No inconsequential matters are ever brought before the King. I have ministers and deputies who hear, review, and decide all that which can be heard, reviewed, and decided at the lower levels of government, without a King's intervention. And so, only the truly weighty matters ever require my attention.

Land disputes are never inconsequential matters, as most wars are begun over the desire to possess lands. But the fact that the outcome of a matter is of some consequence does not mean that the matter itself need be exciting.

I'd been laboring all afternoon with two crofters and their advocates over the question of the changeable boundary of river and rock between their two smallholdings. Their complaints were tedious and of longstanding dispute, their opinions of their own importance overblown, and they refused to be brought to easy resolution.

So it was with great relief for many reasons that I heard the words from my herald, "Your sons have returned to the palace."

I turned to the men in my presence and assured them, in my best kingly tone and practiced verse, "I shall give the matter great thought and give you my answer in three days' time. Until then, I suggest you return home and tend to your land and your families."

They grumbled in their throats but allowed themselves to be escorted out. As they passed the door to my presence chamber, they stopped and bowed to someone out of my view. I thought it must be Thor. They would only bow to someone of the royal family; my Queen was meeting with her own ministers and Loki no doubt had retired immediately to his chambers as was his wont.

So I expected Thor to burst into my chamber with his usual high spirits and swagger, telling me all of his journey to Midgard with his brother. Making much of his own exploits and giving a hopeful account of Loki's reaction to the experience.

But it was Loki in my doorway.

For many long moments, the surprise took all speech from me. Since being freed from his cell, my youngest son had spent all but a few moments of every day in his chambers. To see him, of his own free will, standing at my door was a joy I thought to never experience again.

"My son!" I exclaimed with true happiness. "Come in!"

His expression, which had begun to grow perplexed, doubtless at my silence, brightened.

"Forgive my interruption, Father. I wanted to let you know I had returned so that we might walk together this evening."

My power of speech was once more taken from me, this time for the smile that broke upon my face. Though we had for above a fortnight walked together each night, it was my belief that Loki only accompanied me because his mother required it of him. Or – I was loathe to think it – perhaps he harbored some fear of chastisement were he not to accompany me.

Only in quiet moments when recalling happier times with my son did I allow myself to hope that Loki enjoyed our time together as much as I did.

Again, despite the smile on my face, Loki took my silence for something else.

"That is, if you wish to," he amended.

"I do wish to." I told him. "Come in and wait for a moment; I have but a few details to address before the day's responsibilities are at last concluded."

He smiled, though it was tentative at best, and walked fully into my chamber.

Where he stood, looking uncertain of what to do, how to behave.

"Would you bring me some water?" I asked. "No matter how often it occurs, I am always surprised how thirsty I get listening to others hold forth on their own opinions."

His expression brightened again, as though grateful to have a task to accomplish.

"Certainly."

He went to the table set in the corner behind the arras and in a moment brought me a goblet of water while I made some annotations to the grievance in my hand. I saw that he held a second goblet as well, and as I took mine and thanked him, he drank deeply from his own.

How long had it been since I'd seen my son eat or drink anything?

As long as it had been since he'd done anything for himself without seeking permission first.

Too long.

"I see that listening to Thor hold forth is just as drying as listening to plaintiffs." I said in jest.

"He does still appreciate the sound of his own voice." Loki said, and I thought a small smile flickered in the corner of his mouth. "That much has not changed. But it was the journey itself that has left me dry."

I set aside my work and motioned Loki to the couch at the far wall. We walked there together and he waited for me to take my seat first. I sat not quite in the middle so that he could not sit the full distance from me.

As it happened, he sat not quite in the middle as well, so we were but a hand's breadth apart. I thought not to do it but I could not help myself; I reached out and gently, briefly, let my hand rest on his shoulder.

His shoulder which felt much too thin.

"Tell me of your journey." I asked. I thought it could not be but a happy tale given Loki's improved temper, but still I held my breath.

"It was – hard. That I do admit freely." He said. "Mr. Stark was having a small feast, a 'picnic' he called it, a celebration to honor fair weather, and all of the warriors I had opposed were there. It was – it was hard to be near those I had treated so vilely and attempted to bring to death. It was hard."

"Were they vengeful?" I asked. If they were, I had no doubt that Thor would have dealt with them, quickly and permanently.

"I did not see them. Not all of them. I spoke only with Mr. Stark and his lady, Miss Potts. And the healer, Banner. The others, the others Thor kept at a distance."

"I can well imagine." I said. Loki took another ample swallow of his drink. "Did Mr. Stark deny you water?"

"No, he was most kind and eminently hospitable. I believe the food I ate there was perhaps too salty."

"And what food did he serve at his feast? Salted beef?"

"It may have been beef, I'm not sure. It seemed to be a smoked meat of some sort, but formed as a tube. It was held in a sheath of bread and covered with bacon that was rather thin and cheese that was rather fainthearted, and covered overall with a spiced sauce. "

Even as I was following his description, I was struck by the fact that he was talking. Loki, my son, was freely talking to me, smiling and laughing, when he had done none of those for age upon age. He spoke of eating as though he had not spent these many weeks emphatically avoiding such occupation.

"And it was edible?"

"It wasn't Mother's roast pheasant, but it neither was it her liver pudding." He said. I was sure that he was trying to subdue a smile. My dear Frigga's liver pudding had long been a trial in our family.

"Nothing is your mother's pudding."

I smiled and Loki laughed and then while he took another sip of water, I simply gazed upon him, this child I had thought lost too many times.

This child of my heart.

"Mr. Stark invited you and Mother to visit him." Loki said, rousing me from my reverie.

"Really? For what reason?" I asked. A king and queen were never invited anywhere for small purposes.

"A visit. Just a visit. Nothing official. Not that he intimated."

"Then it a most unusual request. He is not a leader of his world?"

"No, and there is no king in his land but I believe he is accustomed to feasting prominent people in his government and in trade. For all that, though, I daresay he is unaware of official protocol."

Loki sipped some more water from his goblet before adding,

"Truthfully, I think perhaps he would like to match wits with you."

Ah, now there was a purpose.

"And who do you think would win?"

Loki shrugged but his expression softened as he looked at me. I thought it might be a smile of pride.

"One might well ask who wins, the raindrops or the ocean?"

I smiled and again allowed myself the privilege and joy of touching my son, grasping his shoulder once more.

"Perhaps we should visit and discover the answer to that question."

"Yes, perhaps we should." He agreed, still smiling. "Shall we walk? The sun is setting."

"Yes, let's."

Leaving the presence chamber seemed to have a dampening effect on Loki's mood. He was quiet once more, awkwardly quiet, as we walked the corridor to the parapet. I didn't know if I should query him further on his journey to Midgard. Would he not continue speaking of it if he wished to, without prompting?

Were this a negotiation, a treaty, an alliance, a declaration of war, I would know how to act.

But it was my son, my child, and I wasn't sure how to have a simple conversation with him.

"Did you wear no coat?" I asked him, finally taking a father's prerogative. "Were you warm enough?"

"It was warm enough in Midgard, and anyway, I never left Mr. Stark's tower." He hesitated a moment, both in speech and step, and then continued. "In truth, all but the simplest clothing weighs ill upon me lately. As though it is all too heavy to be supported. It is suffocating."

I was about to ask if he felt he had a fever or if it was the fabric stuff or manner of its washing that vexed him somehow, but he went on.

"But then I think – my usual apparel is appropriate to, and indicative of, my position as your son. Perhaps I simply no longer deserve the honors of that."

He didn't look at me when he said that. He wasn't asking me to dispute or agree. He simply left it where I could make what I would of it.

Asking a question of great import of me.

Would I leave him to his informal clothing, indicating that he no longer had need to appear as my son. Or force oppressive clothing upon him, indicating that his comfort was of no matter to me.

I knew, from ages of experience as warrior and king, that it was not his clothing which vexed him. When a man has been to battle, has been held captive and tortured and the flames of vengeance have burned through his spirit, I knew that when that man came back to himself, the world weighed ill upon him.

"Tomorrow, then, when you've rested from your journey, we'll have the mistress of the wardrobe fashion you the appropriate clothing made from lighter stuff."

He looked at me, searched my face for the truth of it, nodded.

"Thank you, Father."

We had reached the wall and casements and we stood silently for a few moments, as we always did, watching the setting sun drive flames into the horizon.

Then Loki asked, "How fares the realm?"

Since it was the thing most recently on my mind, I answered,

"I am entangled in a dispute between two crofters. For years, for ever, the boundary between their lands has been the Allende River. Last month there was a flood and a landslide and now the river has changed course, no doubt until the next landslide which may come never. Both men want the good bottom land which has been exposed and neither wants the bog which has been created and I spent too many hours of my day listening to their ancient complaints against each other."

Loki was quiet then, thoughtful, and I wondered if he had wanted news of a grander scale.

"Do you remember when Thor and I were children?" He asked, and paused just long enough for me to think, 'of course I remember – it was but this morning'

"We each wanted to build a fortress on the sward near the fen. We each wanted the high ground. You gave us a map of the land and said to divide the land evenly. You had me draw the boundaries and Thor was given first choice. I don't believe Thor has stuck that close by my side other than whenever I have had the Anagatan fever."

I considered his words.

"That is sound counsel, my son. Let the crofters work out their own boundaries, or else they will never be satisfied. I will employ it. Thank you."

I knew Loki hadn't been offering counsel, only reminiscence. And even if I hadn't known it, the surprised look on his face would have told me.

"Uh – yes – of course. You're welcome." He stammered out.

I almost said that he would make a good king, and so he would if he could but leave madness and rage behind. But there was no throne for him now, not on Asgard nor on Jotunheim. So I kept that thought in silence.

"The crofters are to return in three days' time. Will you attend me when I give them my decision?"

It was not an unusual question; I often had Loki and Thor with me as I heard grievances and meted justice. But at this moment my son's eyes were so wide I was sure they couldn't get any wider.

"After all, as my second, with Thor, your place is at my side."

I was mistaken – Loki's eyes did indeed grow wider.

"I – why – that is – I – yes. Yes, Father. Of course, I will accompany you."

"Good."

We waited the next many minutes in silence, as the sun fully set behind the mountains and the passage behind us became cast in flickering shadows from the minder lamps along the walls.

The shadows under my son's eyes were not caused by those lamps.

"Come. I'll walk with you back to your chambers, now."

We progressed slowly; I kept pace with Loki who seemed to grow more deep in thought the farther we walked.

When we arrived at his chambers and I opened the doors for him, he paused.

"May I ask – how fares Jotunheim? Do you know?"

"They rebuild." I told him. "Slowly. They are in much disarray, as one might imagine."

"Is there anything we can do to help them?"

I was surprised by the question, surprised that it came from Loki, but it was a question I had asked myself repeatedly.

"There is none we offer that they accept. And none they want that we would give."

Loki nodded, wearily, as though the same answers had already occurred to him. He walked into his room and sat on his bed as heavily as if all Nine Realms rested on his shoulders. He laughed quietly, to himself, but I did not like the sound of it.

I closed his doors and sat beside him.

"What is it?" I asked. It was not something pleasant, of that I was sure.

"I was only thinking - what I've done, the pain and death I've caused, in all three realms, the horror of it is with me always. There are moments, many moments, when I wonder how I can continue to bear it. But it just occurred to me –the devastation I caused on Jotunheim – surely, I am become the monster that Jotuns tell their children about night." He drew in a breath that was heavy with tears. "Even to monsters, I am a monster."

He laughed again, an ugly sound, but it softened into an anguished sigh and then he was weeping. My son, my child, was weeping. He tried to stop it, to hide it from me. All his life he disliked showing weakness, as he felt weeping was, but he was spent now, more than physically spent, and he did not resist when I embraced him.

This at least was something that I, as his Father, knew how to address.

"There now, there." I soothed him, gently, as I felt him lay his head on my shoulder. "You are not a monster, Loki. You never have been. Neither are the Jotuns monsters. Have you ever heard me describe them as such? No. I have long been the monster they warn their children of. And so I am still. They know not who is responsible."

I felt his hands grip tight across my back and a shudder ran through him, body and breath.

"I would take this pain from you, if I could." I whispered to him. "I would bear it for you if I but had the power or wisdom to do so."

After a moment or two, Loki drew a deep breath.

"And no doubt, I would once have gladly let you take it." He said against my shoulder in a tearful gasp of laughter. "But I should bear this, should I not? This pain is of my own creation of mischief and malice, and so I should bear it."

"And still I would bear it for you."

He nodded and was still. He was too slight in my arms and too warm, I thought. I held him tighter.

The healers had told us that Loki's journey back to us could be lengthy and would take much out of him. They said that it would be our duty to be patient and nurturing, to support and encourage him back to health and reason.

Frigga had been incensed to be reminded of her 'duty' as Loki's mother and would have blasted their ears from their heads with her ire. I too, at the time, had felt those instructions to be unnecessary, though with less wrath than my dear wife exhibited. But now, with my son unwell and trembling in my embrace, now I replayed those words in my memory.

Loki needed to be brought back to health. To accomplish that required that he eat. To accomplish that, he had to be offered foods that he would eat. What, if anything, had he eaten lately?

Smoked tubes of beef in sheaths of bread.

"The food you ate on Midgard," I asked. "Do you think it could be improved with good Asgardian bacon and cheese?"

"Oh, yes, definitely." Loki answered with a much improved laugh. He sat back from me and wiped his eyes. "And with our beef and our bread. The only ingredient I don't know how to create is the spiced sauce. But I'm sure, with some trial and error, we could reproduce that as well. And better."

I bit my tongue on asking, 'And will you eat them?' and asked instead, "Were they to Thor's liking?"

"Thor said no worthy Asgardian warrior would ever put such a substance in his mouth…." Loki swept away the last of his tears with the heel of one hand. "So, naturally, I offered him half."

The surprise of the last statement, expressed with such a solemn air, caused laughter to burst from me.

"Naturally. What else could you do?"

We laughed together, and the shadows seemed to fade from under his eyes and I saw my son. The forsaken babe I had first cradled so very long ago, the young boy so anxious and able to learn all I could teach him, the bright young man physically and verbally sparring with his brother, the sullen prisoner returned to Asgard, the melancholy patient struggling to endure the healers' remedy.

And this young man, who seemed to have finally made his way through the dark passageway of pain and contrition and was reaching for the door into fullness and life.

My son.

My child.

"I do love you, Loki, my son, so very much."

And my son blessed me with a smile so genuine, so loving, so peaceful, it nearly stole the breath from my body.

"Yes, Father. I know you do. I do finally know that."

This child of my heart.

.

To be continued