Fill: Lost and Never Seen
Fill for this prompt on norsekink. So apparently I need to drown some people in a sea of angst today. Whoops.
The coffin arrived from Svartálfar with great fanfare. The messengers were dressed in the finest garments and the coffin itself was lined with great jewels and was wrought of the most precious of metals. It was a coffin fit for a king. Other gifts accompanied the arrival, including the promised golden wig for the Lady Sif. Jewels and coin would fill Asgard’s coffers for years from all the tributes. The dwarven messengers bowed low before the Allfather and with soft voices, presented the coffin and its accompanying homage.
Whispers spread throughout the great hall of Válaskjálf. Aesir from all over the realm filled the hall to view the great gifts brought before the Allfather. Odin bangs his staff once on the floor and silence feel over all who stood in the hall. The ancient ruler addressed those assembled before him.
“What is this that you have brought before me?” he asked. The dwarves exchanged looks and finally one of them stepped forward and bowed again. He wrung his hands together. “As promised, we have wrought this fine wig for the great goddess of war. After we had dealings with your youngest,” here the dwarf paused and dropped his eyes to the floor, “your second son…Prince Loki…circumstances arose that warrented this coffin be brought to you, Allfather.”
Odin looked lost in thought, his brow creasing. He glanced again at the coffin then at the assembled Aesir. He seemed to be searching for something. Finally he spoke and the fury in his voice was unmistakable.
“Open it.”
Thor exchanged looks with Sif and the Warriors Three from his place on the steps leading to the throne, confusion on all their faces.
The dwarves all bowed again, and then hurriedly moved to slide the great stone lid from the coffin. Laying there, still and cold among the velvet lining was the headless corpse of a Jotunn male. It was smaller than other Frost Giants, but what it lacked in the strength and stature of the race; it made up for its elegance. It was a truly handsome specimen, all long lines and curving raised markings. The types and duration of the markings marked the dead as a member of the royal house, a prince. Now Thor was even more confused. Where had the dwarves come into contact with a lost Jotunn prince?
The House of Laufey was broken and scattered. Yet this corpse could be seen as a great boon for Asgard, one more stone to break the backs of the Jotunn. The cheers start once the crowd realizes what is in the coffin. Calls of ‘Death to the Monsters’ roll through the hall among cat calls and hands slapping on backs. Surely this is one of the greatest tributes to ever grace the Hall of Odin.
From behind Thor comes a sound. It was a moan of great and terrible pain. To Thor it sounds like the whine of someone who had lost their very last hope and was faced with all the ages of time alone, utterly hopeless. He spins around, calling Mjölnir to his hand, ready to do battle. His mother has collapsed on the steps next to the throne; her hands covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle the screams trying to break lose. Tears run freely down her face as she rocks slowly in place.
“Mother?” he says as he rushes to her side.
As he kneels next to her, he can hear what she is muttering: “No, no, no, no, nonononononononono.” The broken mantra continues and nothing Thor says or does can calm the distraught Queen. He has never been more confused. He wishes Loki was here. He always knows what to say to Mother when she was upset or angry. He always knows just the words to soothe her sadness. He scans the great hall. Where is his brother?
Odin has not moved from his spot as he stares down at the corpse. He raises his one eye and fixes it on the dwarves assembled before him. “Where is the head?” His voice is low and controlled, but the words carry to all corners of the room. All conversations cease and the Aesir shift in place. Something is very, very wrong here.
The dwarf who spoke before shuffles his feet, looking to his companions for advice. None will meet his gaze. “It was the price for his trickery, Allfather. He made a wager and he lost it. He---”
Odin interrupts him with a raised hand. His gaze lifts and encompasses the whole of the hall. “Leave. All of you. This is a matter for my family to deal with.” Feet shuffle as the Aesir exchange looks.
“Out!” screams the Allfather and the show of rage clears the hall in moments. All that are left are the dwarven emissaries and the royal family.
The Allfather speaks again.
“Where is his head?” Every word is carefully annunciated. “Answer carefully, dwarf, for your own head rests on the answer.”
Panic is clearly taking control of the dwarf because he starts to babble about wagers and debts and the price that needed to be paid until finally a new voice speaks over the stammering dwarf.
“WHERE IS MY SON’S HEAD? YOU GIVE IT TO ME! YOU BRING IT TO ME NOW!” Thor staggers back as Frigga surges to her feet and storms down the steps and directly into the personal space of the dwarf. Her face is tear-stained and her eyes are wild, filled with a grief that Thor cannot understand. None of this makes sense. The corpse is a Jotunn, not a son of Asgard.
“Mother?” he says softly. She ignores him and screams again in the dwarf’s face. “WHERE IS LOKI’S HEAD?” Time slows down for Thor. Loki’s head? Why would they have Loki’s head and a Jotunn corpse? Why hasn’t Loki come home yet? Where is his brother? Surely, this is one of his jests. Yes, that must be it.
He expects now for his brother to slither in from the shadows, all smooth angles and sharp wit, his latest prank played out. He expects Loki’s laugh to ring in the hall; for him to hug Mother and soothe her hurts. Oh, it’s just a bit of fun, wasn’t it, brother? he would say. Loki always pushed his boundaries, but even this seemed in bad taste for the Trickster.
Instead the dwarf reaches into the large saddle bag that hung at his side and gently pulls out the head that matches the corpse in the coffin. The head is covered in black hair and the same raised markings as the body. Crimson irises stare out from unseeing eyes. Yet the face is unmistakably Loki’s. Frigga wails again and hugs the head to her breast, her sobs echoing in the empty hall. Looking at Odin, tears run from his eye into his beard. Thor feels like he is watching this from a very great distance. Before he is even aware of what he is doing, Mjölnir is flying from his hand and the dwarves are scattering, screaming before the last son of Odin.
When Thor comes back to himself, he is covered in blood and none of the dwarves are alive. He looks down stunned at his hands. He raises his gaze to his father.
“I killed them,” he says.
Odin nods his head. “Good,” he says.
The coffin arrived from Svartálfar with great fanfare. The messengers were dressed in the finest garments and the coffin itself was lined with great jewels and was wrought of the most precious of metals. It was a coffin fit for a king. Other gifts accompanied the arrival, including the promised golden wig for the Lady Sif. Jewels and coin would fill Asgard’s coffers for years from all the tributes. The dwarven messengers bowed low before the Allfather and with soft voices, presented the coffin and its accompanying homage.
Whispers spread throughout the great hall of Válaskjálf. Aesir from all over the realm filled the hall to view the great gifts brought before the Allfather. Odin bangs his staff once on the floor and silence feel over all who stood in the hall. The ancient ruler addressed those assembled before him.
“What is this that you have brought before me?” he asked. The dwarves exchanged looks and finally one of them stepped forward and bowed again. He wrung his hands together. “As promised, we have wrought this fine wig for the great goddess of war. After we had dealings with your youngest,” here the dwarf paused and dropped his eyes to the floor, “your second son…Prince Loki…circumstances arose that warrented this coffin be brought to you, Allfather.”
Odin looked lost in thought, his brow creasing. He glanced again at the coffin then at the assembled Aesir. He seemed to be searching for something. Finally he spoke and the fury in his voice was unmistakable.
“Open it.”
Thor exchanged looks with Sif and the Warriors Three from his place on the steps leading to the throne, confusion on all their faces.
The dwarves all bowed again, and then hurriedly moved to slide the great stone lid from the coffin. Laying there, still and cold among the velvet lining was the headless corpse of a Jotunn male. It was smaller than other Frost Giants, but what it lacked in the strength and stature of the race; it made up for its elegance. It was a truly handsome specimen, all long lines and curving raised markings. The types and duration of the markings marked the dead as a member of the royal house, a prince. Now Thor was even more confused. Where had the dwarves come into contact with a lost Jotunn prince?
The House of Laufey was broken and scattered. Yet this corpse could be seen as a great boon for Asgard, one more stone to break the backs of the Jotunn. The cheers start once the crowd realizes what is in the coffin. Calls of ‘Death to the Monsters’ roll through the hall among cat calls and hands slapping on backs. Surely this is one of the greatest tributes to ever grace the Hall of Odin.
From behind Thor comes a sound. It was a moan of great and terrible pain. To Thor it sounds like the whine of someone who had lost their very last hope and was faced with all the ages of time alone, utterly hopeless. He spins around, calling Mjölnir to his hand, ready to do battle. His mother has collapsed on the steps next to the throne; her hands covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle the screams trying to break lose. Tears run freely down her face as she rocks slowly in place.
“Mother?” he says as he rushes to her side.
As he kneels next to her, he can hear what she is muttering: “No, no, no, no, nonononononononono.” The broken mantra continues and nothing Thor says or does can calm the distraught Queen. He has never been more confused. He wishes Loki was here. He always knows what to say to Mother when she was upset or angry. He always knows just the words to soothe her sadness. He scans the great hall. Where is his brother?
Odin has not moved from his spot as he stares down at the corpse. He raises his one eye and fixes it on the dwarves assembled before him. “Where is the head?” His voice is low and controlled, but the words carry to all corners of the room. All conversations cease and the Aesir shift in place. Something is very, very wrong here.
The dwarf who spoke before shuffles his feet, looking to his companions for advice. None will meet his gaze. “It was the price for his trickery, Allfather. He made a wager and he lost it. He---”
Odin interrupts him with a raised hand. His gaze lifts and encompasses the whole of the hall. “Leave. All of you. This is a matter for my family to deal with.” Feet shuffle as the Aesir exchange looks.
“Out!” screams the Allfather and the show of rage clears the hall in moments. All that are left are the dwarven emissaries and the royal family.
The Allfather speaks again.
“Where is his head?” Every word is carefully annunciated. “Answer carefully, dwarf, for your own head rests on the answer.”
Panic is clearly taking control of the dwarf because he starts to babble about wagers and debts and the price that needed to be paid until finally a new voice speaks over the stammering dwarf.
“WHERE IS MY SON’S HEAD? YOU GIVE IT TO ME! YOU BRING IT TO ME NOW!” Thor staggers back as Frigga surges to her feet and storms down the steps and directly into the personal space of the dwarf. Her face is tear-stained and her eyes are wild, filled with a grief that Thor cannot understand. None of this makes sense. The corpse is a Jotunn, not a son of Asgard.
“Mother?” he says softly. She ignores him and screams again in the dwarf’s face. “WHERE IS LOKI’S HEAD?” Time slows down for Thor. Loki’s head? Why would they have Loki’s head and a Jotunn corpse? Why hasn’t Loki come home yet? Where is his brother? Surely, this is one of his jests. Yes, that must be it.
He expects now for his brother to slither in from the shadows, all smooth angles and sharp wit, his latest prank played out. He expects Loki’s laugh to ring in the hall; for him to hug Mother and soothe her hurts. Oh, it’s just a bit of fun, wasn’t it, brother? he would say. Loki always pushed his boundaries, but even this seemed in bad taste for the Trickster.
Instead the dwarf reaches into the large saddle bag that hung at his side and gently pulls out the head that matches the corpse in the coffin. The head is covered in black hair and the same raised markings as the body. Crimson irises stare out from unseeing eyes. Yet the face is unmistakably Loki’s. Frigga wails again and hugs the head to her breast, her sobs echoing in the empty hall. Looking at Odin, tears run from his eye into his beard. Thor feels like he is watching this from a very great distance. Before he is even aware of what he is doing, Mjölnir is flying from his hand and the dwarves are scattering, screaming before the last son of Odin.
When Thor comes back to himself, he is covered in blood and none of the dwarves are alive. He looks down stunned at his hands. He raises his gaze to his father.
“I killed them,” he says.
Odin nods his head. “Good,” he says.