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Only three times, in all his long life, had Odin ever felt truly weak.
The first was a nearly painful shock to him. He was not young, but he was proud- undefeated, prosperous, thriving off a wound won in battle. His eye was lost but so was Jotunheim, and Laufey had conceded to the point of Gungnir’s spear after long years of warfare in the harshest winter he had ever known. Therefore to the victor went the spoils, and though he had let the King keep his life Odin would not allow him all his treasures as well.
He knew of the casket and left the camp, eye socket still bloody despite the healer’s insistences that he sit down and accept treatment before all else, with the intent of finding it before the day was up. He sent other parties to search as well, but Odin was confident that he knew the weapon’s hiding place. Laufey had let his gaze wander only once at the end of their conflict, to fix on the half-hidden barrier separating his throne room from whatever lay beyond-something he coveted, if Odin was any judge of the look in his eyes. Then had been the wrong time to search, surrounded by his armies and with both sides believing war still waged, but now he was ready to return and claim the power that had let the Jotun’s terror reign so long.
Jotunheim was truly a wretched place. It was no wonder the frost giants fought for something better- yet Odin could not condone the death they left in their wake. He stepped over pile after pile of shattered ice that could have been Jotun flesh or tattered surroundings, holding his spear close in preparation for an ambush. None came, however, and his path to Laufey’s abandoned throne was unhampered by any soldier of either side. This room was coated in blood, the black of the giants and that of Odin’s kin- brilliantly red against the darkness of the ice. He walked quietly here, as if his footsteps might reawaken the tides of war, until he found the crack in a wall of snow that Laufey had drawn attention to. It really was like a door in some ways, though he suspected none but a Jotun was meant to be able to open it. The crack, however, made in battle was enough for Odin to insert gungnir and pry open the slate of ice, letting loose soft shards that clattered like glass upon hitting the ground.
As all of Jotunheim, the next ‘room’ appeared to be outdoors- he supposed it opened on the other side of the sheer cliff in the middle of which Laufey had built his throne. It opened onto another side of this realm, visible through windows left by pillars of ice snaking up between the gap, and did not, from what Odin could see, hold any relics of power.
How disappointing. He would have turned to leave then, disenchanted by the dark, repetitive scenery, if he hadn’t heard something he would never have thought could find its way through this harsh place. A baby crying, as babies tended to do, seemingly from some pedestal of sorts in the center of the room. But certainly no frost giant child could fit in such a place, let alone completely escape his notice until now… Odin stepped further into the room, more cautiously now, and peered about in search for the source of the noise.
A child. There really was a child- a Jotun boy, as pale blue and red as any of them, but far too small. Odin could do naught but stare for a moment, wondering how a Jotun had been birthed that would have been tiny even for an Asgardian’s babe, but the child’s cries shook him out of his surprise. This room was not fit for an infant and held no food, milk, or warmth that even those of Jotun blood needed so early in life. There were cracks in the walls, collapsed pillars from the collateral of magical warfare. No, this was not a safe spot for a child. In Laufey’s quarters, even. Odin realized as he extended a hand, carefully, to touch the boy’s cheek that he was looking down at the prince of Jotunheim, left to die where none could find him.
The crying stopped at the touch of his hand, and the babe froze to look curiously up at him. He was not frightened by the gaping wound where Odin’s eye once had been, nor of this strange man so different in appearance than his own parents. Cautiously, Odin lifted the child from his bed of sorts, as carefully as he might any treasure of this palace. Laufey had not been looking toward a relic he hoped to protect, after all, but his own son. Not out of concern, either, but shame lest someone find him. A Jotun runt.
He was so small, so fragile. Odin didn’t know what made him do it, but as he lifted the boy he extended magic through his fingertips, watching the Jotun appearance bleed away as his tears fully subsided into nothing but curiosity. Despite himself, Odin could do no more- frozen by some fear he could not place. He had held newborns before, yet this child was far different. Thor, Tyr... both beautiful young boys, but so wrought with strength even then, vocal and powerful and quick to do as they wanted without aid from their parents. They had never been dependent upon Odin, he had never truly held their lives in his hands when he cradled them, even for the first time.
But this young boy was fixing him with a look of absolute trust and recognition of his own weakness, so reliant upon this man who was not even his own flesh and blood. Even his appearance could be dictated by Odin’s will, and his life could vanish or prosper based entirely on what Odin next did with him. It was a terrifying responsibility, and one that came far too suddenly for him to have ever prepared for it. He brought the boy closer, cradled in one arm, and murmured softly, tapping his cheek with just one finger in that way babies seemed to like so much. The child was solemn, did not smile, but extended one tiny hand and just barely managed to trap Odin’s finger in his grip. He had strength, as all Jotun did, but not enough to survive alone.
The boy would return with him. Odin did not know where the conviction came from, but he would not abandon this child. It would be easy to hide him and convince the court that he was another of his sons, born quickly thanks to some unknown working of magic as sometimes happened. It would explain his gift as well- the Jotuns were so much more adapted toward spellwork, and Odin could feel the potential for power working in this tiny boy’s blood.
Yet he could not move even now. The baby’s eyes were a brilliant, intelligent green that fixed on him unwaveringly, as if waiting to see what Odin would do next. When he made no further move the boy yawned, apparently tired from all the excitement, and after a bit of fretful turning was asleep in his arms within minutes. Odin’s heart was pounding with an unfamiliar rush, somehow stripped bare by nothing but the feeling of fatherhood such as he had not yet known it.
*
Loki did not take to the training grounds as his brothers did, and looked at each proper weapon offered him with increasing disdain but for the bows, the knives, all the arms a warrior should frown upon. And he did not, as Odin had feared, grow to his specie’s usual height with age- in fact he remained slighter than the rest of his companions both in height and build. He would not have survived long in a Jotun’s culture, and Odin feared for a long while that he would fail in the Aesir’s as well.
Yet he thrived by other means- his mind and magicks that earned him mocking laughter, yes, but were appreciated by all who observed them. He was still but a boy, he and Thor not yet old enough to set out into battle, but Loki offered daily to perform for the court and entertain the gods with his tricks. It was a talent unique among Odin’s children to him, and one that swelled his heart with pride to see. The one child who was not his by blood was in many ways the one most alike him, though not so beloved in Asgard as any of his brothers.
A burden, those boys, but never a terrible one.
Thor was a reckless and a wild boy, but somehow it was always Loki who held the capacity to take the worst risks. He seemed determined to prove that he was as brave as any of the Aesir, and as unpredictable as the title awaiting him should allow. As such, when the evening finally came that the boys rushed home, talking excitedly about the creature they had found in the forest, Odin could feel little pride through his dread.
There was a snake on Asgard whose venom could destroy the skin at merely a touch, and eat the body from the out at a bite. It was a peaceful creature and they all knew of it, and it was common practice for the youths to go in search of the calm reptile and eventually they had all found it and grown bored with it in time. It was a rite of passage, of sorts, a game they all went through and grew out of. Thor, though, had such eagerness in his eyes as he recounted their “journey” that it was clear he would not abandon his interest at a mere glance.
So Odin knew there would be danger, and he warned the boy not to be too rash in his actions. Thor grinned, and nodded, and all the same rushed out with Loki and his friends the next day to see the snake once more. “You worry too much, husband. They are just boys, it is in their nature to play.” Frigga chided him over breakfast, smiling at him for his paranoia. It was odd, really, that he should be so fearfully protective and she should not- but his wife had never run into battle, she did not know what their sons would eventually face.
“It is in their nature to get into trouble.” Odin countered, and she only laughed and nodded her agreement. Reckless boys, but he would not give them up for the world. Oh, well, Heimdall would alert him in the event of trouble- for now he would finish eating, then return to his throne for the day’s business, and await their return that night.
Which came earlier than it had yet, the excited children managing to rush into the hall before the start of dinner for the first time in a fortnight. They were all talking about something, and Thor was beaming at the center of it all, looking very proud with himself. Meanwhile Loki hung to the back, a frustrated frown souring his expression. “Father, father guess what I did today!” Thor demanded eagerly, running up to Odin the moment he realized there was no court business getting in the way.
Frigga was laughing quietly at his excitement, and even Odin couldn’t resist an endeared smile for his son’s behavior. Raising Thor would certainly never be dull. He merely nodded, knowing the boy would speak his piece, and was not disappointed. “I touched the snake- jabbed it with a stick and it actually hissed, but it was too scared to bite.” Thor declared, drawing his chin up importantly, like an esteemed warrior.
“Did you really?” They must have taken his concern for awe, because the other children nodded-somewhat shyly, on all parts but Hogun’s, they still were nervous about being near their King- and Sif stepped forward boldly, waiting permission to speak.
Still but children, and already so eager to follow the customs of adults. Odin nodded, and the young girl elaborated, looking like she was trying very hard not to be visibly impressed by Thor’s actions. “He did, allfather, and he stepped very near it, too.”
A few of the boys grinned at that, and Thor swelled up even further, apparently taking the surrounding adult’s amused grins as signs of how impressed they were. Loki alone seemed to spot that the whole thing was rather ridiculous, which had been exactly what Odin feared. “It was just a stick, he didn’t even get close enough for it to bite.” He scoffed, arms crossed and eyes entirely disinterested in this display of reasonable childhood behavior.
Loki was small, but he had grown up far too quickly, and Odin could not imagine when it had happened, or when he would miss the next stage of his son’s mental growth. “You wouldn’t even go near it, brother.” Tyr mocked, and Loki pursed his lips but said no more as the other children grinned.
But his eyes were working, and that had never yet boded well.
The next day Odin could not work, whether in the court or in practice of magic or battle, no matter how he attempted to concentrate. Eventually he retired early, and spent the evening pacing his quarters while Frigga watched silently, well accustomed to these nights of premonition. But she was calm, calmer than he felt she should have been- she did not feel the foreboding that plagued him, had not today received the same sense of the near future.
It was only when Heimdall called for them that she shared his fear, and hurried without asking to follow as Odin rushed toward where their gatekeeper was waiting, just outside the castle doors. The man looked grave, perhaps even more so than usual, and spoke with no preamble. “Loki has been bitten, my King. The boy Hogun is even now on his way to bring help.”
Frigga paled and grabbed Odin’s arm as if to keep herself upright, her grip strong but shaken. The Allfather himself felt for a moment that his heart had stopped, but he forced his features to remain impassive and merely nodded. “Send for the healers.” He ordered- and Heimdall nodded, though the command could not have been any more useless.
The snake’s venom was worse than any acid Odin knew- from the outside it could melt through flesh and bone, but a bite would dissolve the muscle from within. It flowed sluggishly, slower than blood, but eventually would travel to and stop the heart. No man amongst the few unfortunate enough was yet known to have survived it, a child would be dead within minutes.
But despite that Odin felt fear, but no weakness, no helplessness- the snake’s domain was very close, not so close that it should not have been possible to reach Loki before the venom did its work, and yet Odin knew somehow his boy would still be there. Frigga raced beside him on the way, a mother’s protective desire as powerful as any warrior’s skill, and he could find no words to comfort her. Something told him that Loki would be all right, but he could think of no way to express or prove this, and they made their brief trip in silence- on foot as well, unable to spare time on calling for horses.
The boy, Hogun, met them half way. He had his eyebrows slightly furrowed, but otherwise was as impassive as ever. Neither Odin nor Frigga hesitated to confirm what had already been said, and he watched them for a moment before rushing back after them the way he’d come.
The other young ones were not hard to find, though most of them did not share Hogun’s cool-minded response. Thor and Tyr were in a rage for their brother, trying to attack the snake but barred from doing so by a few of their younger friends, whose names Odin could not immediately remember, and the girl Sif was bent by Loki, seemingly trying to keep him awake through speech. She hurried back when Frigga approached- and a good thing, too, or she might have been pushed aside by the frantic queen. Odin had joined his wife in seconds, pulling his young son into his arms and attempting some assessment of the damage, something to assure him that Loki’s life would not be lost.
The boy was shaking, and despite sweat on his forehead unnaturally cold to the touch, eyes glassed-over. He seemed unaware that his parents were there, too busy fighting to breathe to recognize the world around him- but Odin felt a wave of relief all the same. He could sense Loki’s power at work, feel him fighting the venom away, and knew he would succeed. So long as he had the strength to fight Loki, despite all his losses, would keep true defeat at bay, as would Thor, and Tyr, and perhaps young Balder when he was old enough. It was the way of Odin’s children, and Loki was as stubborn as any of them.
But he was in pain, and Odin could not bear to watch that, nor to see his wife in tears, repeating her child’s name and stroking his hair with trembling hands. So sure that they would lose him, and it should have been impossible not to. Thor had given up by now, seeing the snake gone and realizing their was no point in the fight, while Tyr seemed determined to wage war with the beast. Thor had shaken off his friends and come to join his parents now, looking at Loki with mixed guilt and confusion. “We called him a coward, so h-he just walked up to it- put his hand right on its head and it just- it didn't bite before.”
The wound- where had it bitten him? Judging by what Thor had said Odin inspected Loki’s arm first, and his short cry of pain confirmed more than he’d have liked- two puncture wounds, each as large as a grain of corn, sat in the center of his wrist. “The healers are near, Loki,” He assured quietly, earning no response for it. “You are doing well, stay awake.”
The children were standing back, looking nervous. One of them, blond and somewhat small himself, looked like he was about to speak, but quieted at the looks his friends shot his way. Loki was still breathing just as strongly as before, which said only that his health was not degrading further. Even through her fear Frigga seemed aware of this, and when Eir and her healers arrived at last she looked up at Odin, for the first time bearing some hope in her eyes.
He was reluctant to let go of his son, but concern had not turned him into a fool. Odin turned care of Loki to Eir as carefully as he could, setting the boy down so she and the others could perform their work. A few others had followed them, warriors and parents- Odin was glad to see Volstagg amongst them, for as raucous as he was the young ones enjoyed his company, and it took him only a few words to convince them to come with him and let the healers work unbothered. The brothers though would not be moved, and Odin did not demand they were.
It was not until much later, when Loki was again in Odin’s arms and returning home, unconscious and awaiting weeks in the healer’s quarters, that someone wondered aloud how Loki was still alive at all.
“He has his father’s blood.” Odin said simply, the words mistaken for paternal pride. Thor glanced curiously at his wounded brother (who he was standing close beside, dagger held ready to protect him from any further dangers) but said nothing, no doubt wondering whether he would survive the snake’s venom as well. They would have to ensure he did not test as much, for only Frigga seemed to share the true meaning of what he had said.
No Asgardian could have survived the snake’s acid, but a Jotun’s blood and body were cold, more resistant toward the burn. Loki survived because he was a being he feared above all others- and Odin still did not tell him what he truly was. The time was not right, not yet.
Odin felt no weakness, either, when Thor nearly fell in battle the first time his sons rode with him into a war.
There was little he himself could do with his strength nearly depleted, but Thor- a young man now, and as reckless as the child had been- was still conscious, and despite his wounds Odin found him in a considerably... unconcerned state.
“By Odin’s beard, Loki, can’t you be more careful?”
“Oh shut up, you big oaf, if you’d stop all this infernal moving it would be much easier-“
“Of course I’m moving! You’re going to tear out my damn ribs at this rate, you would be moving too!”
Thor and Loki had become an undefeatable duo on the battlefield, separate from their brothers who oft worked together or entirely alone- and each would trust the other with their lives. Yet when Odin finally halted Sleipnir at the spot he’d been told was the site of Thor’s injury they were bickering like maids. Loki, his long hair tied back while Thor’s ran free, was holding his hands over the bloody mess of his brother’s chest, magic running through his fingertips with natural ease. Healing was no easy work, however, and he had his brow furrowed in concentration, sweat dotting his forehead as Thor snapped at him to be more cautious with his spellwork.
Thor could very well have been dying- his voice was weaker than normal, and his eyes were unable to focus even as he turned to watch Odin’s approach. “Father! Tell Loki to please be more gentle, I think I’d rather take the wound.”
“I could leave you if you like.” Loki warned, doing something with his magic that made Thor curse and shut his eyes. “Sorry, had to get that back in place.”
“You did that on purpose.”
“I did not! I’m insulted that you would accuse me of such a thing, brother, be more kind.” Another hiss of pain, and Loki couldn’t quite hide his smile this time. “You should have expected that one- you do have multiple ribs, you know.”
“I won’t by the end of this!”
Odin shook his head in disbelief, the fear of burying his son abating into astonishment at their stubborn arguments, even at such a time as this. “You have done well, Loki.” If there was anybody he would trust with Thor’s life, anybody he would not insist be gone immediately that Odin might bring his boy to the healers, it was Loki. He trusted him, perhaps, even more so than he did Eir, or even his own magic- Loki’s mind, and his love for his brother, were the greatest asset their army could hope for.
Loki smiled in a way that lit his face like lightning, and he nodded with a touch of humility in thanks for the compliment. Thor scoffed, but grimaced through the pain in a way that might have been his own attempt at a smile. “Thank you, brother.”
“Anytime. Now stop moving.” Loki scolded, and the argument began anew.
Throughout Loki’s adolescence, in fact, Odin felt weak only once. He and his youngest son were scouting the paths between realms-a task in which Odin would accept the assistance of no other- when Loki stopped in his path, a look of scientific interest passing through his gaze. Such an expression usually meant some new touch of mischief, so the Allfather joined his son quickly that he might abate such tricks. “What do you see, Loki?”
“Hm?” Loki glanced at him from the corner of his eye and flashed a reassuring grin before turning back to his interest- Jotunheim, blocked from all roads but the bifrost and a large target of their “inspection”. A watchful eye was kept, at all times, on the frost giants, waiting for an act of war or chance for proper truce. “Oh, just spotted something. What a dreadful place, really. A fit home for monsters.”
He should have told him. Odin considered shaking his head and lecturing Loki for his ignorance, assuring him that no race was wholly monstrous and that he was undeniable proof of that. It was an opportunity he rarely had, while they were alone and had as much time as they needed to speak things through- Loki was still a young man, not even an adult, and the shock would be brutal but he could endure it, Odin was certain.
That unfamiliar helplessness stole over him, and Odin knew he would not say a word. Loki’s hatred of the frost giants was proof enough that he would hate himself for the news that must soon be given, and Odin could not bear to ruin this day for him. These trips of theirs were one of the few things he had privilege to that Thor did not, and though he accepted the offer to leave with outward apathy Loki looked forward to such infrequent happenings with a fervor he rarely applied elsewhere. How could he tell him, now, and taint this memory that they shared only once every decade or more? Odin was weak, unable to face the shock and hurt in Loki’s eyes, and could not even bring himself to counter the boy’s views.
He clapped his hand over Loki’s shoulder and shook his head, which raised an eyebrow but no more than that. “Come, my son, we have far to travel yet.” He said simply, and with a brief nod Loki turned away from Jotunheim, holding his hand out to call up the door of sorts into the realm itself.
“Let’s go then, father, and this over with.” Loki sighed, smiling over his shoulder before stepping through the path he had forged. It was a difficult spell, and one he had succeeded in performing only recently. Odin had rarely been more proud than at that moment, and that pride was not absent here- so he followed, knowing he was weak for it.
*
It had been many years since Odin had last been able to tell himself that his children needed him, nearly a decade since Loki looked on him as son to father. He had failed along the way, and pushed that quiet young boy into hatred and violence that none in the nine realms could ignore. He had punished him and released him, accepted him only for Loki to turn on earth, on Thor, once more- time and time again, with each attempt becoming more desperate and more vicious. He was not yet lost, past the point where even their endless lives could not give time enough to repair what he had done, still willing to ride into battle beside those he seemingly hated for the sake of the realm where he was raised.
Ensuring, in a way Odin could never have wanted, that he would stray no further.
The All-father was no stranger to the destruction of war, yet he found himself barely able to breathe at the sight, the feeling, of so much blood. His armor was covered in it, his hands drenched, and the grass was stained red as the ground struggled in a vain attempt to drink up the pool of it. Too much blood, and all of it spilling from the chest of his son, his boy. So much that Loki’s skin, where splashes of it had not fallen, was far beyond pale- ashen, grey-white. He was trembling uncontrollably and choking on pain, each breath an obvious labor that he refused to abandon.
His hand was pressed against the wound, a shaken attempt to staunch the blood flow, and though Odin’s had joined it the effect was minimal, if there was any at all. “I don’t suppose Eir’s around, is she?” Loki wondered weakly, an attempt at a lighthearted laugh only breaking in his throat. Even his eyes were clouded now as he turned to his father, his attempt at a smile nervous and weary.
As a boy Loki had despised familial contact or warmth, but there was no protest for Odin’s touch now, and as much as he could Loki was shrinking against his father’s chest, held there by a grip that could crush rock and bone but not protect his life. “No, Loki, she is not.” There was little point in answering the question, rhetorical as it no doubt had been, but Odin could not bear silence now.
The rest of the battlefield had long since fallen quiet, nothing but scattered soldiers and armies coming to a close. The blade that struck Loki had done so at the very end of the fight, and though its owner had fallen Odin was left too barren of magic to heal his son’s wounds. Loki as well was drained, even his illusions and summoned beasts dissolved back from whence they had come. “Oh. Shame. I don’t- don’t think I can make it back to her.” Loki admitted, voice trembling with pain, but no fear. Frightened though he may be Loki was a warrior, and he was proud enough to hide it- ready to accept his death as it came.
Death. How ironic that one of Loki’s children would steal him away from his father, and neither of them had any power to stop it. “Where’s Thor?” The trickster gasped, too far gone even to feign his usual blood-thirst where his brother’s name was concerned.
“Not far, he is on his way.” Odin promised, watching something like relief pass over Loki’s eyes before he nodded. No, Thor was not far off, and yet he feared he would not arrive in time. Already each moment had become a struggle, and Loki was quickly losing the battle. “Speak to me, my son, stay awake.”
Loki nodded, forcing his half-lidded gaze open and alert, breath shallow as he fought for words. “Do you hate me, father?” He whispered at last, looking down as he spoke but bringing his eyes to Odin’s once he had, the fear there so much harder to conceal than that in his voice.
Hate him? Odin’s heart felt heavy at the very thought, and only now did it become necessary for him to fight away tears before they fell. No, he did not hate Loki, and never had- he resented his actions, regretted what had become of him, but he would not hate him. “No. I love you, Loki, as I do all my sons.” His own voice was harsh now, not with anger but sadness. How had he let things grow to the point that Loki could ever believe he would hate him?
“Your son.” Loki spoke quietly and slowly, as if he was trying to preserve the title and convince himself to believe it at the same time. He had spent years now denying their relation, furious at the lie he had lived so long. “Why? After all I’ve done-“
“Your crimes do not change who you are. You fought beside me today, as you have all your life.” Odin recalled, unbidden, that first battle with his sons- Thor had been the one to bleed, then, and Loki had saved him. But Loki could not save himself, and Odin was just as helpless as he had been. His sons had both been hurt in many battles, and always recovered in time to boast at the feast that night. Thor, loud and raucous and Loki so subtle in his pride, both of them laughing over something one of their friends had said. Both so glad and proud when Odin stood and dedicated a toast to their skill that day- Loki always had appeared surprised, but pleased nonetheless.
He pulled Loki closer, feeling a wave of grief and regret wash over him. He did not wish to mourn for his son again, but he could feel Loki’s heartbeat wavering and slowing, and there were tears in the boy's eyes that he failed to blink away. But he was smiling, genuinely if weakly, like Odin had not seen in a decade- he would miss that smile. He would miss everything about this clever boy, his faults and his strengths alike.
“Thank you,” Loki whispered, barely audible. “Thank you. I thought... Will I have a warrior's burial?" There was a resigned look mingling with the fear, now, as if Loki believed he could only be answered in the negative. In truth, not all of Asgard would mourn this day, and many would protest a traditional pyre for the 'traitor'- but what did they live so long for, if not the chance for redemption? And Loki had fought as bravely as any on Asgard that day, and given up as much as they could ever hope to.
Odin nodded, and Loki's relief was far more wary this time, unwilling to hope that this might be the truth. "You are a hero, Loki. Your aid saved many lives today, you-" But he could no longer continue, not without his voice breaking.
Grief was not for the battlefield. He could mourn his son when he was away from his soldiers, his subjects- they needed him to be steadfast now, and ready to think and lead. Loki was not the day's only loss, but Odin had not before felt such weakness and shame to see one of his men fall in battle. Loki, it seemed, just had a habit of rendering him helpless without knowing it or intending to do so. And shamed, because Odin could not help but wonder if this were best, that Loki died while redemption was still possible. He almost hated himself for the thought, and raised one bloody hand from Loki's chest- the gush of blood had nearly stilled now, another sign how little time they had- to smooth back his son's hair. The trickster leaned into his touch, the skin of his forehead feverish and coated in a cold sweat. Loki's eyes slipped shut, the pattern of his breath slowing almost to nothing, and Odin knew that Thor would not arrive in time if they did not act.
"Do not sleep yet." He kept his voice quiet but firm, and Loki forced his eyes open again, looking almost startled to find that they had been closed at all. He nodded, gasping to replenish his breath.
"I can't- I... Is-is he almost here?" He could no longer hide his fear, though his voice shook with the effort to keep it as unnoticeable as possible. "I'm tired, father."
Loki's voice had never been closer to pleading, and Odin hated the sound of it. "Soon." His own reserves of energy were too depleted for magic, but he let what little power he had flow through his hands, adding to the strength his son needed. Loki's eyes brightened just barely, and his breathing seemed to ease slightly, though he appeared unaware of it.
Odin did his best to coax Loki into speech, to give him something to focus on, but after only three minutes the effort had become almost too much for the young sorcerer, and the only sign of his struggle was his laboured breathing. It was just after that that Odin felt the familiar tug of power that meant mjolnir's presence- preceeding Thor's arrival just moments later. His son brought with him his usual thunderous cloud, mimicking the sound of that power with his crash to the ground. He was rough from battle, grinning with the pride of a victory- but his mirth vanished before he had taken even two steps forward, replaced by horror as he recognized the blood on the floor, the way Loki was cradled to their father's chest. He ran, torn cape billowing out behind him, and Loki gave a weary smile at the sight, eyes barely held open any longer. "Thor." He whispered, relieved, eyes drifting shut then open again.
"Brother-" Thor froze, still standing, but dropped to his knees and took Loki's hand without further hesitation, eyes wide with shock and confusion that had still not formed to grief. "What happened?"
Odin shook his head- there was no time to explain now. Loki swallowed, his chest shallow with pain, and struggled to speak again. Thor bent down, still looking numb through his shock, so that he could hear what his brother had to say. "I'm sorry, Brother." He was barely audible and slightly slurred, even to Odin who still held him so close. He had seen many men die in his long life, and as much as he hoped to deny it knew that Loki had only moments left. "For everything."
"What have you to be sorry for?" Thor replied quietly, voice still too stunned to break and eyes dry with confusion. Loki's smile was weak, and brief. His eyes fell shut, mouth moving in an attempt to respond but no sound followed. "Brother?" Nervousness was there now, and a slight touch of panic- the reality of the situation was sinking in, but Loki could no longer reply.
His lips had stilled in the semblance of a smile, and his chest followed moments later- just as Odin bent to press a kiss to his young boy's forehead, sending him off to sleep as he had not in thousands of years.