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“--and here are your chambers,” they stopped at a simple, but elegant door in the royal wing of the fortress.
“Many thanks,” Loki gave the guard a curt nod and stepped into his new rooms, immediately shutting the door behind him before the other could reply.
After waiting for the sound of footsteps to move further down the hall, out of hearing range, the prince let out a sigh. He was in Jötunheimr.
The realm of the Frost Giants.
(Monsters. Like you.)
The realm that, just a few short years ago, he had helped Thor attack. His reckless, halfwitted brother with his foolish, idiotic plan.
(Not your brother.)
Not even three years prior to now, he had killed their king.
(Your father.)
Yet, for some reason, after faking his death in the fight against the Dark Elves, the Svartálfar, (all this time and Thor still fell for his illusions), after dragging his bruised and broken body away from the scene, something had compelled him to come here. He didn’t know why. He had plans to banish Óðinn, to take his place as king with none the wiser, to rule Ásgarðr, but in that moment, all of the satisfaction of a prank gone right disappeared and he was left with a feeling of emptiness. Loss. He hadn’t figured out why, he just knew to come here.
It was a call from his very soul that led him across Svartálfaheimr, through a hidden passage that acted as a back door of sorts into Jötunheimr. It wasn’t a passage he had taken before, however he had discovered similar ones on Ásgarðr. They were twisting branches of Yggdrasil that could drop one across any of the Nine Realms, and their usage was forbidden.
The Allfather had outlawed them millenia ago, had tried to cover them up, wishing to place all travel between realms in the hands of himself and of Ásgarðr, but some had slipped through the cracks, allowing some magic-sensitive people like Loki to chance upon them and sneak past the eyes of Heimdallr.
Loki had used one to bring himself here. The moment he had taken a step into the realm of ice and snow, he allowed his skin to turn its original dark blue and his eyes, blood red.
(The markings of a beast.)
He had wandered for a time in the direction he knew the castle to be, only half aware of his surroundings, until, some distance away from his destination, the scouts found him. He thought that they would kill him. He thought that they would see who he was, the prince of Ásgarðr, Óðinnson, and immediately plunge a blade through his heart. It's what he would have done. But no.
Instead, they took him to their king. Their king, who was the son of Laufey.
Laufey, who Loki killed.
Laufey, who was Loki’s real father.
The king was his brother, Laufeyson, and Loki could see him realise this the moment they locked eyes. If it wasn't clear in his eyes and skin that were the very same shades as his--their--father's, then it would have been obvious in his markings. Kin-lines they were called. And their pattern clearly indicated his royal blood.
He had stood there, tense and silent, expected words thrown, some blades as well. After all, he had stabbed Thor plenty of times when he still thought they were related. This was someone who ought to have thought of him as an enemy.
Loki refused to speak a word in fear of provoking the king, a first for him. Faced with the the stares of all three members of the royal family, two of whom shared his royal marks, he immediately began to regret his choices. He had travelled across realms, deceived Thor, ruined all his plans, and for what? He couldn't leave now, not after they had all seen him. Not now that they all knew Laufey's runt of a son was alive and was Prince Loki of Ásgarðr. No. There was no going back now. This was a bad decision and he wished he could retreat, go back in time and undo it, but he knew logically that he couldn't.
He had resigned himself to his fate. Of course, faking his death on Svartálfaheimr, only to forget all of his plans on a whim (he never acted on a whim!) and actually die on Jötunheimr with no one knowing was exactly what the Norns would have planned for him. Of course.
He thought that he was going to die. That he would meet his end in that hall, before the king and his brother and their mother. There would be no escape.
And yet…
And yet.
No weapons came.
King Helblindi welcomed him into the court. He greeted him like a brother returning rather than an enemy invading.
When former Queen Fárbauti realised who he was, she rushed up to him and hugged him, crying tears of joy. She ignored how rigidly he stood in her arms and interrupted all of his attempts at protesting.
“Wait,” she had murmured to him, one hand resting on his cheek, the other on his shoulder. “We’ll talk about it later,” she added when she saw him opening his mouth, about to confess that he had killed her husband.
Perhaps she didn't know, he had thought. He quickly dismissed this theory when he noticed many of the others around him giving him sharp glares. No, she knew, but she seemed to believe their reunion was more important.
Fárbauti’s other son, Býleist, approached him and clapped him on the shoulder with a nod.
“Welcome home, little brother,” he had said.
Feeling overwhelmed and very confused, Loki could only stare. He was quickly swept away to a private room in what he could assume was the royal wing and joined by the royal family. His family.
They had talked for a while, telling him that they had thought he was dead, another innocent victim in the war against Ásgarðr.
Innocent victim?
Before he could interject, tell them that no foul Frost Giant was innocent, nor a victim, he stopped himself. Óðinn had lied to him about his origins, about many things. These people did not seem so bad. Perhaps Óðinn had been wrong in this as well.
Helblindi, the younger of the two brothers, noticed his hesitation, but did not say anything.
Loki feigned exhaustion and before he could even begin to spin his lie of tiredness, Býleist offered to call a guard to accompany him to his new chambers. He seemed to understand Loki’s desire to be alone.
“I can only guess how tiresome of a day you’ve had,” he eyed Loki’s dishevelled appearance from the fight against the Dark Elves that he had somehow almost forgotten about. “Rest. Recover. This evening, there will be a feast in the Great Hall to welcome back our long lost prince. You will need your energy for that, Little Brother.”
With a small smile from the two brothers and a quick hug from their mother, something that Loki was still getting used to, all before he was able to protest and tell them that he wouldn't be attending the feast, thank you very much, he was ushered out into the hall where a guard awaited him and brought to his new rooms.
It all went by so quickly, that he still didn't know what to think. He had come here expecting imprisonment at best and a slow, torturous death at worst. He believed he knew what awaited him and had accepted his fate, but all of a sudden, he was being treated with all the courtesy of a prince and was finding out that the family who had abandoned him as a babe hadn't actually abandoned him. Of course, even the part of his life that Óðinn had lied about was covered in even more lies.
Not even half a decade ago, everything had been so simple. Thor was his brother, Óðinn and Frigga his mother and father. He had a chance of becoming king of Ásgarðr if he only managed to impress Óðinn. All the Titans were dead.
(Thanos will come for you eventually. You can't escape him forever…)
What had his life come to?