Chapter Text
It was a given from the start of the preparations that the opening of the Allthing would not be complete without a feast, which left Loki with the practical problem that not even the biggest banquet hall in the palace could seat the entirety of the assembly. It was Frigga who suggested to move the whole affair to the central courtyard, where Asgard usually celebrates the return of a victorious army. For those victory feasts, the food is served on long tables lining the sides of the courtyard, allowing the guests to help themselves and then mingle at their leisure so they can meet all the warriors and hear the stories they have to tell.
Loki balked at the idea at first because he found it too undignified for the occasion, but he has to concede the wisdom behind the Allmother's suggestion as he walks among the lawspeakers now. He's by himself – he made his entrance into the courtyard with the queen dowager on his arm, but then left her among her ladies so he could continue unaccompanied. The two royal guards who are shadowing him are keeping a very discreet distance; they weren't happy with his order to stay in the background, but he must never appear afraid of his own people, and after today's events, he's probably safer among the commoners than among the members of his court anyway.
He spent most of last night going over his speech again and again, weighing every word and memorizing every turn of phrase until he was certain he would be able to deliver it exactly as planned. Earlier, he was so on edge that he didn't even notice his weariness, but now that the tension is finally beginning to ease, he'd love nothing better than to crawl into his bed and sleep for a week. It's not an option, of course; this part is at least as important as his speech was, since the apparent informality of the gathering (Loki makes a mental note not to doubt Frigga's judgment in such matters again) allows him to interact with a great number of people who would never even have come near him under different circumstances. The lawspeakers will remember his speech, but a personal conversation with their king is still another thing entirely, so every word Loki speaks now carries far more weight than the deceptively casual atmosphere suggests.
With that in mind, Loki stays away from the mead after the traditional opening toast since he'll need his wits about him. Given the topic of his earlier speech, he expects that he will have to answer a lot of questions about the impending fight against Thanos, and perhaps even more about his agreement with the Jötun kings. He isn't happy about either prospect – he still wants to flinch every time he has to speak the Titan's name, and last nights' efforts to perfect his arguments for an alliance with Jötunheim have led him to the uncomfortable realization that he is actually fulfilling the purpose Odin had in mind when he stole an abandoned (sacrificed, Byleistr's voice whispers in Loki's mind as if it made the slightest difference) Frost Giant whelp from a desecrated temple.
I thought we could bring about an alliance, a permanent peace through you – but those plans no longer matter.
You might have shown a little more faith in your own lies, Allfather, Loki thinks viciously, although the defiance feels hollow. Are you pleased with the use you're finally getting out of your stolen relic? Or would you have preferred it to remain lost forever rather than disgracing your golden throne?
Pushing the thought aside, he strikes up a conversation with the Chief Lawspeaker, but makes a point to include several of the bystanders as a clear signal to all guests that they're allowed to talk to him. Once the lawspeakers overcome their initial hesitation (elected representatives or not, it's far from usual for commoners to be given the chance to address their king), they are ready enough to approach him.
Loki quickly realizes that he was entirely wrong to assume that the lawspeakers would want to ask him for details on the matters he spoke of during the opening ceremony. He can tell that they took his announcements seriously enough, but apparently they either don't feel the need to press him for further information or assume it's not their place to do so. The things they wish to discuss are far more mundane – problems with the local administration, quarrels between neighbors, bridges and roads in disrepair, an outbreak of sickness caused by unclean water, and a dozen other issues that trouble the people they're representing.
Loki finds himself pleasantly surprised that most lawspeakers come to him with problems which can actually be resolved, sometimes with very little effort on his part. He doesn't even have to speak that much; instead, he ends up doing a great deal of listening and nodding along to various complaints, sometimes promising to look into the matter himself, more often delegating the issue to a royal official or a member of his council. Lady Irpa seems genuinely happy to help with the problem of peddlers from Nidavellir flooding one of the southern provinces with cheap ironwork, putting the local smiths out of business, while Lord Fjörgynn looks less than pleased when Loki asks him to sort out the clerical error that caused the tax load of a small town in the eastern mountains to triple last year. Fjörgynn's mulish acknowledgement of the order leaves Loki determined to find (or create, if he has to) at least three more annoying taxation issues for the old chancellor to deal with before the evening is out.
"My king?"
The middle-aged woman who addressed Loki bobs an awkward curtsy when he turns to face her. Her clothes are plain, but of good quality, and while her hands show signs of hard work, her skin is pale enough to indicate that she gets to spend most of her time under a roof.
"Yes, Lawspeaker…?"
"Ölrun Einarsdottir from the Iðavöllr province, representing the hamlet of Hrafnaholt, my king." She sounds even more nervous than she looks, which is hardly surprising; under normal circumstances, a woman like her would probably never have set foot in the palace, let alone found herself in a position to speak with the king.
"There's something you wish to bring to my attention, Ölrun Einarsdottir?"
"There is, my king." She hesitates, but then presses on. "Forgive me for bothering you with such a small matter, but when I heard you say today that everyone needs to add their abilities to our defense, I thought that... that I should at least ask your opinion."
Loki wishes she would get to the point, but he can't appear impatient with the people whose favor he's trying to curry, so he gives her an encouraging nod and gestures for her to go on. She draws a small dagger from her belt (Loki discreetly waves off the guards who want to close in – she's hardly going to be a threat to him armed with something that is more pocketknife than weapon) and holds it out towards him on her palm. "My son enchanted this for me so it will never grow dull."
Managing not to show his surprise, Loki takes the dagger to inspect it. The uneven feel of the enchantment indicates an inexperienced caster, but it's still a neat little cantrip; what's truly extraordinary about it, though, is the fact that a woman from some countryside backwater would admit to her male child casting it.
"How old is your son?"
"Halfway through his third century, my king."
Loki raises an eyebrow. "Then he is quite talented; it is rare for a child so young to have this level of control over their magic."
The woman blushes. "You are kind to say so, my king. My husband is a weaponsmith, and he wants our son to learn his trade, but the boy –"
Loki doesn't need to hear the rest since it's obvious enough. "He wishes to be trained as a mage, but your husband won't allow it?"
"It's not quite that, my king." She chews her lower lip for a moment before she continues. "My husband is not an unreasonable man, but – there are a few witches in our neighborhood, but none of them would ever take on a boy as her apprentice. But if he has talent, it seems to me that it shouldn't go to waste, and after what you said –"
"– you think that a dedicated sorcerer is of more use to Asgard than a weaponsmith whose heart isn't in his work."
Some do battle, others just do tricks...
Loki idly taps the flat of the dagger's blade against his palm, trying to decide whether he should pursue the idea he has just had. On the one hand, it doesn't seem wise to step on even more toes than he already has today, but on the other – how many times during this childhood has he secretly wished that he had been born a girl so he could study seiðr without being constantly mocked for it?
"Indeed, my king." The woman hesitates again before she adds, "I know very little of magic, but I'm aware that he won't be of much use to anyone if he doesn't get properly trained, and – if I may, my king, people say that you had the Allmother to teach you, but..."
"...but few other boys are so lucky."
Ölrun Einarsdottir nods. "If I had a daughter with that kind of talent, I could present her to the Völur to see if they consider her worthy to be trained, but I know of no place where they teach magic to boys."
"I do, but none of them are on Asgard. Are you sure, though, that your son understands the implications of his choice?" Loki hopes that his tone conveys the seriousness of his question. "I need not tell you that the life of an Aesir sorcerer isn't always an easy one."
Her worried expression leaves no doubt that it's something she has given a great deal of thought. "I've tried to warn him about it, but maybe he's still too young, and lately... he has never said so, but I believe he hopes that things might change, now that Asgard's most powerful mage is also her king."
Loki isn't quite sure what to do with the revelation that there might be people who consider him a champion for their cause. Then again, he clearly remembers his first visit to Alfheim's court when he was barely older than the boy they're currently discussing, and how utterly thrilled he was to see King Freyr cast spells in front of everyone without so much as a raised eyebrow among the courtiers. Asgard has always been glacially slow to change her ways, but didn't he just warn the Aesir that change was upon them whether they liked it or not?
His decision made, Loki signals one of the pages who walk around with pitchers of mead to refill everyone's goblets. "Find Lady Gullveig and tell her I need to speak with her right away."
"At once, my king!" The page dashes off, causing the small crowd of eavesdroppers who overheard the exchange to inch closer now that things seem about to get interesting. Loki doesn't stop them; he wants an audience for this.
"You know you will be parted from your son if he is to be trained?"
The woman's eyes fill with tears, but she nods resolutely. "I know, my king."
"Well, then – ah, Lady Gullveig!"
The old völva wheezes as if Loki's summons had forced her to run across the entire palace, but he's well aware it's entirely for show. "You wished to speak with me, my king?"
"I want to show you something." Loki hands her the dagger and notices with faint amusement how she immediately stops pretending to be out of breath now that her interest is piqued. "The enchantment on it is the work of a child not even three hundred years old."
Lady Gullveig purses her lips as she runs one gnarled finger along the dagger's blade. "A child with little training, I take it."
"None, according to the mother." Ölrun Einarsdottir opens her mouth, but Loki gestures for her to remain silent.
"Foolish and dangerous, that." Loki isn't entirely certain whether Gullveig is still speaking to him or to the mother, who has gone very pale at the völva's words. "Power of this kind can get out of hand quickly if it isn't properly harnessed, and that takes time and effort. The girl definitely needs to be taught; bring her to me so I can assess her properly, then the Völur will decide how to best go about her training."
"His training," Loki corrects casually and pretends not to notice the old woman's startled double-take. "But apart from that, I entirely agree with you, Lady Gullveig. The boy – you didn't mention his name earlier, Lawspeaker?"
The mother's cheeks color slightly. "Ansgar Egilson, my king."
Without missing a beat, Loki continues before Gullveig can get a word in. "Ansgar Egilson is clearly talented and should be trained so that Asgard may benefit from his gift. I'm glad to hear that you're willing to see to his education; I can't think of anyone I'd rather entrust with a student who is showing such promise."
Judging by her glare, Gullveig remains utterly unimpressed by his blatant flattery. "It would be an outrageous breach of tradition, my king."
Loki's polite smile doesn't waver. "Akin to appointing a völva to the king's council?"
Her scowl deepens, but he has her cold and she knows it. Still, the eldest of the Völur isn't going to give in without a fight. "My king, even if one were willing to spit in the face of tradition and propriety, the Völur simply don't have the means to take on male students – our teaching facilities are modest, our living quarters even more so, and there simply isn't enough room for the separate lodgings we would need in order to house a boy on the premises."
And so the haggling begins. Loki is enough of a diplomat to know that it's the kind of victory you need to be gracious about if you don't want the price of the peace you're negotiating to go through the roof.
"It's a valid objection," he concedes, "although I believe that the problem will be easily resolved once the royal treasury releases the funds the Völur requested several months ago for the renovation and enlargement of their student quarters. My treasurer is a very busy man, but I will make sure to inform him that the matter is of some urgency, and that the requested sum will need to be doubled in order to allow the Völur to accommodate male students as well."
Gullveig seems honestly taken aback, and less inclined to be diplomatic about it. "You're willing to throw that kind of money at us for the sake of one boy?"
Loki refrains from admitting that he was planning to give them the money anyway; it has always been his firm belief that even your allies should never feel so sure of your support that they take it for granted. "He won't remain the only one once word gets out, trust me. As soon as there is a chance for boys born with seiðr to claim their birthright, there will be those who have the courage to take it – as much as Asgard would like to pretend that their gift is some kind of shameful defect they need to hide."
He glances at the boy's mother, who is following the discussion with wide eyes. "Lawspeaker Ölrun Einarsdottir was right to remind me of my own words – that we will need everyone to add their talents to the effort of Asgard's defense. Do I have to tell you of the damage a trained battle mage can inflict, Lady Gullveig? Or of the value of a capable healer on the battlefield? You know very well that we are in no position to squander any kind of seiðr our people might possess." He valiantly keeps himself from smirking when he adds, "I have it on good authority that men can occasionally turn out to be powerful mages too."
He can see the effect his remark has on the bystanders, who start whispering among themselves; while they're distracted, Loki casts a quick spell to ensure that only Gullveig will hear his next words. "I promise you that I will neither ask you to accept men into your order nor interfere in any other way in the internal affairs of the Völur. All I ask of you, Lady Gullveig, is not to bar children from following their calling just because they were born with the wrong gender."
He knows he has won when Gullveig's shoulders slump ever so slightly. "And you are willing to face the outcry this will cause, my king?"
This time Loki doesn't try to suppress his smirk any more. "Have we met, Lady Gullveig?"
The look she gives him is one quarter amusement and three quarters exasperation, but Loki can live with that. He ends the spell with a flick of his fingers before he adds, now entirely serious again, "Anyone who disagrees with the Völur's decision to train all children who are sufficiently gifted can bring their objections to me." He's well aware that there will be far more than mere objections, but he hopes that the king's open support will at least mitigate the harassment that awaits those boys and their families.
"Lawspeaker Ölrun Einarsdottir, I commend your courage, and I trust that your son will prove just as brave in the face of the challenges he will have to overcome." Loki politely averts his gaze when he notices the tears that are running over the woman's cheeks. "I look forward to hearing about his progress."
The last sentence was spoken in Lady Gullveig's direction, who narrows her eyes at him in a clear (if far from appreciative) acknowledgement of the message. Loki can't do more than that within the constraints of his promise to the Völur; the rest will be up to Ansgar Egilson, who will have to find out for himself whether he was wise to choose Loki of all people as his role model.
+++
It's almost midnight when Loki finally decides that he has done everything he can for today. He feels like he has spoken to at least a thousand people, who grew more and more talkative thanks to the free-flowing mead as the evening wore on, and by now he's so tired that his head is spinning and his cheeks are aching from wearing the same polite smile for hours on end.
He breathes a sigh of relief when he steps out of the humid summer air of the courtyard and into the blessedly cool hallways of the palace. He's about to dismiss the guards who are still dogging his heels (and he's fully prepared to skywalk back to his quarters if they don't leave him alone right this instant) when he hears heavy footsteps approaching.
Loki groans inwardly when he recognizes General Tyr; apparently he still isn't going to get any sleep. "General?"
"I apologize for the lateness of the hour, my king, but I need to speak with you in private."
Loki rolls his eyes. "Unless you also don't wish to be seen speaking with me, General, there would have been no need to waylay me in a dark hallway; all it would have taken me to make sure we weren't overheard during the feast was a simple spell that works just as well in the middle of a crowd."
Tyr's grimace is impossible to miss even in the flickering torchlight. Loki is perfectly aware that the general doesn't appreciate the blatant reminder of his casual use of magic, but the exhaustion is beginning to make him irritable, so Tyr will just have to deal with it.
Maybe Ansgar Egilson will thank him one day – if he lives long enough, that is, because Thanos will likely reach the Nine long before the boy even finishes his training.
If Loki had needed a reminder that he can ill afford to alienate General Tyr, this thought would have more than served the purpose.
He waves impatiently at the two guards, who finally take the hint and stay where they are when Loki starts walking again and gestures for the general to follow. One doesn't need Frigga's prophetic gift to predict the topic Tyr will want to discuss, so Loki gets right to the point.
"I take it you are displeased with the things I said in my speech before the Allthing."
If the general is surprised by Loki's blunt approach, he doesn't show it. "With some of them, my king. It is your prerogative not to heed our counsel, but it's quite another matter to paint your councilors as a bunch of schemers who try to keep the truth from Asgard's people."
"Interesting." Loki keeps his tone even. "Does the fact that the council did try to keep the truth from Asgard's people carry any weight in this matter?"
"You agreed with our reasoning!" Tyr's voice is getting loud enough to make Loki glad that he did cast that silencing spell when he dismissed the guards; nobody knows better than him that the halls of the palace are never entirely deserted even at night.
"No, I listened to your reasoning and then made my own decision." Loki stops walking and turns to give the old soldier a hard look. "I value your opinion, General, but that doesn't mean I won't keep my own counsel if I consider it necessary. I have every faith in your loyalty, but you know as well as I do that the same isn't true for everyone on the council."
"And yet you claim that you spoke truth when you told the lawspeakers that you are sure your councilors mean well?"
Loki smiles without humor. "Oh, I'm convinced they all have someone's best interests at heart, but there's a reason I didn't specify whose interests."
Tyr's expression darkens further. "And now you rule with the people's love while the same people consider your councilors a lot of conniving liars who are not to be trusted. Is this what you wanted, my king?"
"I can certainly appreciate the irony." Loki supposes he is going to have a good laugh about the whole matter at some point, but now is not the time. Contrary to what Tyr seems to believe, he isn't going to put any stock in the kind of 'love' than can be won with a rousing speech and a few kind words – he needs the people's support if his plans are to have any chance of succeeding, but he's never going to lose sight of the fact that public opinion is a fickle thing that can be turned against him just as easily as he turned it against his opponents on the council today.
The general squares his shoulders. "Then I don't see why you would still wish for me to serve on your council, my king."
"Really." Loki allows his voice to harden. "I wouldn't have expected the leader of Asgard's army to abandon his post at the first sign of adversity." He holds up a hand to cut off Tyr's angry reply before the old soldier forgets himself entirely and says something a king can't forgive. "Peace, General. I realize that you're a warrior first and a politician second, but even so, you must be aware that I am not yet in a position to remove those from the council who are working to undermine me as long as they don't openly commit treason. I cannot hold the alliance against the Titan together if I constantly have to watch my back in my own halls; I need to flush out the rats before they start eating away at the very foundations of my rule."
"And the only way to achieve that is to undermine the credibility of the council as a whole?"
"Yes." Loki fully intended his answer to sound harsh. "It shouldn't matter to those of you who choose to remain loyal since you supposedly serve me and not your own image in the eyes of the populace. Or are you threatening to resign because you can't stand the idea of the people no longer singing songs in your honor?"
Tyr bristles. "That's easy for you to say now that they will sing them in yours!"
"Do you think I care?" Tyr seems taken aback by the sudden outburst, but Loki barely notices; it's downright liberating to get to yell at someone at last. "Do you think any of it will matter when Thanos walks through the ashes of the Nine? Are you truly so blinded by your petty concerns that you still can't understand that we're fighting for our survival, General?"
Tyr's earlier belligerence has given way to alarm. "My king, I didn't mean to –"
"Don't try to lie to me, General, I'm far better at it than you." Loki is still out of breath, but he feels eerily calm now. "If there is something you want to say to me, go ahead and say it. Do you wish to resign from the council?"
The old man straightens like a soldier standing to attention. "I do not, my king. Asgard's defense has always been my first duty, and I will not lose sight of that fact."
"I'm glad to hear it." Loki knows he needs to offer some kind of conciliatory gesture in return even if would prefer to just turn on his heel and walk away. "I meant what I said earlier, General – I value your counsel, whether I decide to heed it or not, and you've never given me reason to doubt your loyalty."
It sounds like faint praise to him, but the general acknowledges it with a warrior's salute nevertheless. "I thank you, my king."
Loki nods solemnly and then, Tyr's delicate sensibilities be damned, finally allows himself to slip away into the space between worlds. He skywalks straight into the beckoning solitude of his bedchamber with every intention to be fast asleep within the next five minutes.
+++
An hour later, Loki is still sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard, the soft gleam of a hovering magelight shimmering through his closed eyelids and his hands clenched into fists in his lap so he can pretend they aren't shaking.
He has been nervous about this day ever since he first realized that he needed to lure Asgard's people into wanting to follow him towards the cataclysm that is looming ahead, and now that it's done, that everything went according to plan, went better than he could possibly have hoped, he can't bring himself to let go of the tension that sometimes felt like the only thing holding him together these past weeks.
You rule with the people's love.
Loki wants to laugh at the memory of Tyr's claim, but he isn't sure what kind of sound he would end up making if he tried. He just knows that everything is going to fall apart the moment he lets himself believe it, that the price he pays for his triumphs is always, always higher than he can afford.
Loki digs his nails into his palms and wills his racing heartbeat to slow down. He can't allow himself to go to pieces, as tempting as it would be to curl up into a ball and just let go, to hide in the illusive safety of his heavily warded bed like a child who is afraid of the darkness – he needs to stay ahead of the panic he can always feel snapping at his heels, needs to shut away every emotion that might prevent him from focusing on what needs to be done because he knows he'll drown if he ever fails to keep that particular dam from breaking.
His neck starts prickling with tiny flashes of pain, and for a moment, the physical discomfort serves as a welcome distraction, but then the pain spreads, a sensation of pins and needles creeping down his shoulders into his arms, and lower still until it feels like his whole body is falling asleep like a limb with a compressed nerve.
Alarmed, Loki tries to take a deep breath and finds that he can't, that his body refuses to obey him when he attempts to move. With desperate effort, he manages to at least pry his eyelids open and –
Oh, brother, you're becoming predictable.
Thor is standing right before him, leaning in until he fills Loki's entire field of vision, and Loki can't move, can't even look away from the face that is both familiar and entirely alien because Thor is sneering at him with an expression as foreign to the brother he remembers as Thor's sunny smile would be on Loki's face. He has seen Thor joyful and enraged and heartbroken, but not like this, never like this, and the sickening travesty causes a cold, hard knot of fury to form underneath the paralyzing terror that keeps him frozen in place.
Round and round in circles we go, the apparition that is not, cannot be Thor mocks him, its voice dripping disdain, and Loki reaches for the fury and holds on to it with all his might, letting its hot rush slice through the numbness like a knife through wet clay until he regains control of his body and leaps to his feet with a strangled cry.
The magelight flares up, and Loki, heart racing and breath coming in short gasps, is left blinking in the sudden brightness.
His bedroom is empty; Thor (the thing that looked like Thor, it wasn't Thor, Thor is dead) has disappeared.
+++
Pulling the invisibility spell more closely around himself, Loki slips into the throne room without making a sound. To his great relief, he finds it almost empty; the few maidservants who are still scrubbing the flagstones at the far end of the vast hall have almost finished their work, and by the time Loki has climbed up the steps to the throne, the women are gathering their cleaning supplies together and get ready to leave.
He waits until the sound of their chatter is cut off by the closing door of the servants' entrance before he drops the spell and sits down. Hliðskjálf's golden seat is as uncomfortable as ever, but tonight, Loki barely notices. He's so exhausted that he's beginning to tremble all over, but he still feels like a bow strung to the point of snapping; there's no way he'll be able to sleep tonight, so he might as well occupy the remaining hours until morning with something useful.
He hasn't had time to continue his search for the remaining Infinity Stones for weeks, and even though he's not nearly at his best right now, he's well aware that he can't afford to waste any more of the grace period he has left before the Titan gets to the Stones first. Half-dead on his feet as he is, Loki knows he is in no condition to focus the throne's Sight properly, but he can't rely on his own senses in this particular search anyway.
Emptying his mind as much as possible, Loki gently reaches out towards the two Gems in his magical hold. The Tesseract awakens first, its gentle hum soothing his frayed nerves like a cool breeze on sunburnt skin; the Aether, as always, is slower to respond, but eventually Loki feels its deeper, harsher thrumming join in with its sibling. He pulls back slowly, allowing the Gems to attune themselves to the steady pulse of Asgard's magic through the conduit of Loki's own seiðr until he can cast their joined consciousness out into the vastness of the universe that is laid out before Hliðskjálf's Sight.
The moment the Gems start taking over almost comes as a relief. Loki can finally let go, can content himself with following the pull of the two Infinity Stones without constantly having to guard his mind against inadvertently crossing the Titan's path and drawing his attention like a fly caught in a spider's web. For all his power, not even Thanos will be able to feel the Stones' search for their scattered siblings unless he himself has one of the Infinity Gems in his possession – and if he does, Loki thinks with a nearly serene kind of detachment, he, Asgard, the Nine, and probably the whole universe are pretty much fucked anyway.
Loki loses all sense of time as he drifts along with the Tesseract and the Aether pulling him further and further, flooding him with impressions he can neither fully discern nor comprehend until he feels like he's floating outside his body, his consciousness as tiny and insignificant as a dust particle in the unimaginable expanse of the cosmos. It's both fearsome and strangely peaceful, like those first seconds after letting go of Gungnir and sinking into the icy depths of space, anguish and hope falling away like shards of the shattered Rainbow Bridge until there was nothing left but the song of the Void –
There's a deep, vibrating sound as if the universe itself were a chord being plucked; it startles Loki back into alertness, his mind filling with images that slowly get clearer as he struggles to focus on them.
Sand dunes alternating with shallow pools around the base of a mountain, the crumbling spires at its towering summit lit by the reddish glow of a fading sun; a tiny pinprick of soft golden light pulsing at the edge of the precipice –
Loki can feel his two Gems calling out, a low, yearning sound that is as glorious as it is terrifying.
He has found the Soul Stone.