Thor Fic: "We Are Our Own Folklore", 1b/7
LINK TO BEGINNING OF CHAPTER
After abandoning the company of the others most would have expected Loki’s desire was to be alone.
If that were the case, though, his next action would’ve been mystifying.
Instead of retreating to his rooms, or the edges of the palace grounds, or any of a dozen remote corners where he could’ve hidden all to himself, Loki made his way to a sitting room filled with nobles.
It was a space that effected to be cozy despite its high ceiling and marked size. Hung with gilt curtains and featuring a silver fountain as a centerpiece, it was a place used to meet and discuss everything from courtships to gossip to politics.
With the royal engagement party looming it was no surprise it was very full. Gaily-dressed courtiers, both of Asgard and abroad, stood together in groups or sat clustered on soft cushions, passing the time with their meaningless clatter. The room buzzed with their noise - the strange melody formed by the rise and fall of so many unconnected voices. There were rustles as men adjusted their cloaks and ladies fanned themselves or played with their jewels. Many came here acting as if they wanted to talk when all they really desired was to see and be seen.
Loki came here more often than some would’ve suspected, sometimes as himself and sometimes in disguise. He overheard things, observed people’s behavior; garnering information useful or merely amusing enough to pass the time - sometimes he might even get an idea for his next jest.
Today he wanted to be here because he knew it’d be a distraction. The distant noise and warmth around would keep him from falling too deep into thoughts that, for the moment, he simply wished to avoid.
There was no danger of being bothered in his detached brooding, either. Unless he sought out the company he’d be left to himself.
Loki was deft at finding his own little pockets of space, of being alone in a crowd.
When he entered the room heads turned his direction. A few voices faltered, enough to make a difference in the harmony, and he was marked by several stares and nervous looks. As he walked by nobles bowed to him, respectful, if some seemed occasionally begrudging in this formality.
By the time he found a place to sit it was clear he wasn’t looking for anybody and didn’t wish to be spoken to, and gradually the room returned to what it was doing, though every once in a while a glance was stolen his way.
Loki got comfortable on a cushion nearest to the wall, an isolated edge where no one moved to join him. A servant appeared to ask if he could bring him anything; though Loki was tempted to ask for wine, he requested tea.
The hours ticked by and Loki remained where he was, occasionally drawing a sip from his saucer, eyes flicking sharply over the crowd, taking in every detail yet focused on nothing.
As the time passed gradually people trickled out of the room, having business to attend to or wanting to continue their conversations somewhere else, and as the morning crept into the later hours fewer new arrivals came to take their place. By the time that the midday meal was being served across the palace in the feasting hall, Loki was the only one left.
This seeming abandonment did not at all bother him. He gave no outward sign he even noticed. By now he was on his second cup of tea, which was half-drunk and ice cold.
Loki stayed where he was, face unchanging, knuckles interlaced together gently and elbows resting in his lap. Slowly he crossed one leg at the knee over the other.
He drew in a careless breath and straightened a bit in his seat. Without turning his head, certainly without ever looking at the wall to his left, as he suddenly loosed his voice and spoke to the empty air.
“Hello, Amora. How many centuries has it been since I’ve seen you last?”
There was a tinkle in the air as the tapestry hanging on the wall behind him seemed to give an airy, feminine titter.
“Oh, Loki.” The tapestry shifted a bit, and gradually a woman’s shape resolved itself and appeared out of nothing. “Really, you dreadful tease. How long have you known I was there?”
Loki’s eyes moved to the side enough to look at her.
“If you can’t figure it out for yourself,” he asked, low, “why should I tell you?”
Amora sniffed. But then she smirked, unbothered, and struck a pose, her hands resting just above her hips.
“It doesn’t matter, really. If anyone could see me when I was hiding, it would be you. I’m confident nobody else noticed.”
Of course they hadn’t, or they would’ve made a scene. “You should not be here,” Loki reminded her. Tilting his head he leaned at angle, watching her for reaction. “You were banished for a reason. And if the All-Father finds out you have broken those terms…”
He let his words trail off meaningfully. Amora, like him, was a student and user of magic. But her hunger for power had outweighed her common sense.
Using both mundane skills of feminine charms and a few potent love spells, Amora had seduced and enchanted many men to try and gain attention, and a few devoted servants, and eventually marry her way into a position of privilege.
Bu she’d been impetuous, careless, and greedy. She had be-spelled too many at once, making it obvious what she was doing, and then basked in her own feelings of importance when her charmed lovers went to war with one another for her favor, threatening to tear the halls of Asgard apart.
Once might have been funny. Twice was annoying. More than that was dangerous, and unforgivable the moment Amora cast her sights too high, and tried to trick her way into Thor’s embraces and thus onto Asgard’s throne.
The All-Father had cast her out and forbade her from ever returning to the palace, threatening with far worse if she dared to come back.
For years there had been no sight of her, for even Amora was not that foolish.
But Loki had always supposed that they’d not seen the last of her forever.
“And who is going to go to the All-Father and tell him?” Amora demanded, breaking him out of his reverie. “You?”
Loki gave her a considering look. “I should,” he pointed out.
Amora gave a slow smile with her painted lips, and batted her eyelashes once. “But I don’t think you’re going to,” she said sweetly.
The Enchantress could not be here for no reason: she would cause trouble. And were that not pressing enough, loyalty enough should’ve demanded Loki report on her at once. But…he looked away, folding his hands together tightly, bringing them even with the base of his nose as he contemplated deeply.
He had a soft spot for Amora, even after all this time. They’d dallied in their younger days - there had even been a time when a foolish young prince had thought they could be considered friends. Before her true colors had shown, revealing her nature as a user, her only real feelings for herself.
But powerful though she was, he felt her more a nuisance than threat. And her presence appealed to the trickster in him.
They had too much in common. It would be hypocrisy for Loki to deny her chance at having some fun.
“I won’t ask what it is you’re up to, what you intend to do,” he finally told her, looking back again. “I won’t even ask how it is you got in, though I admit I’m burning with curiosity. But I want you to know this: I will be watching. And if you do anything to harm or threaten the safety of Asgard, there’ll be no hesitation before I stop you.”
“A most generous truce,” Amora simpered. “Your highness, I confess, if there’s any company I missed over the pleasures of Asgard’s palace, it was you most of all.”
She moved closer, gliding across the floor, clad in a diaphanous white gown trimmed with diamonds and gold. Wherever she had been, if she’d been reduced to a meager existence, she’d taken great pains to hide it.
She looked much like Loki remembered. Her hair was soft and yellow, falling well past her waist in waves. Her complexion was alabaster, rosy in all the right places. Her eyes sparkled with promises, her every move poised and perfumed, and if her shapely figure had changed it had been only to grow even more womanly.
Loki gave no reaction to her attempt at charming him. Undeterred, Amora crept in, and with the most earnest of expressions on her face, artfully applied as her makeup, she knelt before Loki, hands on his legs as she leaned forward and pressed herself into his lap.
“You should be more curious,” she breathed. “If you did ask…I might just be willing to tell you.”
It had been so long since they’d seen each other, and so much about him had changed in the meantime. And yet she spoke to him like she knew not of it. Her confidence was admirable.
One hand caressed the top of his thigh as she gazed up at him from beneath lowered lashes, playful.
“If you’re interested, I could let you in on my plan, and we could share in the reward.” Amora gave a fond laugh. “Remember what mischief we used to make together?”
“I remember,” Loki conceded, his voice unfeeling. “And I remember what happened after that, when you tired of mere mischief.” Gently he took her wrist in his fingers and guided her hand away from him. “We made quite the pair. It was a shame it was never meant to last - that you proved a flighty lover, and not to be trusted.”
Amora’s face creased into a disapproving, sullen pout. But there was nothing she could say to argue.
It was a good thing he had only been fond of Amora, not fully in love with her. Even without that it had stung, pride smarting when he realized he’d been tricked, that she only collected him as one prize before moving onto her next. Like so many in Loki’s young life, she’d only wanted to get close so she could step over him as she went for her real target, her interest lying not with the second shadowy prince but his golden brother.
“Do you think you’re better than me?” she asked, mistaking the reason for his ire. “It’s all well and good for you to posture, and disapprove of my desires. But like you say we are sames. I only want the chance you took for yourself, to end my exile and find a way back to the comfort I deserve.”
Despite his coolness something rankled along Loki’s spine as his understood her. “You think what I did was out of desire for pleasure, and power?” he asked, disbelieving. “That that was the reason I returned, and humbled myself, and offered myself up for forgiveness?”
Amora crossed her arms. “After a lifetime of eating delicacies from platters of gold and silver, and being attended to by an army of servants, I imagine that pride can be worth only so much.”
She was so, so wrong. But Loki didn’t care to try and explain it to her. He knew it was a waste of time.
“I will not aid in whatever it is you’re planning, Amora,” he told her, almost weary. “And this is the only warning you will receive.” He met her eyes severely. “My wrath will be great if you go anywhere near my brother. My advice to you is forget why ever it is you came here and take this chance to enjoy the festivities in secret. Their like will not be seen again for many a time.”
Amora laughed, not listening, completely carefree. “Oh yes, nothing like them at all! Don’t worry, my prince, I intend to enjoy my time here heartily!” Her voice was teasing, gleeful. “You’ll see, soon enough.”
Loki sighed.
“I’m certain I will,” he remarked, more to himself - for disregarding of his attention or words of caution, Amora had snapped her fingers and vanished.
Loki tried to ignore a twinge of foreboding. But though he knew better, he was determined to handle this himself. No matter how her magic might’ve strengthened over the centuries, he was more than a match for Amora.
And though his loyalties had been returned to Asgard…Loki would not become some mindless lackey, a dull toy soldier who jumped automatically to service its every whim. There was space between ‘loyal’ and ‘witlessly obedient’.
Loki intended to live in that space, else he begin to think the only way he could keep a hold on his home was by sacrificing every last piece of himself.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he sat in the empty room, finger tapping against his leg, mind caught as he pondered what Amora might be up to.
The sound of hurried ungraceful footsteps caused him to glance aside, and he looked up fully at once when he realized the new arrival standing there was none other than Darcy.
She was a little out of breath and disheveled. The look on her face was vexed and demanding, but most of all it was concerned.
Automatically Loki felt inside of his throat tighten.
“Finally. I’ve been looking everywhere.” Darcy went straight to his side. “What is going on with you? I mean, what the hell just happened back there? You literally ran out of the room!”
Loki followed her outstretched hand, his eyes bouncing back to her face. “I’m surprised my brother and mother didn’t explain it,” he said to her mildly. “Or did you not ask them for an answer?”
“They said some stuff.” Darcy floundered, vaguely. “But I didn’t want to get the story from them. I wanted to hear it from you.”
Loki considered her a moment and then he got to his feet. For this he wanted to tower over her, face severe as he gazed down. For this he wanted her to remember what kind of creature he was.
“What did they already tell you?” he demanded. When she opened her mouth to protest he cut her off. “I want to hear.”
He could tell Darcy’s mouth had gone slightly dry when she took her time answering. She yielded under his unblinking stare.
“They said that the reason your cousin died was because you had something to do with it.”
When he had no response at first she regained her strength, gazing at him with wide eyes, determined. “Loki, is that true? Did you really…kill him?”
“You know nothing of the mortal legend of Balder,” Loki gathered.
“I recognized the name. Kind of. I’ve been doing my best to brush up on the stories more, what with this thing and all.” With a jerk of her head Darcy indicated the hidden string of Asgardian runes marked into her back.
Despite himself Loki smiled. Had it really been so long since she’d taken on her second name? The ritual had been performed so she would have the right to use the Bifrost all on her own, but what hadn’t been expected was what she’d unknowingly choose for herself: Sigyn, the very same name given to Loki’s wife in mortal mythology.
Darcy had never heard the story and no one had wanted to tell her. It was only after she and Loki had finally become amorous with one another that she’d found out. She had not been pleased but, thankfully, she got over it.
Heedless to Loki’s thoughts, Darcy finished, “But it’s a lot to take in. Not everything sticks.”
“Not even the death of a god?”
“Seriously, knock it off.” Darcy set her jaw. “I don’t want to read about what some ancient Viking scholar may or may not have interpreted correctly any more than I want to be asking somebody else about this.” She reached out and wrapped one hand firmly around Loki’s arm just above his fist. “Please, for once, won’t you just give me a relatively straight answer?”
It was this stubborn persistence that Loki so admired about her, that still occasionally moved him even after all this time. Everything he was, and she talked to him like he was no more than a man; everything he’d done, and yet she came to the Liesmith and asked to hear his side of the story first.
He pulled from her, walking away.
She reached for him again. “Loki-!”
“Not here.” His voice was clipped, not harsh but very hard. He took her wrist in a firm grip, and Darcy fell speechless as she gazed up at him. “I will not discuss this with you in public.”
Darcy glanced around, making a face. “There’s no one here-”
“Nonetheless.” Loki’s voice dropped to a murmur. “If you truly want to hear this story, we will retire to my rooms.”
Darcy slid her hand out of his but she nodded, unhesitant. “Lead the way.”
He did so at once, the two of them walking side by side, pretending not to notice as she looked at his face trying to read him. Hoping that his chagrin was successfully hidden.
Loki told lies so freely, often for fun. He found nothing any more regrettable as being unable to tell a lie, of there being none left, when he knew nothing could hurt more than the truth.
*
Unbeknownst to Loki or Darcy, as they reached the former’s chamber, a nearly identical conversation was happening with Thor and Jane at the other side of the palace.
The two of them were still in the same small room the others had left. They too were alone.
Once the young couple had begun speaking, intently, eyes only on each other, quietly Frigga had risen from her chair and soundlessly crept from the room. She knew without drawing their attention, without needing to be told, this was a talk that needed to be witnessed only by the pair of them.
“Go on, Thor,” Jane told him, seriously. In an anxious gesture she folded her arms but she never looked away from him. “Please. Tell me what happened.”
Thor took a moment; she knew better than to rush him for she could tell from his face he was gathering his words, figuring out how to start.
“It happened a long time ago. When we were very young - no:” he corrected himself, expression almost pained, “when we were practically no more than children.”
He crossed over to the empty chair his mother had vacated and sat, folding his hands and looking away with a sigh heavy with recollection.
*
“We were not warriors,” Loki was saying, unaware of how his pace and wording was mirroring his brother’s. “But we wanted so badly to be taken seriously.” His eyes were a thousand miles off. “We thought of ourselves as men, when really we were nothing but boys.”
He paused for a weary exhale. His shoulders were tight. Darcy sat on the bed, watching him, listening, concerned but not daring to interrupt.
Loki stood away with his back to her, as if staring at nothing helped his memory, or perhaps he just couldn’t bear to see her face while this tale was told.
He picked up again. “We talked of nothing but battle. Of glorious adventures, the kind had by kings and their armies in the stories of old. We sang songs and we memorized odes and we thought we knew what war meant. In truth, of course, we had no idea. We thought of it like a game. The most important game of all, one we couldn’t wait for our turn to play.
“Every moment we had we spent at the training grounds. Day and night, whenever we could. Drilling and sparring and refining our skills and demonstrating our laughably poor efforts at strategy. How proud we were of ourselves.”
He glanced over his shoulder, looking at Darcy briefly. “By this time it was quite clear to all that I was more a mage than I ever would be a strong fighter. But even so, I was there too. Honing what little strengths I did have and endeavoring to improve.”
Loki gave a humorless smile.
“It was my brother’s obsession, you see, and I didn’t want to be left out. And so there we all were. There was Thor, and me, and Sif, and Fandral and Hogun and Volstagg.” He stopped. “And there was Balder.”
*
“Our cousin was somewhere between Loki and I in age. By rights we should have made perfect playmates,” Thor explained. “And if you had asked me then, I would’ve said it was so.”
He smiled, remembering. “Balder was smaller than me, but not too small for an Asgardian of his age. He was quick and sure-footed when we fought, and he was strong. He knew his holds when he wrestled and he was good with a bow. And win or lose, he always did so with a smile.”
Dropping his hands Thor looked at Jane somberly, his eyes clear. “I did not think much of it at the time. But Balder was more than a good fighter, a strong son. He was handsome too.”
Jane nodded automatically. “They called him Balder the Bright, right? Or at least the Viking myths did. He was said to be the most attractive out of all the gods.”
“If he had grown to manhood, I’ve no doubt he would’ve been. But he never made it that far,” Thor replied. “All he had was his time as a boy and a youth - a time when he could’ve been doted on, fawned over, within reason, without it being held against him or his parents; without it making him seem less, but more.”
“And he was, wasn’t he?” Jane guessed, soft. “Doted on, I mean.”
Thor’s answering smile was grim. “Oh yes. He was.”
Abruptly he pushed to his feet, standing up from the chair. He paced a bit without moving too far from Jane, and when he spoke again he looked back to her.
“Balder was the only child of Lord Frey, head of the oldest noble line in Vanaheim. An only son. He was his father’s pride; and Nanna, his mother…” Thor trailed off, conflicted. “She treated him as her most precious position.”
“I would’ve thought Asgard was the kind of place that didn’t approve of families spoiling their children,” Jane had to comment, frowning. “That they’d think it would make them soft.”
“Under normal circumstances, yes,” Thor explained. “But it would’ve been hard to counter a man of Frey’s position, to speak out against his wife. And, if ever there was a child that Asgard would’ve agreed deserved of such a treatment, it was Balder. He was kind, and obedient, and trusted without hesitation.”
*
“He trusted without thinking,” Loki said with venom, strident. “He was dull. Insipid!” He shook his head in disgust then changed tunes with an aggravated smile. “Oh, but he was a gifted fighter, and stout of heart, which is all one needs to be a good son of Asgard.”
He drew one hand into a fist, face fixed in a scowl.
“He had a face like a cherub,” he recalled, muttering. “Blue eyes. Wavy brown hair like his father’s. And always a smile on his face, never mind it was often an empty smile, to match the emptiness of his head underneath. Balder the Beautiful, they called him. And in-between going on about his looks, everyone talked of what a fine and noble warrior he would make. How already, he did Asgard proud.”
Darcy broke in for the first time: “I take it his existence kind of got to you.”
Her tone was a touch to one side of sardonic.
Loki gave a short self-depreciative laugh. “Perhaps it shouldn’t have,” he admitted with the wisdom of hindsight. “If anything, Balder was never cruel to me. That’s more than can be said for many, when I was that age.” He hesitated, thoughtful.
“I think…he might’ve even wanted to be friends. Though perhaps he simply wanted to be friends with everyone. Certainly, he was friends with my brother and the rest of them.”
He shook his head hard. “But at the time his kindness only rankled all the more, because it stung of pity. No; I hated him, and everyone knew it. Hated him with all the single-minded spitefulness of a child.”
*
“Like so many times before and after, I never realized how truly angry Loki was,” Thor confessed. “I cannot say that my knowing would’ve made things any different. But perhaps I could’ve talked him out of what he did.”
Jane asked, “Which was what?”
Thor sighed again, shortly. His head hung low, the better to look at the floor as he peered back at him memories, frowning, brow knit with thought.
“It might have ended with Loki, and his mistake. But it began with Frey’s pride. It began with the insistent worries of Balder’s mother.”
*
“Eventually our obsession with war caught the attention of others. Elders, who knew different than us: who had lived through the sieges of Jotunheim, and knew what war was like. While we courted it, and talked in our young and unknowing way of its glory, they remembered it grimly. And some, with abject fear.”
Loki had turned his back to Darcy again, gaze fixed ahead, unblinking as his mouth moved; voice purposefully detached almost as if he read off a script written on the wall.
“Nanna was a traditional woman. Her greatest mark of honor existed in the act of bearing her son. And so when talk, the idea of death in battle reached her ears, she began to fret and fuss. The fear that something would happen to her beloved child consumed her. If not through combat then by accident. She claimed she dreamed of Balder’s death every night.”
*
“No one could convince Nanna her fright was unfounded. No one could soothe her, not even her husband,” Thor said. “Finally, out of respect and concern for her desperation, she was allowed to turn to magic for relief.”
He gestured with both hands as he spoke to Jane, and she watched him, caught up in intently the tale.
“Lady Nanna went to the most respected mages of Asgard. The wisest, the oldest and scholarly who had been allowed to study the ancient arts because of their former prowess in battle. And she asked them - nay, begged them, to use their powers to protect her son.
“Under her direction they wove a careful and most intricately-casted web of magic,” Thor’s voice stressed how difficult the task was, “a spell that would shield Balder, that would allow him to come to no physical harm. It was said for all its thoroughness it took a hundred days and nights, and to a man the sorcerers were exhausted when they finished. But it worked.”
“So Nanna was happy,” Jane gathered, exhaling.
“She was.” Thor nodded. “And Frey was happy. And Balder was happy. All of Asgard was glad, you see, for in creating the spell, no one realized they had given us a new source of amusement.”
Jane felt her stomach sink in apprehension. This was starting to sound familiar again. “What do you mean?”
Thor laughed. But it was not a happy sound. It was hollow, and rung with a note of regret.
“Nothing could harm Balder,” he repeated. “No weapon could pierce his skin, no stone would land on him, even fire would refuse to burn so much as the edge of his cloak. At first, it was wondrous. But in a very short time it became funny. And all of us enjoyed putting the extent of the magic to the test.”
*
“They made a game out of it. Balder would take his place at the far side of the grand hall. The rest of the warriors in training would line up, one by one.” Loki drew in a deep breath. “And then, they would take turns throwing things at him. And everyone would laugh when it all bounced away and Balder was left unharmed.
“It…galled me,” Loki stated, words terse. “I can’t say with any honesty now if I was more bothered by the stupidity and recklessness, or if because it made Balder even more popular than before.
“Either way, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stand it. The sight of him, of all of them, laughing and cheering. I had to find a way to put a stop to it.”
He paused for a few seconds. Because his back was to Darcy, she couldn’t see his face - how his eyes were stinging, threatening to water. Though perhaps some hint was still betrayed in his voice.
“I wanted to hurt him. But only to do that,” he swore. “People in those days were already calling me ‘wicked’, but I was too young to be able to consciously contemplate a thing such as murder.”
Loki swallowed, steadying himself.
“In secret I did research on the spell that protected him. I knew that somehow, there had to be a weakness. Magic is such a complex thing. Eventually, I found out that when the scholars were creating the web, as part of the ritual they asked Nanna to write down a list of every harmful thing she could think of. Every last thing. And this is what the magic they created shielded Balder from. Nothing could kill him, so long as it had been on that list.”
He breathed in through his nose. “But they forgot something. And that was the knowledge I needed. For in all their efforts to keep Balder untouchable, they had left one thing out.”
*
“Mistletoe. Out of all the plants in the forest, the trees and vines that grew under the sun, it never occurred to Nanna to think of mistletoe, for she did not see how so delicate and slight a thing could hurt her son. And none could blame her for that.”
You do know that mistletoe is poisonous, right? Jane couldn’t help but think. But she didn’t say it out loud, not wanting to interrupt.
“Somehow in fixation of his spite and his need to do mischief, Loki found out this weakness. Immediately he put it to use. He got his hands on a slim branch of the wood, and in secret he carved it into a long thin pole, perfect for throwing.”
“But what could he possibly have been thinking?” Jane demanded, dismayed. “You’ve mentioned before that in the past the only bad things Loki used his magic for were pranks, but…that’s not a prank. Actively seeking to cause someone injury isn’t funny. I mean, did he even consider what would happen when Balder’s secret weakness was found out by everyone else?”
“He did not,” was Thor’s simple reply. “This I would not even need to ask him to know. My brother would be greatly insulted to hear me say it, but the truth is that for all his cleverness when he becomes fixed on a goal he does not always see past what’s right in front of him. Anger and pride can cloud his judgment quite thoroughly.”
He favored Jane with a knowledgeable, self-depreciating grin. “It is, perhaps you could say, a family trait.”
Despite the grave nature of this entire discussion Jane rolled her eyes. “So I’ve noticed.”
Thor’s smile faded slowly, and he shook his head as he returned to the matter. He drew a breath and raised his shoulders.
“Loki has sworn to me time and time again he meant to cause no serious injury. In this I take my brother at his word. But it does not change that wickedness was done.
“When next we gathered to play our game, Loki slunk in to the back of the room like a shadow. He did his best to ensure none of us would notice he was even there. Indeed we took no heed, for our contest had already begun, and we were distracted by watching each other’s efforts, trading laughter and insults.”
Thor gestured absently. “Another among our age-mates was Hoder, the first son of a general. He was oft at the fringes of our group, never quite finding a foothold, for it was Hoder’s misfortune to have been born blind. He trained with us for he was otherwise able-bodied, but we all doubted him, for without sight what sort of a warrior could he make?
So while we took our turns hurling weapons at Balder, Hoder also stood aside, near the back of the assembly, and only listening. Loki drew to his side - even so early on, how canny my brother was! For he knew when trouble inevitably came he did not want the blame to be placed on him directly. He tricked poor Hoder into acting as his tool.
“Loki disguised his voice and pretended he knew not what was happening, and asked Hoder why he did not join the others in our fun. Hoder replied that he had no weapon, and without sight could not be sure of his aim. ‘Oh, but I have here a small spear that will suit your purpose perfectly,’ Loki said. And from beneath his cloak, he drew the treacherous piece of mistletoe.”
*
“I helped Hoder line up his shot. I guided his arm. I made certain no one else was in the way, that it would not be intercepted; that the bolt would pierce true, straight through Balder’s shoulder.”
As he listed off the details of his guilt, Loki’s voice was completely empty.
“But I forgot: for all his infirmity, Hoder was still Asgard-born and Asgard-raised. Just because he did not carry his own weapons didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use one. And I forgot this. I forgot that he was only blind, not crippled. That he wasn’t physically handicapped, like me.” The edge of his breathing was raw. “I was not strong at that age, not compared to Thor and the others. But Hoder was.
“And that made all the difference in the world.”
There was a space of perhaps half a minute in which Loki did not speak, or move, or do anything but stand there and gaze resolutely into space and at the wall in front of him.
Darcy remained in her spot sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned forward slightly, weight of her hands pressing into the mattress. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at Loki’s back, breath in her throat, voice silent.
“From his fingers, unerringly, the mistletoe flew.” Loki drew up his shoulders, arms falling to his sides, fists uncurling. “And it passed right through the protective layer of enchantments. But instead of only going in a small amount, at most a troublesome injury enough to startle him, the spear impaled Balder straight through. And instead of striking his shoulder it wavered a little to the left, and wound up in the side of his neck.”
Loki’s gaze dropped down to the floor, his eyes still just as empty and unreadable.
“It was the first time in my life,” he remarked, almost musing, “that I had ever seen so much blood.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, he turned around. He watched Darcy’s expression, waiting for something: whether it was encouragement or disapproval could not be said.
But Darcy still said nothing. She only kept her wide-eyed gaze in place, face lined with concern for him.
Loki spoke his conclusion quickly, to keep himself from shuddering, or shaking. “And so that is how Balder died. That is how…”
*
“…that is how Loki killed Balder,” Thor finished.
He remained standing, but his head hung low, as if he was mourning his cousin’s death and the unfortunate circumstances of it still.
Jane waited until the air didn’t feel so thick before asking, “But then what happened to Loki afterward? And to Hoder, for that matter?”
“Hoder…was never the same. Before he had been withdrawn: after he became fully morose, consumed by melancholy. Even though he was not at fault he never forgave himself for the role he played. As soon as he came to manhood he went on a long journey of self-appointed penance. I am sorry to say he did not survive.”
Jane nodded, mouth set thinly. “And Loki?” she repeated.
“Our aunt and uncle demanded justice. But our father investigated, and deemed it had been truly an accident, and thus there was nothing to be done.” Thor hesitated. “I daresay many did not fully believe it, but what could be said against the word of the All-Father? Frey and Nanna had no choice but to accept.”
“But they never forgave your family for what happened,” Jane concluded.
“I couldn’t say what they did, for after that we never saw them again. They retreated to Vanaheim. None of them have returned since. I do not think Mother has even been in communication with our aunt Nanna. The only time she visited home in the intervening centuries was at the death of her brother, to attend Frey’s funeral.”
Thor clenched his hands together in a movement seemingly born out of purposeless anxious energy.
“The rest of Asgard went on, and we did our best to put what Loki had done out of our minds,” he said blearily. “I think we were all in some state of shock over it. Such a murder within our walls, committed by one of our number against another, was in our minds unheard of, unthinkable. It became a distant, curtained chapter of the past we all forgot.”
Jane moved closer to Thor and reached for him. She touched her fingers and palm to his brow, to the side of his cheek, before dropping to rest her hand on top of his.
She squeezed his hand reassuringly, thumb stroking the back of his wrist in a soothing manner, as if to apologize for her words when she said:
“But now that part of the past is coming back to haunt you.”
*
Darcy kept right on sitting where she was, muscles rigid. She felt nervous, unsettled by everything she had just heard, for a whole variety of reasons.
Part of her wanted to go and hug Loki, to try and offer him that reassuring physical contact that sometimes he so desperately needed. But she held off, because she wasn’t sure yet if it was okay or not to approach him. If he’d reject her attempts; if doing so would only make things worse.
That rationalization couldn’t change how much she hated to see the look that was on his face. How it kind of scared her.
There was pain there in his eyes, but everything around had gone so hard, as if he was striving to hold it all into place.
But finally Darcy had to break the silence.
“Is there anything else?” she asked him in a near-murmur.
Mouth in a line, gaze fixed on her so rigidly his pupils never moved while the rest of his head swung, Loki shook his head at the question.
“No. Concerning Balder, that is the whole sorry tale.” He crept closer to her, bending slightly so it was easier for him to keep her eyes in line with his own as he peered into them deeply. “But do you not understand now? Why the queen and Thor took such pause? Why the Lady Nanna visiting can bear no good portents?”
Her mouth dry, Darcy knew the question was laughable even as she asked, “Do you think she’s still mad?”
“Does she not have the right to be? Legacy is everything to those in power. By what I did, accident or no, I destroyed that. I ended their family’s lineage.”
Loki finally looked away, eyelids lowering heavily as he sank next to her on the bed.
“Nanna is a mother who outlived her child. The Norns prophesied it wasn’t the last that had been seen of Balder; that a life such as his must resurface within the confines of Yggdrasil one way or another,” Loki muttered from one side of his mouth. “But I do not think that gave his parents much comfort.”
Gingerly Darcy put her hand on his shoulder. Beside the ridge of his collarbone his muscles felt tight, knotted. “If your aunt’s so pissed off then, why is she even coming?”
“I have no idea,” he told her. “With no living connection between us not formed by marriage, Nanna could very well find it within her rights to ignore her late husband’s family.” He lifted a weary gaze.
“Frey did not survive his son by long. The war with Jotunheim had ended but there were still occasional border disputes - and as Lord of Vanaheim it was Frey’s duty to attend to them. He went out to fight the Frost Giants and was carried home on his shield. Some say what truly felled him was grief; he was a better soldier than to have lost so slight a battle.”
Darcy didn’t state the obvious: if Balder’s death had been somehow what led to Frey getting killed, then Nanna could think that was Loki’s fault too.
Her husband and her son, both dead because of her nephew. No wonder that branch of the family was estranged.
There was clear trepidation in Darcy’s voice when she asked Loki, “What do you think is going to happen when she gets here?”
“I don’t know.” Loki stared at his hands. Weaving his fingers together, he curled them upward as if to study them. “But one thing is certain. There will be no avoiding her when she does.”
LINK TO PART TWO
After abandoning the company of the others most would have expected Loki’s desire was to be alone.
If that were the case, though, his next action would’ve been mystifying.
Instead of retreating to his rooms, or the edges of the palace grounds, or any of a dozen remote corners where he could’ve hidden all to himself, Loki made his way to a sitting room filled with nobles.
It was a space that effected to be cozy despite its high ceiling and marked size. Hung with gilt curtains and featuring a silver fountain as a centerpiece, it was a place used to meet and discuss everything from courtships to gossip to politics.
With the royal engagement party looming it was no surprise it was very full. Gaily-dressed courtiers, both of Asgard and abroad, stood together in groups or sat clustered on soft cushions, passing the time with their meaningless clatter. The room buzzed with their noise - the strange melody formed by the rise and fall of so many unconnected voices. There were rustles as men adjusted their cloaks and ladies fanned themselves or played with their jewels. Many came here acting as if they wanted to talk when all they really desired was to see and be seen.
Loki came here more often than some would’ve suspected, sometimes as himself and sometimes in disguise. He overheard things, observed people’s behavior; garnering information useful or merely amusing enough to pass the time - sometimes he might even get an idea for his next jest.
Today he wanted to be here because he knew it’d be a distraction. The distant noise and warmth around would keep him from falling too deep into thoughts that, for the moment, he simply wished to avoid.
There was no danger of being bothered in his detached brooding, either. Unless he sought out the company he’d be left to himself.
Loki was deft at finding his own little pockets of space, of being alone in a crowd.
When he entered the room heads turned his direction. A few voices faltered, enough to make a difference in the harmony, and he was marked by several stares and nervous looks. As he walked by nobles bowed to him, respectful, if some seemed occasionally begrudging in this formality.
By the time he found a place to sit it was clear he wasn’t looking for anybody and didn’t wish to be spoken to, and gradually the room returned to what it was doing, though every once in a while a glance was stolen his way.
Loki got comfortable on a cushion nearest to the wall, an isolated edge where no one moved to join him. A servant appeared to ask if he could bring him anything; though Loki was tempted to ask for wine, he requested tea.
The hours ticked by and Loki remained where he was, occasionally drawing a sip from his saucer, eyes flicking sharply over the crowd, taking in every detail yet focused on nothing.
As the time passed gradually people trickled out of the room, having business to attend to or wanting to continue their conversations somewhere else, and as the morning crept into the later hours fewer new arrivals came to take their place. By the time that the midday meal was being served across the palace in the feasting hall, Loki was the only one left.
This seeming abandonment did not at all bother him. He gave no outward sign he even noticed. By now he was on his second cup of tea, which was half-drunk and ice cold.
Loki stayed where he was, face unchanging, knuckles interlaced together gently and elbows resting in his lap. Slowly he crossed one leg at the knee over the other.
He drew in a careless breath and straightened a bit in his seat. Without turning his head, certainly without ever looking at the wall to his left, as he suddenly loosed his voice and spoke to the empty air.
“Hello, Amora. How many centuries has it been since I’ve seen you last?”
There was a tinkle in the air as the tapestry hanging on the wall behind him seemed to give an airy, feminine titter.
“Oh, Loki.” The tapestry shifted a bit, and gradually a woman’s shape resolved itself and appeared out of nothing. “Really, you dreadful tease. How long have you known I was there?”
Loki’s eyes moved to the side enough to look at her.
“If you can’t figure it out for yourself,” he asked, low, “why should I tell you?”
Amora sniffed. But then she smirked, unbothered, and struck a pose, her hands resting just above her hips.
“It doesn’t matter, really. If anyone could see me when I was hiding, it would be you. I’m confident nobody else noticed.”
Of course they hadn’t, or they would’ve made a scene. “You should not be here,” Loki reminded her. Tilting his head he leaned at angle, watching her for reaction. “You were banished for a reason. And if the All-Father finds out you have broken those terms…”
He let his words trail off meaningfully. Amora, like him, was a student and user of magic. But her hunger for power had outweighed her common sense.
Using both mundane skills of feminine charms and a few potent love spells, Amora had seduced and enchanted many men to try and gain attention, and a few devoted servants, and eventually marry her way into a position of privilege.
Bu she’d been impetuous, careless, and greedy. She had be-spelled too many at once, making it obvious what she was doing, and then basked in her own feelings of importance when her charmed lovers went to war with one another for her favor, threatening to tear the halls of Asgard apart.
Once might have been funny. Twice was annoying. More than that was dangerous, and unforgivable the moment Amora cast her sights too high, and tried to trick her way into Thor’s embraces and thus onto Asgard’s throne.
The All-Father had cast her out and forbade her from ever returning to the palace, threatening with far worse if she dared to come back.
For years there had been no sight of her, for even Amora was not that foolish.
But Loki had always supposed that they’d not seen the last of her forever.
“And who is going to go to the All-Father and tell him?” Amora demanded, breaking him out of his reverie. “You?”
Loki gave her a considering look. “I should,” he pointed out.
Amora gave a slow smile with her painted lips, and batted her eyelashes once. “But I don’t think you’re going to,” she said sweetly.
The Enchantress could not be here for no reason: she would cause trouble. And were that not pressing enough, loyalty enough should’ve demanded Loki report on her at once. But…he looked away, folding his hands together tightly, bringing them even with the base of his nose as he contemplated deeply.
He had a soft spot for Amora, even after all this time. They’d dallied in their younger days - there had even been a time when a foolish young prince had thought they could be considered friends. Before her true colors had shown, revealing her nature as a user, her only real feelings for herself.
But powerful though she was, he felt her more a nuisance than threat. And her presence appealed to the trickster in him.
They had too much in common. It would be hypocrisy for Loki to deny her chance at having some fun.
“I won’t ask what it is you’re up to, what you intend to do,” he finally told her, looking back again. “I won’t even ask how it is you got in, though I admit I’m burning with curiosity. But I want you to know this: I will be watching. And if you do anything to harm or threaten the safety of Asgard, there’ll be no hesitation before I stop you.”
“A most generous truce,” Amora simpered. “Your highness, I confess, if there’s any company I missed over the pleasures of Asgard’s palace, it was you most of all.”
She moved closer, gliding across the floor, clad in a diaphanous white gown trimmed with diamonds and gold. Wherever she had been, if she’d been reduced to a meager existence, she’d taken great pains to hide it.
She looked much like Loki remembered. Her hair was soft and yellow, falling well past her waist in waves. Her complexion was alabaster, rosy in all the right places. Her eyes sparkled with promises, her every move poised and perfumed, and if her shapely figure had changed it had been only to grow even more womanly.
Loki gave no reaction to her attempt at charming him. Undeterred, Amora crept in, and with the most earnest of expressions on her face, artfully applied as her makeup, she knelt before Loki, hands on his legs as she leaned forward and pressed herself into his lap.
“You should be more curious,” she breathed. “If you did ask…I might just be willing to tell you.”
It had been so long since they’d seen each other, and so much about him had changed in the meantime. And yet she spoke to him like she knew not of it. Her confidence was admirable.
One hand caressed the top of his thigh as she gazed up at him from beneath lowered lashes, playful.
“If you’re interested, I could let you in on my plan, and we could share in the reward.” Amora gave a fond laugh. “Remember what mischief we used to make together?”
“I remember,” Loki conceded, his voice unfeeling. “And I remember what happened after that, when you tired of mere mischief.” Gently he took her wrist in his fingers and guided her hand away from him. “We made quite the pair. It was a shame it was never meant to last - that you proved a flighty lover, and not to be trusted.”
Amora’s face creased into a disapproving, sullen pout. But there was nothing she could say to argue.
It was a good thing he had only been fond of Amora, not fully in love with her. Even without that it had stung, pride smarting when he realized he’d been tricked, that she only collected him as one prize before moving onto her next. Like so many in Loki’s young life, she’d only wanted to get close so she could step over him as she went for her real target, her interest lying not with the second shadowy prince but his golden brother.
“Do you think you’re better than me?” she asked, mistaking the reason for his ire. “It’s all well and good for you to posture, and disapprove of my desires. But like you say we are sames. I only want the chance you took for yourself, to end my exile and find a way back to the comfort I deserve.”
Despite his coolness something rankled along Loki’s spine as his understood her. “You think what I did was out of desire for pleasure, and power?” he asked, disbelieving. “That that was the reason I returned, and humbled myself, and offered myself up for forgiveness?”
Amora crossed her arms. “After a lifetime of eating delicacies from platters of gold and silver, and being attended to by an army of servants, I imagine that pride can be worth only so much.”
She was so, so wrong. But Loki didn’t care to try and explain it to her. He knew it was a waste of time.
“I will not aid in whatever it is you’re planning, Amora,” he told her, almost weary. “And this is the only warning you will receive.” He met her eyes severely. “My wrath will be great if you go anywhere near my brother. My advice to you is forget why ever it is you came here and take this chance to enjoy the festivities in secret. Their like will not be seen again for many a time.”
Amora laughed, not listening, completely carefree. “Oh yes, nothing like them at all! Don’t worry, my prince, I intend to enjoy my time here heartily!” Her voice was teasing, gleeful. “You’ll see, soon enough.”
Loki sighed.
“I’m certain I will,” he remarked, more to himself - for disregarding of his attention or words of caution, Amora had snapped her fingers and vanished.
Loki tried to ignore a twinge of foreboding. But though he knew better, he was determined to handle this himself. No matter how her magic might’ve strengthened over the centuries, he was more than a match for Amora.
And though his loyalties had been returned to Asgard…Loki would not become some mindless lackey, a dull toy soldier who jumped automatically to service its every whim. There was space between ‘loyal’ and ‘witlessly obedient’.
Loki intended to live in that space, else he begin to think the only way he could keep a hold on his home was by sacrificing every last piece of himself.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he sat in the empty room, finger tapping against his leg, mind caught as he pondered what Amora might be up to.
The sound of hurried ungraceful footsteps caused him to glance aside, and he looked up fully at once when he realized the new arrival standing there was none other than Darcy.
She was a little out of breath and disheveled. The look on her face was vexed and demanding, but most of all it was concerned.
Automatically Loki felt inside of his throat tighten.
“Finally. I’ve been looking everywhere.” Darcy went straight to his side. “What is going on with you? I mean, what the hell just happened back there? You literally ran out of the room!”
Loki followed her outstretched hand, his eyes bouncing back to her face. “I’m surprised my brother and mother didn’t explain it,” he said to her mildly. “Or did you not ask them for an answer?”
“They said some stuff.” Darcy floundered, vaguely. “But I didn’t want to get the story from them. I wanted to hear it from you.”
Loki considered her a moment and then he got to his feet. For this he wanted to tower over her, face severe as he gazed down. For this he wanted her to remember what kind of creature he was.
“What did they already tell you?” he demanded. When she opened her mouth to protest he cut her off. “I want to hear.”
He could tell Darcy’s mouth had gone slightly dry when she took her time answering. She yielded under his unblinking stare.
“They said that the reason your cousin died was because you had something to do with it.”
When he had no response at first she regained her strength, gazing at him with wide eyes, determined. “Loki, is that true? Did you really…kill him?”
“You know nothing of the mortal legend of Balder,” Loki gathered.
“I recognized the name. Kind of. I’ve been doing my best to brush up on the stories more, what with this thing and all.” With a jerk of her head Darcy indicated the hidden string of Asgardian runes marked into her back.
Despite himself Loki smiled. Had it really been so long since she’d taken on her second name? The ritual had been performed so she would have the right to use the Bifrost all on her own, but what hadn’t been expected was what she’d unknowingly choose for herself: Sigyn, the very same name given to Loki’s wife in mortal mythology.
Darcy had never heard the story and no one had wanted to tell her. It was only after she and Loki had finally become amorous with one another that she’d found out. She had not been pleased but, thankfully, she got over it.
Heedless to Loki’s thoughts, Darcy finished, “But it’s a lot to take in. Not everything sticks.”
“Not even the death of a god?”
“Seriously, knock it off.” Darcy set her jaw. “I don’t want to read about what some ancient Viking scholar may or may not have interpreted correctly any more than I want to be asking somebody else about this.” She reached out and wrapped one hand firmly around Loki’s arm just above his fist. “Please, for once, won’t you just give me a relatively straight answer?”
It was this stubborn persistence that Loki so admired about her, that still occasionally moved him even after all this time. Everything he was, and she talked to him like he was no more than a man; everything he’d done, and yet she came to the Liesmith and asked to hear his side of the story first.
He pulled from her, walking away.
She reached for him again. “Loki-!”
“Not here.” His voice was clipped, not harsh but very hard. He took her wrist in a firm grip, and Darcy fell speechless as she gazed up at him. “I will not discuss this with you in public.”
Darcy glanced around, making a face. “There’s no one here-”
“Nonetheless.” Loki’s voice dropped to a murmur. “If you truly want to hear this story, we will retire to my rooms.”
Darcy slid her hand out of his but she nodded, unhesitant. “Lead the way.”
He did so at once, the two of them walking side by side, pretending not to notice as she looked at his face trying to read him. Hoping that his chagrin was successfully hidden.
Loki told lies so freely, often for fun. He found nothing any more regrettable as being unable to tell a lie, of there being none left, when he knew nothing could hurt more than the truth.
*
Unbeknownst to Loki or Darcy, as they reached the former’s chamber, a nearly identical conversation was happening with Thor and Jane at the other side of the palace.
The two of them were still in the same small room the others had left. They too were alone.
Once the young couple had begun speaking, intently, eyes only on each other, quietly Frigga had risen from her chair and soundlessly crept from the room. She knew without drawing their attention, without needing to be told, this was a talk that needed to be witnessed only by the pair of them.
“Go on, Thor,” Jane told him, seriously. In an anxious gesture she folded her arms but she never looked away from him. “Please. Tell me what happened.”
Thor took a moment; she knew better than to rush him for she could tell from his face he was gathering his words, figuring out how to start.
“It happened a long time ago. When we were very young - no:” he corrected himself, expression almost pained, “when we were practically no more than children.”
He crossed over to the empty chair his mother had vacated and sat, folding his hands and looking away with a sigh heavy with recollection.
*
“We were not warriors,” Loki was saying, unaware of how his pace and wording was mirroring his brother’s. “But we wanted so badly to be taken seriously.” His eyes were a thousand miles off. “We thought of ourselves as men, when really we were nothing but boys.”
He paused for a weary exhale. His shoulders were tight. Darcy sat on the bed, watching him, listening, concerned but not daring to interrupt.
Loki stood away with his back to her, as if staring at nothing helped his memory, or perhaps he just couldn’t bear to see her face while this tale was told.
He picked up again. “We talked of nothing but battle. Of glorious adventures, the kind had by kings and their armies in the stories of old. We sang songs and we memorized odes and we thought we knew what war meant. In truth, of course, we had no idea. We thought of it like a game. The most important game of all, one we couldn’t wait for our turn to play.
“Every moment we had we spent at the training grounds. Day and night, whenever we could. Drilling and sparring and refining our skills and demonstrating our laughably poor efforts at strategy. How proud we were of ourselves.”
He glanced over his shoulder, looking at Darcy briefly. “By this time it was quite clear to all that I was more a mage than I ever would be a strong fighter. But even so, I was there too. Honing what little strengths I did have and endeavoring to improve.”
Loki gave a humorless smile.
“It was my brother’s obsession, you see, and I didn’t want to be left out. And so there we all were. There was Thor, and me, and Sif, and Fandral and Hogun and Volstagg.” He stopped. “And there was Balder.”
*
“Our cousin was somewhere between Loki and I in age. By rights we should have made perfect playmates,” Thor explained. “And if you had asked me then, I would’ve said it was so.”
He smiled, remembering. “Balder was smaller than me, but not too small for an Asgardian of his age. He was quick and sure-footed when we fought, and he was strong. He knew his holds when he wrestled and he was good with a bow. And win or lose, he always did so with a smile.”
Dropping his hands Thor looked at Jane somberly, his eyes clear. “I did not think much of it at the time. But Balder was more than a good fighter, a strong son. He was handsome too.”
Jane nodded automatically. “They called him Balder the Bright, right? Or at least the Viking myths did. He was said to be the most attractive out of all the gods.”
“If he had grown to manhood, I’ve no doubt he would’ve been. But he never made it that far,” Thor replied. “All he had was his time as a boy and a youth - a time when he could’ve been doted on, fawned over, within reason, without it being held against him or his parents; without it making him seem less, but more.”
“And he was, wasn’t he?” Jane guessed, soft. “Doted on, I mean.”
Thor’s answering smile was grim. “Oh yes. He was.”
Abruptly he pushed to his feet, standing up from the chair. He paced a bit without moving too far from Jane, and when he spoke again he looked back to her.
“Balder was the only child of Lord Frey, head of the oldest noble line in Vanaheim. An only son. He was his father’s pride; and Nanna, his mother…” Thor trailed off, conflicted. “She treated him as her most precious position.”
“I would’ve thought Asgard was the kind of place that didn’t approve of families spoiling their children,” Jane had to comment, frowning. “That they’d think it would make them soft.”
“Under normal circumstances, yes,” Thor explained. “But it would’ve been hard to counter a man of Frey’s position, to speak out against his wife. And, if ever there was a child that Asgard would’ve agreed deserved of such a treatment, it was Balder. He was kind, and obedient, and trusted without hesitation.”
*
“He trusted without thinking,” Loki said with venom, strident. “He was dull. Insipid!” He shook his head in disgust then changed tunes with an aggravated smile. “Oh, but he was a gifted fighter, and stout of heart, which is all one needs to be a good son of Asgard.”
He drew one hand into a fist, face fixed in a scowl.
“He had a face like a cherub,” he recalled, muttering. “Blue eyes. Wavy brown hair like his father’s. And always a smile on his face, never mind it was often an empty smile, to match the emptiness of his head underneath. Balder the Beautiful, they called him. And in-between going on about his looks, everyone talked of what a fine and noble warrior he would make. How already, he did Asgard proud.”
Darcy broke in for the first time: “I take it his existence kind of got to you.”
Her tone was a touch to one side of sardonic.
Loki gave a short self-depreciative laugh. “Perhaps it shouldn’t have,” he admitted with the wisdom of hindsight. “If anything, Balder was never cruel to me. That’s more than can be said for many, when I was that age.” He hesitated, thoughtful.
“I think…he might’ve even wanted to be friends. Though perhaps he simply wanted to be friends with everyone. Certainly, he was friends with my brother and the rest of them.”
He shook his head hard. “But at the time his kindness only rankled all the more, because it stung of pity. No; I hated him, and everyone knew it. Hated him with all the single-minded spitefulness of a child.”
*
“Like so many times before and after, I never realized how truly angry Loki was,” Thor confessed. “I cannot say that my knowing would’ve made things any different. But perhaps I could’ve talked him out of what he did.”
Jane asked, “Which was what?”
Thor sighed again, shortly. His head hung low, the better to look at the floor as he peered back at him memories, frowning, brow knit with thought.
“It might have ended with Loki, and his mistake. But it began with Frey’s pride. It began with the insistent worries of Balder’s mother.”
*
“Eventually our obsession with war caught the attention of others. Elders, who knew different than us: who had lived through the sieges of Jotunheim, and knew what war was like. While we courted it, and talked in our young and unknowing way of its glory, they remembered it grimly. And some, with abject fear.”
Loki had turned his back to Darcy again, gaze fixed ahead, unblinking as his mouth moved; voice purposefully detached almost as if he read off a script written on the wall.
“Nanna was a traditional woman. Her greatest mark of honor existed in the act of bearing her son. And so when talk, the idea of death in battle reached her ears, she began to fret and fuss. The fear that something would happen to her beloved child consumed her. If not through combat then by accident. She claimed she dreamed of Balder’s death every night.”
*
“No one could convince Nanna her fright was unfounded. No one could soothe her, not even her husband,” Thor said. “Finally, out of respect and concern for her desperation, she was allowed to turn to magic for relief.”
He gestured with both hands as he spoke to Jane, and she watched him, caught up in intently the tale.
“Lady Nanna went to the most respected mages of Asgard. The wisest, the oldest and scholarly who had been allowed to study the ancient arts because of their former prowess in battle. And she asked them - nay, begged them, to use their powers to protect her son.
“Under her direction they wove a careful and most intricately-casted web of magic,” Thor’s voice stressed how difficult the task was, “a spell that would shield Balder, that would allow him to come to no physical harm. It was said for all its thoroughness it took a hundred days and nights, and to a man the sorcerers were exhausted when they finished. But it worked.”
“So Nanna was happy,” Jane gathered, exhaling.
“She was.” Thor nodded. “And Frey was happy. And Balder was happy. All of Asgard was glad, you see, for in creating the spell, no one realized they had given us a new source of amusement.”
Jane felt her stomach sink in apprehension. This was starting to sound familiar again. “What do you mean?”
Thor laughed. But it was not a happy sound. It was hollow, and rung with a note of regret.
“Nothing could harm Balder,” he repeated. “No weapon could pierce his skin, no stone would land on him, even fire would refuse to burn so much as the edge of his cloak. At first, it was wondrous. But in a very short time it became funny. And all of us enjoyed putting the extent of the magic to the test.”
*
“They made a game out of it. Balder would take his place at the far side of the grand hall. The rest of the warriors in training would line up, one by one.” Loki drew in a deep breath. “And then, they would take turns throwing things at him. And everyone would laugh when it all bounced away and Balder was left unharmed.
“It…galled me,” Loki stated, words terse. “I can’t say with any honesty now if I was more bothered by the stupidity and recklessness, or if because it made Balder even more popular than before.
“Either way, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stand it. The sight of him, of all of them, laughing and cheering. I had to find a way to put a stop to it.”
He paused for a few seconds. Because his back was to Darcy, she couldn’t see his face - how his eyes were stinging, threatening to water. Though perhaps some hint was still betrayed in his voice.
“I wanted to hurt him. But only to do that,” he swore. “People in those days were already calling me ‘wicked’, but I was too young to be able to consciously contemplate a thing such as murder.”
Loki swallowed, steadying himself.
“In secret I did research on the spell that protected him. I knew that somehow, there had to be a weakness. Magic is such a complex thing. Eventually, I found out that when the scholars were creating the web, as part of the ritual they asked Nanna to write down a list of every harmful thing she could think of. Every last thing. And this is what the magic they created shielded Balder from. Nothing could kill him, so long as it had been on that list.”
He breathed in through his nose. “But they forgot something. And that was the knowledge I needed. For in all their efforts to keep Balder untouchable, they had left one thing out.”
*
“Mistletoe. Out of all the plants in the forest, the trees and vines that grew under the sun, it never occurred to Nanna to think of mistletoe, for she did not see how so delicate and slight a thing could hurt her son. And none could blame her for that.”
You do know that mistletoe is poisonous, right? Jane couldn’t help but think. But she didn’t say it out loud, not wanting to interrupt.
“Somehow in fixation of his spite and his need to do mischief, Loki found out this weakness. Immediately he put it to use. He got his hands on a slim branch of the wood, and in secret he carved it into a long thin pole, perfect for throwing.”
“But what could he possibly have been thinking?” Jane demanded, dismayed. “You’ve mentioned before that in the past the only bad things Loki used his magic for were pranks, but…that’s not a prank. Actively seeking to cause someone injury isn’t funny. I mean, did he even consider what would happen when Balder’s secret weakness was found out by everyone else?”
“He did not,” was Thor’s simple reply. “This I would not even need to ask him to know. My brother would be greatly insulted to hear me say it, but the truth is that for all his cleverness when he becomes fixed on a goal he does not always see past what’s right in front of him. Anger and pride can cloud his judgment quite thoroughly.”
He favored Jane with a knowledgeable, self-depreciating grin. “It is, perhaps you could say, a family trait.”
Despite the grave nature of this entire discussion Jane rolled her eyes. “So I’ve noticed.”
Thor’s smile faded slowly, and he shook his head as he returned to the matter. He drew a breath and raised his shoulders.
“Loki has sworn to me time and time again he meant to cause no serious injury. In this I take my brother at his word. But it does not change that wickedness was done.
“When next we gathered to play our game, Loki slunk in to the back of the room like a shadow. He did his best to ensure none of us would notice he was even there. Indeed we took no heed, for our contest had already begun, and we were distracted by watching each other’s efforts, trading laughter and insults.”
Thor gestured absently. “Another among our age-mates was Hoder, the first son of a general. He was oft at the fringes of our group, never quite finding a foothold, for it was Hoder’s misfortune to have been born blind. He trained with us for he was otherwise able-bodied, but we all doubted him, for without sight what sort of a warrior could he make?
So while we took our turns hurling weapons at Balder, Hoder also stood aside, near the back of the assembly, and only listening. Loki drew to his side - even so early on, how canny my brother was! For he knew when trouble inevitably came he did not want the blame to be placed on him directly. He tricked poor Hoder into acting as his tool.
“Loki disguised his voice and pretended he knew not what was happening, and asked Hoder why he did not join the others in our fun. Hoder replied that he had no weapon, and without sight could not be sure of his aim. ‘Oh, but I have here a small spear that will suit your purpose perfectly,’ Loki said. And from beneath his cloak, he drew the treacherous piece of mistletoe.”
*
“I helped Hoder line up his shot. I guided his arm. I made certain no one else was in the way, that it would not be intercepted; that the bolt would pierce true, straight through Balder’s shoulder.”
As he listed off the details of his guilt, Loki’s voice was completely empty.
“But I forgot: for all his infirmity, Hoder was still Asgard-born and Asgard-raised. Just because he did not carry his own weapons didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use one. And I forgot this. I forgot that he was only blind, not crippled. That he wasn’t physically handicapped, like me.” The edge of his breathing was raw. “I was not strong at that age, not compared to Thor and the others. But Hoder was.
“And that made all the difference in the world.”
There was a space of perhaps half a minute in which Loki did not speak, or move, or do anything but stand there and gaze resolutely into space and at the wall in front of him.
Darcy remained in her spot sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned forward slightly, weight of her hands pressing into the mattress. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at Loki’s back, breath in her throat, voice silent.
“From his fingers, unerringly, the mistletoe flew.” Loki drew up his shoulders, arms falling to his sides, fists uncurling. “And it passed right through the protective layer of enchantments. But instead of only going in a small amount, at most a troublesome injury enough to startle him, the spear impaled Balder straight through. And instead of striking his shoulder it wavered a little to the left, and wound up in the side of his neck.”
Loki’s gaze dropped down to the floor, his eyes still just as empty and unreadable.
“It was the first time in my life,” he remarked, almost musing, “that I had ever seen so much blood.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, he turned around. He watched Darcy’s expression, waiting for something: whether it was encouragement or disapproval could not be said.
But Darcy still said nothing. She only kept her wide-eyed gaze in place, face lined with concern for him.
Loki spoke his conclusion quickly, to keep himself from shuddering, or shaking. “And so that is how Balder died. That is how…”
*
“…that is how Loki killed Balder,” Thor finished.
He remained standing, but his head hung low, as if he was mourning his cousin’s death and the unfortunate circumstances of it still.
Jane waited until the air didn’t feel so thick before asking, “But then what happened to Loki afterward? And to Hoder, for that matter?”
“Hoder…was never the same. Before he had been withdrawn: after he became fully morose, consumed by melancholy. Even though he was not at fault he never forgave himself for the role he played. As soon as he came to manhood he went on a long journey of self-appointed penance. I am sorry to say he did not survive.”
Jane nodded, mouth set thinly. “And Loki?” she repeated.
“Our aunt and uncle demanded justice. But our father investigated, and deemed it had been truly an accident, and thus there was nothing to be done.” Thor hesitated. “I daresay many did not fully believe it, but what could be said against the word of the All-Father? Frey and Nanna had no choice but to accept.”
“But they never forgave your family for what happened,” Jane concluded.
“I couldn’t say what they did, for after that we never saw them again. They retreated to Vanaheim. None of them have returned since. I do not think Mother has even been in communication with our aunt Nanna. The only time she visited home in the intervening centuries was at the death of her brother, to attend Frey’s funeral.”
Thor clenched his hands together in a movement seemingly born out of purposeless anxious energy.
“The rest of Asgard went on, and we did our best to put what Loki had done out of our minds,” he said blearily. “I think we were all in some state of shock over it. Such a murder within our walls, committed by one of our number against another, was in our minds unheard of, unthinkable. It became a distant, curtained chapter of the past we all forgot.”
Jane moved closer to Thor and reached for him. She touched her fingers and palm to his brow, to the side of his cheek, before dropping to rest her hand on top of his.
She squeezed his hand reassuringly, thumb stroking the back of his wrist in a soothing manner, as if to apologize for her words when she said:
“But now that part of the past is coming back to haunt you.”
*
Darcy kept right on sitting where she was, muscles rigid. She felt nervous, unsettled by everything she had just heard, for a whole variety of reasons.
Part of her wanted to go and hug Loki, to try and offer him that reassuring physical contact that sometimes he so desperately needed. But she held off, because she wasn’t sure yet if it was okay or not to approach him. If he’d reject her attempts; if doing so would only make things worse.
That rationalization couldn’t change how much she hated to see the look that was on his face. How it kind of scared her.
There was pain there in his eyes, but everything around had gone so hard, as if he was striving to hold it all into place.
But finally Darcy had to break the silence.
“Is there anything else?” she asked him in a near-murmur.
Mouth in a line, gaze fixed on her so rigidly his pupils never moved while the rest of his head swung, Loki shook his head at the question.
“No. Concerning Balder, that is the whole sorry tale.” He crept closer to her, bending slightly so it was easier for him to keep her eyes in line with his own as he peered into them deeply. “But do you not understand now? Why the queen and Thor took such pause? Why the Lady Nanna visiting can bear no good portents?”
Her mouth dry, Darcy knew the question was laughable even as she asked, “Do you think she’s still mad?”
“Does she not have the right to be? Legacy is everything to those in power. By what I did, accident or no, I destroyed that. I ended their family’s lineage.”
Loki finally looked away, eyelids lowering heavily as he sank next to her on the bed.
“Nanna is a mother who outlived her child. The Norns prophesied it wasn’t the last that had been seen of Balder; that a life such as his must resurface within the confines of Yggdrasil one way or another,” Loki muttered from one side of his mouth. “But I do not think that gave his parents much comfort.”
Gingerly Darcy put her hand on his shoulder. Beside the ridge of his collarbone his muscles felt tight, knotted. “If your aunt’s so pissed off then, why is she even coming?”
“I have no idea,” he told her. “With no living connection between us not formed by marriage, Nanna could very well find it within her rights to ignore her late husband’s family.” He lifted a weary gaze.
“Frey did not survive his son by long. The war with Jotunheim had ended but there were still occasional border disputes - and as Lord of Vanaheim it was Frey’s duty to attend to them. He went out to fight the Frost Giants and was carried home on his shield. Some say what truly felled him was grief; he was a better soldier than to have lost so slight a battle.”
Darcy didn’t state the obvious: if Balder’s death had been somehow what led to Frey getting killed, then Nanna could think that was Loki’s fault too.
Her husband and her son, both dead because of her nephew. No wonder that branch of the family was estranged.
There was clear trepidation in Darcy’s voice when she asked Loki, “What do you think is going to happen when she gets here?”
“I don’t know.” Loki stared at his hands. Weaving his fingers together, he curled them upward as if to study them. “But one thing is certain. There will be no avoiding her when she does.”
LINK TO PART TWO