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Beneath
Chapter Two-Hundred Four – Guilt
Not long after Loki rose, a knock came at the door.
An unfamiliar guard stood there. "Good morning, my prince. The All-Father demands your presence in his chambers."
His hair stood on end; he gripped the doorknob harder. A knock at the door, an Einherjar standing there…Jolgeir…. The burst of irrational fear quickly passed, though; those days and years may have been on his mind, but they were long, long past. Loki reviewed what the guard had said, eyes now firmly on the present. Before he opened the door, he would have said he wasn't even fully awake yet. Now he had to get properly dressed, forego the breakfast he'd been about to order, and…
Except…he didn't. He didn't have to. He was no longer desperate to gain Odin's favor, nor was he beholden to Odin for his freedom, and Odin wasn't king, not officially, and in this case "officially" was all that mattered. He didn't have to.
He drew in a deep breath of sweet, rich Asgardian air. "Tell him I said…no."
"Ah…no, my prince?"
"That's correct. Where is Tilvik?" Tilvik had for decades been the primary Einherjar on Loki's floor for the first shift.
"He gave his life for Asgard, my prince."
After several seconds, Loki nodded. "Are you new here, ah, what's your name?"
"Hegmund, my prince. And yes. New to the upper floors."
"Ah," Loki said, unsurprised. "Don't worry about the message to the All-Father, Hegmund. He won't blame the messenger. Not when there's someone else to blame." Loki smiled, even laughed a little at the guard's obvious discomfort. He started to step back inside, when Hegmund opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it again. "Have you more to say? Or were you intentionally imitating a fish for some reason?"
"Yes, my prince. I, ah, was to remind you that notices have been sent to your desk for review. The king requests your review. Of the notices."
Loki grimaced, both at Thor apparently sending him some sort of work to do, attempting to drag him back into palace life, and at this guard's awkwardness. No matter how many had been lost in the war, surely some with greater training and experience than this Hegmund were available for the palace's top three floors. No one worked these floors who wasn't comfortable dealing with the royal family and royal protocol. He realized then, though, that maybe there was more going on than Hegmund's newness to the position. "Are you aware of the arrest of Geirmund Faldarson?"
"I am, my prince," the guard said, at perfect attention with gaze now fixed somewhere that was not Loki's face.
"Are all of the Palace Einherjar aware?"
"All who are currently on duty, yes, my prince."
"You don't actually have to say 'my prince' every time you speak," Loki said, impatient with the incompetence of the guards he encountered now.
"Yes, m—Yes. I understand."
"Were you instructed to take extra care around me today?"
"I…we were instructed to be at our best."
"You aren't expected to be at your best every day?"
"We are, but, ah… special mention was made of it today."
Loki rolled his eyes. This was too easy, no fun to be found in it. He'd learned what he wanted to, at least about why this guard was not at his best. "Is Geirmund still where he's supposed to be?"
"I'm certain he is. His balcony is under constant watch from outside, and Chief Huskol has placed additional guards on the fourth floor. They keep constant eyes on his door."
"The fourth floor?" Loki repeated, stomach knotting.
"Yes, my prince. Lord Geirmund and his wife were relocated there during the war."
Why did I never ask which floor he was on? "The king's guest is on the fourth floor."
"Lady Jane and the others are under the protection of the Einherjar posted there. They are safe, my prince."
Hegmund, of course, had no real way of knowing that, posted many levels above the fourth floor as he was. He was probably right, but Loki wasn't satisfied with "probably." "See that my response is delivered to the All-Father, in my exact words, or rather, my exact word. And go and check on the king's guest right now. If she's in her chambers don't disturb her; simply confirm with the Einherjar there that she and the others are well. Do this yourself and be prepared to report to me when next I open this door."
Loki soon stood before his wardrobe, staring into a sea of green. He did have items in other colors, but he could hardly pronounce punishment on the man who'd murdered his brother and allowed him to bear the blame for it for a thousand years in casual wear. The more he stared, the more he was certain there was nothing in there that he wanted to wear tonight. For now it was casual wear, then; he pulled a vibrant deep blue tunic to go with black leather pants and bracers, combined with silver accent pieces. He dawdled over his hair, taming a few strands on the sides threatening to pull away and curl, and ambled into his office to see what Thor had sent him, since it might be important to him, given everything going on the last few days.
The first of two notices marked Most Urgent was a request to review an announcement for the register, Asgard's official news source, detailing Geirmund's confession and in turn Loki's innocence. "Loki Odinson Absolved of Baldur Odinson's Murder; Geirmund Faldarson Confesses to Baldur's Murder." It went on from there, but Loki kept returning to the title. "Loki Odinson Absolved of Baldur Odinson's Murder." Seven neat, orderly words. If he'd read them a thousand years ago, he would have wept with relief and joy. Now there was something cold in them. Nice to see, yes, but distant. Pointless.
Not pointless. Not pointless. Just a little late.
Loki shook his head and waved aside the announcement. This was not urgent. Loki wanted Geirmund to suffer; the rest of Asgard didn't especially concern him, not now. Next was an inquiry into whether he was opposed to members of the Assembly attending the pronouncement, in addition to Finnulfur and Bragi. "As long as Geirmund is there, I don't care who else shows up," he wrote. Delivering simple messages via notices was considered poor form on Asgard, unlike on Midgard where the closest equivalents – e-mails and texts – were ubiquitous outside the South Pole and its particular situation. But in certain circumstances it was useful, such as when one was in a great hurry and the recipient was likely to receive the notice more quickly than the sender could travel. Or when one had no desire to deal with the recipient in person. That, of course, was precisely why sending notices instead of going in person was frowned upon. Loki was in no mood to care what was frowned upon.
The rest of the notices were register items, thirty-two of them issued this morning. The number was high for a single day, but with the treaty formally going into effect yesterday, there was much to inform Asgard's citizens about. Loki used to read the register carefully; today he merely scanned the titles. Updates about the status of relations with the other realms, damage reports, safety notices, conditions outside the city walls, plans for return of services, the reopening of the wall's gates this morning. And the first in a series of Assemblies open to the public tomorrow, at which Thor and his advisors would take questions from citizens, to try to fill the gaps in the register. It was an interesting idea, and piqued Loki's curiosity. Not enough to tempt him to stay for it, though. He waved it away and viewed the first notice again, the proposed register text.
He didn't care what it said. But Geirmund might.
He transferred the announcement onto a notebook, got his boots on, and opened the door. "Tell me, Hegmund, is the fourth floor secure?"
"Yes, my prince. Lord Geirmund remains inside his chambers and has not left them since he was taken there last night. The Lady Jane departed earlier this morning. According to the most recently available information, she is outside the palace, with Lord Heimdall."
Loki gave no reaction to the news of Jane; Heimdall wouldn't be his first choice if it were up to him to choose who Jane spent time with, but it wasn't up to him, it was up to Jane. And other things being equal, Jane would surely rather be at Heimdall's side than anywhere else in all the Nine Realms. One matter, though, he could not ignore. "'Lord' is a title of respect. Whatever respect Geirmund earned, he did so through treachery and deceit. Do not refer to him as such again."
"Yes, my prince."
Loki eyed the guard a moment longer, trying to discern the man's reaction, but Hegmund had done an admirable job of getting hold of himself and revealed nothing. He left the guard behind then and made his way down to the fourth floor, changing his appearance along the way to that of a ruddy-faced blond. He would observe for himself, from behind a mask, at least until he knocked on Geirmund's door.
He emerged on the landing with unhurried steps, glancing up and down the corridor. Nearby stood one guard and one older man hunched over a traditional broom, not normally used in the palace. Loki's eyes swept the rest of corridor – one guard to the left, Jane's end of the corridor, and six more to the right, perhaps another one or two in the shadows at the far end – but he kept the servant in his peripheral vision. Loki continued his slow progress toward Geirmund's door; the servant met his eye and started toward him, but just a few seconds later turned away and went back to sweeping.
Loki set his jaw and continued past the supposed servant, listening closely for sudden movement behind him. He would follow up on this on his way back.
"Excuse me," he heard behind him, a woman's voice. "Which door is Geirmund and Dagrun's?"
"I think we can figure it out," another voice said, a man's, tenser and quieter.
"The sixth to the right, my lady. You will know it by the guards posted to either side."
"Thank you," the woman said.
Loki slowed even more, affecting a slight limp as explanation for the now abnormally slow gait, as he reviewed the weapons he had at his disposal – not many at the moment. Not enough, not if every guard on this floor, and the servant, and the couple rapidly approaching, in unison rose up against their orders and acted to free Geirmund. Or have already, he thought with a hitched breath. Hegmund, too, perhaps was aware of whatever exactly was going on here.
The newly arrived man and woman passed him with a nervous-looking sideways glance that Loki returned even more briefly. It was enough to see that the man held a wooden box about one foot by one foot, and the woman held a bouquet of flowers.
His exhales now rattled his chest, but he continued on.
The couple reached the door in question well before he did. They knocked, and after a brief exchange of words so quiet Loki couldn't make them out, they entered and the door closed behind them.
Loki, too, approached the door, but he didn't knock. With his left arm he shoved the guard next to the door against the wall and in his right hand a dagger appeared, pressed to the man's throat. Back down the corridor a shout went up, but quiet swiftly fell again.
"Don't." Loki said to the guard slowly approaching on his right, the one who'd been standing just past the door. He let his disguise drop, and stared hard at the Einherjar whose throat he threatened, while the guard who'd been approaching sheathed his drawn sword and held up a palm to the other guard. The man Loki's arm and blade still pressed against settled from his initial burst of fear – to his credit, perhaps – though he was clearly taking care not to move.
"Forgive me, my prince," said the guard to the right. "I did not know it was you."
Loki ignored that one, and everyone else but the Einherjar he faced. "I'm greatly looking forward to your explanation for why those people were permitted to enter here, and why the man cleaning back there is only sweeping one spot, and doing so with a broom that isn't the kind used by palace servants."
"I can address that, Prince Loki."
The words came not from the man behind Loki's dagger, but from down the corridor. "Then please do," he said without turning.
"I am Boggvir, the commander here."
Loki didn't respond, but he vaguely knew Boggvir.
"Lord Geirmund and Lady Dagrun are holding a Welcoming for their daughter, and-"
"They are, are they?" Loki said, shaking with a bout of ironic laughter. "Lord Geirmund confesses to murdering the king's son, is mercifully confined to his chambers in place of the dungeon, and you have permitted him to throw a party? And don't add titles of respect to that name."
"As you command, my prince. Please know that I did inquire whether the Welcoming was allowed."
"Of course you did. Who exactly did you inquire with?" If it was Thor…. Loki gave the Einherjar a final shove for good measure, then stepped back, sent the dagger away, and turned to face Boggvir, already raging against his so-called brother.
"With Chief Palace Einherjar Huskol."
"Huskol," Loki repeated with disgust. The one whose respect for Loki had appeared a little less than fulsome until Thor gave him some kind of tongue-lashing, the one who'd replaced Jolgeir. Of course it was Huskol. At least it wasn't Thor.
"Lady Dagrun asked in the middle of the night if they could hold a Welcoming. Chief Huskol said that he tried to contact you to ask your wishes, since we were informed only that Geirmund could not leave, not whether others could come and go. But you had not been seen since departing the city, and Heimdall said that casting his eyes to search for you would be inappropriate. Chief Huskol then gave permission, but ordered a repositioning of our locations for the duration of the gathering, and the addition of a magic-user to search for any sign of magical concealment on everyone arriving and departing to ensure that the event was not used as a pretext to help Geirmund escape."
Loki looked down the corridor to the old man who had straightened up from his broom. "Neither a servant nor a conspirator, then."
"No," Boggvir answered. "Milnur once served as an Einherjar. He serves again today because of his gift for detecting magic of the sort you yourself arrived with, my prince."
So the old man had realized Loki wore an illusion, had meant to stop him, then had seen through the illusion and realized it was his prince. Or… Loki's blood ran cold. Could this old man, this Milnur, have seen deeper? Obviously he hadn't, or he wouldn't have simply gone back to his sweeping. A Frost Giant roaming the palace's private wing? They would have immediately killed him, or tried their best to do so. And, Loki reminded himself as the burst of panic receded, this form was not an illusion, not in the usual sense. It was a thorough transformation, one so complete he bled red and the rare healer who'd ever gotten a look at him besides Eir, when away from Asgard, had never seen anything amiss. He was safe.
"Prince Loki? Does this satisfy your concerns? We'll of course put an end to the Welcoming immediately if you disallow the event."
Loki relaxed minutely, and let his gaze drift. He'd been so convinced of a conspiracy to free Geirmund he'd hardly taken in the meaning of a Welcoming. A child. An infant one month old, or perhaps even younger, under the circumstances. Loki hadn't known, and was surprised, for in Asgardian society Geirmund was on the young side to have a child.
A celebration such as that was inappropriate. Geirmund was supposed to be weeping, mourning the life he was soon to lose, had already lost in every way but physically. Not enjoying guests and food and drink and gifts. It should be broken up, the guests booted out, no one else permitted entry.
The wife, Dagrun as the arriving guests had called her, complicated things. He hadn't given her a second's thought until now. She was going to suffer, too, assuming she still cared a whit about the man she married now that she must know the truth; that couldn't be helped, and Loki felt no guilt over it. But while he would find pleasure in Geirmund's suffering, there was none in tormenting his wife. As far as Loki knew, Dagrun wasn't guilty of anything other than an atrociously poor choice of marriage partner.
Though no plan had yet formed, Loki made a decision. "I'm not sure. I think first I'll look in on this little gathering myself." He blinked, and when his eyes opened again, he was looking at Boggvir from behind Boggvir's brown eyes, framed by Boggvir's gold helmet.
Boggvir visibly swallowed, but his reaction of surprise and discomfort was there and gone in a flash. "We await your order, my prince."
Loki nodded, then approached the chambers assigned to Geirmund.
A woman with straight brown hair pinned up into long loops answered when Loki knocked, her skittish smile quickly fading when she saw who stood in her doorway. "Is everything all right?" she asked, rubbing the heel of her palm over her pale blue silk gown.
"That's what I intend to determine," Loki said, matching his voice and cadence closely enough to Boggvir's, stepping forward and forcing the woman – most likely Dagrun – to step back to avoid contact.
The woman slipped around behind him to close the door, and Loki continued inward to the sitting room where the guests – eleven of them, including the two who had passed Loki earlier – were standing clustered around their host. Geirmund glanced up at him worriedly before focusing back on the bundle in his arms, dressed in a gold and white cotton gown.
"It's a…." Geirmund cleared his throat. "It's sort of a combination of our names. Every letter in her name is also found in ours. And…I suppose we simply liked the sound of it."
"It's a lovely name," one of the others said, the rest quickly agreeing, some of them casting uneasy looks Loki-as-Boggvir's way.
"Thank you," Dagrun said, coming around to Geirmund's side. "Here, I'll take her. You talk to Boggvir."
More nervous and uncomfortable looks. Loki watched in silence, then followed Geirmund into the kitchen.
"Is there a problem?"
"I'm not sure yet. Do you think it's appropriate to be hosting a party under the circumstances?"
"Ah…I…I suppose not. But Dagrun wanted me to be here for Nerid's Welcoming. And…I wanted that, too."
"And you expect this to be the only opportunity?"
The answer to this question took longer, and Geirmund looked suitably tortured when he spoke. "Probably."
"You must be grateful that you were permitted to invite your friends over for it."
"I am. I didn't think the prince would permit it. But Dagrun insisted on asking."
"None of them are bothered to learn that you're a murderer? Or did you not tell them?"
Geirmund avoided his eyes as he visibly shuddered. "Gruna told them. I couldn't do it. And she told them we wouldn't be discussing it here. This Welcoming is for Nerid. She'll need these people. Both of them will."
"You're ashamed."
"Of course I'm ashamed," Geirmund said, brow knitting slightly.
"You won't need to tell anyone else, you or your wife. This will be going out today." Loki gave a precise twist of his wrist and a thin notebook appeared in his hand.
Geirmund's eyes jumped from the notebook back to Loki's false face; Loki could feel the pressure on that face, on the illusion, a magic-user trying to see the illusion for what it was, the subtle sensation he'd missed when the greater-skilled Milnur sought out illusion. "You are not Boggvir," Geirmund said, taking a step back.
"I am not," Loki said, letting the disguise fall away in a shimmer of green.
Geirmund immediately dropped to one knee and bowed his head, fist to chest.
"It's a little late for that. Get up."
Geirmund lifted his head slightly, but otherwise did not comply, at least not quickly enough for Loki's taste.
"Get up," Loki sneered in a low voice, striking Geirmund's shin with the toe of his boot. The other man teetered, trying to regain his balance, then quickly rose. "What do you think of this as your epitaph?"
The way Geirmund reached for the outheld notebook – slowly, thumb quivering and sending small tremors through the rest of his hand – Loki wondered if he thought it would poison or electrocute him. But eventually he held it in his own hand and lifted it to open and read. "I accept it, my prince," he said once he reached the bottom of the single page. His face reflected every bit of hopelessness and resignation Loki had wanted to see there.
"What a relief," Loki said dryly. He knew those feelings. Back then, though, he'd taken much longer to give in to them. He wondered if a resisting Geirmund might be more enjoyable than the unresisting one before him. Then he wondered what it would take to make Geirmund resist. It didn't take much thought: involving his wife and child might do it. For a brief flash of a moment in which he could feel the darkness settling over his heart and twisting into something that was not him and yet was so familiar, he imagined it. He rejected it just as quickly. "I'm not a torturer," he'd told Jane. Not of anyone who hasn't put extraordinary effort into earning it, he silently added. And if a tiny little shadow of the darkness remained, Loki could live with that.
"These people here. They're family? Or friends."
"They're, ah…seven of them are my wife's family. I don't have any other living family, not that I've remained in contact with. The rest are friends."
"I see. How pleased your wife's family must be with her choice of husband. If I'm to permit this merry gathering to continue, I must know that every person in attendance understands who it is they celebrate with. You will obtain the signature of everyone here on this document, and you will bring it to me tonight in the throne room to confirm that you've followed orders. And listen well. Only the child is exempted. Do you understand?"
Geirmund nodded before he spoke. "It will be as you say."
"Good. No need to do it immediately. As you said, it's a Welcoming and the focus should be on little Nerid. Why cast clouds over it with unpleasant words of murder and cowardice and deception? You can wait until they're departing. Have them read and sign as you exchange your farewells."
Loki waited until he got another nod full of unspoken anguish, then transformed back into Boggvir and left.
"Your orders, my prince?" Boggvir asked once Loki closed the door behind him and paused there.
"Continue your work," Loki said, Boggvir's face falling from his once again. "I have no complaints."
Boggvir's fist went to his chest and Loki continued past him, into the stairwell where he bounded up them two at a time, slowing only to allow a couple past him in the other direction, hauling a large trunk between them. They shifted their grip and both managed an awkward salute, entirely unnecessary, which Loki returned with a wary nod. This was the daughter and son-by-marriage of Domari and his wife, helping them move back into their own home, Loki assumed. Things were beginning to return to normal. Normal and yet not.
He rounded the corner for the last half-flight to his own floor, and nearly tripped over the second step before making a quick recovery. Sitting on the landing, feet resting two steps down from it, was Odin Borson, All-Father of Asgard, King of Asgard as soon as he decided he felt like reclaiming the title from Thor.
"Didn't you get my message?" Loki said as he continued up at the same pace. "Impossible to find reliable guards these days." His face tightened with a restrained grimace over the unfortunate choice of words. But Odin's presence – sitting on the floor no less – had thrown him. Nearly literally.
"I got it. I decided to come see you, since you wouldn't come to me. I need to talk to you, Loki."
"Unfortunately I'm rather busy at the moment. Why don't you try making an appointment for tomorrow."
Odin chuckled. "When you've already left Asgard?"
"That was the general idea, yes," Loki said, pausing briefly next to this strange sight.
"Help an old man up, Son."
Loki stopped again, Odin now a couple of paces behind him. He turned, saw Odin's outstretched hand. That moment seared into memory leapt to life again before his eyes, Odin collapsed on the stairs in the weapons vault, Loki clasping Odin's hand as heady emotions surged and threatened to drown him. Amidst all that, though, for a few minutes everything else had fallen still, leaving a single point in perfect clarity. That whatever else had happened, whatever it all meant, he desperately didn't want his father to die. Since then, of course, much had changed. "The last time you asked for my hand, it was to wrap it around Gungnir, and in return you placed magic on me without my consent, and without explanation."
The hand went down. "It was a temporary condition of your expanded freedom, and no, I did not ask for your consent. Prisoners are not asked whether they consent to the terms of their imprisonment, or their freedom. And I did not explain because I didn't want you to immediately find a way around it."
Loki struggled to focus on that moment at the South Pole, instead of the terms of his imprisonment, his punishment, for Baldur's death. It was unsettling, and the distraction if it drained much of the indignation from him. "Thor spent the night in my chambers that first night back, because he was afraid I might spontaneously combust if the distance between us became too much."
Odin huffed out a short laugh. "That wouldn't be terribly logical."
"You're the one who thought it would be a good idea to put him on the throne."
"He's the eldest, Loki. He was always going to be on the throne."
"Lucky for you that he is indeed the eldest. Otherwise you'd have had to come up with a less comfortable reason for putting him on it."
Odin gripped the rail on his right and pulled and pushed himself up. "Returning you to the line of succession back then…that was one of the most difficult decisions I've ever faced. It was initially not well received."
Loki gave a sage nod. "I'm so sorry that what I endured was difficult for you."
"It was. But it was not my intent to make difficulty a competition. I'm well aware of who suffered the most. Even more so, now that we know your suffering was unjust. Can we talk?"
"I believe what we're doing does meet the definition."
"In private, Loki. We can't speak entirely freely here."
Loki glanced toward his door. "I don't think so."
"Upstairs, then. Your mother is probably still out in the garden."
"I don't see the point. I don't require your counsel to decide Geirmund's fate, either by law or by preference."
"I wasn't going to offer it. Even if you asked…I believe I would direct you to Finnulfur for law counsel. Perhaps Bragi, too, for wise general counsel."
"You have no opinion on the matter? I find that difficult to believe."
"If I'm to speak openly…I have spared Geirmund very little thought. He means nothing to me. He is nothing to me. You are my son. And you mean a great deal to me."
"Do I?"
"Are you asking to be facetious? Because if you truly don't know the answer to that…then I don't know how I have gone so far wrong with you, that you perceive nothing of a father's love."
Loki laughed. He couldn't help himself. "Do you even hear yourself?"
Odin looked away, an instinct to conceal a reaction he knew he wouldn't have been able to keep from sight. He met Loki's harsh gaze again, and found maintaining that eye contact difficult. "No matter what else has happened, or ever will happen…I would have you know that I do love you. And believe me when I say that I know the magnitude of the mistake I made in not believing you when you said you hadn't meant for Baldur to die. I apologize for that, Loki, though I understand it may mean little to you now. I want you to know also that I do not oppose you exercising the right of recompense and retribution against his true killer, only the overly hasty application of it. Thor spoke true, when he said that circumstances like these are precisely why that law was created. I know that my word is not enough for you. And that your lack of trust has even deeper roots than I first believed. I wish there was something I could say or do to convince you that I, too, speak true."
When Odin fell silent, Loki was speechless, the laughter long gone. He stood there, eyes locked, and after a long moment swallowed, the explanation found. "You've been talking to Mother."
"Yes. I always talk to your mother. She's a wise woman. Worth listening to. Even when she's angry and upset."
"She feels guilty," Loki said, a question that came out as a statement because he knew his mother and he knew the answer. She had always felt guilty about that period of time, when she'd refused to see him until afterward. Her guilt had been a near-physical thing, weighing him down as much as it had her.
"Yes."
"And you? All-Father?" Loki added, unable to resist tacking it on. My father, Loki thought, a ghostly wave of bitterness crashing over him, a question he would have never dared to ask at the time, as he languished in the Healing Room, if it had even occurred to him to ask in the first place.
This time, Odin managed not to react. He knew he was managing it too well, though. A lack of reaction was its own reaction. "I don't-"
"I don't need to hear this after all. I suppose I'll see you tonight, if you turn up."
"Loki, hear me out."
Loki stopped, halfway to his door already, Odin's voice booming out from behind him. Amazing, the effect that voice still has.
"Please."
He dropped his head. He didn't know why – the voice's effect on him was only momentary – but he knew he was going to agree. But not out here in semi-privacy, not in his chambers, certainly not in Odin's, where some part of him would always feel a child. He turned around. "Upstairs. One floor up."
Odin allowed the time for a deep breath, to let the relief pass, to steel himself for more of this fraught encounter. "Neutral territory?" he asked with a tight smile.
"Only when it's empty, as I assume it is."
"The door will be locked."
"That won't be a problem."
"Hm. Very well," Odin said, wondering if his own doors were also not a problem. He supposed it wasn't worth concern. Loki did seem more in control of his faculties now. And if he truly wanted to get up to some kind of mischief, then new locks and continuing the protective magic used during the war would make only a negligible dent in his options.
Loki waited to let Odin go first – the thought of Odin behind him, out of his sight, was unnerving – and when they reached Thor's door, he shifted his hand to match Thor's. He normally did this while fully taking on Thor's appearance, but now it was only the hand, right in front of the Einherjar on the floor, unquestioned because no one questioned Odin. It wasn't easy, this particular skill; it was more involved than simply reproducing the hand's physical shape and appearance, and it had taken quite a long time to perfect. Now he did it with ease, and pushed open the door. "After you," he said, smiling sharply.
Thor's chambers – what Loki could see of them from the front sitting room – looked no different from the last time Loki had been here, making some minor adjustments to Thor's copy of The Art of War, and the countless times he'd been here before that. He'd thought they would. Messier because of the recent war, more regal because of Thor's elevation to the throne…but he supposed the servants had simply continued to perform their duties the same as always, and Thor wouldn't have bothered with updating the appearance, even if he'd had the time. The chambers were empty, though, and that was exactly as expected.
Loki turned his attention back to Odin, who was watching him intently. "You were saying?"
"You asked a question that calls for a simple answer, when the answer isn't simple."
"And from your avoidance of answering, I can glean two facts. One, the answer is no. Two, you are a man of truly impressive honor, that you are unable to lie to me to say you feel guilty for what I suffered so unjustly, as you put it."
"That was a preface, not my answer. Loki…I am a practical man. Of course I feel guilt over all this. My heart may be near to fulfilling its function, but it does still beat, despite what you seem to think. But I find no use in wallowing in guilt, and I cannot make play otherwise for you. Guilt paralyzes. It leads to fear that strangles action and leaves inhibition and inaction in its wake. And most importantly, in this instance, not even an ocean's-worth of guilt would change what happened. I'm more interested in identifying what went wrong. Ensuring it doesn't happen again.
"Before you judge me," Odin said, interrupting Loki before he got out more than a syllable, "or deem me void of feeling for you, know that I have taken your measure. Your attitude toward Midgard has changed. I spoke to the people you lived among there. I observed how you conducted yourself with them. I see that you count the mortal woman – yes, I know her name, Jane Foster – as a friend. What I have not heard from you is an outpouring of guilt for attacking that world. For directly or indirectly causing the deaths of many innocent mortals. Yet I believe that if you had the ability to change your actions there, you would do so. You're simply unwilling to admit it to me, because you see it as some sort of power play between us, am I correct? Descending into guilt would not change the decisions you made. You must live with them. I would think, then, that perhaps you can understand me. If I could change what you endured, undo it somehow, I would do so without hesitation and at great cost."
"Not a power play," Loki said, an obvious lie. Almost every word spoken between him and Odin was a power play now, though the play was inordinately complex and continued to grow more so. "I used to struggle to understand you. To be what you wanted me to be. So much effort wasted, because I was blind. That wasn't my fault. You blinded me. Deprived me of a few key facts about myself that brushed everything with colors I couldn't see. When I went to Midgard after I fell, I was following an unwise path. I know that now. The blindfold was ripped off rather suddenly, and this, too, blinded me. But now, for the first time in my life, I see everything clearly. Not only who I am, but who you are.
"You thought to teach me, isn't that what you said? Not to punish me, but to teach me. How very enlightened. But you expected to fail. That's not quite right, though, is it. You expected me to fail. You expected me to be…broken. Desperate. Ready to do anything to return to your fold. How very familiar," Loki said, losing his train of thought as it struck him just how familiar it was.
"You speak of a struggle to understand me? It is mutual. But when you tried to destroy Jotunheim, that I understood. I may understand it better than you do. This, too, I wish that I could change for you somehow. Why do you think we never told you? Out of cruelty? If it's unspoken, unknown, then it may as well not be true. It can't hurt you because yes, you're blind to it, along with everyone else. You were irrational, Loki. So far gone I wasn't certain you could be brought to rights. If you wish to state things accurately, you were right the first time. When I sent you back to Midgard, I expected to fail. I expected that nothing would be able to turn you from the path of destruction and self-destruction you were on. I had hoped that when you did self-destruct, you would finally understand that who you are to us, to your family, is unchanged. That who you are is unchanged."
"Through this scar?" Loki asked, holding up his wrist and pulling up his sleeve.
"Yes. You are of the House of Odin, of the House of Borr, regardless of the circumstances of your birth."
"Of the house of Odin. I wonder, do you place a personal mark of ownership on the other relics in the vault? If so, they must be far subtler than this one, because I've never noticed them."
"Belonging, not ownership. Ownership is one-way. Belonging, among a family, is mutual."
"We've been too many times around this bend already, always winding up in the same place. I was trying to make a point earlier, when you said you felt no guilt. I-"
"That is not at all what I said."
"It's my turn now, don't interrupt."
"Take your turn, but do not twist my words."
"When you said you found guilt…inconvenient?"
"If you-"
"Unproductive."
Odin swept a hand in front of him in invitation. He thought he'd explained himself in a reasonable enough manner, but he suspected that any version of Loki restating his words would paint him as simply callous.
"As I said, I followed an unwise path. I know that now. When I later followed Glodir's path to New York and walked its streets, I saw the damage, and a glimpse of the impact on the people who lived and worked there, and I felt guilt. See? No power plays, no games. The simple truth. Not so simple at the time. I resisted it. Denied it. Because I didn't want to believe that….that I had done anything wrong. Because I was still trying to tell myself that I hadn't done anything wrong. Do you know what I think, then? I think you're making excuses wrapped in stoic words of wisdom. You don't really believe you did anything wrong, do you?"
"I should have believed you," Odin said, the response coming quickly as his heart hammered with shock at the easy admission he had tried so hard to coax from Loki before, when Loki had steadfastly refused to explicitly admit to wrongdoing .
"I hear Mother's voice in those words so clearly I wouldn't be surprised if she explicitly insisted you say them. Did you ever believe me?"
"No one dictated my words to me. And of course I believed you at first."
"When Baldur was dead and there were no suspects, it never once crossed your mind that maybe you shouldn't have taken in that little Frost Giant after all, that maybe I had done it? You already admitted you regretted taking me then."
"Not once. I was stunned by the evidence against you. Your vision is still distorted."
"I see clearly enough now. I see a man who never lost sight of where I came from. Who never believed me no matter how many oaths I swore, no matter how many times I begged and pleaded. A man who tied me up himself and walked away. You—" Loki shook his head as mad laughter rose up in him. "You abandoned me there, out under that serpent. You're no different from the Frost Giants." Odin's hand visibly tightened around Gungnir and Loki tensed, but forced himself to hold his ground. "What new magic will you cast on me now, All-Father? Sew my lips shut to stop me from speaking truths you don't want to hear?"
"Truth? Truth! If only you had spoken truth! Every word that fell from your lips was a lie! You destroyed our ability to believe anything you said with stories that changed with every gust of wind!" Odin said, words punctuated with an angry jerking sweep of his arm between them.
"I was terrified!" Loki screamed back. He fought to regain control of himself over panted breaths. "I was young. And afraid. I knew what it looked like. And I thought it was my fault, that I'd misjudged the sturdiness of the arrow."
Odin nodded, slowly, getting his temper back under control. "I can well imagine your fear. But if you had not lied…if you had come to us right away and told us what happened, we could have—"
"Right away? When I was in shock because my brother had just died in my arms, from an arrow I crafted? When you were ordering every Einherjar in Asgard to make finding Baldur's murderer their only priority? When Thor was swearing to crush every bone in the killer's body with Mjolnir, starting with the toes and working his way up slowly until ending with the skull? When even Mother was screaming and ranting about bloody revenge? I should have said, 'Sorry to interrupt, but I was the one who made the arrow that's lodged in his heart'?"
"You didn't think we would believe you? You didn't trust us, even then?"
"I didn't stop to analyze it. It was instinct."
"To lie?"
"To protect myself," Loki said, voice nearing a growl.
"We could have protected you. Did you think we loved you any less than we did Baldur?"
The question left Loki taken aback, and momentarily speechless. He hadn't known then what he knew now, of course, that Baldur was their son and he wasn't. But Baldur had still been a youth then, and Loki, while still a "youth" in popular perception, had technically been grown. The tug of war was between him and Baldur, Thor a largely ignorant – as usual – third party, while Odin and Frigga were only on the periphery. The age difference was sufficient that comparing himself to Baldur in their parents' eyes hadn't been foremost on his mind. "Not then," he finally said. "Looking back now, I doubt you ever trusted me. You never forgot for one second what a risk you took, bringing me into your house."
"We never saw you as a risk. Only as our son. Your birthplace is not what made us distrust you. The pattern of lying did that. You denied everything until overwhelming evidence forced you to change your story, again and again. How were we supposed to recognize a grain of truth underneath a mountain of lies?"
"A grain of truth?" Loki echoed. "How am I to know the truth from the lies?" he remembered asking Frigga back at the South Pole. His mother, he thought, had understood him a little better after that. Loki could not find it in himself to extend the same understanding to Odin. "It was no single grain of wheat. It was the field. From it grew some lies, yes. Lies born of fear. But your 'grain' of truth was that I loved him, and never would have done him any serious harm, much less taken his life." Loki stopped, let his eyes briefly close. It came in waves, this sense of being overwhelmed by so much talk of things he hadn't spoken of in a thousand years and hadn't expected to ever speak of again. "It's come full circle, you know. Truth and lies, how lies obscure truth. You and Mother have tainted my entire life with that conundrum."
"Here, too, is a field, Loki," Odin said, latching onto a comparison he thought might work in his favor, after Loki's metaphor struck an uncomfortable chord in him. "The field is that we have always loved you."
"Bravo. Well-played," Loki said over a tight smile, torn between laughing, crying, and fleeing and so merely standing there with eyes that felt moist but loosed no tears. "Are we done, then?"
"I have a question."
"By all means, ask."
"Your confession? When you said you wanted to kill him?"
Loki chuckled low, all humor absent. "I meant every word of it."
"You lied."
"I believe it's better called an error than a lie when at the time you say it, you believe it to be true."
"What do you mean?"
"I believe I spoke plainly enough for even Thor to understand."
"You believed it to be true. You believed you hated him? You believed you wanted him dead? You no longer remembered what actually happened?" Odin was skeptical; Loki's memories had been fully intact after the punishment, as far as Odin knew, and while Loki had been weakened in every way – far more so than expected – he had not been mad, lacking a proper grasp on reality. But Loki didn't seem to be dissembling, and if he was playing an angle, Odin couldn't imagine what it was. There was no conceivable need to lie about anything concerning Baldur's death or the aftermath now.
"I can't explain it," Loki said with a disinterested half-shrug. "I believed it to be true. It took months…years? Before I remembered for certain it wasn't. A clever punishment, yes? Even if you enter it not guilty, you come out guilty."
"That was not the intent," Odin said quietly, face drawn, aghast at what Loki seemed to be saying. At the implications of it. A horror whose shape could not quite fully form in his mind.
"Perhaps not. But it worked out rather well for you in the end, didn't it?"
Odin could say no more. His chest physically ached, and it was all he could do to stop himself from putting a hand to it. Had Loki's mind been as broken as his body after all? It hadn't seemed so. Before he could examine it further, though, Loki was speaking again.
"I'm leaving Asgard tonight. After the pronouncement."
"So I have heard."
Loki hesitated. Odin looked genuinely bothered, but whether it was simply over evidence of another mistake, another misjudgement from one known for his wisdom and the paucity of his mistakes, or from something more personal that might incline him to grant a boon, Loki could not tell. "I would ask something of you before I go."
After regarding Loki for a moment, Odin said, "Ask."
"I ask for your oath that you will never have me stripped of all use of magic again."
Odin considered it, but it did not take long. "If you should commit a crime, you—"
"I would be thrown into a prison cell that would prevent me from using magic that extended beyond its walls. A sensible precaution in a prison cell. Not that I intend to ever be held in one of yours again. But I will not be personally stripped and degraded, left to look like one of them ever again."
"It was not my intent to—" To degrade you. To humiliate you. That was never what I desired. But even as the response continued in his thoughts, he recalled Jane Foster's diatribe on Midgard. "This didn't help him. It hurt him." "He had already lost everything and you took even his face." The mortal's indignant words had bothered him little then, beyond his annoyance with her presumptuousness, but now for some reason they sank underneath his skin and itched. The memory was out of place, yet he could not shake it free. He tried to press forward, her words still buzzing at him. He could say nothing more to Loki; he had explained his aims in sending Loki to Midgard as he did more than once. Ultimately, it had worked. Loki had better control of himself, had resumed his relationship with Frigga, could speak rationally again. He no longer seemed bent on harming others…or himself. But the cost had been high, and maybe…maybe it had been unnecessary. Maybe he had handled it incorrectly. Maybe he'd made a serious mistake in handling Loki. Again. Regardless, he could see no reason why he would ever need to put Loki through something like that again. Restricting his use of magic, perhaps. Removing it entirely…no. "You have my oath in this," he finally said.
Unable to bring himself to thank Odin for agreeing not to force him into a Frost Giant's body again, Loki simply nodded and turned to go.
"Loki," Odin called.
Loki stopped and looked back.
"I am sorry."
He studied Odin for a moment, his father and not-father, the man he'd so long wanted to please above all others. He'd never thought Odin looked so small. "I don't doubt you are. I'm just not certain for what."
/
Hey, guest reviewer "d," welcome, and, no bribes required, shhhh, I don't want Disney to sue me homeless! :-) Reviews are the best kind of bribery, anyway. Once in a while they even actually make me go a little faster! But in all honesty, there's nothing that can truly speed it up (not even a million reviews, or a million presents at my door). You only mentioned "completed," though, anyway. Come now, you can't seriously wonder if this thing will be completed, ha, I've been working on it for...so many years straight I prefer not to think about it. Never fear, it will be completed, zero bribery of any form required. :-)
I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was quite hard to write. In a good way, I think, looking back, I mean, writing is often fun, and I'm not sure how many would do it if they derived no enjoyment from it. But anyone who thinks it's *all* fun is seriously mistaken. Sometimes it's work. Hard work. This chapter was hard work. Well, the Loki-Odin part of it, anyway. Oh, I have to add one more thing (I'm tacking this on just before releasing it). Did you question what Loki was doing in the first part of this chapter? I would say it's taking back control. Maybe in ways that are unnecessary or go a little too far. This is reflected to a lesser extent in the Odin portion (Odin, of course, Loki cannot "control" in the same way). I've described this story to some of you as having a sort of inward-spiraling concentric circle form, in that themes or issues are revisited, but at a circle further inward, further toward some goal, or some truth. Loki has grasped hard for control (..."squeezed" hard for control...) before, in ways that were unhealthy, dangerous, at times immoral. He's at a different place in that spiral now, and he's grasping hard for control again. But...maybe in better places than before? In better ways? Naming this chapter was really hard. (OK, in part b/c I've got massive accumulated sleep deprivation and it's again already past my bedtime.) But part of what made it hard, I realized after the fact, was that it really depends on whose eyes you look at this chapter through. Loki's, or the people he talks with. It's hard to unite them all. "Guilt" was really for Geirmund and Odin, although Loki addresses it to, and in a moment that is quite important, but guilt is not an overarching theme for Loki here. If I titled it from Loki's perspective, it would be "Control." Stopping here, because I usually resist the urge to get all analytic on my own stuff here; I prefer to let you think about it however you like, without necessarily coloring your thoughts by sharing mine.
So, what's up in Ch. 205? We explore the fascinating minutia of Asgardian laws on flogging, and we dig around in some new and complicated corners of the human heart.
Excerpt:
Finnulfur showed no sign of surprise. "It depends on a number of factors. Age, health, the physical conditions surrounding the flogging, such as whether the prisoner must stand. Whether and how soon healing is permitted. Whether a flogging was also administered recently, and if so, the conditions surrounding that flogging. It sounds complicated, but the guidelines are straightforward. [...]"
(What, did you think I was making that up?)