Attempting peace with Jotunheim had been a bad idea. This had been thoroughly proven now. Loki was rather unhappy about it. His distaste for the Jotnar bordered on disgust, but he strongly felt he needed the allies. A week in office and he was suddenly painfully aware on how much Asgard wasn't liked.
There was only one was for people to travel between the Realms, the Bifröst, and only Asgard had knowledge of it. Loki grew up on stories of inter-planetary trade and cooperation, but realised he saw very little of it in reality. Some other Realms had their ways of travel, but this took immense amounts of magic or extremely powerful artefacts, not something that could be wasted on a trip to trade some Oliphant skins. There were off course also the Shadow Paths, but he knew of two, maybe three people in the Realms that could navigate them. Loki was one of them.
The people in court hadn't gotten any smarter, or less sycophantic, but Loki was now paying more attention to the underlying currents. Only the Dwarves and Vanir had delegates on Asgard, the Elves and the Muspeldanir did not seem to be interested in contact with Asgard at all, the Jotnar want to kill them all, as his recent trip had proven, and the Midgardians didn't believe in the existence of any of the above. There were no inter-planetary trade empires, there were no true allegiances between Asgard an other Realms.
There once had been more contact, Loki knew this. The Glass Tower was almost wholly a Muspeldanir construct. Elven and Dwarven goods had been common once had they not? After all how did one get the title defender of the Nine Realms when they only ever spoke to two of them?
It was hard to research, not just because of a lack of time, but also a lack of material. There were many books on magic and the study thereof, there were countless stories of battles in which the hero, his conquests and victories remained the same, but enemies, dates and locations seemed to be interchangeable. There were books on foreign languages and even some trade, but Loki had found not one decent history book.
Maybe the Aesir lived too long to bother with recording their own histories, but it was entirely frustrating for those that did not have a memory spanning the past 3 millennia or so. When did Alfheim close their borders? Or had it been Asgard that stopped lending the Bifröst out? Were there any people living on Niflheim? Many considered it empty, going so far as to call it the realm of the dead. Why had no one gone to Svartalfheim in the past 7 millennia?
Well, it hardly mattered, Loki thought, he would unify the Realms so that when the time came they would all fight.. what, really? Loki knew something, someone, was coming, and it was bad. But like the vague memories of things that never happened and the press of a force he couldn't quite perceive, he couldn't say what it was. He should know, he really should, and every time Loki had time to think about it, he got increasingly frustrated and the dark voice would get revved up and suggest things of such appallingness that it put Loki off his dinner. A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Mother." He greeted as he opened the door. "Have I made you proud?" He asked sarcastically. The trip to Jotunheim had been an unmitigated disaster. There had been no talking, let alone peace-talks, and several warriors had been lost. Frigga took his hands in hers and looked up at him earnestly.
"Yes." Frigga said and Loki honestly had not expected that. "I think your intentions to unify the Realms are commendable and should be regarded with the highest respect." Frigga seemed to mean all of it. The praise was faintly embarrassing and yet entirely welcome. Loki turned away to pour them both a drink. Laufey had recognised him, but had not been able to comment one way or the other due to the fighting. Frigga would know, but could he ask her?
"Laufey is dead." Loki said, his back still to his mother Not your mother the voice reminded him. Shut up he snarled back for the first time, startling himself. He turned to Frigga and handed her the glass. "I killed him." Frigga closed her eyes for a long second at this news and the cupped his cheek to rest her forehead to his.
"Loki.." She breathed his name. There was a war going on inside him. He wanted to know, he needed to know, he deserved to know his origins, but no blame lay with Frigga and he did not want to hurt her. In the end his need won out.
"He was my father." It was half a statement, half a question. Frigga takes a shuddering breath.
"So the Allfather claims." Frigga confirms. Technically he is the Allfather now, but he can forgive his mother for not thinking of her son as 'Allfather'.
"Claims?" Loki cannot keep his voice down.
"Hmm." Frigga confirms before downing her glass and walking to the window to look at the stars with her back to him. Loki lets her. "I have always felt that he made you Odinson because that is exactly what you are." Loki can hear his heart beat and feels is stomach drop. Tyr was born just a few months after Odin and Frigga got engaged. Loki was born long after Odin and Frigga had been married.
"Mama." Loki starts unsure, disconcerted even more, but cannot think of more to say. His mother betrayed. Still, he is a selfish man and he cannot stop his next words. "You are not sure?"
"No." Frigga states firmly. "You are my son. Our son. My love for you is equal to that of all my children. I need know nothing else." The conversation is over; Loki can feel it in the air. Frigga will not tell him more, but she has already told him more than he could hope for.
"What happened on Jotunheim today was unfortunate." Frigga changes the subject and turns back to him. "Do not let it dissuade you." Loki tries to speak but has nothing to say, he only nods. Frigga turns to leave, but she pauses. "We need our allies." Loki's heart nearly explodes. It is not just him. He is not entirely mad. There is something there.
"W-what?" He asks tentively, Frigga was known to sometimes See.
"I do not know." Frigga says, there is a hint of frustration in her voice and Loki feels less worried than before. "We will know, my son, we will know eventually." Frigga claims and he is granted a reassuring smile before she leaves him to his peace.
"Oh, and I ordered you dinner. You don't eat enough!" Frigga leaves him with those parting words.
...
The servant is back, the one that dropped the bowl. This time he does notice her coming and allows her entry. She carries a tray in and places it on the table he motions at.
"Your Highness." She curtsies and turns to walk away. She often refers to him as such; it is not common practice on Asgard, though technically a correct way to speak to him. She walks out briskly, but is apparently quite clumsy as she trips. Out of instinct he grabs her to keep her from falling and his hand closes around her bare fore-arm.
Her skin has an odd texture, like a piece of wood that has been sanded so thoroughly not even a piece of silk would catch on it. Soft and yet very firm and it shines a dull gold. His fingers slot neatly between four bony outgrowths on the inside of her forearm.
"You're hurting me." Lyra says, but Loki barely hears her. He watches their arms with a mixture of abject horror and fascination. It's his left, and now, instead of turning blue, his skin takes on the same faint glow as Lyra's and an equal four bony bumps appear along his radius. No, no, no! What is this! In a single grasps any comfort received from Frigga's words were erased.
"Does it hurt?" Lyra then asks and it startles him. It is a completely unexpected question and not something that even occurred to him.
"No." He says evenly and he releases her arm. She flexes it and he sees three dull metal studs between the bumps. Then they both watch as the bumps on his arm retreat and his skin returns to its usual pale pink. Lyra seems less shocked then he is, she's just about to take her leave he sees. Completely unruffled.
"Where are you from?" He asks. She looks mostly Aesir, but the Aesir have no bumps on their arms, or, he notices now that he studies the woman closer, on their temples along their hairlines. Her skin is also other, both the faint glow to it and the texture. For the these same reasons she can neither be Vanir of Midgardian.
"Many places." Lyra shrugs and he can tell she wants to leave. Still he needs to know. Muspeldanir? Doubtful. Dwarven? Equally unlikely. The Svartalver have been eradicated for eons now, so not them. Not Jotnar, certainly. Loki wasn't sure anyone actually lived on Niflheim. The Aesir didn't go there and if there were… Nifl people… they did not come to Asgard. But as he had recently research the foreign politics between Elves and Aesir was one of mutual avoidance.
"Who are your parents?" Loki presses. Lyra bites the inside of her lower lip; she doesn't want to speak of this. "Tell me." He commands, not entirely unfriendly. Lyra blows out a breath.
"My mother was common as dirt." She says with an apologetic shrug, perhaps to her mother. He recognises a much used barb when he hears one. "My father was a Duke." She says on a laugh, clearly disbelieving. But it makes sense to Loki. It makes her the unexpected bastard of an alien official and probably a servant. A mutt. The voice sneers. But it doesn't bring him any closer to what he wants to know. He studies her and she is less uncomfortable than he would expect.
"Your eyes. They were black before." He notices. It is not until she replies; "No Your Highness. They have always been green." That he realises he spoke out loud. He feels an embarrassed flush creep up.
"How did you come to be here?" He asks to mask his mistake. Not that it matters, he just wants to know her species, but considering both her parents are dead, he can never be sure.
"I'm a good cook." Lyra says and Loki follows her gaze to the tray.
"Yes." He agrees, having nothing more to say. She knows not her origins.
"Your highness." Lyra curtsies and turns to leave his chambers. Then, in a split second, he sees a woman walk before him in a gown made of what seems like smoke and black diamonds, displaying sinful curves. The woman half turns, smiles and holds wicked invitation in her black eyes. Lust suddenly courses through him in an unexpected tidal wave. The vision dissipates quickly and all he sees is the servant in a dull grey, shapeless dress who can't wait to be away from him. The lust and the memory remain though.
...
Later that night he once more wakes from nightmares. He vaguely remembers falling. The dark voice and very little else. His unconscious magic has once more done all it could to protect him. Loki falls back on his pillow not bothering to undo any of it. Yet he cannot sleep. Too much has happened. He has learned too much and yet not nearly enough. Decision made Loki waves the wards away, makes himself invisible and strides away.
He arrives at his father's chamber without notice and is glad his mother is not at Odin's bedside. There is something quite morbid about the way Odin sleeps a sleep he may never awaken from. Kill him. Crush him. The voice whispers. It would be easy.
"I imagine you have no intention of waking up any time soon." Loki speaks into the silence. Most say Odin is aware in this state, and Loki is fairly certain Odin has no intention to step into the mess the Realms are in now. The press of evil to come. The deplorable state of inter-Realm relations. Loki's heritage and subsequent rage.
"Yet I urge you to hurry up, old man." Loki cannot keep the rage out of his voice. "You owe me more answers every day."
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