Another long one...sorry?

Beneath

Chapter Two Hundred Two – Narratives

"What went wrong?" Odin asked, motioning for Finnulfur to stay seated. He dropped into a chair opposite the First Magistrate, between them a bulky desk stacked with notebooks.

Finnulfur sighed and settled back in his chair, shoulders slumped. "I don't know. I've pulled all of the records into notebooks to refresh my memory. The initial investigation, evidence analysis, medical examination, the trial itself. It isn't something one forgets, but the details were hazy. Loki's confession," he said, sliding over the notebook that had been open before him.

Odin rotated the book and read the transcript. Audio and visual were available as well, but the words were enough. "I'm sorry," leapt off the page. Again and again. "I envied him." "I hated him." "I wanted him dead."

"He's right," Finnulfur said when Odin looked up from the text. "He goes on at some length about Baldur's behavior and his growing animosity toward Baldur. He's unequivocal in saying he wanted to kill Baldur, in saying he sought out the one thing capable of accomplishing that. But he never says he used magic to add weight back to an arrow he'd fashioned too weak."

"Because he didn't."

"Indeed. Which in turn strongly suggests that he never intended for his actions to result in death."

"Which means he lied when he said he did intend that," Odin said. "A manipulation. He believed that in confessing, he might be finally granted mercy. Pardoned."

"And he was."

Odin nodded, but it didn't sit right. Throughout that entire process, as Loki's story changed with every telling, Loki had never seemed more sincere, more guileless, than that particular day in the throne room. And Odin had believed him, for the first time in years. "I've never understood Loki," he breathed. "Any time I've thought I might, he proves me wrong."

Finnulfur closed the notebook and leaned forward, clasping his hands over the stack still in front of him. "Some of us fit nicely into the molds our forebears made for us. Some of us cannot quite fit, and adjust the mold to our liking. And a few of us cannot accept such confines at all, instead cracking the mold at its foundations and decrying its very existence. Those of us comfortable with the molds find that third group…a challenge."

Odin thought back to the first time he laid eyes on Loki – the Jotun heir gifted with extraordinary magic Odin had first assumed was his own. His understanding of Loki had been wrong from their very first meeting. Finnulfur's metaphor was apt. "Loki has never fit any mold."

"No. And he's been decrying their existence at least since he was nineteen."

The two sat in silence for a while. Odin trusted few as both advisor and friend, and Finnulfur, not much younger than him, was one of them. Eventually, though, thoughts found words. "He will never forgive me for this mistake."

"I cannot speak to that. But I do know that you did everything you could for him, in light of the judgement. And the judgement was not your mistake. I erred."

"We each made a judgement, in our respective roles. We each erred."

"Yes. But I was First Magistrate. The responsibility is mine."

Odin shook his head. "If you wish to speak to the king…that would be Thor."

"I do not wish to speak to a king, not yet. I wish to speak to a father." Finnulfur briefly looked down, then met Odin's eyes again before speaking simple words he clearly invested with as much sincerity and conviction as they could possibly bear. "I am sorry."

With a crisp nod Odin acknowledged the apology. He knew well how seriously, how dutifully Finnulfur had approached his thankless task back then, and that his First Magistrate had conducted himself with the same impeccable integrity he always had. And still he had indeed erred.

"I will say the same to Loki, as well as to King Thor and Lady Frigga, tomorrow."

Odin didn't envy Finnulfur an apology to Loki.

But he knew where Loki would lay primary blame, and it would not be on a magistrate.

/

/

Thor arrived late, with Bragi, one of Bragi's clerks, First Records Warden Adis, Chief Register Warden Ruskel, a senior scribe, and two more junior scribes all trailing after him. Bosi and Huskol were shouting and laughing raucously. Tyr was demonstrating something with his sword to the smiles and nods of a few others. However abruptly the feast had ended, however abruptly this Assembly had been called, they all knew the War Council had not been called, and they were still full of celebratory spirit…and probably a fair amount of mead.

They settled down and found their seats quickly, though, once Thor entered, without the trumpets of the regularly-scheduled meetings. The Assembly Hall was large and ornate, with enough gold to rival the throne room, though the Assembly itself took up only a tiny portion at the front of it, seated in semi-circular rows facing a less ornate version of the throne at the very front. The wardens, scribes, and clerks took seats in the staff rows behind the advisors; the rest of the chamber, with its vast observation galleries, was empty.

Thor took his seat for only his second occasion leading the Assembly in the Assembly Hall instead of the Feasting Hall inside the palace, and everyone else stood, dropped to a knee and saluted. "Be seated," Thor said. "Let us not delay. I think we can skip the invocation." Bragi nodded at Thor's questioning glance to him.

"Your Majesty," Bosi said, fist over his chest to signal his desire to be recognized.

"Yes," Thor said curtly, shifting uncomfortably. Kings – when they weren't fighting wars – spent entirely too much time sitting.

"Geirmund hasn't arrived yet. Perhaps we should send someone to tell him to hurry it up?"

Thor's eyes flickered to Krusa, sitting statue-like in his usual spot, eyes fixed straight ahead, the wrinkles around his jowls seeming to nearly drip off his face. Next to him, and not in his usual spot, Finnulfur sat with his hands folded over each other on his lap, gazing at the floor. Oblaudur chuckled; a few others smiled. Other than Finnulfur and Krusa, they obviously hadn't seen or heard about Loki's display of Geirmund's arrest.

He stood. It was customary for the king to remain seated – at least that was always how he'd seen his father do it – but right now sitting simply felt too unnatural. "Geirmund won't be joining us," he said, then explained why. The shock in the hall was palpable, but Baldur's name fell more easily from Thor's lips every time he spoke it, and the story came without faltering or hesitation, and with little emotion beyond a steady undercurrent of anger.

"I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" Thor asked, turning to Bosi along with everyone else. As the youngest of them, now that Geirmund was no longer part of their number, Bosi was also the brashest, and often the quickest to speak his mind on matters outside his own area of responsibility. Geirmund, of course, was even younger, but had typically been much more restrained. More like Krusa than Bosi in that regard.

"It's just…I know Geirmund. He isn't a killer He told me once how grateful he was to serve as he was, whether as a clerk or an advisor, rather than on the battlefield. We all know he was no coward – remember when he argued to be the one to risk his life to try to free Jormik on Svartalfheim? But he didn't want to have to kill."

"Your Majesty," Oblaudur said, standing once he was recognized. "It's uncomfortable to speak it…but could Loki perhaps have some sort of…leverage over Geirmund? To force him to confess to such a thing?"

Thor took a very deliberate deep breath in and let it out slowly before responding. "For your sake, I'm relieved Loki isn't present. Loki didn't even know Geirmund. He could not have any leverage."

"How can you be certain of that?" Bosi asked once recognized. "Loki…he has a knack for deception. And as his brother, who loves him as a brother should…you're particularly vulnerable to it."

More deep breaths over a clenched jaw. Bosi was right; Thor couldn't deny that, and thus should not hold his words against him. The advisors were meant to speak forthrightly to their king. They held no power that the king did not first grant them, and that the king could not thus rescind. But they were useless as advisors if they only spoke what the king wanted to hear. That didn't make this easy. It was hardly the first time the advisors had discussed Loki's deceptions, crimes, and punishments, questioned his motives and whether he should ever again live as a free man, or even whether he should live at all. Loki had not committed a crime in this instance, though, and the discussion seemed set to follow the same path. He was tempted to declare that no discussion was necessary and storm out. Leave them to argue about it among themselves and think what they will. But he couldn't do that to Loki. He could not leave this chamber until no qualms about Loki's innocence and Geirmund's guilt remained.

Vafri and Domari both had their fists to their hearts. Maeva was watching him closely. Eir's gaze was vacant, perhaps watching memories; Eir had treated a long list of ailments plaguing Loki after his years under the serpent. Finnulfur's hand slowly came to his chest. Thor instantly called on him. Finnulfur, surely, harbored no doubts about what he'd seen and heard tonight.

The law advisor stood, and turned from his position in the front row to face the others instead of Thor. "If your king's words are not enough for you, I can tell you that His Majesty speaks true. I was present for Geirmund's confession, and it was not feigned in any way. Loki himself was in a state of shock over the revelation. He didn't know someone else had interfered with his arrow. That never occurred to any of us, to my knowledge. To my shame," he added after a pause. "As senseless as this egregious crime against the throne was, Geirmund's explanation of his involvement in it fills in gaps and makes more sense of it than what we understood before. Loki has not deceived us. Not tonight, not in this. Geirmund has, for over a thousand years. Until tonight." Finnulfur turned back around, arranged his robe, and sat, gazing dropping downward again.

"Please, Your Majesty," Bosi said.

Thor nodded; the other hands had gone down anyway.

"I never said my king's words were not enough for me, nor did I mean to imply such."

"Nor I," Oblaudur quickly put in.

"It was not about you that I had misgivings, Your Majesty."

"Peace," Thor said, hand outstretched. "I know you weren't questioning my words. You were questioning Loki's. And Geirmund's, thinking them to be spoken under duress at Loki's hand." He paused for another of those deep breaths. Surprisingly enough, they were helping. "Bosi, Oblaudur, and each of you who had the same thoughts…I can't fault you for questioning. And I thank you for giving those doubts voice in this chamber, in confidence, rather than leaving here with them still nagging. But as we continue forth from here, ask yourself why you distrust Loki so. Why you see him as you do. And I don't mean in the unusual circumstances of the last couple of years. Every one of you…perhaps not a couple of you in the back, but each of the rest of you knows what happened in Loki's trial all those years ago. He was just thirty-four years old." Loki's temperamental relationship with the truth, like everything else about him, wasn't that simple, of course. Loki already had a penchant for mischief and a somewhat disturbing ability to look someone right in the eye and lie far more convincingly than Thor had ever been able to manage. The perception of Loki and his mischief, however, had changed in the aftermath of Baldur's death.

Thor took a long, measured look around at those gathered. "If you have any further doubts, or questions, speak them here. Speak them now."

Questions followed. Questions of plans and procedures. Questions of law. Questions of Geirmund's family – did his parents live, did his wife know what he did, was his wife financially dependent on him. Bosi was able to answer many of the questions about family; he and his wife had befriended Geirmund and Dagrun over shared meals outside the Assembly. Thor hadn't known.

As the questions died away, Tyr, one of several who hadn't spoken up at all, stood and said matter-of-factly, "We're going to need a new supplies advisor."

Thor looked to Krusa just in time to see his jaw shifting. His hand formed a fist and started a slow journey upward. "Let's not address that just yet." The hand stopped moving, then slowly lowered. "We can afford to take some time to let this settle. Besides, regular trade will be resuming soon."

Krusa's voice, when it came, was quiet. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Geirmund's guilt is not yours to bear, Krusa. You couldn't have known."

Behind Krusa, Hergils stretched forward and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "He had us all fooled."

Thor was encouraged by the smattering of nods and agreeing murmurs. Some of them had clearly withdrawn into their own heads, in shock at the dismantling of a long-believed truth. None of them questioned the accuracy of Geirmund's confession.

"It's tomorrow evening, then? The pronouncement?" Bosi asked when Thor called for final questions.

Thor nodded; he'd already laid out the timing for them.

"May we attend?"

"Finnulfur will attend." Thor hesitated, glanced Bragi's way. They hadn't discussed this, and Bragi gave no sign of wanting to provide input. "Why do you wish to be there?"

"I request an opportunity to speak to him. Particularly given the possibility that punishment may be carried out swiftly."

Thor hesistated. If Bosi still did have doubts, he was no longer voicing them. This, though, could be an indication of doubts he was no longer willing to speak openly of, doubts he might instead voice to Geirmund, to Loki, to his parents, to any and all who were present at the pronouncement. But Thor had trusted these men and women over the course of the war, and Bosi, like all the rest, had proven himself worthy of it. Thor sighed, looked away. A few hours ago he would have said the same of Geirmund. He looked back at them, suspicion tinting his vision in a way that was alien to him and tugged unpleasantly at his gut. He couldn't give in to such thoughts. They would rip him apart anew. Bosi was young, but not unwise. Thor decided he had to trust that his facilities advisor would not conceal disbelief here only to declare it in the throne room. Still, it couldn't be solely his decision. "I'll relay your request to Loki. If he approves, I approve."

When no one had further questions, Thor released the Assembly, with instructions that no one should comment publicly beyond the content of the public register. A minute with Adis, Ruskel, and the scribes led to the easy decision that the simple statement Bragi had recommended earlier would be slated shortly, with an announcement specifying what Geirmund had confessed to coming sometime tomorrow, once Loki approved the text the senior scribe would prepare.

"Whether the full Assembly is there or not, I want you there," Thor told Bragi when the last few were trickling out of the chamber.

"Then I shall be there."

"And in case I forget…when we take Geirmund's confession as an official record, remind me to make sure he clearly states that no one has compelled or coerced him. As you said, no room should be left for doubt."

"I'll handle that," Finnulfur said, approaching from behind. "I apologize, Your Majesty, if I…overstepped, earlier."

Thor wasn't sure if he meant during the Assembly or after the interrupted feast, but he was already shaking his head, either way. "You didn't. Thank you for speaking up."

Finnulfur hesitated but then nodded. "May I have a few minutes of your time tomorrow evening, after the pronouncement?"

"I have another matter to take care of after the pronouncement. But I'd like you there for that, too, and…if I can spare the time then, yes, of course."

"I understand, Your Majesty, and of course I shall remain as long as you need me."

Finnulfur left, and after a few final words were exchanged, Bragi followed. Everyone else had departed now, too, except for Eir.

"How are you?"

Thor gave a short laugh of surprise, then signaled the Einherjar at the open doors to close them again. "You're the first person to ask me that. And I'm not sure how to answer." He took a few seconds to take stock of himself. "Mostly I'm angry. At Geirmund. At myself, for not seeing any of this. This group of people here…this group I'm meant to trust without question. And now…I don't know. And then there's Loki. I trusted Geirmund, and I didn't trust my own brother when I should have. I know he's given me reason not to trust him but…but not back then. I should have stood by him."

"I'm sure that at the time, you believed yourself to be standing by your other brother."

Thor nodded. "I was torn. I remember thinking…kindness toward Loki was another arrow in Baldur's heart. I didn't know what to do, what to say, what to think. Whatever I did, it seemed wrong."

"Have you talked with Loki?"

"Very little. He wants nothing to do with me. Insists I'm not his brother every chance he gets. If he was standing here right now, he'd be saying, 'That's because I'm not.'"

"Give it time. Sometimes time heals. Though it usually has better results when accompanied by effort. Perhaps he'll talk to you about this after all. It was so long ago. You were both very young then. You were both different."

It was true, and Thor smiled his appreciation, but still he was certain Loki would be unwilling to speak with him beyond what was expedient for Loki. He bade Eir good night, lingering a little longer on his own. He realized then that no one besides him had spoken Baldur's name even once during the Assembly. Something else he was going to have to think about. He'd hated that decision, at the time. His youngest brother had been a part of his life for over half of it when Baldur died. He'd agreed to go along with the ban for Loki, and to a certain extent for Baldur, too, for it was true that in the years that followed, Baldur's death had been a constant part of his life, and that was not as it should be.

In this he felt he could not act on his own, either. He would ask Loki's thoughts on it, and his parents as well.

But it would have to wait until tomorrow. He decided he would inquire after Jane, see her if she had returned, and if not, go back to his chambers and attempt to sleep.

He had never imagined that ruling in peacetime might sometimes be more challenging than ruling during war.

/

/

"Lady Jane, the queen demands your presence in her chambers."

Jane froze, mouth open. She'd been about to say "hi" to the guard standing right outside her door, then ask about the extra guards standing around further down the hallway, though she figured maybe she already had the answer to that one now. She really wished it had been that first guard, Halfur, that Jolgeir introduced her to. He'd seemed much friendlier, but he apparently didn't work the overnight shift. "Okay. Um…now?"

"Yes, my lady."

"No, I mean…I'm not trying to…it's just really late. I don't want to disturb her. Are you sure she still wants me to come now?"

"Yes, my lady. She did not set a time limit, nor has she rescinded the order."

"Okay," Jane said again. She hesitated for another couple of seconds, wondering if she could take a few minutes to change out of her gown, but words like "demand" and "order" made her quickly abandon the idea. "I just go up and knock?"

"When you reach their doors, the guards will open them for you. Remain in the antechamber unless directed otherwise. Do not worry, my lady. Even among the Aesir only a select few are familiar with customs for visiting the queen in her own chambers. Most guests she receives elsewhere."

Jane thanked the guard and headed back to the elevator. The guard had meant to reassure her – not so unfriendly after all – and he had in one sense, while intimidating her in a new one. She's just a person, Jane reminded herself. A mother of a son she's concerned about. You were tripping over your feet in front of her this afternoon. It had been easy enough to get past the initial nerves before; being invited – ordered – into an inner sanctum seen by "only a select few" shouldn't change that.

By the time she reached the doors, the only ones in this shorter top-floor corridor – ornately carved would be an understatement for the huge thick double doors inlaid with what Jane assumed was gold – she felt reasonably calm. The doors opened as she'd been told; Jane's quiet "thanks" drew no response.

Inside, she looked around but tried not to gawk, even though no one was there to see her if she did. It wasn't hard. The room was full of wood and rich fabrics rather than gold, colorful vases on marble pedestals, tapestries in floral designs on the walls. It spoke of a wealth Jane had certainly never known, but not the other-worldly kind of extravagance so many other things she'd seen here did, like the throne room. Public versus private life, she thought with a mental shrug. Who wants to sleep on a bed made of gold?

At the back of the room was a wide doorless passage into a broad corridor, where Frigga would arrive from, Jane assumed, and where Jane was not meant to go without invitation. She was in the royal chambers equivalent of a lobby, she figured with a laugh that she held back behind sealed lips. Standing in the middle of the room felt awkward, so Jane moved over to her right, where above a settee hung a large family portrait, Odin and Frigga standing in the center, Thor next to Odin and Loki next to Frigga. They stood in front of a lush willow, each of them in relatively casual-looking clothes in shades of brown and ivory. Jane already knew enough of them to be certain this was a family photo rather than some official royal portrait. Odin had maybe a few fewer wrinkles, but he and Frigga looked essentially the same; Thor and Loki looked maybe five years younger, which meant hundreds younger, she supposed. Odin's and Frigga's arms were linked, Thor wore a thousand-watt grin, and Loki's head dipped toward Frigga's, which rested on Loki's shoulder. Odin looked as serious as ever; still, they appeared to be a happy family. No one would ever guess that beneath the surface was a bombshell of a family secret, along with a missing fifth member who three in the image believed the fourth had murdered. Looking at the four of them like this, the combined enormity of it struck her for the first time. It was a wonder that any of them, but especially Loki, still had a shred of sanity left.

"How is he?"

Jane spun around, vaguely feeling like she'd been caught snooping. Remarkably well, considering. "He's holding up." Frigga had changed out of her formal gown into a simpler pale green one Jane would've still considered formal on Earth, but here she supposed was for royal lounging. Her hair was up in a knot, her makeup and jewelry were gone. Jane felt inappropriately overdressed. Inappropriately dressed. No one was celebrating right now.

"I'm glad," Frigga said. Jane was holding back – not that Frigga could blame her for keeping Loki's confidence – but she wasn't lying. "Thank you for going after him." It should have been me. Apparently all I know is failing him. "Where is he now?"

"He said he was going to go for a ride."

The answer, once she heard it, wasn't a surprise, and was in a way reassuring. Loki had often found a measure of peace in the freedom of sitting astride Lifhilda, alone with his thoughts. What form of peace he might find, though…. She swallowed, and asked the hardest question. "Have we lost him?"

"Lost him? In what sense?"

"Because we didn't believe him."

Jane didn't answer right away, didn't know how to answer. This wasn't something she could answer on Loki's behalf, and she didn't think she should be playing middlewoman with his family. "He didn't really talk about that. You'll have to ask him."

"I will. I'll talk to him." She gave a rueful laugh and forced herself to maintain eye contact. "You must think we're the most wretched parents to have ever lived."

"I think some terrible mistakes were made," Jane said, trying to avoid a question she had no business answering. It was so much easier to be angry at Odin, but Frigga was reminding her that while Odin had tied Loki down under the snake, Frigga, too, had believed Loki murdered his younger brother. "Why didn't you believe him? I'm sorry," Jane said as soon as the question slipped out. "I don't mean to—. I shouldn't—"

"No. It's all right. I've been asking myself that all night. It wasn't a conclusion we leaped to. It seemed…unfathomable. Loki was no killer. He cried the first time he went hunting. And Loki and Baldur had a close bond. But their relationship had become strained. I wasn't worried about it, though. Loki was fourteen years older. His bond was with a child, and Baldur was growing into a young man. Of course that was going to change the nature of their relationship. Some tension during that time of transition is expected. Thor and Loki had gone through their rough patches, too – first girlfriends, Thor finishing his studies and seeking out his thrills and leaving Loki behind…but they'd always worked it out in the end. The mere fact that Loki and Baldur were arguing…it didn't cross our minds that Loki had anything at all to do with Baldur's death."

"Until you found out about the arrow?"

"I don't remember what it was exactly. I was in a fog. I was in a fog for years. There was an investigation. We were holding a funeral for my third son and they were arresting my second. When they laid out the case against him…the evidence painted what seemed a clear picture. We learned things we hadn't known before. The fights between Loki and Baldur had grown vicious. They didn't do it front of us and neither of them told us; we didn't know. They spoke cruel words to each other, especially Baldur to Loki. The arrow, yes. The boy in the stables, the traces of magic on the arrow…. We were all under so much stress because of those letters. And I—" She paused, took a moment. She wasn't going to break down in front of Jane. "I wanted to protect my son. But in the end, I failed to protect Baldur and Loki."

"I can't imagine how hard it was, for all of you." Whatever Frigga's failings a thousand years ago, Jane figured it wasn't her place to judge them, either to convict or absolve.

"Hardest for Loki. The rest of us, at least we had each other. I turned my back on him, did he tell you that? That I rejected my own son?"

"He, uh, he mentioned something like that."

"It's my greatest shame. I did everything I could to make it up to him, afterward, but there's no making up for something like that. He told me he understood, told me he wasn't angry, he didn't hold it against me…but he also told us he hated Baldur and wanted to kill him. He was so weak, so meek. A completely different person. He would try so hard to do whatever he thought we wanted him to. Anything asked of him, his only answer was yes. I wonder if we ever heard a word of truth from him again, starting with his confession. He must have lied constantly. Said whatever he thought he needed to. To protect himself."

"It sounds like that would be understandable," Jane said.

"Yes, it does."

"Maybe that was the point."

"What do you mean?"

Jane knew she was entering dangerous waters, but the underlying anger on Loki's behalf that was pushing her into them was relentless. "I needed him to be made willing to listen," Odin had said at the South Pole. A thousand years ago, it had apparently been a resounding success. "To make him meek. Compliant. To break him."

"No. Not at all. The only ulterior motive in Loki's punishment was keeping him alive. He would have been executed. As much suffering as it caused him, I love that serpent. I'm grateful to it. Loki is alive because of it."

Jane forced a bracing smile and managed not to ask if eighteen years tied up under a venom-dripping snake was really the only alternative. She still knew little about Asgardian law; maybe it was. But she was skeptical.

Frigga knew Jane was skeptical. "Did Loki tell you the punishment was meant to break him?"

"No. He never said that."

"It wasn't. It was a compromise. A…a loophole in the law. Odin knew what the decision was going to be. All of the evidence pointed in one direction. When the presentations were over, he went to Finnulfur. He asked him to find a way. To stay within the law, but to find a way to spare Loki's life. And the magistrates found a way. They determined that the killing of the king's son could not be made right by killing another of the king's sons. They found a punishment deemed severe enough to be comparable in some sense, but one that he would nevertheless survive."

Jane nodded, but felt distinctly uncomfortable. Maybe breaking Loki hadn't been the point of the snake. But maybe Odin had taken his own lesson from it. Maybe, faced with a dangerously angry Loki, he'd decided that a broken Loki was a lot easier to bring back in line.

"Odin saw to it that measures were taken to ensure Loki's safety, and he—."

"He…?"

Frigga shook her head. What did any of that matter, now that they knew Loki never should have gone under that serpent in the first place? Excuses to ease the conscience. How loved and valued Loki must have felt, restrained on the ground with venom dripping on him to pay for a crime he didn't commit, knowing that Asgard's rain was carefully controlled to ensure he could drink enough rainwater to sustain his life. "I don't know how he ever forgave us. If he ever truly forgave us."

"He thought he deserved it."

"He said that?"

Jane nodded.

"He would, wouldn't he. My poor boy. He believed he was guilty, too, only of an accidental murder instead of an intentional one. He didn't deserve any of it. He loved his brother. We all knew that and yet…things became so clouded…." Frigga pulled herself from the memories she kept being drawn back to, and regarded Jane, still in evening finery for a feast long forgotten. "You asked why we didn't believe him. Why did you believe him? He lied to you about who he was, why he was at the South Pole. He hurt your friend. He attacked your world. Why did you believe him?"

Jane thought back on it, and found that it was hard to explain, even to herself. He'd told her about it twice – a little right after that nightmare, a little more on an Asgardian hillside a thousand years ago. And she'd always known in her gut that he was telling the truth. "I'm not sure. I just did. He didn't have any reason to lie about it to me. He had nothing to gain from it. And he'd told me a few other things by then…he'd told me he killed his birth father. When he told me about that he was clearly trying to make me afraid of him. When he told me about Baldur…there was something so vulnerable, and open about him. More than I'd ever seen in him. And then afterward…I think he decided he'd let me see too much, and he turned on a dime and went for scaring me again. That was the last time that worked, though, since I figured out what was going on. He didn't try it much after that, either."

"What was going on?" Frigga asked, imagining a disturbing image of Loki deliberately frightening Jane with an obviously incomplete version of how he'd killed Laufey.

"I know Loki can be scary and intimidating and mean it. I…I've seen that myself, too. But a lot of the time it's just for show. If you push people away, then they can't hurt you."

"Perhaps not." She wondered if that was what had driven Loki away from them after he learned the truth. After his first plan – to earn their love? their trust? their…whatever it was exactly he'd thought he would earn through that elaborate deception, setting himself up to kill Laufey in defense of Odin's life – had failed. Loki had wanted nothing to do with them after that. He accepted her now, at least somewhat, perhaps because his fear of being further hurt by those he loved had lessened. But now this old wound had been reopened, and Loki planned to leave, perhaps with fresh rejection in his heart. Her own heart ached so much she could hardly bear it. She felt the tears threatening again, sniffed, held them off again. "I know I keep saying this, but I'm so glad he's had you. That he hasn't been alone." Jane's answering smile seemed uneasy, and Frigga instantly regretted the position she'd put Jane in, though not badly enough to dismiss her. Jane was the only person Loki talked openly with, and thus the closest she could get to Loki. He'd tried to push Jane away, too, but…

"If you push people away, then they can't hurt you," Jane had said. And they can't hurt you in the first place if you don't care about them. It wasn't a new realization. Frigga knew Loki cared for Jane; she'd seen it in the way he was protective of her, and in the way he'd tried to dissociate himself from her when he thought their association might bring her trouble. Jane had the ability to hurt him, and he hadn't wanted to allow her the opportunity. Loki had pushed, and Jane had pushed back, and Loki, amazingly, had yielded to her.

"You're very persistent, aren't you, Jane?"

"Um…I guess so. I mean, yes, I am," Jane answered, flustered after another of those penetrating looks that the queen occasionally fixed her with, as though sifting through her thoughts, or maybe her soul.

Frigga stepped closer and placed a hand lightly on her arm to nudge her around. "You were looking at this portrait?"

Jane nodded and relaxed a little; balancing answering Frigga's questions with trying to guess what Loki would and would not want her to say was stressful. "You all look so happy."

"We were. Well…I thought we were. Perhaps Loki wasn't. I don't know anymore. These portraits have always been a tradition of ours, we get one made every year on the anniversary of our marriage. We've missed a few years here and there due to circumstance, but we have quite a collection at this point. Thor and Loki were…let's see." She leaned over the settee and pointed, bringing the date to view at the bottom of the portrait, then did some basic math. "Thor was five hundred and forty-eight, and Loki five hundred and forty-seven."

Jane likewise did some basic math. "Right around the time the Europeans were discovering the Americas." That was never going to stop sounding fantastical.

"I rotate them every few months, whenever I feel a need to change things around a bit." She hesitated, then decided to go with the impulsive idea. With a quick gesture, the dates started racing past. "I haven't displayed this one in centuries, but it's my favorite." A few seconds later, she had the date she wanted, and the portrait shifted.

Jane stepped closer, too, and realized that she was looking at a family portrait that included Baldur, the first time she'd ever seen him. Horizontal on his side, held up jointly by Odin, Loki, Thor, and Frigga all standing shoulder-to-shoulder. His head of curly white-blond hair – just as Loki had described it – was propped on his hand, elbow supported by Odin. Everyone wore a thousand-watt grin, even Odin. Jane soaked in this glimpse of the even longer-distant past, this happy vibrant child whose name appeared in mythology only with regard to his death.

"It was Thor's and Loki's idea, to pose like this. They wanted to make it fun for Baldur. Though Odin and I figured out early on that 'Let's make it fun for Baldur' was often an excuse for Thor and Loki to have their own fun."

"It looks like everybody was having fun."

"We were."

"How old were they here?"

"Let's see…Thor was twenty-three, Loki was twenty-two…and Baldur was eight."

"Eight…this was the year of the big anniversary. A thousand years?"

"That's right," Frigga said, turning to Jane in surprise. "How did— Loki told you about that, too?"

"A little. He told me about The Journey and Challenges of the Valiant Odinsons."

Frigga's face broke out into an unrestrained smile. "Yes. Bragi composed that, and the boys acted it out. What a wonderful day that was. One of those days you think you must be among the luckiest, happiest people in all the Nine Realms." She hadn't thought about it in a long time, but she could still picture Baldur racing around the table as fast as his growing legs could take him, Thor laughing as he drank, making a mess of himself, and Loki groaning and rubbing his stomach after downing an entire platter of heavy foods. "Everything seemed perfect then."

"Loki said it was a happy memory, too.

Frigga adjusted the date again, not too far forward. "This one…is harder to look at."

"He's eighteen here?" Jane asked. He didn't quite look it – Jane would have guessed fifteen or sixteen – but from Frigga's comment it seemed a reasonable guess. He still had that distinctive white-blond hair, while Thor and Loki didn't look like they'd aged a day from the other photo, making them all look pretty close in age. The pose was a simple one – Odin, Thor, Baldur, Loki, and Frigga in a straight row – and verged on formal, though Frigga's arm was wrapped around Loki's. They were each in their official colors, with Frigga in the same red as Odin's cape, standing in a vibrant garden.

"Seventeen. Almost eighteen. The next year…it was just Odin and Thor and I. I couldn't…. This was the last one we were all together for."

Jane took in the captured moment in history, each smiling face, a family unaware they were about to be struck by unimaginable tragedy. She had a photo like that. Currently in storage with most of the rest of her things, but when she wasn't taking last-minute trips to far-flung places, or living out of a cramped trailer, it was on display. It wasn't a great photo – digital cameras weren't a thing yet, at least not in her family, so you got what you got, and her dad was mid-blink and looked drunk, but it was Thanksgiving and they were all together and they were happy. Once in a while, if it caught her eye in a certain mood, she might get a little choked up. But mostly it made her smile. Frigga wasn't smiling. "It's a beautiful portrait."

"Yes. Beautiful and yet…sinister, I always thought of it, after he died. I would look at those smiles, look into those eyes, and wonder what was really going on. How did things get so bad between Loki and Baldur? Was Loki even then planning…. But he wasn't, was he? None of us knew what was coming. Including Loki."

Jane turned away from the image and straightened. "I think you need to reclaim this picture. All of them. All those memories. You had three sons, and…I know it was a long time ago now, but…now that you know it didn't happen the way you thought it did, maybe it's time to talk about Baldur again. You can't make new memories with him, but you can cherish the ones you have. And you still have the four of you to reminisce with. I guess you really couldn't do that before."

Frigga nodded, though it wasn't quite sinking in beyond an abstract notion. She was reaching a wall, she knew – a limit of how much she could reorder her world. The fleeting sense of being untethered from reality gave her a glimpse into what Loki had endured, and it was chilling – like staring into an abyss. She took Jane's hands, the closest thing she had at the moment to a tether. "I never stopped cherishing the memories. Cherishing him. I just disciplined myself not to dwell on it, and not to speak of it to others. The order not to talk about him…it wasn't about erasing him, or forgetting him. No mother ever forgets her child. We did it for Loki. But we also did it for Baldur, in part. It seemed no one besides us, his family, remembered anything about him except for how he died. They only remembered the ugliness. We didn't want that to be…his legacy, I suppose. Better not to speak of him at all than to speak endlessly of how he died at his brother's hand."

"Now that you know he didn't die at his brother's hand, you can talk about him again, though, can't you? If you want to. And I think you do. I think probably you all do. Loki told me a little about him tonight. I think he enjoyed it. I know how much you all loved him. Surely there are lots of good memories to look back on."

Frigga nodded, and found for a long moment that she could do no more. "We all have much to think about," she finally said. "But I'm sorry, it's late. You must be tired. I'll let you go. Are you staying for Loki's pronouncement?"

"I was assuming I would."

"Good. It may be difficult for you, Jane – I know our ways are not yours. But I'm certain Loki will appreciate your presence."

They exchanged good nights, and Jane headed for the door. Once she'd opened it she looked back to find Frigga staring at the portrait of her family with seventeen-year-old Baldur.

She took the elevator back down to her floor – she could have taken the stairs since she was going down but her head had begun to throb a little, probably from the alcohol she'd had earlier, and the easier path seemed the better path. When she emerged onto the fourth floor, she noticed the extra guards were still there, making her floor look more like the top one. She had the impression that there were more guards around in general then there had been earlier, during the war, and a few steps out into the staircase landing followed by an upward glance confirmed what looked like a couple of extra guards there, too. Asgard getting back to normal, she thought, putting a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn.

"Is everything all right, my lady?" the guard asked, the same one that had directed her upstairs.

"Sure. Just tired. Thanks for the tip, by the way. About meeting the queen."

The guard bowed his head, and Jane headed into her apartment with guilt pricking at her that she hadn't asked the guard's name, but all she could think about now was getting out of her gown and into something comfy, then into bed. Even if sleep proved elusive, at least she could close her eyes and rest.

/

/

For nearly two hours, Loki simply rode. Lifhilda was full of energy – Loki doubted she'd been taken out much during the war, perhaps not even since his fall into the abyss – so after they set off he let her gallop and trot and walk with little active direction.

Beyond the wall, the land in many places had been marred. Buildings burned or broken to rubble, earth unevenly turned up and littered with debris; Loki's only real effort with Lifhilda was to keep an eye out for holes she might step into and injure herself.

Regardless of how different things looked, Loki knew every inch of this land. Not one hoof fell on a patch of ground Loki's feet had not also trod. Asgard was not so big. Everywhere he went, he was surrounded by memories. This was not, as he'd believed until recently, the land of his birth. It was, perhaps, the land of his rebirth. His second life, after the first had lasted a mere fifteen days. The land of his home.

His eyes swept over everything around him, surveying it as random memories filtered through in some disconnected fashion. Trees he'd climbed, taller now than then, some of them felled by nature, or uprooted or burned in war. Rocks he'd scaled. Hills he'd tumbled down. Mock battles he'd fought, and real fights, too. Craftsmen whose wares he'd perused. A young woman whose affections he'd courted. Her house, he noted impassively, had survived. She surely didn't live there anymore, but her parents probably did. It was abandoned now, of course.

The gates weren't open yet. The guards had opened them to him, because he was their prince. He had all of Asgard, beyond the wall, to himself. Himself, Lifhilda, and over a thousand years of memories.

The mare slowed and finally came to a complete stop in a small clearing, recognizable despite being overgrown with grass and weeds, and this area, too, Loki knew well. He gave Lifhilda's neck a few gentle pats, then dismounted and headed for the dock.

Here the land was unmarred, the stubby wooden dock jutting into the lake undamaged. He continued out to the dock's end, boots thudding lightly against the planks in the otherwise quiet night. The lake itself was a silvery black with chaotic bursts of muted color reflected from the night sky.

This was where he'd followed Thor – because following Thor was what he did – until fear forced his feet to stop and Thor dragged him over the edge anyway. Where he'd nearly drowned, because Thor at that young age had been unable to save him, had perhaps not understood until afterward that he needed saving.

Loki glanced back at Lifhilda, happily ripping up and chewing the tall shoots of grass. He decided to leave her to it. This was a good enough place to rest for him, too. To think.

He was in no hurry – he had the whole night and the next day – so he stripped off his boots and socks, coaxed his pants as high up his shins as he could, and lowered himself down to the dock, legs dangling over the edge. He shifted forward until his feet were submerged to the ankle in the tepid water. He could still see his toes, but the dark water concealed everything beneath them, another inch of depth or a mile. He wondered if that was what once frightened him so badly, the inability to see what might be lurking beneath the surface, much less the bottom, or if there even was a bottom, but he quickly dismissed the idea. His mother said he'd been afraid of even the shallow waters of a baby's bath. No logic underpinned his childhood fear. Not to an Aesir. To a Frost Giant…. If I had been dragged into this lake as a Frost Giant…what? Would I have frozen the lake around me? Trapped myself in the ice? Drowned? Suffocated? The thought even now sent a shiver down his spine. At least I would've taken Thor with me. It would have served him right.

The thought formed neither in malice nor in mirth. Instead he stared out over the lake with something akin to melancholy. So much history here, so many memories. He couldn't begin to guess how many times he'd swum in this lake as a grown man, no fear of drowning. Instead games and races and laughter, sneak attacks from underwater, cool dips on hot days, a guard posted to ensure privacy with a woman, gripping the posts under the dock while trying to increase the length of time he could hold his breath under water.

But there were other memories, too. Ones he'd shunned for so long he'd all but forgotten them. Baldur's first swim had come here, too. It had been awful – for Loki. He'd thrown all his powers of deception into concealing from everyone, especially Baldur, just how afraid he was for his little brother. That Baldur would panic, flail about, start to drown. That the water would inexplicably swallow him up, despite his father, mother, and other brother nearby. Loki had feigned a stomach upset – not entirely feigned – and stayed out of the water, for if Baldur did start to drown, better that there not be four of them getting tangled up in each other trying to save him. Baldur loved it from the start, though. Took to the water like a duckling. Jumped off the dock into his father's arms, while Loki sat on the grass, eyes glued on him for the first sign of trouble, as fearful as Baldur was fearless.

Again, logic was absent. By the time he was approaching twenty, he was a confident swimmer, long past the trauma of his own first entry into this lake, which had been Thor's fault, not the lake's. There was no reason for such fear. Repressed Frost Giant instincts? Protective ones, and not just protective of himself, but of others? A counterpoint, then, perhaps, to his mother's argument that whatever was left in him of Jotunheim had already disappeared in childhood.

What a pity no irrational protective instincts kicked in that day with the mistletoe. Fear of parasitic plants. Fear of whittling. Fear of sharp objects, or at least of hurling them at people you don't want to die. Apparently, Frost Giants weren't afraid of those.

"It wasn't your fault," he heard Jane saying, her voice and her face conveying absolute conviction. He'd been so quick to lay everything at Geirmund's feet, around Geirmund's neck. To stripe Geirmund's back with it. Which was all exactly as it should be.

But he'd been so angry. He'd wanted to hurt Baldur. Physically, only a little. Baldur's body he'd only wanted to scratch, to draw a drop or two of blood. He'd wanted to shatter Baldur's confidence. Baldur's arrogance.

What kind of brother was that? Because with hindsight, with distance and a thousand more years of life, he could see the complexity in Baldur's behavior, beyond the conceit and injurious words. How much of Baldur's lashing out had stemmed from insecurity and fear? Fear masked with arrogance? Because an Odinson – any Aesir, really – was not supposed to show fear, certainly not in the face of no more than threatening letters. How much had Baldur been suffering, and Loki's response had been to seek to destroy whatever defenses he'd managed to put up.

It wasn't quite like that, not really. Baldur had been making foolish decisions that put him in danger, and that was what Loki had been trying to put a stop to. The argument he'd been trying to win. Yes, anger, and even his own hurt feelings that his beloved little brother had turned on him, had been intertwined in it all, but that wasn't the true motivation for what Loki had done.

Or was it?

Loki stared out over the still water, and in a moment as painfully honest as he could possibly be with himself, silently admitted that he wasn't sure. As he'd once told Jane, he rarely did anything with a single motive.

He would probably never not feel guilt over his part in Baldur's death. But it was Geirmund who'd instilled that fear in Baldur in the first place. Geirmund who'd thrown into motion every terrible thing that followed, Geirmund who'd sealed Baldur's fate by changing the arrow.

Which meant…. Loki abruptly sat up straighter, then pulled his feet from the water and swung his legs around to stand. Pale bare feet dripped water onto the dark wood of the dock. He looked from them toward the palace, not actually visible from here but he knew its direction well. The ground beneath him, the entirety of Asgard and even the whole cosmos shook, an earthquake tearing down and rearranging what Loki himself had built. "It wasn't your fault." Jane hadn't said that to placate him, to be "nice" in some nauseatingly patronizing sense. She'd said it because she believed it to be true. Because it was true. She'd said they were all meant to live: him, Thor, Baldur. He wasn't meant to die on Jotunheim, or anywhere else along the way that he'd come close to it. But the fact that he had lived, that he'd been brought into the house of Odin from the house of Odin's greatest enemy, that didn't mean he was meant to kill Baldur, or Thor, or anyone else. He was not a parasite, responsible for the death of his brother, rotting the house of Odin from the inside out. He was just…Loki. Meant to do whatever he chose.

Well, he thought as the intensity of the moment morphed into giddiness, not "just" Loki. Not "just" anything.

But not a parasite. If he destroyed, it would be by his choice, not something coded into him by his very nature as a Frost Giant. And what did Frost Giants have to do with him, anyway? He'd lived among them for all of fifteen days. He'd jettisoned thought-reading with that wretch of a Frost Giant and done that with his idiot older brother instead. Their ways were barbaric, their culture non-existent, their people brutes, and it had nothing to do with him.

Loki smiled.

He thought about waking Jane up, filled with a sudden need to share these thoughts, but the idea was a fleeting one. Jane needed her sleep more than he did. And he wasn't sure he would want to – or even be able to – put all this into words once he was actually looking her in the eye. It was enough that he knew. Maybe he would tell her some of it later.

He looked over at Lifhilda. She stamped her leg.

"Had enough rest, have you, old girl?"

Lifhilda didn't answer, but Loki knew what she was thinking all the same. Thought-reading with a horse, he thought with a laugh.

Back astride the mare, booted feet in the stirrups, Loki considered what he should do next. He was supposed to be thinking about Geirmund. About Geirmund's punishment. About revenge, about suffering. He wasn't in the mood. Why should Geirmund spoil such a fine evening? He would think about it some more later, perhaps come up with some creative additions to what he'd already stated.

For now he would enjoy the fresh air, the harmony and comfort found astride a familiar horse, the peacefulness beyond the wall, the freedom that finally felt as freedom should.

/

I searched for a bit for the perfect word that melded the relevant meanings of "mold" and "narrative" and...it doesn't exist, not that I could find. So in the end I went with "Narratives." As the most important character for me, it's Loki's reconsideration of his own mold or narrative, the one he cast for himself in the aftermath of finding out he was Jotun, that is also most important. I felt so happy for Loki, writing that part. And yet there's still a darkness in it, in the way he continues to think of the Jotuns. But I think the way is better paved for him to be able to take a more honest look at the Jotuns, if given the opportunity. I don't know what struck me to write my own commentary here...I guess I just find it a particularly significant moment for him, and after all these words, maybe that's worth noting here. :-)

Sorry for having disappeared for a while...if you left a review or sent a PM and haven't heard back from me, you will - I'm just extremely busy right now as this major move draws nearer. Trust me, I'd rather be chatting with you about Loki et al than all this hard work!

I meant to stick these "clue" references on the last chapter and forgot, so, here are the earlier really-too-vague-to-be-a-clue clues about Geirmund (most of them?): I was careful in how I referred to hair color (...which comes up in the next chapter actually); I used synonyms rather than the exact same words for Geirmund and for the man Loki saw in the stables. In Ch. 82 "Kings" Geirmund is described as having "copper" hair, for example, and in Ch. 119 "Decisions" we learn Tony's mnemonic for Geirmund's name is "Gingerbread" (a reference to the letter, not the sound), versus Loki's use of "reddish-brown." In Ch. 91 "Words" we learn that Geirmund is a magic user, and also that he's particularly eager to serve even at added personal risk. In Ch. 69 "Ideas" we learn that he doesn't want to accept any special benefits for his service. Multiple chapters refer to him being nervous in the presence of the royal family. In Ch. 181 "Shift," Thor asks Geirmund to use the occasion of the upcoming feast for his daughter's one-month Welcoming ceremony. Geirmund knows Loki will be at that feast (remember Loki's been gone all the time Geirmund served as advisor) and Geirmund quickly declines - imagine the panic going on in his head! (He has no expectation Loki would recognize him, but Loki is the last person in all of Asgard he wants to ever find himself face-to-face with.) In Ch. 31 we learn he's just a few years younger than Thor, and while "a few years" may have a broader meaning in Asgardian lifespans than in ours, still it puts Geirmund in the general age range of Thor, Loki, and Baldur (Geirmund's general age is also referenced in other chapters, including 122 "Resolve"). Ch. 54 "Evidence" has a few little bits of evidence, too.

Previews for Ch. 203: Morning comes to Asgard, and there's plenty of internal and external conflict and wrangling to go around...though the younger generation may be doing better than the older.

Excerpt:

"The trial records?" [Frigga] asked, interest finally somewhat stirred.

"Trial, evidence logs, witness statements, everything. I read every word."

"And?"

"And…" Odin stuck his hands out in a rare show of exasperation. "Nothing. I thought I would find an error. Something that was overlooked. Insufficiently or overly weighted. A procedural error. Something. Anything. The magistrates were unanimous. I can find no errors."

"Except the one."