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[b]A S G A R D[/b]

In the stories, Odin was first of his brothers. First of the Aesir. He killed the first giant, whose blood became the great ocean, and then created Midgard with the giant's corpse. It was Odin who separated the worlds of the Nine Realms, Odin who laid down the Bifrost, Odin who built Asgard along the Sea of Marmora. It was Odin who sat upon the throne of Asgard. And it was Odin who fathered Balder, the Brave, and Thor, the god of Thunder.

But Odin had three sons.

Or, at least, Odin had said that he had three sons. It was possible that was the first lie spoken, the first deception, the first act of deceit - masquerading behind an act of charity. If that were so, then Odin was also the father of lies. But then, he had to be, didn't he? For Odin claimed to be the father of Loki. 

Not a terrible thing, that. Until it was. Sometimes the most destructive lies were the [i]white lies[/i]. How could it be wrong, to take pity on an infant left to die exposed to the frozen wastes of Jotunheim? How could it be a mistake to tell than child that he was of Asgard, that he was Odin's son, and even to re-make that small, weak frost giant into the likeness of the Aesir? How could it be terrible to raise that child to believe that he belonged, not only to Asgard, not only to family, but to a line of succession. And he had succeeded. Not because he had wanted to. Not because of any schemes of Loki, but for Balder's cowardice. Odin now slept the Odinsleep and the crown had fallen to Balder. And Balder had declined. To Thor then, but Thor was not among them. 

And so a frost giant sat upon the throne of Asgard.

Were anyone to know, Loki's reign would be shortened by the most violent means available to the Aesir. But was this not the work of Odin? Was this not what his so-called father intended when he had claimed that dying infant as his own? A single tear slipped down the young boy's face as his eyes gazed down at the body of the Great Father. [i]"Wake up, damn you,"[/i] the young god whispered. Angrily. Desperately. But he did not cry for Odin. He cried for Loki. For heavy was the crown. Strange a thing like that. When he had been no more than Loki Odinson, he had wondered what it might be like to wear his father's crown and sit upon the throne. And why not? It was Balder's. And if not Balder, then it was Thor's. It was not meant for Loki, so of course he had wanted it them.

But then, Loki was the original fool.

"A king must not be seen as sentimental."

Few were they who could approach and Loki not be aware of it. As he looked up, startled, the young god's eyes turned up to the wise matron of all Asgard. "A king must be respectful, Mother," the youth answered, repeating back to Frigga words which she had first said to her sons. Part of him wondered, was it Odin who had changed Loki into an Aesir? Or had it been Frigga, the woman who had agreed to taking a frost giant into her home. A woman who kept now a secret which must be kept, for both their sakes.

"A king must [i]command[/i] respect," the Queen corrected firmly, resting her hands on the boy's shoulders as she held in gaze. And then she pulled him in, drawing him into the warm, familiar embrace of a mother and child. And, for a moment, Loki needed to believe the lie that it was as so. "I am very proud of you, my little Loki," Frigga offered, as she released him and held the boy out at arm's length again. "Dry your tears. We will speak this night."

Taking note of the dismissal, the young king of Asgard inclined his head toward the woman as he took a step back, watching as Frigga took up a seat beside the sleeping All Father. Turning her head back to her son, Frigga said only, "Leave us for now."

And it was so.

[i]"All hail the Odinson. King of all Asgard!"[/i]

He wondered if they would stop doing that were he to command them, but he already knew the answer. They wouldn't. Because it was not to honor Loki, but Odin. And for that same reason, Loki both admired and cursed them. Admired and cursed Odin. Admired and cursed. Perhaps that was his nature. The cry of a magpie echoed somewhere overhead, the boy catching a glimpse of a black bird in the high rafters of Asgard's royal palace as he walked from Odin's chamber toward the throne room.

And then he smelled... [i]beautiful.[/i]

It wasn't a perfume. It wasn't a fragrance. It was a scent. It was [i]her[/i] scent. Like fresh linen, dried in the sun. Or apples. The young king then stopped, ducking around a large column, and he saw her. The handmaiden was young, as Loki was young, the youngest of the Aesir, little more than children. Black hair cascaded down the back of her green dress, as she followed behind the powerful figure of the warrior-lady Sif. It struck Loki that to look at Leah for a lifetime would be a life well spent.

To talk to Leah was... a different sort of experience for him. 

"My king," Sif's voice barked, echoing loudly through the halls as attention was suddenly thrust back upon Loki's shoulders. Approaching him, Leah just a step behind, the raven-haired warrior woman demanded, "Does the king of Asgard hide in shadow?"

"I... uh..." Loki began, his eyes at once upon Sif, and then to Leah, and then just as quickly everywhere [i]but[/i] where Leah stood. He was supposed to be the smoothest tongue in all of Asgard, so why could he now not breathe? "I thought I heard a magpie trapped indoors," the boy lied smoothly, even as he felt his throat go dry and his chest squeezed as though in a vice. 

"Well that I have found you then," Sif's voice boomed in answer, apparently moving on. Swallowing, the boy risked another glimpse at the handmaiden just behind and off to one side of the woman. She was looking at him. Locks of raven hair dressing the side of her face. A smile bright there, alighting the room as though he had witnessed the birth of a thousand suns. 

The boy's eyes were quickly down to his feet, as he felt his breath stolen from him as a burning heat crept to his face.

"Hela demands audience with the king of Asgard."

Sif's words brought the boy's head up sharply. "Hela..." the boy began, as the image of an armored giant immediately sprang to mind with memories both sparse and unpleasant. "...is coming here?" 

Sif nodded firmly. "It is so, my lord."

In his mind, Loki was trying to fathom a thousand possibilities. Why could Hela be coming here? What is it she wanted? And why now? It had to be the Odinsleep. It had to be Loki on the throne. But what else? "Then we shall prepare a feast," the boy uttered aloud, providing the most obvious and perfunctory of commands. "Tell everyone that this night we shall celebrate the Lady of Hel."

He didn't spare another glance to the handmaiden. He dared not, so to keep his wits as Sif and Leah left him to carry forth the command. Leaving him with his thoughts - a most dangerous position, for Loki and for Asgard.

It was then that the magpie landed on the base of the column behind where Loki had stood. Turning toward the black bird, the young god asked a question in a whisper. "Will you tell me what I want to hear?"

"No," the bird answered simply, as it cocked it's head and looked back at the boy with eyes that were like his own. Like staring at a mirror. And in that mirror, Loki could see himself. "But I will say what you need to hear," Ikol stated quietly.