So, you're probably surprised by this quick chapter, but this has been written for weeks, the middle part is actually the third scene I'd ever written for this fic.Parts of this chapter are inspired by the great: HelloDenmark who wrote this amazing LOTR fanfiction called Coldness, please check it out!
The chamber of the seiðr is dim, filled with the scent of herbs and incense. Shelves of ancient tomes line the walls, interspersed with jars of ingredients labelled in runes. Loki stands at the centre of the room, arms crossed, his magic-prohibiting cuffs faintly glinting under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. Despite the restraints, he radiates authority and intensity.
Opposite him, Eira, one of Asgard's most respected seiðr practitioners, sits cross-legged on a woven mat. Her silver hair cascades over her shoulders, and her sharp, weathered eyes appraise Loki as if weighing his very soul."You seek a great deal, Prince Loki," she says, her voice calm but edged with caution. "To bypass Odin's decree, delve into forbidden realms, and carry out such a perilous act. Even for you, this is... audacious."
He feels lips curl into a faint smirk, audacious is what he is, what he has survived to become. Still he tries to keep the desperation from his eyes. "Audacious is my nature, Eira. You, of all people, should know that." He steps closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You also know what it means to be cast aside, forgotten by the throne. I have not come to you for approval. I have come because you respect skill and power. You know I would not ask for aid unless the cause were worthy."
Eira leans back slightly, her gaze narrowing. "Your cause, Loki, is always worthy in your own eyes. But tell me—why should I risk my position, my safety, for this child of yours? A creature banished by the Allfather himself?"
His smirk fades, replaced by raw determination. He will not fail his son again.
"Because he is my son. Because he has been cursed and forgotten in the cold abyss of Midgard's oceans, left to rot for crimes he never committed." He clenches his fists, his voice rising slightly. "Do you think I could leave him there? Would you abandon your own kin to such a fate?"
Eira is silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. He takes a step back, composing himself. If Thanos figures out Loki has children...
"When I was on Midgard, during my... ill-fated conquest," he continues, his voice steady but laden with emotion, "I discovered his prison—a vast trench in their Pacific Ocean. His magic called to me, faint but unmistakable. He is alive, but broken. And I lack the means to retrieve him myself."
Loki gestures to the cuffs on his wrists, the iron warm as his magic reacts to his emotions. "These accursed restraints bind my power, and my enemies would surely seek to use his existence against me. But you, Eira—you can navigate the secret paths I forged, wield the spells I designed. You can succeed where I cannot."
Eira tilts her head, her piercing gaze softening slightly. "You would trust me to tread these paths? To use your spells?"He nods, reaching into his tunic and producing a small vial filled with his blood and a piece of parchment. "I have no choice. This spell, crafted by my hand, requires my essence to bind it to Jormungandr. It will shrink him to a manageable form, rendering him easier to conceal. You will be the one to bring him back to me."
Eira studies the parchment carefully before her attention moves to the vial for a moment before reverently reaching out to take it. Blood was precious, magical blood even more so. She rises gracefully, her robes flowing around her as she steps toward Loki.
"I will help you, Loki," she says at last, her voice firm. "Not for your title, nor for your schemes, but because I respect your devotion to your craft—and to your son.
But this will cost you, and dearly. My loyalty is not without limits."
Loki feels his heart flutter with relief as he inclines his head towards the woman."When have I ever balked at paying a price, Eira? Whatever you require, it will be yours."Eira nods and begins gathering her tools—runes, enchanted maps, and potions—before stepping toward a shimmering portal in the corner of her chamber.
"Wait for me in the Ironwood," she says over her shoulder. "Your son will be with you by nightfall." Finally.
The forest is dark and still, the canopy above blotting out the evening sky. Loki stands in a small clearing, his cloak pulled tight against the chill air. He paces, glancing toward the faint shimmer of runes that mark the edges of the portal Eira is set to emerge from. Where are they? It's taking too long.
At last, the air shifts, and the portal ripples. Eira steps through, her robes pristine, though her face betrays exhaustion. Cradled in her arms is a small, coiled serpent, no larger than a garden snake. His son, his wonderful boy. Its emerald-and-gold scales glint faintly in the moonlight, and its eyes open slowly, meeting Loki's.
"Father?" Jormungandr's voice is faint, laced with confusion and relief.
He strides forward quickly, taking the serpent from Eira's hands with gentle hands. He cradles his son against his chest, his lips curling into a rare, genuine smile. "I am here, my son. You are safe now."Eira watches silently, her expression softening. After a moment, He looks up, his voice quiet but sincere. "Thank you, Eira. You have done what even I could not."She inclines her head. "Do not squander this, Loki. Your path is perilous enough as it is."
With that, she steps back into the portal, vanishing into the shimmering void. He watches her go before turning his attention back to Jormungandr, his voice soft. "Come, my son. We have much to plan, and far to go."
The golden light of the Asgardian sun filters through the high, arched windows of the palace halls, casting patterns on the polished stone floor. Loki, Prince of Asgard and General of its armies, strides purposefully through the halls of the palace. His long emerald cape trailing behind him as his piercing green eyes scan the hall ahead, always sharp, always calculating.
From a side corridor, a councillor approaches briskly, his expression tense and his steps hesitant. He stops, and tilts his head slightly, fixing his gaze on the man like a hawk spotting prey."My prince," the councillor begins, bowing deeply and offering a rolled parchment. "Urgent news from the Nine Realms. Bandits and outlaws have grown bold—raids are now striking further inland. Villages and trade routes are under attack."
Loki plucks the parchment from the councillor's hand, unrolling it with a flick. Of course they are he thinks, its been a slow decade. His eyes dart across the text, absorbing every detail. His lips press into a thin line, the faintest twitch at the corner betraying his irritation.
"Call a council meeting for tonight," he commands, rolling the parchment again and thrusting it back into the man's hands. His voice is calm but edged with steel. "Inform the King and the ministers. This will be dealt with before it festers further."The councillor bows again, murmuring his acknowledgment, and hurries away. Loki lingers for a moment, why is this happening? And how are they supposed to combat a seemingly random wave of attacks spread through the realms? Sending soldiers to every village will weaken their army significantly.
His thoughts already crafting strategies, he turns on his heel and continues down the hall. His stride is purposeful as he approaches his chambers, far from the main halls of the palace. It's best to stay out of sight if he's not acting in his official capacity. At the door, he pauses, the intricately carved metal bands around his wrists hum faintly. Loki clenches his fists briefly, feeling the cuffs heat up when he pushes the tiniest bit of magic into them before cooling when he reins his magic back in. He unlocks the door with a hidden key, bypassing any need for the spells that would normally protect his room. He can only be glad that the older spells are still intact, at least Heimdal is unable to breach his sanctuary.
Inside, the room is dimly lit, the thick curtains drawn tight. On a low cushioned perch near the balcony, a serpent lies coiled, his emerald-and-gold scales shimmering faintly in the firelight. Barely the length of Loki's forearm, Jormungandr's small size belies the intelligence in his bright, watchful eyes. At Loki's entrance, the snake raises his head, his youthful voice scolding."Father! You're late!" Jormungandr complains, his voice carrying a faint echo in the quiet room. "You said we'd talk about my lessons today."
Loki exhales sharply, though a rare smile softens his expression. He removes his cape and drapes it over a chair before sitting beside his son.
"And we shall, my son," he says softly, resting a hand lightly on Jormungandr's scaled head. "Tell me, how fare your studies?"Jormungandr launches into an animated account of his day—his tutors' lessons on history, which he finds tedious, his favourite strategies from the old battles, and a small incident where he almost let an illusion of himself unravel before a palace servant when he snuck out.
"Careful, Jormungandr," Loki chides gently, though his tone holds more pride than reprimand. "You must remain unseen. If your presence here is discovered..."The serpent lowers his gaze, his voice softer now. "I know. Grandfather doesn't want me here."
Loki feels his expression harden for a moment, his jaw tightening at the mention of Odin's decree. Stupid old goat. He raises his hand slightly, as if to conjure something, but the cuffs burn against his skin, a painful reminder of his restrictions. He lowers it again, looking into his son's eyes."Odin does not decide your worth, my son," He says firmly. "You are my blood, and I will not leave you to waste away alone on Midgard. Here, you are safe. Here, you will learn to thrive." His son will never have to feel the pain of Odin's wrath. If he has to fight the king to do so, so be it.
Jormungandr perks up slightly, and Loki allows himself a faint smile. "Now," Loki continues, "what say you to accompanying me to the fighting yard? We can observe the soldiers, and I will teach you more about formations and feints. Quietly, of course."Jormungandr's eyes light with excitement, and he nods eagerly, his small form slithering forward as Loki stands.
"I'll be quiet!" Jormungandr promises, his voice almost a whisper now.
"Good," Loki says, draping his long tunic properly before heading to the door. "And remember, no illusions. The wards will hold, but we must remain cautious."Jormungandr coils loosely around Loki's wrist, settling into a snug and nearly invisible position beneath the folds of his sleeve.
Together, father and son leave the concealed chamber and move through the hidden passages toward the training yard.
The training yard is alive with the sound of clashing weapons and the grunts of soldiers honing their skills. Loki sits atop a hill overlooking the field, the cool breeze tugging at the edges of his cloak, while Jormungandr, in his small, coiled form, rests comfortably on his shoulders. The young serpent's eyes gleam with curiosity as he watches the soldiers spar, his mind absorbing the battle tactics even from this distance.
"Do you think they'll ever let me join them?" Jormungandr asks, his voice soft but filled with a mixture of impatience and longing.Loki leans back slightly, his gaze distant as he watches the fighters below. "Patience, my son. Strength isn't just in your size or speed, it's in knowing when to strike and when to retreat." His voice is calm, yet the weight of the lesson lingers in the air. "The time will come when they'll see your worth. Until then, watch and learn." They will see his son's worth, but first he needs to find a way to break the curse trapping his child in this form.
Before Jormungandr can respond, a woman's voice cuts through the quiet moment, sharp and authoritative. "Loki."
The figure who approaches is Alva, Jormungandr's tutor, a stern woman with short-cropped dark hair and an air of unwavering discipline. She stands with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on Loki with a mixture of exasperation and affection.
"Your son has been avoiding his studies again, I see," Alva says, raising an eyebrow at the serpent coiled on Loki's shoulder.
He gives a small, wry smile. "He has his reasons. But the studies will wait. For now, let him enjoy the spectacle of the soldiers."Alva watches Jormungandr for a moment, then sighs. "You've spoiled him. He should be in the library, learning the true arts of war—not sitting here watching it like a child at a circus."Jormungandr huffs but stays quiet, content to be on Loki's shoulder for the moment. Loki counts to ten but his thoughts are interrupted before he can reach seven."But I am learning," his son says, his tone almost pleading. "I understand their formations, their moves. Don't I, Father?" He looks up at Loki for reassurance. Loki looks down at his son, a small, approving smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yes, you are. But there are more lessons to be learned, Jormungandr. I promise, soon enough, you'll be ready to stand among them."
Before Jormungandr can retort, a sudden tension fills the air. A figure approaches the yard, walking with deliberate, heavy steps. Odin.
The Allfather's face is a storm cloud, his expression dark and furious as he spots Loki from across the yard.
Loki's heart sinks, but his posture remains calm, his hands moving to pass Jormungandr to Alva. He knows that look well—the look that means Odin's patience has run out.
"Get him out of here," Loki tells Alva, giving her a slight nod to signal that he will take care of the situation. Alva is quick to pick up his son and moves back towards the palace. Loki watches them leave, his thoughts a blur. The last thing he wants is for his son to witness the confrontation with Odin.
He stands, his movements measured as he walks toward the approaching king. His voice remains calm, but there is an undercurrent of tension as he speaks. "My King," he says, addressing the Allfather with the formality of a prince speaking to a king.
Odin's face is contorted with fury as he closes the distance between them. "You have gone too far, Loki," Odin growls, his voice thick with anger. "You think you can act without my permission? You call a council meeting and attempt to make decisions without consulting me first? Do you believe you can undermine my authority in front of the realm?"
He stands his ground, eyes sharp as he takes a step forward. He has to keep Odin's attention away from the still retreating Alva."The situation at the edges of the Nine Realms is worsening. The bandits and raiders grow bolder every day. We cannot wait for approval when lives are at stake."
"The meeting is cancelled," Odin snaps, his voice thunderous, eyes burning with rage.
Loki's pulse quickens, but his voice remains steady, unyielding. How dare Odin risk his people! He knows it's not the meeting the man has a problem with, but the fact that Loki was the one to call it. "It is foolish to place the entire realm at risk over something as trivial as pride, my King. I called that meeting because the situation at the edges of the Nine Realms is dire. We must act swiftly, or—"
"I WILL NOT BE INSULTED IN MY OWN HALL!" Odin roars, cutting Loki off. His hand swings out in a blur of motion, and with a powerful backhand, he strikes Loki across the face.The force of it sends Loki stumbling, his head snapping to the side. The soldiers watching gasp, some of them recoiling at the violence.
Loki doesn't defend himself. He doesn't move to retaliate. His chest rises and falls with each breath, but he remains still, his expression unreadable. This is starting to become a habit, and not one he likes.
"Are you done, then?" He asks quietly, wiping the blood from his lip with a calmness that only serves to enrage Odin further.
Loki takes a breath, his voice low but firm. "Your actions are beginning to draw unwanted attention. The soldiers, the guards—they're watching. You're creating a spectacle."
Odin doesn't speak, but his fury only intensifies. Without warning, he steps forward and delivers a punch directly to Loki's stomach. The force of the blow knocks the wind from Loki's chest, and he collapses to his knees, gasping for air. That hurt.
The soldiers watching, standing at the edge of the yard, exchange shocked glances, but no one moves to intervene. Loki's face pales slightly as he struggles to rise back to his feet, his body aching from the force of the blow.
"Get up, Loki," Odin commands, his voice cold. "The council meeting will take place in one hour. Afterwards, you will go on a scouting mission. You will personally investigate these raids, and you will return with answers. Do not fail me again."
"I will go, as you command," Loki says, he keeps his voice steady despite the lingering pain in his gut. "But understand this, King Odin: your actions today have drawn an audience. The guards who witnessed this—they will talk. You've shown your hand in front of the realm."
Odin's expression doesn't soften. He turns on his heel, his cloak billowing around him. "Get to it, then. The meeting is in one hour. I'll expect you there. Don't make me wait, Loki."
Loki stays on his knees for a moment longer, the pain radiating through him. But as Odin's footsteps fade, he slowly rises, once more wiping the blood from his lips. The soldiers, still frozen in place, exchange uncertain glances, but no one dares speak.
He watches Odin's retreating figure, the silence hanging heavy in the air. He gives a sharp glance toward the guards, his words low enough for only a few to hear. "You've seen nothing. Remember that." He turns to the palace, massaging his ribs as he walks, his voice low as he mutters to himself.
"First, I must find Jormungandr. Then, I will deal with this mess."