for "mini_nanowrimo" hence no friends lock 4
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The Golden Age of Asgard
Loki is silent, contemplating and it is unnerving. Odin knows he will be compelled to share his thoughts once he has gathered them and so he can wait. He crouches down to inspect close the charred ground. He hovers his hand above the ground and can feel the heat radiated from it. Thor’s brash actions took a real toll. A twig crackles, across the crater and an ember sparks, beginning to flame again. Odin watches it for a moment and then uses a charm he knows to put out the flame. He stands again, satisfied. Loki is watching him, unimpressed by the display.
"Why is it that what I do is sorcery and you using your charms and runes to put out fires with your glare is not?"
"I worked for this knowledge. I suffered and sacrificed and only after that was I granted this. You know nothing of your gift. You spoil it and use it for foolishness."
"Yet the Aesir do not seem to mind when they bind themselves to trouble than only I am quick enough to think a way out of."
"This is true, but it usually you who encourages the trouble in the first place. Whether you foresee it or not, is another question for another time."
"Are you speaking of my daughter, All Father?" Loki is a God now, no longer a dog but there is a growl in his voice. He is threatened and making a threat. Odin no longer ignores him, standing at full height, his broad shoulders shadow Loki. He is menacing. He is The God of War.
"I am speaking of many things past. I am speaking about your disgusting arrangement with that giantess. I am speaking of coming in and taking responsibility for yourself and cleaning up your own mess."
"And your son," Loki says, matching Odin's stance as best he can.
"And my son," Odin agrees, deflating slightly.
"If my daughter is the cause of this, and I have no doubt you are right that she is, then she will get what she wants. You will not like how she gets what she wants." Loki has turned back to the crater, almost ashamed (and in a perverse way, a little proud).
"I know that too. We must keep going. We will consult the three sisters."
"The Norns. . ." Loki trails off, for he does not like the true tales they tell. He does not like to have endings spoiled on him. He does not want to go and regrets his childish game of hiding in the pine trees but his nature is such that he can not resist finding out the outcome. He must know what will occur between Odin and his daughter, Hel. He wonders too, if she has spoken to or heard of her mother in any time since her banishment. Loki's curiosity is his downfall.
When they come upon them, The Norn sisters, Urd, Skuld and Verdandi are sitting at the cave entrance of their hall. The three are all wearing black hooded cloaks and it is impossible to tell them apart. Loki finds it ominous and has a hard time standing still. Odin stands, respectfully and silent, waiting to be acknowledge (something he would never permit with any other Gods). Two continue weaving, a narrow cloth, monumental in length. One empties a cauldron of a watery milk substance over an exposed root of Yaggdrasil, the Tree of Life. Loki sneaks forward to try and steal a glimpse of the cloth. They look up at him and although his heart is a quick, continuous beat in his chest, he smiles sweetly at the sisters. The one puts her cauldron down and takes elvish, graceful steps toward Odin. She bows her in respect.
"You are later then we expected. The cloth knew but I assumed you would surprise us."
"I am not capable of such a feat against a family with threads of destiny around their fingers." Her head tilts up, eyes shadowed but her ruby lips curl into a playful grin.
"But still. . ." she teases. Loki tried to grab her attention, not happy being on the outskirts of the conversation but she ignores him. In a huff he steps rudely between the weaving sisters and into the cave to explore. Odin makes to call him back but the maiden makes a dismissive motion with her hand. The two stop their weaving and silently, they hand over the cloth. Odin takes a moment of hesitation before accepting. There is silence as he reads the symbols and stories. Lives of ones he loves are told here, he can not look away but knows the price of gaining too much knowledge. He raises one hand and touches the spot where his eye once was. He places the cloth at the feet of the three sisters, now sitting next to one another on their wooden bench.
"This helps."
"But not that much," answers the one he spoke to first.
"Can this be undone?" Odin asks.
"What is made can always be unmade," say two of the sisters at once.
"It rarely is, however," say the other
"Balder's mother will not stand for this. She will fight you."
"Frigg is a brave woman and a mother, that will be enough to guide her."
"Will Balder. . ." Odin's question is left unsaid, even as he gestures to the cloth.
"Yes," the Norn sisters answer in unison.
At the mouth of the cave, a field mouse scurries behinds the bench, the woven tapestry in full view. Its eyes flash emerald.