Chapter Text
"Do you two see that statue there?" The king inquired of two small boys hurrying behind him, gesturing with a robed arm at a large golden statue of a figure in a horned helmet, raising his hands above tall pointed gold window frames. As the twins were now old enough to understand these sort of things, their grandfather had begun telling them about their father, Loki.
"That's Father," Narvi, the darker-haired child confirmed dutifully. "He was a hero during the Battle of Svarftalfheim, he saved Thor and the Midgardian woman."
Vàli, the other twin, with soft brown hair framing his blue face, felt a pull in his chest. He sniffled. "I wish we could meet him. Astrid says we're... fatherless."
The twins' grandfather turned and looked at Vàli for a moment, as if about to say something, but instead squeezed his hand kindly, crouching down in front of the tiny child. "Listen not to what Astrid or anyone else says. You do have a father, and wherever he is, he is very proud of you and Narvi, and will watch over you two with the utmost care."
"How do you know?" Narvi asked, gazing up into his grandfather's eye, which looked almost green in the gold morning sun. The look he gave Vàli returned. "Oh, I know these things."
Yes, Loki was sure he could shield these two from what was to come. He felt bad for lying to them, but it was entirely necessary to keep up the ruse.
Although sometimes he had to remind himself why he had set up the ruse in the first place, especially when the security council meetings became too tedious. The plan itself had come to him long before he had lain on the cold ground of cursed Svartalfheim, back in his cell, he had realized when Thor asked for his help, that he could avenge his mother and one-up his bungling brother. He would not rot in chains, or stand on the sidelines as Odin made Thor king. No, he would rise to the throne, proving that his worth was as much more than Thor’s. He wasn’t sure how to show all this to Odin, but if he could induce the Allfather to stay on Midgard, then he could certainly come up with an explanation.
To his defense, this was not all for his own glory (although he couldn’t complain about that bit). After all, Thor didn’t want to be king, and Odin would pass on any day now anyway, so /technically, by taking the throne, he was doing everyone a favor. As his brother said himself- Loki thought smugly- he understood rule as Thor never would. And he made sacrifices, attended royal duties, and attended to the Maruader problem, which had been lingering since the destruction of the Bifrost. Now that it had been repaired, (minus that uptight Heimdall) Loki was slowly fixing the issue. Asgard would thank him.
By now, the twins were pausing to admire beetles and odd plants, and Loki realized that, immersed in his thoughts, he had walked the boys to Frigga’s famous garden, and his chest tightened. Even though the garden was beautifully maintained by her servants, the very colors of the petals seemed duller withough her presence that had encouraged the fertility of the plants. Loki sighed, tugging the boys along.
“Mama!”
Loki started. Sigyn.
The short woman in the deep brown dress was carefully harvesting a few of the medicinal flowers. She looked up, and her hazel eyes shone with warmth at the sight of her sons rushing towards her. “Hello, my little ones.” she told them as they clung to her wide hips. Sigyn then looked up at the false Allfather, bowing her head. “I hope they were not too much trouble, my king.”
“Oh, no not at all, Lady Sigyn. No trouble at all.”
“Thank you so much for taking the time to tell them about their father, your son. It’s so important for them to learn about him.”
“Indeed.” Loki squirmed internally. Did she know? But her eyes appeared totally sincere, as straight foward as ever, which Loki found both tiresome and admirable about the Dwarven-Vanir woman. He had found it admirable, just like everything else about her, when they first married, but as time passed, they had drifted apart. They had argued, Angrboda had came and went from Loki’s life- although he had taken care never to let Sigyn know of this.
In truth, it was Sigyn’s desire to settle down that intimidated Loki, so he had been extra careful to use protection whenever they were together at night. Until recently, as Thor’s coronation approached. All the other court women had practically worshipped the oaf, except loyal Sigyn. So he let her back into his life, and she had become pregnant, and had the twins. His first children since the Sleipnir incident, and Ullr, but that was another story. They were so tiny, his indifference towards babies turned to pride, and his pride grew to- dare he hope it?- love.
But it was Sigyn who spent most of time caring for the boys, as Loki attended to his princely duties of protecting the realm. He often felt like he was the provider, and she was the mother bird on her nest. It was the ideal Asgardian family unit, and Loki, far from questioning it, spent more and more time away from his family, feeling suffocated by Sigyn, trying to impress his own father.
Unfortunately, his peaceful little family was further forgotten as everything with the cursed Tessaract. Until the funeral service commemorating hiis ‘death’, where a weeping Sigyn was accompanyied by her sons, who, to Loki’s shock, had grown so much in the past couple years.. Guilt-ridden, he had summoned her afterwards, and asked her how she and the boys fared. She had been raising the boys well, that he knew she would do, but how did they feel about their absent father?
Absent, like Laufey?
Loki knew he would never forgive himself if they grew up feeling abandoned by him, so he had made sure to make use of this time he had while he could, to bond with his sons. Narvi was becoming proficient in some seidr castings, while Vali liked reading. Loki patted their heads, Narvi’s deep brown hair, Vali’s fiery red.
Sitting in the shadow of a fallen pillar, Angrboda picked halfheartedly at her soup, while a few other visiting cheiftains and what little was left of Utgard’s tribe huddled together in groups of two to two dozen, talking loudly and laughing, muttering to themselves and shaking their heads. The general assembly would begin in about an hour.
The hall was packed, with representatives, cheifftains, and warlords from All the Utgardians looked thin, thinner than she expected. Speaking with some cheiftains of the tribes that neighboured Utgard, Angrboda learned that With the destruction of much of the city around the citadel, there had not been much economic activity within Utgard. It certainly didn't help that the harvests this season had reached an all-time low. Even the storehouses that didn’t lie in ruin weren’t enough to keep Utgard going.
Many families had already moved out of the valley, calling it ‘a valley of desolation’. As she read through her tea leaves, Angrboda spotted out of the corner of her eye a small family carrying bundles on their backs along with their children. Hurriedly, they moved as a unit between the tall buildings. A karl family, leaving their unstable farm in the great valley behind, no doubt, and searching for a new home beyond. They would not be too safe in the surrounding lands either, unfortunately. With Laufey’s failure preceding the city’s destruction at the hands of the Asgardians, Jotun faith in the high king had collapsed almost as fast as the towers of the citadel did as the full force of the Bifrost struck them. Utgard was not popular.
“What grievous times we live in,” lamented one old warrior, stumbling towards where Laufey was sitting, staring into space. Ever since his injury at the hands of Prince Loki, and the death of his remaining sons, Byleistr and Helblindi, in the destruction of the citadel, Laufey Bergelmirson had given up his title, a desolate man.
“Don’t polish off the liquor. We’ll need it later.” Gulping down his icy drink, the man waved his former king off. “There may not be a later.” he grumbled, taking a sip of his drink. “We have to enjoy what we have while we can, Laufey. We live in the aftermath of the collaspe.”
“Especially without the Casket,” called one visiting Wave Jotun for the hundredth time that day. The rest of the women she sat with echoed her words.
“Well, that’s nothing new. The Casket has been gone for centuries,” Vafthrudnir, Laufey’s grandfather and former Chief of Utgard, pointed out. “But now we have truly run out of chances to reclaim it, Laufey failed,” the Wave Maiden said.
Quite literally blind to the womans charm, Laufey bristled. “And how does Utgard’s trouble concern you, Jarnsaxa? Take my advice- go home to your son and your sisters in Hler’s Isle.” Angrboda had to agree. Even she knew that Wave Jotnar were known for being vultures- picking on the remains of the Frost Jotnar’s fall.
“The Casket being secured would benefit relations between all the tribes,” Lady Jarnsaxa pressed. “Talking about how we need to retrieve it is easy. It’s the action that even my father struggled with.” the chief turned mournfully away.
“Quit your mourning, Laufey,” snapped Vafthrudnir to the younger man. Angrboda winced. That was not what Laufey wanted to hear.
“Why!?” challenged the former king, rising up painfully and turning to stare at his elder. “You certainly can’t expect me to celebrate. My wife is slain. My sons are slain. My clan, almost all slain. The time of plotting, of thinking we can return to what we once were- is finished.”
“Or maybe it’s just begun.” Angrboda said quietly, stepping out of the shadows. Laufey whipped his head around, his tired eyes widening in surprise. “Who goes there?” one soldier demanded halfheartedly, drawing forth an ice spear. Angrboda rose her hands up in surrender, stepping into the light. Mutterings and whispers of curiosity rippled through the crowded hall. That was to be expected. After all, Jarnvidr had not sent representatives to an assembly in years: it was simply so far east, and they had always been a closed society. But what she came for was important.
“What in Ymir’s name brings you so far, Jarnvidja?” questioned Vafthrudnir, squinting at her. Angrboda stood unfazed. “Forgive my intrusion, Chief Laufey.” her voice cut through the air like iron. “But I, Angrboda Ulrickdottir of Jarnvidr, do have a preposition to make.” Laufey’s jaw set in suspicion.
"Oh, what do we have to lose?” Vafthrudnir said, nudging Laufey. A few other people echoed their elder’s words. “You might have known of the prophecy, millenia ago.” Angrboda began.
“There have been many in that time, we’ll require specifics,” grunted Vafthrudnir.
“I mean the prophecy of the three cursed children,” the witch said sharply. “Of my children, of Loki’s,” Laufey flinched at the name but nodded. “We are listening, Lady Ulrickdottir.”
“Many moons ago, Borson sent his legions to Jarnvidr, took what he wanted, and razed the rest,” Angrboda’s teeth ground in her bitterness. Everyone warily watched her hands, which crackled with power. “But that half-breed can’t hold my children forever. I raised them to be too strong for that. When the old man loses his grip, Ragnarok will be set into motion.” Angrboda cast an illusion of nine thin blocks lined up on their sides, touched one, and the rest fell in a neat row. “They will be the key to restoring Jotunheim. If you help me get back to them, and recruit Prince Loki’s help, he can use his unique skillset to help us, as a double agent.”
“This sounds too familiar.” Laufey growled. “Is this a recycled plan, another failure, crafted in the madness of a bereft mother’s mind?”
“I assure you chief, this plan will have key differences. We won’t be taking a chance on Loki, he will join us.” Angrboda held up a scrap of black fur, black and white hair, and a shimmering scale. “The children Odin stole, in his vain attempt to thwart destiny, are shared between us. Once he learns of how Odin hid and tortured them, he will be furious, and I will be there to shape his fury into a dagger- to strike the heart of the tyrant, ensuring the prosperity of all of us,”
“If you’re so sure, you must be quite convincing. But what makes you think we want him here? After all, he was raised an Aesir, and even made an attempt on his father.”
“I do believe he did so thinking that Laufey abandoned him, left him to die, according to Borson.” Gasps of disbelief, shock, and anger coursed through the people, and Laufey actually staggered back. He was known to be a doting parent.
“What kind of savages do these Aesir think us?” called one woman, the noble Lady Gerda.
“Since he cannot possibly comprehend Utgard’s tradition, he is quick to assume the worst.They hate us, they fear us, they think they can judge us.” snarled Skadi, a Storm Jotun who had been lingering impatiently for her turn to speak. The Storm Giants, for one, stand with Lady Angrboda.” Everyone looked at Laufey expectantly for his say on the matter, but he was silent, sunk into his seat in thought.
“I trust the Jotun people to make the right decision at this year’s assembly,” Angrboda said, smiling with all her sharp teeth. It was time.
Angrboda: