Chapter Text
Thor has carried many secrets over the years. More than once he’s questioned whether there would’ve been half as many of them if he’d been raised alone, if the Norns hadn’t seen fit to guide the Allfather to the jǫtunn infant that would one day become everything to Thor, because most of them have been connected to his brother in some way. Some originated from childhood mischief, others from adolescent rebellion, all of them hidden from their parents and tutors as well as they could. And then there’s a few that Thor has carried the weight of alone. His love for Loki is all-encompassing and precedes memory – sometimes it feels like it precedes his very existence – but it has changed and evolved as time went on, and for a short period in Thor’s life it, too, was a secret. Still is, to most of the world. Everyone but the one who matters most. And now they share a new secret. She’s their best one yet, in Thor’s opinion, but also the hardest one to keep, for a variety of reasons. If they were together, if they shared the burden of carrying it, as they share her, it would be easier, Thor thinks. But as it is, he’s alone.
Loki gave him a promise: that they would all be together one day. Thor wonders if he ever intended to keep it.
*
It dawns on him as soon as Loki lets go of his arm and disappears that he’s never held a baby this small before. He loves children and always has, but he’s never been responsible for one, has never had to care for it on his own. After a beat of stunned silence in which he continues to stare at the spot where Loki has just vanished, a bark of incredulous, hollow laughter tumbles out of his mouth and cuts through the loud silence. The little girl in his arms does not stir at the sudden sound; she’s still fast asleep, blissfully ignorant of the catastrophe that has just occurred. Thor, on the other hand, can feel himself edging closer and closer to panic. What the hell is he supposed to do now?
*
A wet nurse is sent for. Even Thor, in all his inexperience, understands the necessity of one now that Loki isn’t here to… (even in his own mind he struggles to finish the thought – it almost feels like a live thing that jumps and skitters away from him because it senses how scared he is – until he can finally admit it to himself): Loki isn’t here to feed their child. He must have, though, at least once before bringing her to Thor, because she sleeps for another hour or two in Thor’s arms while he sits motionless on the edge of his bed and continues to stare at the spot where Loki vanished, as if part of his brain is still waiting for him to reappear at any moment and laugh at his latest trick. Only when the little girl in his arms yawns herself awake and looks up at him with deep blue eyes that barely manage to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time does he manage to break free from his stupor. It’s still too early for most of the servants to be up, so he heads for the entrance to his quarters, where a couple of guards are stationed outside. He directs one of them to find a runner, who in turn is told to locate a wet nurse as quickly as possible, preferably from within the castle. The boy returns about an hour later with a red-headed, stout woman from the palace kitchens who curtsies and introduces herself as Kelda before offering to take the fussing baby in Thor’s arms. He planned to hand her over at once, but he suddenly understands why Loki struggled so much: something inside him is insisting that he don’t let her go. Kelda seems to understand and doesn’t rush him.
“She’s beautiful, my lord,” she says, smiling kindly when Thor tears his eyes away from the baby to give her a panicked look. He attempts a nod, but the motion is so stiff that he’s not sure if it comes across as more of a spasm. “I’ve three of me own,” Kelda adds. “And I’ve nursed a handful of others.”
Thor tries to nod again. The baby squirms in his arms, smacking her lips and moving her head from side to side, clearly searching for something. Loki should be here, why isn’t he here, where is he, is he–
“Her mother, is she… alright?” Kelda asks carefully.
“I don’t know,” Thor confesses. As soon as the words make it past his lips, tears start spilling from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I know this isn’t– I didn’t– I’m so sorry–”
“Why don’t you sit down for a moment, my lord, and I’ll take the baby. She’s hungry, let me feed her,” Kelda says, gentle but firm. She spares a moment to touch Thor’s shoulder in motherly consolation before she resolutely reaches for the baby and takes her from Thor with a soft cooing sound, then walks over to the nearest chair. Arms now suddenly empty, a feeling of inexplicable shame starts to spread from the center of Thor’s chest to the rest of his body. It’s the first time he’s let go of her since he had to take her from Loki’s arms, and it feels like he’s failed somehow, like he’s done something unforgivably wrong. It makes something crumble inside him, and every emotion that must have been left on hold since Loki appeared out of nowhere comes pouring out at once until he’s stood in the middle of the room weeping into his hands like a young child while his daughter is fed by a stranger a few feet away. The grief is so immense that for a moment he’s afraid the tears might never stop, but of course they eventually do. By then his daughter is asleep again in Kelda’s arms.
“Forgive me,” Thor mutters, his voice so hoarse that he has to clear his throat before he can continue. “I hope you can overlook my outburst. I’m very grateful to you for doing this.”
“It’s my pleasure, my lord. She’s a sweet babe, and strong. She’ll be just fine,” Kelda assures him. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything at all?” She looks genuinely concerned, so much so that Thor can feel another lump start to form in his throat already, and he quickly shakes his head and does his best to swallow it.
“Not at this time, but thank you. I’m sure you’re needed in the kitchens, but would you consider becoming her permanent nurse?”
“I’d be happy to, my lord.”
“Thank you. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
“We’ll need some things for her, clothing and such, can you send for it or do you want me to locate some?”
Thor hesitates. If he starts asking the servants to bring him such items without a plan in mind the rumors will spread like wildfire.
“If you could help me out for a few days, I’d be much obliged. You’ll be compensated handsomely.”
“Nonsense, I just wanted to make sure you were alright with hand-me-downs.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Kelda smiles.
“She’s a princess, isn’t she? It’s not so common for nobles to resort to used clothing.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“She’ll probably be asleep for a few hours now. Where do you want me to put her? Do you have a crib yet?”
Thor shakes his head.
“Any soft place will do,” Kelda tells him gently. “I even had my eldest sleeping in the top drawer of a cabinet when he first arrived until my husband finished building the crib. Worked like a charm.”
“Perhaps she can stay in my bed for now?”
“Perfect.”
Thor leads her into the bedchamber and tries to ignore the discomfort he feels at having a woman in his private space. Not only is it expressly forbidden by many a social rule, but it also feels disloyal to Loki somehow. He watches as Kelda carefully puts Rúna down on the mattress and tucks a blanket over her sleeping form.
“There we are.”
She starts to leave, and Thor feels a sense of panic start to tug at his heart again.
“What if she cries?” he blurts out.
“You pick her up and try to soothe her. You’re her father, she knows you. You’ll both be fine. I’ll be back in a few hours to feed her again, and in the meantime I’ll dig out some things she might need.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Once she’s gone, Thor paces around aimlessly for a while, trying to think. He’s lost count of how many turns he’s taken around the room when his eyes suddenly land on a small satchel on the floor next to the chair by his desk. He doesn’t recognize it, which puzzles him at first, until it dawns on him that Loki must have left it behind. He snatches it up and starts rifling through it with his heart pounding in his chest. There’s a knit set of baby clothes in white wool, with a matching pair of tiny socks. Did Loki make them? He must have, he wouldn’t have risked asking anyone else for it, would he? There’s also a blanket, knit in the same style, but emerald green in color. He carefully puts it all down on the desk, then reaches for the last item. When he pulls it out it turns out to be a plain linen shirt, far too large for a baby. A beat later he realizes that it must’ve belonged to Loki, and he quickly brings it up to his face to breathe in the smell of it. It’s Loki’s scent, there’s no doubt. He must’ve left it for Rúna. Fresh tears overflow his eyes and start streaming down his cheeks again. How can he endure this? How can he go on without knowing whether Loki’s safe and well? Shouldn’t Thor try to find him to make sure? What if he asked Heimdall to look for him? Or asked him to open the Bifrost and send Thor to Vanaheimr? That must be where Loki is, still, or else word would be spreading soon that King Sigurd’s consort had disappeared. Why didn’t Loki tell him what his plan was? How can Thor make the right choices going forward when he doesn’t know what the endgame is? His thoughts keep spinning as he stands there, clutching the satchel between his hands like it might also contain the answers to his questions as he continues to silently weep, until there’s a soft noise of discontent from the little girl on the bed behind him. He dries off his face with the back of his hand, sniffles, and exchanges the empty satchel with Loki’s shirt before he walks over to the baby. He lays it out on the mattress, then carefully transfers her to lie on top of it and wraps the arms around her. She keeps fussing for a moment, head tossing this way and that, then calms and drifts back off to sleep. Thor crawls into bed next to her to keep watch. Kelda returns a while later, knocking on the door softly and then entering with a large bag slung over her shoulder.
“What a lovely sight,” she says, smiling at the scene. Thor sits up slowly so as to not wake the baby.
“I found some clothes for her,” he says, and walks over to the desk to retrieve the knit set.
“It’s beautiful,” Kelda says. “Do you want me to help you put it on her?”
“Please.”
It fits her perfectly. She blinks awake when they’re almost done and Thor is putting her tiny feet into the wool socks. Their eyes meet, and Thor feels the impact of it like a shock to his system. It hits him that he’s never actually spoken to her.
“Hello,” he whispers. “Hello, my darling girl.”
*
In the days that follow, he considers leaving the palace. Although he can’t know for sure how his parents will react upon learning of his unexpected love child, he knows it will surely lead to disaster in some way or other. So he weighs his options. He could take the baby (and the nurse) and leave the castle, either for a time or forever. Such a blatant rejection of his responsibilities would almost certainly cause Odin to disinherit him, perhaps even banish him from Asgard altogether. While it wouldn’t be the end of the world to Thor personally – there is nothing left for him on Asgard now that his brother is gone, and all he wants to do is go chasing after him anyway – but he knows Loki would kill him for voluntarily throwing away his birthright, and in turn their daughter’s. Loki has made the ultimate sacrifice for reasons that are still unclear, but he must have a plan. Not only did he leave their daughter in Thor’s care, he risked his own life by bringing her to Asgard, which must mean that this is where he wants her to stay, at least for the time being. In the end there isn’t really any other choice but to come clean.
It takes him three days to muster up the courage to leave Rúna in Kelda’s expert care and make his way to the throne room to seek out his father. Odin is seated on Hliðskjálf, Gungnir in hand, looking as regal and unapproachable as ever when Thor enters. It could be imaginary, but Thor is almost certain he can glimpse a flash of coldness in his father’s all-seeing eye when it lands on him as he kneels in front of the throne. It makes him wonder if the Allfather already knows what he’s come to say.
“You may rise,” Odin says, and Thor does.
“I’ve come bearing news. I ask that you not be hasty in your response.”
“Go on.”
“I have a daughter, born three days ago. She’s here in the castle. Her name is Rúna.”
The silence that follows is so heavy it almost feels like a physical force trying to push him downwards. Then he realizes that it’s not just a metaphorical sensation, it’s a physical one, and it’s trying to force him to submit. He fights it, but the force grows stronger and quickly succeeds in making his legs bend against his will, causing him to drop down into a kneel with a soft grunt as his legs hit the stone floor.
“How dare you disobey me in this way? How dare you dishonor your house and your name like this? Have you forgotten who you are?”
“No, Father, I –”
“Silence!”
Thor’s mouth clicks shut and won’t open again when he tries.
“Do you think your life is yours to do with as you please? You are the heir to this throne! Your spouse and subsequent offspring are a dynastic matter, not a private one! This mistake could cost you the chance of making a respectable match when it’s time for a betrothal. To sire a child out of wedlock is beneath you, you were raised better than that.”
There’s a hundred things Thor would like to respond with – his daughter is not a mistake, for one, and he never wanted a marriage arranged by his father in any case, he never wanted anyone but Loki and never will – but Odin’s spell still keeps him from speaking.
“Did you ever consider your mother in all this?” his father goes on. “How can you condemn her to carry this shame? And what of the child, do you expect me to open the royal nursery to a bastard?”
Thor isn’t sure whether Odin voluntarily lifts the spell to let him answer, or if his rage in that moment is strong enough to break free from it, but next thing he knows he can speak freely again:
“Do not call her that,” he growls.
“Is it not the truth? Or do you mean to tell me that you have disobeyed me further and taken a wife too?”
“No, I’ve not taken a wife.”
“Then she is your bastard.”
“Do not call her that. I will not tell you again.”
Odin is silent for a long time, his steely gaze measuring Thor up and down and no doubt finding him wanting in more ways than one.
“Where is your ring?” he asks, and Thor is so surprised by the sudden change of direction that he doesn’t understand what’s coming before it’s too late.
“Pardon?”
“Your signet ring, where is it?”
Thor takes a deep breath, then makes sure to look his father in the eye when he answers:
“The one who carries my heart carries it.”
“You gave away the very symbol of your claim to this throne?”
“I gave it for safekeeping, as a loan and a promise.”
“Of what?”
“That I will one day replace it with another.”
“You mean to say you are betrothed?”
“I am.”
“To the mother of this child, I assume?”
“Correct.”
“And who is she? A serving woman? A housemaid? Perhaps a peasant girl from some foreign realm encountered on your unsanctioned journey of the past year while you neglected your duties?”
“No. My child is of royal blood, on both sides. The other half of her parentage will be revealed when the time is right.”
That seems to cool some of Odin’s wrath. A bastard child is one thing, but one borne by a commoner is infinitely worse. Still, the battle is not won yet.
“You don’t expect me to accept this outright, do you? Surely you’re not that naive.”
“I don’t expect anything. I came to tell you the truth and I have. What happens next is up to you. But I will not be separated from my daughter. I will not send her away from this castle, not unless I go with her.”
If Rúna had been born in a sanctioned marriage, it wouldn’t be unheard of for her to be sent off at only a few years of age to live in her own household in a nearby castle, as befitting her station. It’s the custom in most other realms for royal children. But Thor knows very well that Loki would never allow it, and it’s Thor’s job to act in his stead in all things relating to their daughter until… well, until he’s given other instructions. Besides, Thor and Loki were both raised right here in the palace, so there’s already a precedent for it.
“Her birth will not be officially announced,” Odin pronounces. “She will not be declared your heir. Not yet, perhaps not ever.”
“I’ll not keep her a secret,” Thor says.
“That’s up to you. But I urge you to carefully consider the consequences to your reputation if you claim her publicly. What you do in private with your friends is another matter.”
“I’m not ashamed of her existence. She’s here because she was wanted, by me and the one who brought her to life, whom I intend to marry as soon as circumstances allow.”
“These are childish delusions and I will not entertain them. You’re dismissed for now. Your mother will be informed of your foolishness. In the meantime I advise you to think long and hard on how to behave going forward if you still hope to inherit this throne one day.”
*
A crib is brought up to Thor’s quarters that afternoon. The servants are directed to put it up in the small parlor adjoining the crown prince’s bedchamber, which will be converted into a temporary nursery for Rúna. Two comfortable armchairs are also brought in, placed in front of the large window so visitors can enjoy the view of the south garden. Beyond it lies the large forest Loki was always so fond of exploring in their youth. Thor sits motionless in one of the chairs and stares at the tall, ancient oak trees that make up the woodland edge from early sunset till it’s too dark to make them out anymore. Kelda slips in and out in the background to keep Rúna fed. Supper time comes and goes. A plate is brought up and placed on the small table next to Thor, but it goes unnoticed and untouched.
“You have a visitor, my lord.”
It takes Kelda’s warm, steady hand on his shoulder for him to finally blink out of his reverie and return to the present moment.
“Who is it?”
“Her Majesty the queen.”
Thor looks down at the baby still asleep in his arms.
“Send her in.”
He doesn’t stand or turn around to see his mother enter, he can glimpse her well enough in the somewhat distorted reflection from the glass panes of the window as she walks in. She sinks down in the chair next to him, taking the time to arrange her skirts delicately and then folding her hands in her lap before she speaks.
“Will you not introduce us?”
Her voice is muted, perhaps so as to not disturb the baby, or perhaps Thor’s mind is still too adrift to pick it up properly. He makes a conscious effort to muster up some energy, sits up straight, and turns towards her so she can get a good look at her grand-daughter.
“This is Rúna,” he says.
Frigga leans in and carefully strokes the back of her hand along the baby’s cheek with a thoughtful hum.
“May the Norns bless you and favor you throughout your life, Rúna.”
Something slots into place inside Thor when that ancient invocation is spoken over his child for the first time. It clarifies her existence in his life somehow; makes it more real and permanent. His daughter is here. She was wanted for so long and now she’s here, and there’s a whole life ahead of her, and Thor gets to be part of it. He only wishes Loki could be part of it too.
“May I hold her?” Frigga asks.
Thor nods and carefully transfers her into Frigga’s waiting arms. A wide smile lights up her face as she looks down at the baby in wonder, and Thor feels a warm sensation fill up his chest. It takes him a beat to realize that it’s pride. Frigga looks up at him and they share a smile.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” he agrees. It’s Loki, he thinks, it’s all Loki.
“Your father said she was born three days ago?”
“Yes.”
“In the castle?”
“No.”
“When–”
“If I could tell you the whole story, I would. Please believe that. But for now it’s… not possible. I’m sorry.”
Frigga accepts it with a soft sigh and a nod. The silence that follows is not unpleasant, in fact it’s rather peaceful, and for a long while they just sit together. Rúna sleeps on in her grand-mother’s lap, even when Frigga puts her fingertips to each side of her face and her skin starts glowing softly where the queen’s magic touches it.
“She’s dreaming,” Frigga murmurs, smiling softly.
“Is she? What about?”
“Just sensations. Warm skin. A familiar voice.”
Soon after, Rúna yawns and blinks awake, to Frigga’s great delight. She coos and whispers a greeting, then hums a melody from an old song Thor recognizes from his own childhood. When Rúna starts fussing, she lifts her to her chest and strokes along her back in practiced motions.
“Perhaps we should send for her nurse?”
“Yes, I’ll have them fetch her.”
Kelda enters soon after, pausing only long enough to curtsy before the queen before taking the baby from her and retreating from the room, leaving them alone.
“She’s beautiful,” Frigga repeats. “A beautiful, healthy girl.”
“Yes, we’ve been blessed.”
“She reminds me very much of someone I know.”
Thor does his best to stay very, very still and not react. Part of him wants to chance a look at his mother so he can try to read her expression, but he deems it too much of a risk. Instead he continues to stare out the window, though there’s not much he can glean through the darkness anymore since the moon is so dim tonight.
“She does have my eyes,” he points out.
“So she does.”
He can still feel her stare and braces himself for a confrontation, or at least a demand for answers to a whole deluge of questions, but only one comes:
“Is he safe?”
Thor lets out a long, heavy sigh.
“I don’t know,” he admits.
“But you’ve seen him, after the birth?”
“Yes. Briefly. It was his choice to go.”
“Very well. We must trust his decision, then.”
She stands up, and Thor automatically does too. She smooths down her skirts and offers him a tight smile before she starts to leave. She’s disappointed, that much is clear, and Thor feels a familiar sense of shame prickle at the back of his neck, but he refuses to let it take hold.
“She’s not an accident, nor a mistake,” he says, and waits for Frigga to turn back around and face him before he adds: “She was wanted, by both of us.”
She seems to take that in for a beat, then nods, acknowledging the words, though she doesn’t respond. She leaves, and Thor sinks back down on the chair, shoulders slumped over in defeat.
*
Rúna grows faster than Thor could’ve imagined. Every day there is something new about her, even if it’s just an expression on her face or how she can stay awake a little longer between naps. She’s healthy and strong, developing exactly as she should be according to her nurse and the royal healers that are brought in to examine her. Thor knows he is fortunate even in his wretchedness. Every night he dreams of Loki. Sometimes, during those first few moments after he wakes, when his mind is still muddled with sleep, he’s convinced he can still feel Loki next to him, like he’s sleeping beside him. When he reaches out and runs a hand along the mattress, he could swear it’s still warm, like Loki only just got up and disappeared into the next room. Perhaps he’s going mad, and these are the delusions of a broken man. Or perhaps Loki is closer than he thinks. It’s that hope that keeps him going in the months following Rúna’s birth. He tends to his duties as the crown prince of the realm, tries to spend time with his friends when he has the energy, takes care of his daughter, and waits.