by Dima Zales
Loki keeps his eyes forward. The idea of being hooked by Sigyn is strangely not as unsettling as it should be.
They veer away from the palace proper to Briedablick, Baldur’s hall. As Briedablick comes into view, Loki scowls again. He’s heard the place is quite beautiful to others' eyes; everyone tells Loki it glows. All Loki can see is the dark swirl of Baldur’s magic around the massive gray stone structure as they approach. As usual, when he is around Baldur, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
A few minutes later they are ushered into the foyer by a servant who bows and says, “I will go inform my master you are here, Thor.” Tipping his head first to Thor and then Loki, he leaves.
From down the hall in the opposite direction of the servant’s departure comes a feminine squeak and a rough male gasp.
Thor’s eyes go wide. “The servant went the wrong way!” he says delightedly.
Rolling his eyes at Thor’s childishness, Loki says, “So it would seem.” Tipping his head in the direction of the exit, he says, “We should go.”
Another male grunt echoes in the foyer.
Snickering like a little boy, Thor doesn’t move. “Who do you think is sampling Baldur’s beauty right now?”
Loki’s jaw tenses and he stares at the large man before him. Despite the fact that Baldur likes Thor, Loki doesn’t hate him. Thor is loud, gregarious, and far too trusting. But he actually complimented Loki on an illusion he cast to confuse the troll they killed — it is nice to have his abilities are appreciated for once.
And Thor isn’t stupid, no matter how he tries to hide his brain on occasion. They had a decent conversation about Troll nesting habits as they started out on their quest. Loki thinks he could actually like Thor, if he were to let himself. Even Mimir has said that Thor has the potential to be Loki’s ally and true friend … and Loki can see that happening, if he just plays along and is nice.
But he can’t quite do it. Smirking, Loki says, “Well, I think we can safely assume it isn’t his mother.”
Thor tilts his head, his childish grin fading.
Lifting an eyebrow, Loki crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “But other than that … really it could be anyone.”
“I think you insult Baldur and a great many virtuous women,” says Thor, a furrow settling in his brow.
Loki should stop, should apologize. Instead, he lets the truth slip from his lips. “Oh, I suppose the old men are probably safe, and probably the livestock, too.” His lips quirk. “Maybe.”
Thor steps forward, his face going a little red. “End this jest now, Trickster.”
And Loki should, because Thor, like everyone but Loki, is blind to Baldur’s shortcomings. Thor doesn’t see how Baldur’s charms, illusory though they are, are irresistible to all of Asgard. Thor doesn’t see how Baldur abuses them.
Loki shouldn’t test Thor this way, shouldn’t set himself up to lose a potential comrade. There is a loud grunt from down the hall. Thor turns his head, momentarily distracted.
Loki should apologize. But he can’t.
There is the sound of a door creaking. And then there is the sound of soft feminine footfalls. Thor, looking in the direction of the footsteps, smiles. It isn’t a friendly smile.
Curious despite himself, Loki lets his gaze go down the hall … and sees a rumpled Sigyn emerging.
Loki’s mouth drops. He feels like he may throw up.
Thor pulls away from Loki to let Sigyn pass. Her eyes go up to Thor’s and her face reddens. And then her eyes meet Loki’s.
Her face crumples into a look of confusion and sadness. “Loki … I … ”
Loki’s mouth goes to a hard line, and he looks away from her.
From the corner of his eye, he sees her bow her head. Turning, she runs out the door.
Thor laughs lowly. “You should see your face.”
Loki hears a grinding noise … it’s his own teeth. He is suddenly angrier at Thor than he is angry at Sigyn or even Baldur. Sigyn was obviously charmed by Baldur’s glamour, like everyone else. Baldur was just an ass, like always, and Loki expected no better from him — nor can Loki retaliate against the crown prince.
But Thor … Loki had hoped better of Thor. He had hoped for the bastard’s friendship — some loyalty, some understanding. Loki uncrosses his arms and steps away from the wall towards the larger man. The air between them seems to shimmer. Thor narrows his eyes and his hands ball into fists.
At that moment Baldur comes down the hall. “Oh, brother! Loki!” Baldur says, and both Thor and Loki turn. Baldur is adjusting his shirt. Loki has seen paintings of Baldur, he knows what other people see, a crown of golden curls, tanned golden skin, blue eyes on a face chiseled like a roman sculpture, broad shoulders and height nearly as tall as Thor’s. Loki sees a tangle of light brown hair, a slightly pudgy face with narrow hazel eyes and a soft body only as tall as his own.
“Loki,” says Baldur, smirking slightly, though Loki has no doubt he appears to be smiling benevolently to Thor. “I think you know Lady Sigyn?”
“No,” says Loki. “Not well.”
He shoots a sidelong gaze toward Thor, daring him to contradict him.
Thor says nothing. But he smiles, a knowing, cruel smile.
That smile changes everything.
Later that night at the banquet, Loki stands behind Odin at the table, behaving like a truly proper retainer — albeit a slightly drunk one. Thor is boasting of his exploits to a crowd of happy admirers. In a far corner, Sif has her own admirers. Sigyn is nowhere to be seen.
Odin, deep into his cups, slams his goblet down on the table. The clang is drowned out by the sound of Thor’s laughter further down the table. Glaring in the direction of Sif, Odin snarls. “I have warned him about her. He is becoming a laughingstock!”
Pushing back from the table, Odin growls and stands from his chair. “I can’t watch this.”
Pursing his lips, Loki says, “If you permit me, sire, I’ll take care of it.”
Snorting, Odin says, “Good luck.” And then the giant man turns and storms from the hall.
As soon as Odin has left, Loki walks over to Sif.
“Here to grace me with your silver tongue, Trickster?” the lady asks.
A reputation can be a helpful thing. Loki smiles. Very shortly afterwards he is in Sif’s bedchamber.
After the “lady” falls asleep, Loki trims her golden locks. Gathering them in his hands, he ties them in one of her own ribbons. When Thor returns home Loki is waiting for him at the front door.
As he throws the shorn locks, the traditional symbol of an unfaithful wife, at Thor’s feet, Loki smiles as sweetly as he can. “You should see your face,” he says.
He completely expects the beating that comes next.
What he doesn’t expect is for Hoenir and Mimir to be so unsympathetic when he comes crawling to the hut for help.
“You did what!” Mimir screeches. Loki winces from where he lays atop Hoenir’s workbench, the self-satisfied smile slipping from his lips.
Hoenir slaps a hand down hard on a rib he is repairing. Loki’s eyes go wide. Hoenir is actually scowling at him. Hoenir never scowls at him.
“I gave Thor proof of his wife’s infidelity,” says Loki, and Hoenir’s hand comes down hard on another rib.
“You’re supposed to be helping me fix that,” says Loki lifting his head.
Hoenir just raises an eyebrow.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” says Mimir. “Do you know what you would do if someone slept with your wife?”
Raising an eyebrow, Loki drops his head on the bench. “As I don’t have a wife and am unlikely to acquire one — ”
“I’ll tell you what you’d do!” Mimir says, voice trembling. “You’d cut him up into little pieces, that’s what you’d do.”
Loki blinks … there is something in that, something he can’t quite place. He raises his head.
Mimir’s face is livid. “And then you’d take all those pieces a
nd flush them all down the — ”
“Mimir!” Odin’s voice rings through the hut.
Loki’s blood goes cold.
“Don’t talk about that, Mimir,” and Loki blinks because he almost thinks he hears worry in Odin’s voice. But a few moments more and Odin is leaning over him. He doesn’t look worried. Oddly, he doesn’t look as angry as he did after Baldur’s birth. He looks more … disgusted.
“You told me he was turning into a laughingstock,” Loki says. “I told you I’d take care of it, and I have. I delivered proof that — ”
“Sif has told everyone you used your magic to sneak in on her while she slept,” says Odin.
“And people believe that?” says Mimir. “From that trollop?”
Odin’s eyes don’t leave Loki’s. “What matters is what Thor thinks. He believes his wife. Which is lucky — otherwise you could be tried for treason.”
Loki swallows, his brow furrowing. He was only obeying orders. The fickleness and duplicity of royalty.
“— but he is only requesting your banishment,” says Odin, his eyes narrowing.
The breath catches in Loki’s throat. Odin doesn’t mean banishment to Alfheim, Jotunheim, Vaneheim or any of the other civilized worlds. He can only mean Midgard. There is a very small part of him that wants to accept that fate, sees it almost as an open door from a cage, but his rational mind tells him what he would be accepting is a short, painful life, and death by plague — or in his case, more likely hunger.
Odin’s lip curls up. “Fix this, Loki.” He stares down at Loki for a few moments more, and Loki feels himself shrinking. And then Odin turns and strides from the room.
Loki looks at Hoenir. He doesn’t meet his eyes. He looks to Mimir, and the head winces. “You owe Sif, Thor and Odin a very big apology.”
Staring at Amy, Loki feels the heat of Thor’s first betrayal, that first cruel laugh, itching beneath his skin. How could he have trusted Thor after that?
Beatrice’s voice startles Loki out of his dark reverie. “So did you get Thor his hammer, Sif the golden wig, Odin Daupnir and Gungnir — and the boat for Frey?”
“Daupnir, Gungnir, boat?” says Amy.
Loki smiles a brittle smile. “Daupnir is a lovely little ring. The boat is called Skidbladnir. It has a clever way of folding into time so that all of it that remains in real-time can fit in the palm of your hand.”
Amy’s face lights up, “It sounds kind of like the TARDIS!”
“Tardis?” says Loki, somewhat amazed that she seems to have grasped the concept at all. Humans usually didn’t.
“It’s a phone booth,” says Beatrice.
“Bigger on the inside than outside,” says Amy. “And it can travel through space and time too. Can Skidbladnir do that?”
Loki blinks. “Humans have such a vessel?”
“No, no, no,” says Amy. “It’s just a story.” She frowns a little. “Just the way you described Skidbladnir, I thought it could be true.”
Slightly disappointed, Loki says, “Other than its compactibility, Skidbladnir is just a boat. We used it for camping trips. Until Odin gave it to Frey, chief of the Vanir.”
“What about Gungnir, the spear that can hit any mark?” says Beatrice.
Tapping his chin, Loki says, “I did give that to Odin, but that was a different … adventure.” Another one of his under-appreciated acts of self-sacrifice. Really, Odin should have appreciated what Loki did for Thor. It’s not like sleeping with Sif was any great prize.
“Did the dwarf sew up your lips?” says Beatrice.
“Grandma!” says Amy, sounding absolutely scandalized. The gifts to Odin, Thor and Sif were made by two rival clans of dwarfs in a contest. The prize was Loki’s head. At the last minute Loki convinced the winner that since only his head had been promised, it couldn’t be detached at the neck. Said dwarf chose to sew up Loki’s mouth in lieu of decapitation.
He’s not sure exactly why Amy sounds so disapproving, but he senses an opportunity for comedy, or at least shock value.
With just the barest bit of concentration, he creates an illusion of wire stitches over his lips. Turning to Amy, and Beatrice he says, “Mmmphhhff!”
Beatrice sits back in her seat, hand over her mouth.
Amy gasps. “How can you even joke about that?!”
Loki tilts his head. The serious answer, the truthful answer, is how can he not? Joking about pain is the only weapon he has. It is the way he thumbs his nose up at the universe. The way he proves he is unbroken, and if not the god of mischief, then at least mischief’s master.
But that isn’t the funny answer.
He creates an illusion of himself in the backseat next to Beatrice and lets that projection say, “Don’t worry, m’lady. I am not offended by my joke.”
“Ahh!” says Beatrice looking frantically back and forth between the illusion of Loki and Loki’s real self.
The car almost swerves off the road. “Don’t do that without warning me!” says Amy.
“Mmmphhhff,” says Loki’s real self, still feigning the stitches.
“Don’t you people believe in proportional punishment?” Amy shoots him a glance that looks angry, hurt and scandalized all at once.
Loki tilts his head. In the scheme of things, that physical agony was small. He had done a wrong. He paid a price. It was logical. There were other pains, other slights that were random and unjust. They hurt more. But he cannot think of them, much less speak of them. Instead, he lets his astrally-projected self lean forward and whisper near her ear. “But if I hadn’t had my lips sewn shut I wouldn’t have learned the art of astral projection — out of sheer desperation to wag my tongue.”
Beatrice snorts.
Loki lets the illusion of himself and the stitches fade. “And if Thor hadn’t had the opportunity to hold me down while the stitches were put in, he might not have felt that he’d recovered his honor and we might never have become friends.”
Amy shoots him a look that communicates both revulsion and disbelief.
But Thor and Loki had been friends, hadn’t they? They’d both risked their lives for one another. And for a long time Thor’s friendship had surely helped ease Valli and Nari’s dealings with other Asgardians. They had been known more for Thor’s patronage, and less as Loki’s sons.
In the end what good had it done them, though? Even, brave, noble, supposedly honest, Thor had caved to Odin.
Loki clenches his fists. He cannot believe that Valli and Nari have met their ends. They are somewhere, alive, if not well, and wherever they are he will find them. Loki is very good at finding lost things, and the more impossible the task, the more likely it is he will succeed. Even Odin gives him that.
“So … ” says Amy, eyes focused on the road ahead. “Can you tell us what we’re going to do when we find gala drill?”
“Gala drill?” says Loki. A party and a drill? He scratches his ear … Did he hear right, or lose the thread of magic? Something tickles in the back of his mind
“You know, elf queen, in the books?” says Amy.
“And movies!” Beatrice pipes in.
“Ahhh … a name from a new myth,” says Loki, the tickle becoming an itch. There is something about the name that feels almost, but not quite right.
Amy blinks. “I guess, maybe.”
Shaking his head, Loki says, “No king or queen of the elves would reveal their true name. It would mean sacrificing too much of their power.” Lifting his eyebrows, he tilts his head. “And believe me, power isn’t something elven monarchs are keen on relinquishing.”
Amy leans forward in her seat. She isn’t wearing the figure-flattering shirt she wore the other day. What she is wearing now is baggy, and goes too far up her chest. Loki has no idea why someone with such astonishing breasts would want to hide them.
“Uh … .is she going to be unhappy to see us here?” Amy says, looking nervously out the window.
“You and Beatrice? Oh, no, you are fine. The elves resented Odin’s orders
to withdraw from your realm. They saw it their duty to play an active role in shaping human culture. They’ll be delighted to see you. Me, on the other hand … ” He puts a hand to his chin, and taps contemplatively. “I will need a disguise.”
“The elf queen can’t read hearts?” whispers Amy quietly.
Startled by the question, Loki turns to her. “Actually, the elf queen can read hearts, or minds rather. I’m sure that she’ll see through the disguise, but it will confuse her court, and give her plausible deniability should Odin pay her a visit.”
“You’re on the outs with Odin already?” says Beatrice.
Choosing to ignore that question, Loki says, “As for what I want with the elf queen … I want a simple exchange of information.”
He sees Amy’s eyes lift to the rear view mirror and realizes she and Beatrice are exchanging a glance.
Let them wonder. He has been more than accommodating.
Amy squeezes Car’s steering wheel. “What sort of disguise?”
Loki tilts his head. “The best disguise is like the best lie. As close to the truth as possible.” He concentrates. His armor with its magical camouflage is too fine to belong to just any ordinary soldier. He dulls it to steel, painted dark gray. His hair he changes to brown, his chin and nose he broadens, and he increases his height and the width of his shoulders.
“Whoa,” says Amy, “you were big enough already.”
Unable to resist a chance to jest, Loki smirks. “Yes, yes, I was,” he says in a deep, husky voice.
Amy tilts her head. “What does that mean?”
Before Loki even has a chance to purse his lips at her disappointing inability to grasp that little bit of sly innuendo, Beatrice hits him on the back of the head.
That’s more like it!
“Argh!” Loki screams, feigning pain. He turns and smiles at Beatrice. She scowls at him.
“Oh, my God,” says Amy.
Loki smirks at her. “I’m not really a god, but I’ll pretend to be one for you.”
Beatrice hits him again. “Argh!” Loki cries, but he is unable to suppress a wide grin. There’s nothing like a bit of comedy to take one’s mind off a daunting quest.