Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There were no other children Loki’s age in Asgard.  The war with the Jotunns had been so long and intense, that in the end the men of Asgard had sworn a vow of chastity to build their ferocity; and the unmarried maids declared themselves shieldmaidens. However, no one begrudged the green-eyed baby, blue-fleshed from screaming, that Odin brought home and gave as spoils of war to Frigga (who promptly snuggled the babe into quietude). Thor, who was too young to know where babies usually come from, accepted with joy his new brother.

As they grow up:

Thor leads the parade, his bratty little brother following, making it a parade.

Another war followed that one (a “misunderstanding” with the Vanir, whose own war with Asgard had preceded the Asgard/Jotunheim war), and, one thing following another, it was some years before the marriage of Volstagg and Gudrun finally opened the time of peace and plenty. New families blossomed in that spring, but their children would be too young to be friends with Thor and Loki: would grow up instead to be admirers of the golden prince and his boon companions.

Boon companions? Yes; for there were other children Thor’s age; after leaving the nursery, he was most comfortable with the nobly born Fandral, the noble tomboy Sif, and their usual guard Volstagg, light-hearted and the youngest of the warriors.

Loki is the pest, the brat, the trickster. The entourage.

Play becomes organized; Volstagg their guard is their first teacher, then fellow player, in the arena and in the fields. The pastures of Asgard host their horse-back lessons, their races; the nearby woods (gradually passing into wild forest) contain their hunts, their first expeditions.

Loki is the attacker from ambush, in hide-and-go-seek; the taker of indirect stratagems in games of war (while Thor is straightforward).

Growing up, Loki seeks first his brother’s respect, then recognition by Thor’s fellow warriors for Loki’s own fell abilities, not only his clever mind. Thor is reluctant to sit for the practical lessons in governing the realm, the endless council meetings, inventories, budgeting and accounting; so when Loki is old enough, he is deputized by his brother. Thor still sits for petition days, enjoying and learning Odin’s levying of justice.

Loki is respected by Odin’s council—but they will soon break faith in a contract.

A boring summer council’s meeting, infrastructure is a word Loki could do without, as well as the phrase “contractual obligation.” Staring off into space while Thor and his friends trade sword blows in the courtyard, in his hearing, where he rather would be.  Odin’s voice cuts through his reverie.

“The builder wants his horse.”

“But no other help,” Odin’s newest counselor, grim Igron points out.

“Loki?” asks Odin. “What do you think?”

“It’s just a horse,” says Loki absently. “It has no hands to work mortar, or otherwise help in building. Is there a problem with that?”

The contract is agreed to, amid grumblings about the high price demanded, and the building commences.

The wall grows. Much to the Asgardians’ amazement (and the council’s dismay), the builder’s horse is indeed a useful helper: hauling tree trunks, pulling high-loaded stone-filled sledges, belaying the builder’s clever-made cranes that swing the stones high into position in the mortarless structure. Loki discovers that there is another word to which he should have been paying attention in the sleepy summer council meeting: deadline. If the wall is complete before Spring, Asgard owes the builder the Sun, the Moon, and Frigga his mother; if it is completed later (or never), Asgard owes nothing.

Winter comes early, and hard. From the existing ramparts, the Asgardians watch the builder continue, unhindered by the heavy snows. His thick-furred horse digs trenches free of ice with its broad hooves; its breath warms air to thaw the frozen ropes. The amount of progress is becoming alarming. Odin’s children and their companions are forbidden to interfere with the wall, to prevent default (another damned overlooked word).

But there is another threat that a group of bored would-be warriors could address. Trolls are a plentiful nuisance this winter: rock trolls, ice trolls; there is even a rumor of trolls that are not immobilized by the weak winter sunlight. Tyr has experience with trolls (and Volstagg pretends to), and so the group goes hunting. Loki comes along, having been assured that the council meeting he is missing will be inconsequential.

In that council meeting, there was general concern about the progress of the builder, and the need for paying him. As tempers flared, Igron turned to Odin.

“Wasn’t the horse your son’s idea?”

“Are you arguing a minor child should be responsible for this disastrous contract?”

“Someone has to be,” Igron said. “And you’ve got two sons.” The heir and the spare.

The troll hunt finds traces and tracks, even a cave that had been used during daylight periods; but no trolls. Hunting for meat on the way back is more successful, though, and the companions returned in high spirits. Loki rushed toward the palace, planning to rid himself of the grime of the trail, when he was interrupted by frowning Igron, his father’s counselor.

“Wait.”

“Why?” Loki asked, irritated.

“I came to warn you. The Allfather blames you for the status of the wall. It grows apace; we will end up owing the builder the Sun, the Moon, and your lady mother. All because you allowed the builder the use of his horse.”

“I allowed?”

“As I said, Odin blames you. He wants your head instead of Frigga’s. And your balls for the Sun and Moon. Unless, of course, you stop the builder from completing the wall….”

“How?”

“Deny the builder his horse. You are the inventive one, Prince Loki. Surely you can find a way to distract the horse, or lame it. Meet me outside the wall, after dark.”

“Yes,” said Loki, and went to change his dusty clothes.

“Psst.” From the shadows outside the wall, in the gap where the gate was growing. Igron stepped into the faint glow of the green magic light in Loki’s hand. And did not look disgusted, unlike most Asgardians at their first exposure to Loki’s magic. Interesting.

“You have a plan?”

Loki looked Igron up and down. “Father draws advisors from many places, even Vanaheim. How came you into his service? Where are you from, counselor Igron?”