a snort and dipped his head rapidly.
"This is so weird," said Book, stepping forward. "Does it actually understand you?"
"He," Loki corrected. "And he understands well enough."
Sleipnir arched his neck away, ears erect as Book stood next to Loki. Who is this? he snorted, clearly not in favor of the newcomer at his mother's side. He snuffed Book's hair. He smells like you.
"This is…Fenris, my…" Loki couldn't bring himself to say it, "my ward."
A what?
"Someone I take care of, raise. He is my responsibility." Loki tried again to explain.
A horsey frown settled across Sleipnir's face. A pet?
With a sigh, Loki leaned against the pillar, one hand at his temples, covering his eyes. "He is…he is your brother," Loki said grudgingly.
The horse paused for a moment, then gave a trumpet of delight, dancing around Book in gallivanting leaps. A brother!
A flash of the wolf gleamed from Book's startled eyes as Sleipnir reared in celebration, four hooves pawing the air. The massive horse came down, snorting in a friendly manner, pushing his nose against Book's chest.
"Let's not overwhelm him," said Loki from his place by the pillar.
Nodding, Sleipnir stilled, looking at Book with large, black eyes. Biting his lip, the boy edged forward and stretched out his hand. He flexed back at the last instant, leaving his palm hovering in front of the gray nose. Gently, Sleipnir stretched out, pressing his soft muzzle into Book's palm. The cares of the day broke away in the smile that leapt across Book's face.
"Oh, Coon would love you," he murmured, his hand running up to stroke the horse's forehead. "It's nice to finally meet you, Sleipnir. I'm—I'm Fenris." Sleipnir nodded his head and wickered softly.
Suddenly Book leaned forward and took a deep sniff. Realization of what he'd just done sent him stumbling backward, confusion and horror evident in his expression.
"Do you believe Odin now?" asked Loki quietly. "Do you understand how very changed you are?"
Book managed a few steps before his hands were on his knees and a horrible retching tore his throat. Soft, warm breaths ruffled his hair as he crouched there, shaking. Brother? Sleipnir draped his neck over Book's shoulder comfortingly.
"Well, that is vile." Loki eased the boy to his feet but left his hands on his shoulders. With a glance, the mess magically vanished. Book tensed at his touch, but didn't draw away either. "I think a rest is in order. Sleipnir, is it not past your time to retire as well?"
The horse stomped somewhat petulantly. I'm not a foal.
Loki raised an eyebrow.
Yes, Mother. He gave one last nudge to Book and paused for Loki to scratch him behind the ears before traipsing off down the corridor. Good night, Brother! His trumpet echoed behind him.
Loki guided Book in the opposite direction, nearly supporting him by the time they reached the chambers Frigga had prepared. There Thor waited beside the flickering fire. Between them the two brothers unwound Book from the cloak and led him to an adjacent bath, easing him down the stairs into the warm water. The boy was too overcome with exhaustion to even protest or argue for modesty. Dirt swirled through the clear water, followed by scented suds as the two princes silently scrubbed Book down.
The black marks beneath his fingers gave Loki pause as he splashed water against the thin, pale arm. The dark column of names stood stark against the skin around it, unfaded by the water. Runes had replaced the scrawled letters, but Loki knew that Book would never have need to re-ink them again. They would remain more surely than any tattoo or scar, a sign of Book's willingness to overcome.
He had no need for his nightly ritual any longer. He had escaped the streets, the gangs, the drugs—all the dangers of his former life. Loki rubbed his thumb over the marks. Book had escaped, but what greater dangers did he now face as Fenris? A child of Midgard was unlikely to be skewered by a sword or run afoul of dangerous magics. But a child of Asgard? A prince? There were dangers in the nine realms that Earth knew nothing of because of Asgard and her people. And beyond the Nine?
Loki stiffened at the thought of what Thanos would do simply because Book was now Lokison.
The boy swayed between the brothers as Thor caught Loki's eye and they silently helped Book out of the bath and swaddled him in warm towels. Before long, Book was dry and dropped into the finest set of clothes he'd ever worn, merely to go to sleep. Loki scooped him up and laid him between the sheets.
Thor hesitated by the doorway as Loki refused to move, considering the sleeping form dwarfed by the size of the bed.
"Will you go to your chambers?" asked Thor.
Loki gave a quick jerk of his head and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress. Thor nodded in response and silently drew a chair up next to Loki and settled himself in it.
The silence deepened as Loki pulled up one knee and rested his chin on his arms. Book looked no different than he had many of the other times that Loki had stood over him while he slept. Sometimes his thoughts had been ones of contemplation, or of weighing the value of that single mortal life—others had been thoughts of worry or relief—especially as Book had lain in that snarl of wires and tubes with his life ticking out on a dozen humming monitors. And yet there was a difference now. Now he had every right to whatever emotions of distress or fondness could overtake him. Because Book—Fenris—was his. He wondered how often his mother had waited as he did, watching over either Thor or himself as they slept.
"I…have a son." Disbelief and a kind of wonder wrapped themselves about the words as Loki looked to his brother in confusion.
A deep, throaty chuckle reverberated in Thor's chest. His smile was fond. "I think that you have had one long before Father's pronouncement. You simply weren't willing to admit it."
Loki twined his fingers through the black streak in the boy's hair, memories flitting over everything that he and Book had been through. The nights of cold and days of hunger. Arguments, laughter, trials, and triumph. Working as a team and having a language all their own. Book had drawn him into his world of soup kitchens, cardboard for bedding, and holding your life in a ragged bag. And, inadvertently, Loki had drawn the boy into his. Into a world of Chitauri assassins, blood rites, and shapeshifting.
He had a son.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, causing Thor to look up in surprise. "Oh, how very domesticated I've become." How the man he once was would have mocked him. How the failed conqueror in a cage would have sneered at such a maudlin scene. Loki remembered Skuld's words as she left him hollowed out on the side of a half-forgotten Midgardian road. He looked vaguely at the ceiling. "You told me once that you truly knew how to make a prison. I believe you now, Scrivener." He listened to the now familiar breathing at his side and felt the warmth of his own magic threaded through the sleeping form beneath his hand. "This is a well crafted trap." Loki glanced from Book to his brother. "And I think I may yet even come to…tolerate the bars."
A/N: *sheepishly sticks her head in* I'm so sorry I'm late! I've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off. This time of year is always crazy at work, but this semester has been ridiculous!
So…here we are. I wish I could simply say that Book and Loki were automatically fine and that they fell into a wonderful father/son or older brother/younger brother relationship…but…well, that wouldn't be realistic. They've both got to adjust to it and Loki's past has broken the relationship they had. Rebuilding relationships is tough, particularly when it's something as heinous as what Loki has done. And I'll admit as a writer, I wish I could just jump to a point in the future where they're okay, but…I can't.
I've known from the conception of this story just who Book really was, but it's weird for me to think of him as Fenris. Hopefully it will get less odd in the future.
And you guys have no idea how much I had to restrain myself from just getting ridiculously fluffy with Sleipnir and Book together in the same scene. So many cute ideas! Some of which I'm going to have to find excuses to use.
Anyways, next week—and I can't promise when exactly because of Christmas and all—we'll have a bit of an epilogue to wrap up this particular story and some information about possible future projects. Honestly I've struggled with getting this wrapped up so that it feels complete and satisfying since yes this story is ending but there is obviously more story to be told. That contributed to my lateness as I tweaked and rewrote and added sections. It works for me, but I gotta tell ya'll, I have so much respect for those who can write endings with easy. Chapter endings? Not that big a deal, but ending an entire story? Ugh. Denouements and resolutions are hard.
Next Week: Skuld makes a final appearance to check on her favorite Trickster.
Molleyn: I'm fairly fond of them. Now if only I could draw something I can't see…
QuiltedRose 49: I agree, Frigga is in fact the best. And I gotta agree with you about the whole Book and Loki just being friends again thing…but…
RedHood001: *doffs cap* You did indeed call it. Nicely done! I think that Book will always be Book to Loki in some ways—almost the way your family will occasionally still pull out a childhood nickname out of fondness even after you're all grown up and going by your given name. And oh my word, yes, Grandma Frigga would be awesome! All of your comments about Sleipnir and Book meeting had me laughing because I knew that they would indeed get to share a brief scene together—hope you liked it even if it was short.