While Your Lips Are Still Red

by Feyval

Summary:

This story explores Loki before the events of the Thor 1 movie: Learning then that he was adopted catalyzes great hurt, confusion and brutality in him. I wanted to write about how he learned that brutality, and how it would have lead to the character we see in Thor 1 and later. I have always wanted to explore a younger version of Loki in general, and imagine more about his childhood, youth and coming of age before he becomes what we see of him in the MCU.

Notes:

Heed the tags. I mean it. Don't read if you don't like or are affected. Yes, as an author I may enjoy breaking my readers but I never want to hurt anyone. Please watch out for yourself. My mind is very dark, so enter at own risk. You have been warned.

I have been writing for a long time, but this is the first fanfiction I completely wrote in English. It is my second language. I hope I managed to avoid any cringe or confusing moments that break the immersion. I had help from the discord server veriante created for her huge work Amor Vincit Omnia here on ao3, kudooooos goes out. <3

A few chapters are already finished, as is a general plan about the whole fic, but I will not be able to update regularly.

The title of this fic is the title of a song by the fantastic band Nightwish: "While Your Lips Are Still Red". It was part of my initial inspiration for this work, and I am using it, as chapter titles, among other things.

Chapter 1: Prologue: Summer Solstice

Notes:

Thank you to my wonderful beta Linny, who helped out with the English-trouble, has so many ideas and is a joy to discuss with!

It was the eve of the summer solstice festivities in Asgard.

Everybody was feasting, drinking and dancing as the suspense built up for the rapidly apporaching midnight ceremonies. Both boy princes were eager, especially Thor. This would be his first time to be among the blooded warriors, those who who had proven themselves worthy in real battle, to fight against the Fire Giant from Muspelheim. Unlike Thor, who’s large frame was built for the battle ahead, Loki wasn't much of a fighter, much to his father's dismay. Lean and less muscular warriors, like Thor’s friend Fandral, always found ways to make up for their lack of strength with technique or speed or later maybe experience. Odin had hoped for his second son to excel in one of these ways, but instead the young one simply retreated more and more from the exercises and brawls. More and more often he could instead be found all by himself, reading, studying, practising his seidhr or even playing music. Those crafts were not inherently dishonourable for a man, but for an Asgardian Prince more was at stake. The way of a warrior was practically the only way a son of the King of Asgard could gain honour and prove himself worthy. Asgardians were a race of warriors after all, and Asgard's rule over the Nine Realms was built on war, on actions that showed their of honour and strength. And although Loki had never been meant to be on Asgard's Golden Throne for real as second in lineage, the people’s eyes were upon him. He needed to be prepared for that.

Odin looked at his son, the "odd son" as he still sometimes called him in his mind. The boy was growing fast, he would definitely reach at least Thor’s height, but his figure was wiry, lanky even. Already among his peers jokes about Loki's feminine appearance and effete behaviour had come up. Odin would not allow things to go further, never allow his son’s “oddness” to become a serious matter. No member of the royal family could ever be questioned as being unworthy like this.

At this very moment Loki was singing a song for his side of the table. The ballad itself was an entertaining story, and his voice was beautiful to listen to, his performance bringing life and depths to the tale that its original story had not possessed, enchanting his audience without any apparent effort or seidhr, and gaining thunderous applause. Odin watched as the boy finished the song, beaming happily as others patted him on the shoulder, handed him a jug, and demanded more song. Loki preened openly at the praise, but shook his head, and generously indicated an actual Skalde to pick up the performance.

As the actual ceremony began, Odin started to relax. Thor, at least, didn't disappoint. He delivered a good show for the assembled aristocracy and the court, effortlessly defeating the glowing body of the fierce giant and burrowing his axe in its neck. The crowd cheered. The giant’s body still glowed as if it were made directly out of the hot liquid heart of a fire mountain. A ritual torch was handed to Thor, and he lit it at the back of his defeated opponent and rose it. The cheer increased briefly before silence fell. The dead giant was quickly disposed of, and all other lights at the tables, at the walls, and hanging from the ceiling, were dimmed or extinguished.

Thor, having emerged victorious from the arena and proven himself worthy, presented the torch to his father, the King of Asgard and the Nine Realms.

Odin rose. His low but thunderous voice solemnly recited the ceremonial words, the sound reaching every corner of the great arena under the midnight stars. Only the low hissing of the flame in Thor's hand interrupted the profound moment. As his father’s words trailed off, Thor grinned, and Odin smiled back, subtly, but genuinely proud.

"Light the bonfires!" Odin proclaimed.

Thor raised his arm, holding the torch into the night sky in an official acknowledgement, then lowered it to allow his fellow warriors to kindle their own torches. He then moved to the stack of wood the size of a house in the centre of the sand, touching the flaming torch to the base. Crackling the flames immediately began to climb upward, light blazing and flickering brightly like a candle at first, before the dry trees roared up and the entire structure caught flame. The huge bonfire spat sparks into the now riotously coloured sky, drawing a small breeze through the crowd due to the sheer size of the blaze. The other warriors followed Thor’s example, lighting up the other bonfires in the arena and smaller firepits and lanterns throughout the ground.

"Litha Skoll!",the victorious Prince boomed.

"Litha Skoll!!" the crowd roared. Odin raised his golden cup in acknowledgement in a dignified toast. Thor and the warriors, having fulfilled their roles, were then handed horns, and everybody immediately drank giddily and cheered.

The festivities continued, people resuming their chatter and drinking and merriment. The sound of music and the beat of the drums resumed, and dancers with shining blades and skimpy ceremonial armour surrounded the fires, twirling and twisting skilfully. New sweet wine freshly brewed from this year’s cherries and summer berries was poured, and with that the official ceremonial part of the evening was over. Odin welcomed his euphoric firstborn, Thor’s adrenaline still high from his victorious battle, back at the table and congratulated him to his swift and decisive victory.

Then he released Thor to go out and socialise. The youth wouldn't be able to sit down and sit still even if ordered to, and why should he? His firstborn prince had proven himself a skilled fighter, and deserved to make his rounds and accept praise from all who would surely wish to give it. He peeled Frigga away from Thor, who had been hugging her son proudly, and they both sat back down and relaxed together, enjoying the merriment.

Thor bumped Loki's shoulder laughing. It was a hard bump, and must have hurt his little brother, but but Loki showed nothing to indicate it. At least the young one had strength of the mind and wits enough to appear strong in public, Odin thought as he watched Thor continuing along the long cordon of well wishers and friends, accepting congratulations as he went. Loki stayed at his place at the first table, chatting amicably with other courtiers and watching the dancers from his elevated position. The shield maidens finished their dance and stepped away and allowed the next group to perform. It was the male group's turn and Odin watched closely. The younger prince appeared to still be sitting back, relaxed and sipping his sweet wine while watching attentively.

Odin used his all seeing eye to examine the scene more closely. The noise and lights from the festivities dimmed back out of his perception until Odin’s vision showed him his younger son as though he were only inches away from his face: He could see Loki’s pale skin, slightly flushed, the dark red of his lips, slightly parted. He could hear Loki's shallow breathing, and the quickening sound of his heart in his chest despite his relaxed posture. Odin watched as those green eyes, locked on the whirling dancers, darkened. Male dancers. Hidden behind the cup, Loki licked his lips with the tip of his tongue and connected a finger to them.

"Loki!"

Thor's thunderous voice carried easily over the crowd, interrupting the moment, calling and waving for his brother to join him.

Loki quickly crossed his legs and sat up straight, moving close to the table. He smiled, quickly grabbed a small bowl and lifted it. "In a moment, brother. I have not finished my dessert."

Thor laughed. "Come on, hurry up and finish sating your sweet tooth! Let’s find some real dancing and singing! And drinking!!"

Loki grinned and stayed seated for am moment longer until the bowl was finished. He even made a little show of eating and enjoying it and laughed when Thor came back at him with a predatory spark in his gaze.

Odin scowled. It was as good an excuse as any that Loki was feigning to conceal his condition and to calm down, using the treats and acting normally. The little trickster might be convinced that his camouflage was sound and perfect. In fact it was far from that. Everybody close to Loki, who might have been looking out for something in the general direction the rumours already indicated, would have recognised the clear signs of arousal.

Thor had just jumped over the table, thrown a muscular arm around Loki’s slim shoulders and was dragging him away. Odin decided it was time to have a talk with his “odd” son. A serious talk.

 
 
~~~~~
 
 

As usual, Loki left the sparring pits first, being exhausted and beaten rather thoroughly and losing his fights relatively quickly. He had mostly ceased using magic in these fights after each trick and spell had resulted in repeated and apparently socially justified harassment, but transitioning to using only his own body in combat had only begun to show improvements in fighting prowess. It was a really slow, wearisome process, since everybody had already grown muscles in the pits, except him. In the end it was just tiring.

Having finished with his training for the day, Loki entered the changing room, beginning the process of cleaning up from his workout.

Odin entered, quietly closing the door behind him and silently observing his son.

Loki, already shirtless, dried his neck and chest with a towel as he turned around. "Father!” he said, clearly startled.

"My son”, Odin looked his lank and sweaty body up and down, “how are the exercises going?"

"Ah…”, Loki rolled his eyes. “I'm hanging in there." He gave an ironic smile and shrugged. "It’s not like I currently have the build or strength to stand my ground or fight off the Warriors Three or Sif if I am solely to rely on my physical abilities." He opened his arms and shook them to emphasise his point, overly dramatic, as usual.

Odin’s gaze stayed, unmoving, scrutinising. "And why do you think is that so?"

"I am not built like that”, Loki stated matter-of-fact-ly. “I have other strengths and assets."

"Oh do you?” Odin’s eyebrows rose. “Other assets, you say? Might that happen to involve guile and wile, cunning and conspiracy, sorcery and secrecy and sinister shenanigans?”

“Ooooh, that was almost poetic, father!” Loki clapped his hands and smirked broadly. “You would be correct. Well said. What do you want from me?” He began to undo the armour on his shins. “Do you want me to apologise for my pranks, as usual, or for my previous wily tactics? You know I will come up with an idea to make up for what I did. Haven’t I always?”

“Indeed.”

Loki groaned. “Is this still about Lady Sif's hair? I apologised to her many times, and to her parents, and I received a fair beatin- ...huh?" Loki stopped mid sentence, as Odin reached out and removed his armour from his hands, setting it aside. Then his hands locked on Loki’s sides right under his armpits, at his chest. The calloused palms and fingers shifted, felt his bare ribs, slowly and intensely stroking downwards until they reached his waist.

Loki laughed awkwardly, bewildered. It felt extremely uncomfortable and he had to resist the urge to tear himself from his father’s grip, but did not dare when he saw the serious expression in his Odin’s face.

"You are growing now, Loki. You are a boy no longer, but you are not a man yet."

“...Aye.” Loki’s brows rose. “I know? I mean… you’re not telling me I have to refrain from all the fun things in life all of a sudden now, are you?”

Loki eventually attempted to take a step backwards but his father's grip held him close, stopping the retreat. "Do you want to become a man, Loki?"

"Yes?" Loki couldn't help but be amused, and his mouth twitched up into a laughing smile.

Odin raised the brow above his good eye. "Is that a question, son? Do you think this funny?"

"No? I mean, ye-"

The backhand blow, unexpected as it was, hit him square in the side of the face. Loki half spun from the force and staggered to the ground, yelping in pain, then moaning quietly as he held his face from his prone position.

"Get up!" Odin bellowed.

Loki scrambled to his feet immediately, arms to his side, his gaze lowered to his feet. Where had that sudden change of mood come from?

"Jabbering like a child in front of your King. This is all but a joke to you, is it not, Loki? You are about to become a Prince of Asgard soon, with all titles and honours it bestows, yet you do not even know what you should grow up into? Are you still so careless and irresponsible as to not even give thought to this issue? Tell me: What makes a man of Asgard a true man?"

Loki’s jaw moved defiantly, and then he shrugged. "Everything that Thor does, I would say.”

Odin stared at his witty boy for a moment, and couldn't stop a small smile, brief as it was. He lifted his finger, returning to the lecture. "Exactly.” He took a breath, calming himself. “But it is not only what Thor does, but the way he sees and interacts with the world and the people around him. As he grows into a man, Thor has begun to be looked at by women with new interest, and he is returning that interest. You are an observant boy, and I'm sure you have noticed? Grown women, suddenly seeking his company, leaning in and crooking their heads, batting their eyelashes, subtly touching him?"

"Oh", Loki grinned, realising now where this was going. “Well, frankly, they are far from being so subtle, father. The maidens have been practically flocking around Thor, and the closer midsummer solstice drew the more constant the attention got. To be honest? I was glad I wasn't-"

"You were glad?"

“Um… well, yes, I…”

"Soon it will be your turn to receive all this attention, Loki, and you are telling me you are… glad that you are not looked at as a man?"

Loki opened his mouth, for a moment actually at a loss of words. He covered it with a weak laughter. “That is not what I…”

"What would you rather be looked at by, hmm? I’m curious. Perhaps instead, you want to draw the gazes of men, like a woman?”

“That is prepostero-”

“HEY!”

Loki’s mouth snapped shut and he tensed up, standing at attention. He had used up the last of his father’s patience quickly, it appeared.

“So carelessly you are shrugging off your defeats in the pits day after day, skipping additional practice to indulge in your unseemly studying and witchcraft, letting your brother carry the burden of a prince all by himself. Do you even want the attention of women?"

Loki blinked in utter confusion. His single moment of hesitation was enough for Odin. He reached between his odd son's legs and grabbed his manhood, hard.

Loki shrieked and jerked back.

"There", Odin hissed. He held on relentlessly, following his son’s attempt to retreat backwards, then pushing him back further, crushing him between the wooden wall and his looming figure._a

"You”, he growled angrily, “you have no interest in women, do you, Loki? Is this not the real truth, Loki? You look at men the way you should look at women, as though you are a lusting harlot, waiting to be courted, conquered and fucked."

Loki stared at him, his words having abandoned him, eyes wide open in utter disbelief and shock.

“Is it not so? Answer me!”

Loki shook his head. "No, I never… Ah!”

Loki cried out in pain as Odin’s grip tightened.

"Don't you dare lie to me, trickster." Odin’s voice had dropped to a dangerously low snarl.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. Again he shook his head.

“I don’t understand what you mean!”

“You don’t understand? Well, let me jog your memory: Were you not gawking, shamelessly, at those male dancers at the solstice rituals? Your cheeks flushing at their bare chests, your eyes darkening as they were glued to their hard muscles moving beneath their glistening skin, their flimsy clothing leaving nothing to the imagination? Look at me! Look at me and tell me that you didn't have a reaction right. here." he tensed his grip "as you watched them?"

With terror Loki felt himself stir at even the memory the utterly lewd words evoked, made worse by the fact that his father had never spoken so crassly with him like this before.

"You, my son, are an utter disgrace. You are unworthy of the throne, unworthy of Asgard." He shifted his grip between Loki's legs, cocking his head slightly. "Your body betrays you, Loki. And you do not even have the dignity to be ashamed."

Loki gasped between gritted teeth. "Stop. ...Please.”

“Oh, now you’re begging?”

A choked sob escaped Loki's lips. His hand covered his mouth, trying to hold in any more sounds.

“Will you listen now, without cheek, mockery, or your usual carelessness and disrespect? This is not a joke!”

Loki nodded fervently.

“I can’t hear you.”

"I will do as you bid, father", Loki murmured, shocked by how shaken and pitiful he sounded.

"Very well." Odin’s hand finally retreated. Loki gave an involuntary gasp of utter relief.

"This is what I will have you do: From this moment on, you will hone your physical strength, above your studies and practice with seidhr.

This..." a rough slap to the stomach made Loki double over with a muffled “ugh”. As fast as his body would allow, he stood back up straight, still feeling as though his father’s body was closing in on him. “...is not acceptable."

"Yes, father.”

"You will not indulge your depraved cravings. Never again. A single rumour of anything even remotely like this besmirches not only you, but the honour of the entire family, and by extension the honour or the entire royal line, and that of the Kingdom of Asgard. And I as King have sworn to protect that honour at all costs. This is not one of your games, son. Do you understand me?"

"Aye.”

"I hope so." Odin paused to let his words sink in, staring intensely into his son’s eyes until the boy broke the stare, lowering his gaze obediently. "Discipline, my son. I am going to teach you discipline from now on."

"...Yes, father."

The response sounded sufficiently genuine and Odin nodded, taking a step back.

Loki almost slumped against the wall, immediately protecting his crotch with his hands.

"Why don't you go back out there?" Odin suggested nonchalantly. "No need to wait until tomorrow to start building your strength, is there?" He picked up the sweaty shirt his son had discarded and threw it at him. "Go."

Loki hesitated a mere second, then he yanked the damp shirt on over his head and practically fled the room.

Notes:

https://youtu.be/0wbFhslN1-Y?si=WF5PPTAiWryvZh9R
music for the dance. Lyrics meaning unknown to me. Others from Domsgard or Valhalla Drums on Youtube are also fine)

Thank you for reading.
I enjoy writing for my self as much as I enjoy entertaining others and bringing joy and emotions and discuss everything. I hope you had a good time, and might feel inclined to read on. That would make me happy. Letting me know what you think would make me happy even more.

Chapter 2: - 1 – The First Lesson: Withering dawn

Notes:

Once again big thanks to my beta Linny. Love goes out! <3

 
 

Loki woke in his bed with a morning hard-on.

He took a moment to just enjoy the feeling of it and of his light silk blankets caressing his sensitive skin as he dozed a bit. Asgard itself was still quiet, with the early morning light not nearly half on the sky and the night gathering in the last corners to hide. The creator’s hour some called it. Shy and ephemeral was the calm before the rush of the day, before the first hard rays of the sun kindled life in the Realm Eternal.

‘For magic dwells in each beginning.’

Loki smiled to himself. He enjoyed sleeping in, but there was nothing like an early morning meditation to stay in sync with and rooted in the powers of seidhr he’d been born with. The most well spun magic was best woven into a beginning. After all, the first light of the Bifröst had been kindled at the sunrise after the night of a winter solstice. Yule fire flames had fired the forges of the rainbow’s creation. There were so many more seidhr and spells that worked that way that Loki still yearned to learn and understand. He had read the stories about the creation of the Bifröst many times, heard songs and saw plays about it, but there was still so much to learn.

Loki stretched sleepily amongst the silken sheets and sighed. The recent addition of tent stick occasions were a new development as of late, and competed with his other morning plans. But pleasantly so, Loki thought with a smile.

A sudden instinct that something was off stripped the smile from his face and he blinked. A distinct sense of wrongness tickled at the back of his mind, telling him that something in his room was not quite…

Someone was here.

Loki’s eyes shot fully open and he turned around, finding his instincts had been correct: his father was sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Good morning, my son.” Odin greeted him, smiling.

“Good morning, father.” Loki replied, hiding any unease he felt by suppressing a yawn and pushing himself up a bit to regain his composure and equilibrium. “Am I late? Though as far as I’m aware I do not have anything planned for this morning?”

Odin smiled easily. He looked relaxed, still wearing his comfortable house gowns over his own sleeping attire. Not that Odin slept, but he liked to occasionally rest and retreat. “No. The sun has not risen yet.” His father’s voice was calm, a little absent, as he often sounded when he told Loki and Thor the ancient tales of their people. “No need to get up. I am just here to talk to you.”

Loki relaxed back into the mattress. He wiped his sleep tousled black hair out of his face, which when not cut short was nearly unmanageable without oil and especially chaotic first thing in the morning. He also turned his hips and pulled up his legs a bit, so that the smooth thin blanket would not betray the extent of his tent forming “condition”.

“So, how are your efforts with exercise coming along?”

Ah, so his father had merely come for an update on Loki’s progress. Was it only that though? Loki stretched and let out another big yawn, seemingly unperturbed, before he answered.

“Quite well, actually” he stated with a confident smile. “The results are not visible yet, but I can feel strength building where I had none before. Fighting without using my magic begins to feel easier, more instinctual. I let a servant read books to me while I spend time going through the combat stances and forms on my own, or while I push weights, and I asked a Captain of your honour guard to further instruct me with the handling of weapons I am less familiar with.” He didn’t mention that he had also asked Heimdall but received only a contemptuous dismissal. “Oh, and I adjusted my meals to support all the sport.”

Summary of his efforts thus far delivered, Loki grinned and turned away from Odin towards his night stand, where a cup of water waited. He downed its contents, when behind him he heard some rustling of fabric, then felt the bed shift as his father presumably moved closer. Loki finished the cup and returned it to the night stand, but before he could turn back around to see what his father was doing, Odin’s hand which had slipped under the blanket while he hadn’t been paying attention, slid over his hip and between his legs, closing around his morning erection.

Loki froze.

He always slept naked. He felt hot if he didn’t, even in winter, and it was barely a month past midsummer. His body was very warm despite the cool of the morning in his room. He felt sweat breaking out, cold and hot washing over him as his heart pounded in dread. He had never had cause to regret the vulnerability of sleeping naked until this moment.

“No!”

Jerking away, he pushed at Odin’s wrist to remove the hand. And Odin let go.

Loki panted. He was… shocked. He almost felt as though he was no longer attached to his own body. Because this was so impossible. His chest heaved as if he had run to the observatory and back on his own feet. Still faced away from his father he remained frozen, uncertain whether he should move.

“Don’t defy me, boy.”

Odin’s voice was gentle, still story time calm, utterly at odds with his actions, and Loki suddenly shivered. “I am going to teach you a lesson.” The hand slid back.

“No. Stop. What are you doing?”

“You will learn.”

“No! I don’t want to learn this.”

Loki pushed, but this time Odin’s hand persisted. “Do you? But you are in need of it. Apparently.”

“Let go of me!”

“You refuse the offer of knowledge, how unlike you, Loki.”

Loki struggled harder to fight his father off, ignoring Odin’s words. “I don’t want this lesson.” He stretched upwards and grabbed for the carved bed post to pull himself away and get up. But Odin’s grip tightened at that, to the point of pain, and a hissed intake of breath escaped Loki. If he continued to struggle or resist he would have to hurt himself.

Odin tucked his tongue. Loki felt the old man’s hair tingle at his ear, and the too warm, too close breath as Odin spoke. “Will you take it though?”

Loki begrudgingly held still. His jaw and lips remained tightly shut while his agitated breath passed through his nostrils, his eyes darting in a frenzied search for an escape.

“Will you be a good son, and take your lesson?”

What in Hel was his father up to?! Odin had scolded him hard for his lusting, very clear in his loathing and hate for Loki’s “proclivities”, and now he touched Loki in this same, overly intimate way that he deemed so shameful? His own father!

Loki swallowed. “Take what… exactly?”, he managed to ask.

“Will you take your lesson? Or will this just be a punishment.”

Loki breathed out shakily, believing with relief that he had been given a way out. Any punishment was better than this. But before he could speak his decision, Odin continued:

“Of course, if punishment is needed today, we will have to do the actual lesson on a different day then. I might not be in such an amicable mood by then though.”

Loki cursed under his breath through gritted teeth and stilled yet again. He felt the King chuckle softly behind him.

Slowly Odin’s grip softened and he began to stroke Loki. Loki’s tension ratcheted up immediately at that, responding to the teasing and straining and Loki winced. His body and mind suddenly burned with shame and hurt at the abuse through this unsolicited intrusion of his father into something that was meant to be deeply intimate. Odin’s hand rubbed Loki’s erect member up and down, drawing a finger over the glans at the top of each stroke every time.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut. He panted, and bit back at the sounds that tried to escape him. The sensation began to peak into that strange pull at his insides. Loki’s shame increased as he felt his penis filling, straining, a pulsing and aching building inside him and he moaned in spite of himself.

“There”, Odin soothed.

“You bastard.” Loki snarled raggedly.

Odin laughed softly, but it was all the more threatening. “Always the dirty mouth, that is my Loki. Here, let me show you.” Loki felt Odin shift closer as the silk sheets rustled. His father’s body, now pressed into him, felt too warm. Too intimate. Too wrong. He wanted to pull away but he knew he would loose.

“Stop. Let me go.” Loki continued to protest.

Something hot and hard pressed against his buttocks and Loki moved away from it instinctively, bending his hips forward. Odin’s grip, however, was unforgiving. With a swift motion Odin’s arm and wrist wrapped around his abdomen and pulled him firmly back into place. Loki’s hand hurt. With surprise he looked up, and saw that his fingers were still clenched around the wooden bed post, his grip so tight it had become painful and his fingers had become completely white with the strain. The hand looked so pitiful, helpless, stark alien from the shame and hurt and burning anger Loki felt.

“I don’t want this lesson!” Loki’s voice shook with his refusal, almost a shout at his father.

“It is of no import what you want. You will do as I say, son. Soon you will feel much better.”

“No! Stop this! I don’t want… Let… let me go!”

“You are becoming a man now. Do you not want to become a true man of Asgard?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, still fixating the hand gripping the bedpost, struggling not to focus on the hot, hard flesh rubbing him. He felt like he would go insane if he had to bear this a single moment longer.

“No.” He didn’t care. “No! No! NAY!!”

He jolted up and forward, fighting his father’s hold onto him like mad. He pried at the strong fingers, pulled and shoved and struggled. He kicked back at the knees behind him, wriggled and held onto the bed post for dear life, trying to pull himself from his father’s grasp. Odin’s arms caught him in a tight embrace.

“Calm, Loki. Easy.”

Loki let go of the bedpost eventually, but only to ram back an elbow. He was rewarded with an “Ouf”, but also a painful squeeze around his biceps, followed by Odin yanking him onto his back, wrapping his thigh around Loki’s hips and locking him firmly in place.

Loki screamed. He had not consciously decided to, but his body did so without his permission. It felt like back then when he had been a child, locked in place by Thor’s relentless grip after Loki had lost a fight, again. No matter how hard he had struggled, how desperately he had fought, he couldn’t get away. So he had screamed, and Thor had let him go immediately, grinning in gleeful pride about his defeating of his brother, again.

Odin was not Thor. He did not let go. Loki fought, desperately, with all the strength he could muster he struggled in his father’s grip, but the Allfather didn’t even need two hands to hold his young prince in place. He subdued Loki with one hand and his body, and with his other free hand he continued to touch him intimately without pause. Panic surged in Loki, pressing like fire into the very last blood vessel and Loki screamed .

Or at least he tried to. But Odin’s fist closed around his throat, stifling Loki’s cries completely. He yanked him up and slammed him back onto the bed. Loki pried at the fingers choking him, but they were as immovable as stone. His breast heaved, but not even a slip of air passed through. His eyes, open so wide his irises seemed to shrink in the surrounding white, his pupils pinpricks in his terror, gazed into his father’s, tears causing the image to swim.

‘No!’, he thought. ‘No! Please! ’

And: ‘He is killing me. He is killing me!’

Loki fought for his life. A sudden drain on his physical strength set his coordination back significantly. He was suffocating.

’Seidhr! Which one? Too late! A blinding?’

The need for air grew so pressing that it extinguished any rational thought. The faint flicker of green essence on his palm died away as his sight blackened, and came back, wobbly and distorted.

‘No!’

“Easy, Loki. Breathe.”

More words came from Odin, oddly distant though through the pounding in his ears and Loki was beyond understanding them.

“Breathe… Pull yourself together, breathe.”

Could he breathe? Yes, yes he was breathing again. It didn’t feel like it. His throat hurt like mad. The burning in his lungs did not cease while his breast heaved, desperate to pump air into him. Where were his arms? Did he have them still? His body felt like fallen into pained pieces, shoving each other out of the way for attention. A thumb was at his lower lips. It stung suddenly, like a needle driven into the soft tissue, then deeper into his gums and right through his teeth. He screamed again, or tried to, but all that emerged was a moan, rasping and utterly dry, and so pained and desperate that it almost made him cry when realised it was his very own voice.

Odin removed his thumb. The pain eased, but the sting remained. The thumb hooked onto Loki’s lower teeth and drew his mouth open. Odin bent down. Loki prepared for an invasion of his mouth with the old man’s tongue. His vision was still blurred with tears and dizziness. He identified his arms. He couldn’t move them. He wasn’t able to move his legs, or any part of the rest of his body either. Was he dead? Dying? His breath still rasped harshly as his heart continued to pound like a hammer against his ribcage from inside.

Odin murmured something his brain could not interpret again.

Belatedly, Loki’s mind told him that these were spells. Odin was very close to him now, but wasn’t moving. Loki felt the warm, wet breath of his father inside his mouth cavity. He didn’t understand the words. But the felt them sinking in, seeping into his flesh and taking hold. The horror sent shivers down his spine. This was no normal spell of immobility or influence of the mind. Odin’s words were dripping with seidhr , oozing malignantly into him and prickling as they stuck to his nerves and tissues. Loki felt his guts fall hollow and cold in fear.

The thumb brushed down over his lower lips, then the upper, wetting them. Loki tasted blood. Odin rubbed it into the corner of Loki’s eye, right next to the crook of his nose, digging in a nail.

”Aldri vil du tala Nevermore will you speak”, and over to the other eye,

“about my lessons for your flesh, that is morbidly craving men.

Nevermore will you speak”, two fingers pressed to his lips, and smeared down over his chin, down to his throat, along the left of his adam’s apple, and right,

“about what I say to you, or what I do to you while lecturing and instructing you thus.”

Nevermore will you speak”, two thumbs tipped his lips, and then the nails dug into the root of his jaw’s joint deeply, carving up in a bow and over his cheekbones and drilling home, “about your depraved thoughts towards, or your actions with men. Might they be cured from you one day, or never at all.”

Loki shuddered under the seidhr knotting and tangling and digging and lacing itself tighter and tighter into his soul with each chant. He would not have dared to move, even if he had been able to. The tendrils of the spell sank in, deeper, and deeper, and took root in something so deep down Loki didn’t know it was possible. He dared not even look. This spell might die with him. He would never be able to lift it, never in thousands of years. He might as well have been born with it, might even pass it on to his children, so deeply had Odin rooted it inside of himself. Loki had been engraved for eternity.

Loki felt the stinging at his lips again. Between fresh tears he thought to make out a glistening. Was Odin actually using a needle? And a… thread? It looked like spun saliva as Odin’s hand moved up and down and Loki tasted more blood. It was so painful. Not the stinging itself, but to see his father doing this to him. He worked in calm concentration, contently even, sewing his son’s mouth shut for good. Blood seeped out with every stitch, trickling down his throat.

When Odin finished, he nodded in satisfaction and vanished the needle. Had it been there at all? Loki’s memory flickered, like the husk of a dream in the hard light of the morning sun. What had been the exact words for the spell? He couldn’t recall. He knew that spells could cover themselves in forgetting, preventing the victim from ever even knowing how they had been subjected to it. All that he knew now was that the spell was there. And what it meant.

‘Geas’ , his mind provided, unasked for. Wasn’t there more pain involved in casting those? This one felt particularly powerful. To cast a spell of such might, his father must likely have used the magic of the Kingdom of Asgard itself, the very source of power that was bound to the throne itself and to the King of the Nine Realms. This magic was traditionally used to guide and protect the Kingdom. What an effort to put forward, what an importance the Allfather must give to these so called “lessons” for his son. Loki couldn’t help but feel awkwardly… loved, in some bizarre way. Or perhaps feared? Truly seen eventually? But at the same time he felt disrespected to the utter core of himself? And what if this was yet something worse, like black magic? The icy fist clutched harder around his guts again at the thought. It all felt so wrong.

Odin uttered one last word, still indecipherable to Loki, who’s thoughts swirled so violently he felt barely aware of the world around him any more.

At the utterance, Loki felt warm blood rush into him and his limbs began to respond to his will again. Hesitantly, he brought his hands up to his lips. He could sense the threads. … Or could he? Haltingly, he tried to move his jaw, open his lips. There was no pain. No threads. There was blood though. The stinging smell and taste of iron was everywhere. Or… had he dreamed…? Loki wiped his eyes with the back of his hand to clear the fog. He moaned, incapable of speaking yet. Or too scared. What had happened, what was happening? Why did his thoughts and memories keep slipping away as he tried to grasp them? The spellcast was over, so his mind should be clear again.

Odin looked down at him, with a smile of curious amusement. Or was it sadness? Disappointment?

“Come.” His father’s warm hands embraced his shoulders and helped him up. “There. Very good.” Everything felt so wrong. “You will want to stand for this. Pull yourself together for me. Yes. Very good, Loki.”

Loki found himself standing upright at the foot of his bed. Odin stood before him, one hand risen up next to his face, palm facing inwards.

”Je Odin Allfar … I, Odin Allfather, cast you silent!”

Odin’s fist snapped closed, and with that the geas kicked in.

Loki remembered pain. This was the first thing he remembered clearly, and fully. His throat burned. It felt like someone was driving a serrated blade down through it. His eyes felt like stung with daggers, weeping blood. His jaw clenched, his teeth ground like they were about to shatter. Blood filled his mouth, trickling through his fingers that were pressed to his lips and threatening to choke him if he didn’t swallow it. He didn’t decide to, but he swallowed eventually. It made him sick and gag.

It was unbearable. Finally, mercifully, his sight dimmed and he felt himself tilting downward into a fall, only to come to on his knees, held again by his shoulders by his father's strong grip.

“Now let us get this over with. I do not have all day.”

Over? ...Was it not over yet?

Odin took Loki’s hand and guided it to Loki’s own limp member. He closed Loki’s fingers around it. The blood made sticky sounds as he guided Loki’s hand into a steady movement. “Continue.”

Loki just obeyed. It didn’t make a difference anyway. There was no effect at all. He was totally numb with pain.

“Until our next lesson, you will be touching yourself like this. You will think about men while you do so, and enjoy it as your deformed mind wills you to. Then before you find release, you will fight back onto your lust. As hard as you can. You need to cleanse yourself from it. I want you to strain yourself. Don’t take this easy, Loki.”

Loki nodded. He never ceased stroking himself. The touch carried an eerie sense of comfort and of utter shame at the same time.

“Now, you will take the position of a woman. I know you will like it, although no real man should ever wish to be in your place. And you will think of this during your exercises on yourself. It will pique your arousal, but always remember: This is something to fight against.” Odin’s hand combed through his matted hair, almost caressing. “Take your lesson, Loki, and heed it well.” The tip of Odin’s the semi-erect member touched Loki’s lips. He flinched, the memory of the pain too overwhelming to simply comply.

The thumb was back at Loki’s lower lips. “Open your mouth, little one. You will feel much better soon. Come, Loki”, Odin almost cooed. His fingers caressed Loki’s aching jaw. Loki swallowed, and panted out, his moist breath passing over his father’s erection, which was radiating heat. It was so hot that he could feel the warm aura of it where it touched his lips. It made him nauseous.

Odin let out a single long sigh and in a smooth, slow slide he filled Loki’s mouth with his flesh. The blood red lips, split wide open like a wound, the wet bloodied heat of a body’s insides, the tiny, spasming movements of a virginal cavity, impaled for the first time, and so unprepared for… so strained by… so pained.

Odin grit his teeth, resisting the urge to come immediately. Good. This had gone on for far too long already now. He continued to caress Loki’s jaw and stroked his hair. He needed to at least take long enough to make an impact on his boy. Carefully he started moving. Loki’s free hand came up. He touched Odin’s hip, but otherwise made no move to push back or resist.

“Tight… that’s it, keep your mouth tight… but do not make use of your teeth. … Very good, Loki.” Odin instructed, and inched deeper with every thrust, causing Loki to tense, and swallow involuntarily. Odin’s breath hitched at the sensation and he saw Loki flinch as he used seidhr to pull at the strings of lust inside his son. He was rewarded with another flinch and an involuntary moan.

“Good. Very good”, he bit out, speeding up for the next several thrusts before shoving himself into Loki down to the root, grabbing him by his neck to prevent Loki from resisting the intrusion. Odin hissed sharply as he spent himself, and Loki gagged and tensed in revulsion, finally making an attempt to push back.

With a loud moan as his climax reached its completion, Odin let Loki pull away. The young one fell back, heaving and struggling for air, regurgitating blood and semen. He covered his mouth and stumbled away to the en suite bathroom of his bedchambers.

The King of Asgard let him go. His endeavour complete, he wiped himself quickly on the blanket, straightened his clothes and strode out.

 
 
 
 
 
--------------------------------

Notes:

Thank you again for reading, hope you enjoyed.
The next chapter is already finished and ready for publishing. I will try to update regulary on Sunday evening, but I'd rather put out a good work than a fast work.
I'd be happy to know what you think :)

Chapter 3: - 2 - The Second Lesson: Veil The Sight

Notes:

Early update, because why not? ^^
I still have a few chapters ready ahead so I can keep up weekly updates for a while.

 
 

Days passed, then weeks.

Thor grew ever more confident in his new role as Young Asgardian Prince by title, if that was even possible. He failed to attend the council meetings and lectures that were intended for him, however, and instead used all of his new freedoms to the fullest, ordering people around to meet his every whim and ignoring all counsel and the opportunity to learn and grow in mind, just because he could. He also spent a good half of his new private fortune to throw lavish feasts not only in Asgard but on Midgard too, holding tournaments with every possible military discipline, which he always won. Afterwards he and his friends would go on tavern crawls, and for all his hedonism and lack of responsibility he was liked and revered for by everybody.

Loki watched with growing bitterness as his brother faced no censure at all for ignoring and defying their father’s plans for him, living a careless life, while Loki instead was expected to adhere to strict discipline in fulfilling his duties. He went on no tavern crawls, although Thor and his friends actually did attempt to drag him along a few times and he had hated having to decline. It would have been a great chance to visit Midgard, and he was in desperate need of the distraction. In fact, Loki was so rarely able to escape his responsibilities that Thor actively attempted to include Loki in his adventures, and declining those invites hurt even more. Thor wasn’t a mean person. He just enjoyed his life unapologetically, and more often than not he couldn’t see beyond the tip of his own nose.

Loki no longer spent days and nights reading as he used to, no longer listened to Skalde performances, nor was he able to attend academic lectures or sit in on political meetings and negotiations. Instead he exercised, as the Allfather had commanded him to: physical strength, combat skills, … and the other thing. Loki loathed that one particularly. Yet he dared show no resistance or disobedience. Odin might very well be watching him, even in his own bed, under his very own sheets, with that all seeing eye of his. Forced to choose between complying or having his father back here under the sheets with him, Loki knew very well which he preferred.

His bed was covered with brand new silken sheets. One of the first things he had done after scarcely recovering from the Allfather’s first “lesson” was to kindle the fireplace, throw his soiled silken bedding in and watch it being consumed by the flames. He had thought about throwing in the blood stained carpet too, but decided otherwise. At least his blood, which he had shed so bitterly, would remain to tell about what had happened in his bedchamber. Loki drew dark satisfaction from that thought. Unfortunately, even that slight bit of comfort was denied him, as he returned one evening soon after finding the carpet had been silently replaced by a few smaller ones. And then a day later, the original carpet was returned to its place in his room, as good as new. It was as if nothing ever had happened.

Loki wandered past the spot, and strode his bedroom restlessly, taking up things and putting them back down. What had he expected? That the servants would suddenly start asking questions about how he had created a mess inside his room? He, Loki? Surely not. Definitely not after the alchemy phase.

Loki replaced the last object he had taken up, then rounded the room and came to a halt when his reflection looked at him from the big mirror next to his dressing room. The tension in his features to him was clear to see. The wearily yet defiant look in his eyes hid what lay beneath: Fear. Horror. Pain he fought to vanquish. And worse: shame. Loki didn’t know why it was that unbidden burning shame that hurt the most. And why he felt so disconnected to his own body still. His own treacherous, filthy, miserable body.

He clenched his fists, turning away. Tentatively, his hand slid up his pants and under his tunic. He would not allow this shame. He, Loki of Asgard, would achieve what was demanded of him by his King and father. He would bite his tongue and see the end of it eventually. Or so he told himself. When thinking about what the Allfather had done to him any attempts at “polishing the glaive” were virtually impossible. Loki had to shield himself rigorously from the memory to even feel comfortable and safe enough to touch himself with any effect. And when he finally managed, denying himself release and fighting back on the arduously kindled pleasure was… painful, in several ways. It felt like indulging in a good meal, satisfying a healthy hunger only to spit out the good food and leave the hunger completely unsatisfied, save for a brief taste that made him crave even more.

And it felt like it had been forever since it all had started. Loki wasn’t able to concentrate. He made mistakes he had thought past himself for decades. He wasn’t able to meditate properly. On the first day he hadn’t been able to bear it any longer, he had retreated to his rooms and stroked himself to completion at last. He still had felt spent, but in an unfulfilling, draining way, and his discomfort did not ease. The only relief he found at all was spending himself utterly during physical exercise and exertions. Even worse was how completely counterproductive it was watching others train. His wound up loins and emotional turmoil got in the way of observing so much that the attempt was useless. So Loki subsided on going through combat forms alone in frustration, pushing himself beyond his limits, fuelled by waves of confused emotions he was unable to control properly.

And so more time passed. The Warriors Three and Sif made fun of him, jibing that he plotted to take Asgard’s Throne in a coup d’etat all on his own, while their looks made clear that in no way they believed he had it in him. Loki himself found it increasingly difficult to not respond to those taunts. Well he always got back at them, eventually. – The Tavern of the Golden Dragon had found their barrels of old ale turned sour whenever Asgard’s Firstborn graced them with his presence. That at least had been a sliver of joy.

Not once did Loki hear from his father during all that time.

 
 
~~~~~
 
 

As with many places within the palace of Asgard, the Great Hall of Knowledge of the Realm Eternal was a sight to behold. The ceiling was varnished with a projection both magical and holographic of the World Tree Yggdrasil’s crown. It’s column cradled the upper of the Nine Worlds, nurturing and protecting their beauty. Countless stars blossomed high up in the branches while galaxies and nebulae caught in them like clouds.

The signs of strain around Loki’s eyes and mouth eased as he found himself beneath their familiar gleam again. Purposefully he strode past the high reaching shelves and racks filled to the brim with books upon books and tomes of immeasurable age. All the knowledge of Asgard and the Nine Realms was gathered here, and he had so little free time to explore them all.

Loki rubbed his side and massaged his chest at his lower ribcage. He hadn’t had a day since… then... without bruises or sore muscles. Einhar, the Captain of King Odin’s Honour Guard, demanded a lot of him, but only because Loki expected him to do so. The Captain had told him in their one on one lessons that he was impatient, but Loki insisted that the exercise and sparring being hard to the point of exhaustion. It would do no good to go through all this hardship without finally getting results, would it? And besides, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate otherwise anyway. The sooner his father was satisfied with his build and all efforts at making himself a warrior, the sooner Loki could be at peace and go back to his beloved books and magic and music and lore and…

Pulling his thoughts away from his trials, Loki deeply inhaled the familiar scent of the library: dry parchment, stone oak wood, all combined with the potent fragrance of reykelsis burning in chiselled censers to prevent deterioration. The well known atmosphere and the many good memories he connected with this place calmed him.

Loki didn’t stop at his frequently visited spots today, but instead passed by the aisles of seidhr , history, travel reports, artifactology and astronomy until his steps led him towards the natural sciences. He stopped to touch a few books at the section of herbal lore in nostalgia. A younger Loki had been passionately fascinated by herbs and plants for a few decades. That interest had led to alchemy, and although he had become better than most in this craft, which had been out of question, he never had been much of a potioneer. What he wanted to learn he had learned and practised until he found his skills sufficiently honed, at which point he had moved on to another interest. He hadn’t had the patience for concocting, even back then. Herbal incenses and infusions he still used regularly though they arrived readily prepared for him according to his precise instructions.

Loki turned towards the biology section, and inside it towards Asgardian anatomy and morbidity. The latter section was small, the former vast, but neither were unknown to him. He skipped straight through those, skimming through the rows of tomes about diseases and deformations until he found a promising title. He pulled it out, collected a few more that caught his attention, and immediately opened the book at the top of his stack and started to read, making a quick judgement whether spending his scarce time on it would be worthwhile. Absorbed in his reading he followed the aisle to a sitting corner, only to find himself no longer alone, as another person was entering the place at the same time.

Loki looked up, blinking in surprise.

“Ah. Here you are.”

“Father.”

Odin stood there… how did he manage to always assume a posture of grandeur and royal dignity? Loki asked himself this question as he straightened his back and put down his latest research, hiding his apprehension thus.

“Did you find something good?”, Odin inquired casually.

“Define good”, Loki quipped back out of habit. He closed the uppermost book, picked it up to look at the title and put it back. “It is answers that I’m hoping to find.”

“Your mind must be full of questions.”

Loki frowned, but didn’t respond to the bait. Instead he chose to redirect the conversation.

“So”, he smiled more broadly than he felt, “how can I help you, father? Surely you did not abandon your royal duties to improve my meagre reading schedule?”

Odin’s smile widened, and he gave a half nod. “Veil us”, he commanded.

Loki cocked his head ever so slightly, frowning. “Father?”

“I’m asking you to use your nifty gift of seidhr and veil you and me from the eyes and ears of others. I wish for there to be privacy between us.”

Loki’s smile faltered, but his hands were already moving. He looked around then, ascertaining their surroundings, conjuring a magical glowing with green and golden light that travelled from his hands. Seidhr came to him naturally as it always did. He never had to even think spells once he had mastered them. His will and imagination alone shaped a veil around himself and his father, the shelves and the corner, a protection of sound and sight, to all but the most keen and powerful.

“Your mind must be full of questions, Loki”, Odin repeated. “It is alright”, he continued, as Loki remained silent. “You can talk to me about this. Just not to anyone else.”

“ ‘It’ will not take effect when I am talking to you?”

“Yes. Thus is the nature of the spell: Only to me may you speak about everything.”

“Why?”, Loki asked without hesitation. “Why, in the Nine Realms, did you do this? I am very capable of learning and adapting, you know that I am. Why could you not just, I don’t know, order me to refrain from any objectionable behaviour, and enhance your order with a magic effect for all good measures? Any other way than…”

“Than what?”, Odin interrupted him.

“Than… what you did.”

“And what of it?” Odin crossed his arms. “Have you not taken many a beating as a boy and have profited from it?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it profiting…”

Odin rose a finger and Loki stopped himself mid sentence.

“Stop deflecting.”

“I am not talking about…”

“Then speak clearly, son.” Odin was becoming impatient, and took a moment to reign himself in. “It is alright, the geas won’t hurt you, as I said. As long as you have veiled us properly.” He waved a hand. “Go ahead. Speak your mind.”

Loki bit his lips. “Why make all the effort to actually do all that depraved pillow talk and… touching… intimately? Me…?”, he finally dared to ask. Loki’s words came out warily, as though he expected a lash out of the pain at every utterance, but the geas remained dormant. Despite his attempts at seeming unaffected, Loki felt his cheeks heat up. “This… really must make it worse. Doesn’t it?”

“Worse than what?”

“Than teaching me from a book.”

“Haha.” Odin laughed softly, dryly. He was actually amused. “If there was a book about teaching a Young Prince of Asgard how to wield and not wield his little hredhjar and plant his spendings properly, do you really think it could be found here?”

Loki gaped at Odin. Never before had he heard such language from his father’s mouth. Well, not since the assault in the locker room. He found the experience so disconcerting.

“What I am teaching you cannot be found within books or tomes. You cannot learn how to work a blade from simply reading the description of a technique without ever carrying it out for real.”

“But certainly reading of these things wouldn’t hurt exactly either”, Loki made a last attempt.

“Enough! Your are wasting my time with this nonsense. Again.

I never said that your answers would be handed to you on a silver platter. Nor did I say that you could argue with me, nor question my methods. Pay respect to your father and King. Do you really think that I am inflicting this on you on a whim? That I am acting out of a haphazard and choleric impulse?” Odin gave a derogatory snort. “What exactly do you think of me and my motives in that depraved little mind of yours, Loki?”

Loki opened his mouth to respond, but was again cut off by Odin.

“You will have your answers soon enough, my son. If you pay attention, and obey. Now strip.”

Loki faltered.

“NOW!!”, Odin thundered when his odd little son didn’t move immediately.

Loki jerked. Hastily, but deftly, he undid the laces of his garment. His fingertips shook but slightly despite his attempts to remain calm. His arm guards of Yorsshark fishbone splint and the black leather armour which he had begun to wear regularly now came off, together with his belt, then the underbelt, and then his woolen shirt of moss green, sturdy but intricately woven. Finally he removed his undershirt, made of soft uncombed silk, his bare chest now exposed.

Odin’s eyes were scrutinising him, and Loki already felt too much aware of himself. He continued with his fishbone shin guards. The rare material was light as a feather, and extremely sturdy, but most importantly it wasn’t made of a lesser metal that would have hindered the flow of seidhr . The splint bars were intricately carved, blackened and bent with heat to hug his calves meticulously. The dwarven masterpiece came with only few hidden buckles and laces that elegantly gave way once opened, and Loki put them down with care. Off came his boots and his stockings, but then he dared to stop and stood up straight at attention, gaze lowered, with only his dark overknee pants still on.

Odin stepped closer to him until his father’s golden harness dominated Loki’s view. This time the backhand blow was not unexpected, but it was still impossible to evade. Loki was again spun by the force and staggered back. He muffled a groan by pressing his arm to his face briefly before returning to standing at attention. One half of his face burned, and his cheekbone stung where Odin’s ring had split his skin. Excellent. He would not hear the end of it from the Warriors Three and Sif about having his porcelain skin marred by such an injury.

“Don’t waste my time”, Odin rumbled lowly.

Loki couldn’t stop himself from wincing. ‘Foolish’, he thought, gritting his teeth in self reproach. ‘Concentrate!’ His gaze flickered left and right as he opened the cord of his trousers reluctantly. Thank the universe that no one was anywhere near this corner of the library today, and even had anyone been present, passers by would see nothing but another dusty bookshelf in the halflight. He could keep up his illusion and disguise for a significant amount of time without having to pay much attention to it. They were and would remain safe from discovery.

Loki pushed his pants down. The fabric pooled around his ankles, and he stepped out and back. He very much didn’t want to do this, but wanted it to happen even less in the Great Hall of Knowledge, a place he had always associated with peace and happiness. He loved to spend time here, and now he would have to suppress being on edge every time. And among all his other distressed thoughts and feelings, the shame burnt all the brighter despite knowing that the veil would prevent anyone from ever knowing what was happening behind it.

Odin toed the pants out of the way with his boot and closed the final distance to his son.

Loki tried to anticipate and prepared inwardly to be ordered to his knees or stricken with pain. But no, instead Odin’s hands came up, and Loki nearly jumped in surprise. Odin’s body shook slightly with a silent chuckle at his son’s reaction. His hands drifted up over Loki’s tensed up chest all the way to his small shoulders, taking his time, before then letting his hands move downward again. Unlike the previous time in the locker room, Odin stroked deliberately. He didn’t avoid the nipples, and took the time to knead and feel the individual bumps of each of Loki’s ribs, paying special attention to the bruises and sore parts. He continued down Loki’s waist, around his abdomen, then his hips, and finally his calloused thumbs dipped into Loki’s loins.

Loki had struggled to control his breath and held it now, willing his manhood with all his might not to stir. He felt sweat break from his brow. His heart beat like it was about to jump out of his throat.

“Could be worse”, Odin commented. His hands retreated.

Loki let out his breath, muffled through his nostrils in an attempt to hide his relief.

“You have been exercising, and you show some improved self composure. I had been reconsidering my intention to reward you today at your temerity earlier. But I will go through with it. You will like what I show you today.”

Loki lifted his gaze, and attempted one last, small objection. “Can I read a book about it?”

“I am already exercising great patience, so it is best that you do not anger me further, boy.” Taking a grip around Loki’s neck and around his upper arm, Odin turned him sideways, and pushed him.

“Down.”

Loki obeyed and went to his knees.

“Further.”

Loki sat back on his ankles.

“Further.” The sardonic smile was audible in Odin’s voice, his grip around Loki’s neck still pushing downwards. “On all fours.”

Loki felt both fear and anticipation at the same time. He couldn’t help it. Despite it being his father of all people who did this, despite all the dread, the shame, the anger flooding him, there was still this confusing anticipation. What was happening to him? He felt clumsy as he supported himself on his palms. The thick patterned carped was soft on his skin. He could dig his fingers into it. He hadn’t done that since he had been exploring the Great Hall of Knowledge as a small child.

A cling of metal indicated that his father unfastened his belt. Old memories rose up unbidden at the noise and Loki tensed. The belt came down harmlessly on the carpet next to him, as did the harness. Loki bit his lips, his fingers already digging into the fabric below.

Odin knelt down beside him on his left knee, the other he shoved under Loki’s torso, supporting him with his thigh.

“Uh…”

“That impatient?”

Loki adjusted himself in the position. “I would still prefer the book.”

“Sassy tyke. I shall stuff your mouth if you will not be silent.”

There was the sound of a flask being uncorked.

“A woman’s passion is drawn from being penetrated, being taken. A man’s is not. You, Loki, will like this though.” The story time voice. Why was his father doing this to him?

A hand grasped his neck and pushed his head down. Once his father had him where he wanted him, the hand left again, and Loki heard the slick sound of oily skin being rubbed together. He felt sick at the memory and anticipation of being touched intimately again. He didn’t want this.

“That scent... what is it?”

“Hamamelis, and lavender. Now be silent”, Odin warned.

Without any warning Loki’s rear was penetrated with a finger. He jolted and gasped.

“No!”

Odin’s right hand was at his lower back, holding him firmly in place against his thigh. Loki let out a choked sound of pain as two fingers now pressed into him relentlessly. His left arm bent back and down in an attempt to fend off the intrusion of Odin’s fingers inside him. He couldn’t move away from it.

“… I don’t like it!”

“Of course not, you have never done this when pleasuring yourself. Similarly, it is not uncommon for women to not feel comfortable with the first penetration.”

“Stop!” Loki strained in his submissive position. “I am not a woman!”

“You aren’t indeed. You are ergi .”

Odin pushed his son closer to himself. Loki could feel the hard and hot column of flesh through his father’s clothes. He made a face and started to push away, but Odin pulled him back firmly. Their shuffle made his father’s fingers move against his insides, and Loki felt a very strange sensation at that. Odin began to pull out slowly, and Loki went still. There , he thought, he hadn’t liked it. Maybe his father had realised that and this was over already? Please let that…

Odin’s fingers began to move in and out in a steady rhythm.

“Ah…!”

Odin laughed, low and gloatingly. “See how lewd you are. Feeling good already?”

“Skítr! ” Loki cursed through gritted teeth. He failed at suppressing the next sound too, which came out like a whimper.

Odin fingered him relentlessly.

Loki groaned. “What is this?”

“This? This is nothing, compared to how you will feel soon.”

Loki panted. His fingers dug deeper into the carpet and his father’s trousers rustled underneath him as the force of Odin’s fingers sliding into him increased. The hardening member ground against Loki’s hip.

“Stop… uhng…”

“Oh I am far from done.”

The fingers twisted and turned.

“Nnngh…No! Wait…”

Odin laughed. “This time I will see you show your true self to me.”

The fingers slided and probed. Loki realised that he still felt stuffed and stretched but the pain from the initial forceful intrusion was dulling swiftly. Instead there was this awkward fumbling around by his father, that let something like a strange swelling grow inside of him. Loki grit his teeth. Then Odin twisted his fingers in a half turn, curled them and dug into something so deep and primal that Loki felt like severed in half by the sheer force of it. A violent gasp for air was all he could muster. Had Odin not been holding him he would have collapsed.

“There, that was not that hard to find. What a depraved picture of a prince you make now.”

The fingers resumed their rhythm.

Loki cried out. His wrists had failed and he was on his elbows now, pulling out the carpet at its roots. Odin shoved an arm under him from the front and Loki all but clung to his father’s sleeve for support. No amount of self control could stop the cries and moans being forced out of him with every determined jab. Out of shame or arousal, Loki could no longer tell the difference. His cheeks were wet with hot tears.

Odin’s other hand closed around his achingly hard member from the front and Loki gasped and sobbed. Odin pumped him in time with the motion of his fingers, and Loki tensed. Not only his abdomen and pelvis. Every muscle, every fibre of his body tensed and he opened his mouth in a big silent O of pure arousal, before his hot release gushed out into Odin’s palm and fingers, spasms rippling through Loki’s every limb. The fingers shoved deeper inside even, staying in place as the spasms rolled on, only to resume at a maddening speed when Loki thought it was over, forcing every drop of pleasure out of him that he had to give.

Loki thought he was about to faint. His limbs felt heavy as though under the influence of a drug. Feebly he slid off his father’s thigh as Odin released him. His whole body pulsed even though his climax was already over. Odin stood up. Loki swayed but was held up on his knees by his shoulders and leaned into his father’s thigh. The hand at his nape turned his head and pressed his panting mouth against the groin and the full erection of the King. His heated breath was absorbed by the pants’ fabric.

Loki moaned and Odin grabbed the hair at his neck. Swiftly he used his other hand to pull out his erection and manoeuvred it into Loki’s mouth. Loki could do nothing but cooperate. Even wrung out as he was this new horror felt still so… intense. His body produced twitches and stings of arousal while his mind revolted against the reality of this situation and the memories of the last time this happened, when…

“...could myself occupy with that for weeks on end? This is so intriguing”

A female voice. Distant, but probably not distant enough.

They froze. Loki’s eyes widened and he instinctually wanted to pull back and away but the violent grip in his hair held him firmly in place. Desperately he fought to not cough, gag or make a sound.

Three young women entered the aisle, students according to their attire, and walked towards them. Panic surged Loki as he remembered that only his spell kept them from seeing them. Was it still in effect?! The girls’ gazes brushed over their corner and over him... and moved on, seeing nothing unusual.

Odin bent Loki’s head back and made their eyes meet. He smiled a sardonic smile. His brows rose. And he resumed moving. Loki coughed and thrashed involuntarily.

“...used to concoct herbal essences for her headache…”

“...Wait.”

“What is it?”

Loki looked up at his father, pleading with his eyes, but Odin continued lazily.

“I am not sure, but… do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“Yes, I smell it too. This is strange. Lavender? What is…?”

“Ew.”

“What?” – “What is it?”

“This smells like a man’s… thing .”

Odin rose his other hand between them. His fingers were still slick with Loki’s earlier spent fluids. Loki’s eyes widened in panic.

“You are reeking”, Odin stated lowly. He smeared the cum around on his fingers, and snarled with loath.

Loki grabbed for the hand but Odin pulled it out of his son’s reach. Instead he smeared his fingers over Loki’s brow, his eye and into his hair.

Loki cringed.

“Oh. Oh . Dear Norns…!”

“Here?!”

“How disgusting!”

‘Disgusting’, Odin’s snarled silently.

“Let us leave here! Come…!”

“No!” The first woman who hat noticed the smell stepped closer, inspecting the shelves, pulling out books to look through. “He must be somewhere close around here. That feculent rascal! Right in Asgard’s Hall of Knowledge!”

Loki raised a shaking hand. Green and golden light formed, but it floated unsteadily around his fingers. Odin watched. All the time he continued violating his son’s mouth.

“Where are you, you despicable bad egg!”

Odin chuckled humourless. “Indeed.”

Loki strained and the glowing of his seidhr dimmed.

“Did you see that? That shelf at the end of the aisle…”

Loki slammed his hand down.

A cracking sounded from high above in the shelves. All three women looked up. They yelped and ran backwards, fleeing the falling books that clattered down one after another.

Odin shoved in an out in an impatient rhythm and hit home with a satisfied growl, long and low. Loki gagged at the intrusion and the slime in his throat, flailing. Finally released he pushed and fell back on his rear, heaving and spitting and gasping desperately for air.

Odin was already dressing again. Before he bent for his armour he took Loki’s undershirt and wiped his hands and member thoroughly as if it were a rag and Loki dirt to be cleansed of. His harness clicked in place and he donned his belt.

“Clean up”, he ordered, and with that the Allfather stepped out of Loki’s nearly faded veil, cladding himself easily into his own disguise and vanished.

Loki stared, propped up on his hands, panting heavily. He wiped at his face, again, and again but all he did was smearing his own spendings further.

The boots of Asgardian Guards came into earshot, nearing swiftly.

Panicking, Loki scrambled up. He jugged on his pants, struggling to even close the cord with his heavily shaking fingers. There was no time. Hastily enchanting invisibility upon himself, he grabbed for his clothes, his boots, his socks, his armour, taking no time to put on any of it. The smell of scented oil and the stink of sex was everywhere. He managed to chant the most basic of cleaning over the carpet just in time and ran just as the guards rounded the corner, followed by the three students.

 
 
 
 
 
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Notes:

Again I have to thank Linny for the lovely beta work! <3

And thank you all again for reading and commenting, it is highly appreciated. I hope you still feel inclined to follow me on this journey. That would make me happy. Letting me know what you think would make me happy even more!

Chapter 4: - 3 - Blood Ties

Notes:

Welcome to the plot part of the story. (: It will go on for a while. That means: Less dark tags, and more characters involved, also a few original characters that I added to flesh out things. The dark and smut will return though, eventually.
Have fun reading! I hope to keep up with regular updates every weekend.

 
 

Days passed, then weeks.

Loki stumbled into his chambers and hastily locked the doors behind him. With a deep sigh of relief he dropped his hold on the invisibility spell and all the clothes he was carrying, and ran to the bathroom. Rushing over to crouch over the sink, he hurled up what was left of his breakfast. The bitterness he tasted was nothing compared to the bitterness he felt over his father’s betrayal, and the betrayal of his weak, treacherous body.

He was torn, split in two, and so distraught that he felt like he was a stranger within his own mind. This was in some ways far worse than the pain from the last time. Every fibre in his body screamed for attention, yet he could not inhabit it like he did before. Only once had he felt a similar displacement inside his own body, after his first experiment with an oblivion spell that had backfired. Back then his mother had found him, and taken him to the mind healers.

But he certainly couldn’t go there this time, could he? What would he even tell them?

He couldn’t tell anybody about this. And even if he was able to, even if there wasn’t this horrific spell holding him in check, he could not imagine ever wanting to confide in anyone about… the “lessons”. His “mind sickness” as his father referred to it. How could he admit to being in such an utterly disgraceful condition? How to even find words for what had happened in the Great Hall of Knowledge?

No, to confide was impossible, no one could ever know. The shame would be unbearable, the damage to his reputation irreversible, and the damage to his father, his dear mother, and his brother, to Asgard would be…

Loki’s stomach rebelled, and he hurled again at the thought of his mother learning about what was happening, but this time nothing came up but bile – his stomach was empty. Cold sweat dampened his skin, and hot tears burned in his eyes. He turned on the water in the sink, and while the water washed it clean he activated the lever for the tub as well. The ice cold water that gushed into the sink came directly from the mountain springs. It was refreshing and provided a small balm to his skin, his face, and his tumultuous mind.

He rinsed his mouth very meticulously, and washed his face several times before discarding his pants and climbing into the tub. Searing hot water welcomed him. Loki usually preferred a temperature that anybody else would have considered barely lukewarm, sometimes even chilly, but the unfamiliar shock of the scalding water was just what he needed right now.

He leaned back and let himself sink underwater, drifting. He finally began to feel like he was somehow back inside himself again, attached to his own body. If only somewhat, but it helped. The unusually hot water soaked and cleaned him.

Loki washed and scrubbed his body thoroughly twice. Then he turned to his hair… his hair, which Odin had soiled with stinky fluids and scented oil and… He washed his hair three times, until every stain and every imagined hint of scent was gone. His lower abdomen and pelvic area ached and felt sore and overused every time he shifted under the water, and Loki felt the shame climb up his throat again, overwhelming, and the sting of unwanted arousal at the fresh memory of the lesson rushing back. Biting down, he scrubbed his aching private parts clean, although it felt like no amount of soap or scrubbing could ever make him feel clean again.

Why? Why was his body still betraying him by reacting like this? He shouldn’t be capable of desire in his current state, yet the arousal turned and stirred inside him every time his mind turned toward the lesson, like a curse. Loki concentrated on a chant of revelation. The spell didn’t manifest as easily as usual. The inward turned seidhr was something he didn’t practice often, because his mother had, surprisingly, discouraged it. This was unlike her usual approach towards the practice of magic and her teachings for him, but he had soon realised that the reason was that this kind of seidhr was solely associated with women, and kept secret from men.

Well, no seidhr he knew of or could sense was involved in this troubling reaction in his nether regions. What bothered him even more was that he could barely sense the geas either, the spell his father had cast to render him silent. Yes, geas was a curse of secrecy, this type of spell was by its very nature meant to remain imperceptible. But to even be imperceptible the bearer, that was strange, wasn’t it?

Loki got out of the tub and stood in front of the mirror. He wiped it clean of fog with a simple spell, and looked. His otherwise pale skin was flushed from the unusual heat of the bath, but unmarked despite the scratch on his cheek where the Allfather’s ring had drawn blood. Loki looked at the raw mark. He would take care of it later.

Arms loosely stretched and palms facing outwards, Loki took some deep breaths, trying to centre himself. It was difficult, but the decades upon decades of practice and meditation let him access the mystic forces in everything, and his internal source of essence remained unmarred, he ascertained with relief. Golden and green light glowed around his hands as usual, and softly covered more and more of his skin until it engulfed all of his body. When it hissed away like a breath of winter’s fog, it revealed… nothing. He could barely remember where or how Odin had inflicted the incantation of the geas , but he remembered where the pain had dug in.

Loki rubbed a hand over his cheek, along his jawbone, and up his chin over his lips carefully, fingers highlighted with just the faintest glint of seidhr . It wasn’t wise to scratch at magic that was intended to cause pain so severe it made you faint. With a sigh Loki dragged a hand down his face in resignation. Nothing.

He wasn’t going to draw the spell out by trying to activate it by sheer force. He would have to think about what to do about it later. That would at least give him a problem to focus on solving regarding this whole mess. The prospect of not being so helpless and having a focus on how to fix this situation was a relief.

With a last look in the mirror, Loki made to turn away but halted. Narrowing his gaze he bent closer to the mirror’s surface and stared: A small drop of blood had been smeared from the freshly opened scratch on his cheek, leaving a red line. This must have happened when he had rubbed at his cheek.

Loki scrutinised the smear. It looked normal to the eye, but still somehow… odd, as though something else was shining beneath it, smudge of dirt or scuff maybe. Loki rubbed at it. It had already dried. He licked the tip of his middle finger and rubbed again, using a tiny spark of seidhr merely out of habit. The area turned darker instead of brighter, as if he was rubbing smut onto himself. Loki looked at his finger: There was only a faint hue of blood. His gaze returned to his reflection in the mirror.

There was definitely something on his cheek. It looked like as if it were mostly covered by magical disguise. Only a thin dark line was visible on his pale skin, like a piece of body art some of the Midgardian tribes liked to face paint themselves with it curved purposefully over his cheekbone.

Loki looked around, and, spotting an empty golden bowl, he grabbed it and filled it with water. A quick purifying spell to cleanse any remnants of contamination from the cup and the water within, and then Loki unsheathed a razor blade and cut deftly into the edge of his hand. Blood trickled down as he made a fist. He caught the drops with the bowl, swirled the content with his fingers and rubbed the slightly stained water over his other clean cheekbone.

Nothing happened. He repeated the process, carefully adding the slightest touch of seidhr . He felt a pinching sensation, nothing more than like the sting of an insect. He hadn’t noticed it when he had done this on the other side of his face because the scratch had already been present and painful in the same way even before he had rubbed there.

The shadow of a line appeared, dim, greyish, but clear on the outline. It was a mirror image of the line on the other cheek.

Loki looked into his own eyes in the mirror, and saw fear.

The geas needed to be actively woken to become visible. Even if only by the tiniest thread, seidhr was compulsory for that. And, the worst: his own blood was involved.

Blood magic.

“Father, what have you done?”

Loki felt himself shiver, chilled despite the sticky heat. He soaked the cut on his hand in the bowl to thicken the solution and with it he rubbed his still damp face, down his lips, along his jaws and throat, then up to his brow and temples and down again to his pulse point, then further down to his collar bones, just everywhere. He needed to know where this spell sat. He needed to know what it looked like.

Under the movement of his hand, like washing off make up, the lines of the geas became clearer, and darker. Slowly, more and more of them appeared, and Loki watched in horror:

Tiny black droplets of curling thorny ornament sat in the corner of his eyes at the crook of his nose. To the roots of his jaws a black mystic symbol was hooked that consisted of three runes of pain and others he did not recognise, tightly interwoven into each other. One tendril darted up and bent into the broad line over both his cheek bones, lines that ended in a complicated whirled knot symbol with three tiny offshoots each. His throat was lined with something that reminded him of the shape of the tool he had used for nut cracking when he was a child. Its form resembled a clamp around his adam’s apple from which protruded three inward turned claws.

But the spellwork around his lips was worse by far. The geas rendered them entirely pitch black. A dotted line rimmed them, and his chin looked like the marking blood had just gushed out and streamed down. Which it had. Under his chin the blunt stain connected with the throat ornament.

Loki wanted to look away, to wash off the blood but forced himself to look closer instead. The intricacy of the markings was already blurring and beginning to look like he had painted himself at the fireplace like some shaman from Jotunheim tinkering with seidhr . He had to remember the symbols, the connections, the angles and runes. Quickly he washed off the blood, slid into a bathrobe and went to his desk where he scribbled down what he had remembered of the curse.

 
 
~~~~~
 
 

The following days were difficult, to say the least. As expected, the scratch on his cheek had provoked all sorts of ridicule from Thor’s friends, and they made certain to badger him at every turn about it.

“You could borrow some make up, you know?”, Lady Sif commented, as they once again sparred in the practice ring. “In case you get scratched again.”

“Are you not afraid I would turn your make up into acid to peel off your beautiful skin, ruining yet another one of your attractive traits?” Loki sniped back, knowing that the verbal spar would quickly evolve into a real one, which he had no chance of winning. But he was unable to back down regardless.

Her smile vanished. “You would not dare!”

She was right. Still. “Watch me.” Loki responded, lifting a long dagger and pointing it at her.

Okay, maybe he would.

Their fight, such as it was, was quickly over. Loki couldn’t get the upper hand no matter how hard he tried. He got close to breaking her defence twice by using tricks and fighting dirty, but in the end he lay in the dust before her, face down.

Fandral, standing idly to the side and watching the bout, laughed. “You never learn, do you?”

“Learn what?”

Fandral froze. Not at Loki’s voice, but at the dagger pointed to his side. The Loki in the ring laying face in the ground dissolved in green and gold. The real Loki stood behind Fandral, smirking. He lowered the dagger, spat sand and patted at his garment.

“No magic in the arena.” Thor complained, pointing the hammer at Loki.

“Well, first, criticising me for using magic while pointing one of the most powerful magical weapons in the Nine Realms at me in the same breath isn’t the best way of making your point, dear brother, don’t you think?” Loki responded with a raised eyebrow. His oaf of a brother blinked. “And second, no one cares about such rules in a real battle.” He spun the dagger and sheathed it in one swift move.

“Like you would know real battle, Loki”, Volstagg scoffed. “I bet you would go into it like this.” The older man held his hands flat before his face, imitating a book covering most of his sight. He swayed like a drunkard, making mewls of pain every few steps as he mimicked taking hits. His pantomime earned laughter from everyone else.

Loki scowled. “Why do you mock me? What have I ever done to you?”

“Is that a real question?”, Sif asked.

“Yes!” Incredulous looks followed that declaration. “...No.”

“Come on”, Fandral wrapped an arm around Loki’s shoulders, “let’s work on improving your footwork, shall we? You still waste so much energy prancing when you could simply move efficiently and thus much faster.”

“It is called dancing daggers for a reason.”

“You and I both agree that looking good in a fight is vital. But men with our stature need to prioritise technique and speed, you especially. Let me teach you.” As if to prove his point Fandral thumped Loki on the back as they prepared for another round.

They took up positions, and their swords were handed to them. Loki looked at his. “...I will be back in just a moment”, he murmured an excuse, and vanished into the changing room.

Fandral spread his arms and looked at the others. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. He probably needs to refresh his make up”, Sif quipped.

Loki closed the door to the washing room behind him and shut out their laughter. He poured cold water into the sink and splashed it onto his face, burying it in the cool. Fandral couldn’t possibly know what reaction he might elicit by wrapping an arm around Loki’s pent up, treacherous body. Yet the touch alone hadn’t set Loki off enough to leave. It was the “Let me teach you”. The combination of the two had left Loki feeling as though the floor had dropped out from beneath his feet.

Fandral couldn’t know. He didn’t know. He mustn’t know.

Loki felt like crawling out of his own skin. He couldn’t tell if he was hot or cold. Nausea roiled in his guts. He took another deep breath, poured more fresh water and rinsed his mouth of the sand and shame as he cooled his neck and temples.

The door behind him opened and Loki glanced over. It was Thor.

“Loki, are you well?”

“Just a moment, brother.”

“You’ve turned even paler than usual. Did Sif injure you?”

Loki stood up. “I’m well. I just got some sand in my eye.” He blinked heavily at the mirror.

“Let me take a look.” Thor stepped in and put a hand on his little brother’s shoulder, turning him around.

“I said I’m fine!” Loki snapped. He slapped his brother’s hand away and stepped back from the sink. “Don’t fuss over me like a mother hen!”

“Alright alright!” Thor smiled his broad, winning smile and lifted his hands in defeat.

Loki picked up a towel and dried his face thoroughly.

“Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been going for a while already and we’re just getting started.”

Loki dropped the towel. He supported himself at the edge of the washing table, looking into the reflection of Thor’s eyes in the mirror. “I can’t take a break. It will make me look weak.”

Thor laughed. “No, it won’t...”

“How would you know?” Loki snapped, whirling around, then he took a deep breath, reaching for calm. “It never even occurs to you, because you never need to take breaks. Because everything comes easily to you. But any break I take will be regarded as weakness and I will be ridiculed for it. Always.”

“Loki, they don’t mean anything by it. It is all in good jest…”

“Oh, is it? Is it, Thor?! Soon it will be my turn to receive the title of Young Prince of Asgard at the initiation. Your friends insulting me for weakness and effeminacy and cowardice will be a crime to the Crown of Asgard then, punishable with the whip.”

“Are you threatening my friends?” Thor shouted, his face hardening. He stepped in and grabbed Loki by the collar, pushing him back.

Loki grabbed for Thor’s hand, then lashed forward burying the long dagger deeply into his brother’s side, right at the edge of the harness underneath the ribs.

Thor grunted and let go. He stumbled back, reaching for the knife’s hilt. He looked pained, and incredulous as he pulled the dagger out of his chest and let it drop. Grunting, he pressed at the injury left by the blade. It wasn’t more than a mild cut that would be half way healed to barely a bruise by tomorrow. It was already closing and wouldn’t even keep him from sparring today.

“Loki? What…?” The hurt on Thor’s face was genuine. It was the loss of trust that hurt Thor more than the actual stab ever could have. They had done this as a game of competition countless times before, but not like this. Not as part of an argument.

Loki panted heavily. His expression was full of rage, fear, and pain. He turned and left his brother standing there, leaving the arena.

 
 
~~~~~
 
 

The dummy opponent of stone oak had been beaten up beyond recognition.

Loki stood in front of it, gasping for air. Each and every one of his muscles ached and burned. This was the third oak puppet he had destroyed, after he had yelled for all the soldiers to leave the room and close the doors behind them. Loki clenched his fists. The leather of his knuckle protectors groaned, and golden and green light covered them, growing, surging, until Loki released it with a cry. The oak puppet splintered into dust with a crack that must have echoed a mile. The attack left a crater in the stone tiles.

Loki stood in the dissipating dust cloud. Slowly he dropped to his knees. It was no use. No matter how long or how hard he trained, he wasn’t able to calm down and find peace of mind anymore.

His panting calmed slowly, and he closed his eyes. They burned. His breath hitched despite himself, and clenched his fists in his lap, his throat closing up tighter and tighter as a sob ripped from his chest.

‘Weak’, he thought. ‘Feeble. Coward. Witch. Inept. Depraved. Disgusting!’

With a hoarse sound Loki stood up, wiped himself and left the training salle wearing such a face that no one even dared to look at him too sharply.

While Loki walked the palace he patted and wiped the dust from his attire. His steps led him upstairs and towards the central spire, winding his way until he reached the Great Hall and the Throne Room. The Allfather was present, in a conversation with someone Loki couldn’t be bothered to identify, though he could probably think of the courtiers’ names if he tried. He didn’t stop moving until he reached the steps in front of the Throne and a few faces turned towards him.

“I need to speak to my father”, he stated. Last threads of conversation faded out as all attention was turned on him. “Alone.”

The counsellors’ eyes moved silently from him to their King.

The Allfather took himself a moment to finish his sentence, ere he looked down at his son. “Leave us.” he declared to his retainers.

Loki looked back at Odin while the counsellors walked past him down the stairs. He moistened his lips, impatiently, nervously? Loki did let the men get a good distance away before he stepped up to the top of the dais. There he let himself sink down, and took a seat on the stairs. Odin watched him as he sat there, hunched, supported by his elbows on his lanky knees, staring out over the Throne Room and all over Asgard.

“What is it that you wish to discuss, my son?” Odin asked, as Loki didn’t attempt to say anything despite his earlier demand. The boy’s hands fidgeted while he was still trying to find the right words.

“I need you to tell me, father, what ultimate goal is it that you wish me to achieve? With your... lessons?”

When the silence stretched again, his father failing to answer, Loki looked sideways tentatively.

Odin stepped closer until he stood next to his son on the top step. “It is not yet time for you to know about these goals in detail, Loki. We are just at the beginning. Some knowledge can only be acquired by doing”, Odin explained, his voice calm and patient, maybe even fond.

“Can you at least give me something? Anything? Last time you gave me a task, but this time…”

“The tasks from the first lesson are still in effect, I expect you to work on them.” Odin lowered himself and took a seat on the stairs right next to Loki, almost close enough to touch, but not quite. “I am giving you time, my son. This is no easy goal you need to accomplish, and I am expecting you to succeed. You will receive your next task, I am sure you already have a good idea about what it is going to be. But for now I allow you time to calm yourself, and gather your strength.”

Loki’s jaw moved. “Because I am weak.”

“No, Loki. I would not task you with something that I would not think you capable of accomplishing at all in the first place.”

At that Loki relaxed visibly. He straightened up and turned to face his father. “And if I succeed, if what you have in mind for me turns out just right… what would I be like?” His voice betrayed none of his inner turmoil, but his eyes were pleading. “What would you want me to be, father, if it were all up to you? How do you see me, as your son, if you achieved the best possible outcome?”

Odin looked into his son’s eyes for a long time. “I see my children, both of you, as strong and worthy Princes of Asgard, powerful, valiant, strong in the values of our Kingdom and the Nine Realms, compassionate, yet strict, wise, yet not hesitant, fierce, but patient. I see worthy men to take my place upon the Golden Throne and rule in my stead one day.”

“But you have already told me all of that.”

“But do you know what it means? I have been teaching you from the moment you could walk, and I am still.”

“Would you tell me again then? Father?”

Odin was reminded of a moment a few centuries back, when he had sat in this exact same place, with a smaller Loki on his knees who had beamed at him with all he had and asked: “Tell me again, father! About Sindri and Brokkr and how your brother made them create the hammer Mjolnir!”

Odin felt the wish to touch Loki. But refrained. Loki needed a silver lining, a gleam of hope that he could cling on to to go on with his efforts. He was so confused, so shaken by the severity of his own depravity revealed to him that he felt like he could not go on without at least something, anything. Some shred of hope that he could achieve his father’s desired outcome.

“One day, one of you will ascend to the Throne of Asgard. You will take up my mighty staff Gungnir and rule over the Nine Realms as I have, as my father did before me, and his father before him. You will wield all the power that comes with regality, to protect and guide our people and to help them prosper. One day you will find yourself a Queen, and have children of your own. You will love them, teach them, see them grow, just as your mother and I do with you and Thor, Loki, until one day they will follow you in the line of succession, when their time has come.”

Loki had hung on his father’s lips, following every word. Odin saw that he had calmed and was listening contemplatively now. As Odin finished, Loki’s gaze drifted to the Golden Throne, and then outward to linger on the sight of their realm in the afternoon light. It was a beautiful view to behold.

“Is that not a future you think worth fighting for?”

Loki got up. He would not want to tower his King so he stepped down three stairs, looking out over the land of Asgard.

“I could have children of my own?”

“Of course. A political marriage with a Prince of Asgard is an incredible prize. Your mother and I were married as part of an allegiance between Vanaheim and Asgard, remember?” A halo of rainbow light lit up the horizon as the Bifröst activated. “Speaking of.” Odin came to stand. “I am expecting guests of high rank from our allied worlds. Vanaheim sends a delegation. Are you familiar with our midwinter solstice rituals, Loki?”

“Of course: We kindle the ceremonial bonfires with a spark of coldfire that is kept in our vaults, only to be used for that purpose.”

“Indeed. Before the war, the Frost Giants would gift us with a lantern of coldfire every year. Since the truce with their king Laufey, after our victory over the Jotuns, contact with the Frost Giants has ceased, and the flame of cold that we keep in our vault has diminished over time. It is unique Jotun seidhr . Coldfire can only be kindled by one of their kind, or maybe by means of great effort by the most gifted masters of seidhr .”

A group of robed figures appeared in the far distance of the Throne Room. From a closer side entrance, Frigga, in her full attire of Queen of Asgard, entered together with her entourage. She looked towards her husband and son, smiled and nodded before she turned to welcome the guests from her homeworld.

“I will leave you to it then, father…”

“No, Loki, I will have you here with me. You are not a child any more. Our guests will take out for Jotunheim from here, and you will go with them.”

 
 
 
 
 
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Notes:

Once again thank you Linny for the beta work, for pointing out my grammar stutter and the stuff that just doesn't make sense (It did in my head while I wrote it though^^). This story wouldn't be half as good without you. <3
And thank you all for reading. Comments are highly appreciated, as always. I hope you stay tuned and feel inclined to share your thoughts.