Chapter Text
Heimdall, it seemed, was always open to a little treason in the name of what was just. Once, Loki had hated the man for it; now, as the light of the Bifrost faded, he could only be grateful. He had been a fool to think he or his children would be welcome in Asgard, and he had only Heimdall to thank that the lesson had cost so little to learn.
Loki sighed, opening his eyes. The dim light of dusk surrounded them, though the sun was far from setting; the gloom was solely the fault of the towering pine trees stretched endlessly in every direction, untouched by the hand or foot of Man.
“Mother?” His timid Brant tugged on Loki's cloak, pressing close against him, a nervous bundle of thick white furs and even thicker red hair.
“It's all right, darlings,” Loki assured his children, running a gloved hand through Brant's hair. “We're safe now.”
“It's empty,” Beyla said, grinning widely. “Cold, too.”
Loki smiled, nodding. “Yes, very cold. Much colder than Asgard. We will need shelter. Vali?”
Vali nodded, wordlessly taking Aric's hand and walking off into the artificial twilight in search of building material. Those two were well able to care for themselves- at his birthing, Loki had gifted Vali the skill of a paramount warrior, a fighter from the cradle, Aric the unerring aim that had won Loki himself many a battle. No foe to be found here could best the pair of them.
“Mother, hungry,” Torrey complained against Loki's shoulder, drawing a chorus of agreement from his siblings.
Well, no one had ever insinuated raising ten – soon to be eleven – children alone was an easy thing to do.
Vali and Aric returned after nightfall. Beyla, his beautiful little demon, had taken it upon herself to gather a mound of wood and start a fire, and Ebbe had coaxed several rodents within reach of her knife. They ate perhaps not as well as they might have in Asgard, but no one complained. After supper, all but the youngest two helped to construct a rough hovel of fallen trees and thick pine branches.
When completed, it was just large enough to fit them and their packs, and the children piled in enthusiastically. Despite the shadow that was the reason they'd fled to Midgard, most of them were eager to enjoy the adventure before them.
Loki laid himself closest to the door, wrapped in fur with both hands resting on his abdomen. Hopefully, by the time Lofn joined them, they would have more of a home to share with her.
The days passed indistinctly, as did the weeks. The ground was always thick with dead needles, the branches of the trees heavy with snow. Their Jotunn blood thrived in the pervasive chill, and the children were happy.
Aric appointed himself master builder. In a handful of days, he'd found a better place for them to settle and built a house, a real one of solid stone with proper rooms and a place for a fire. Ronal, with the help of his younger sisters, carved and built a bed for the family, chairs and shelves and cupboards and a cradle for Lofn. Asti, brilliant little runespeaker that she was, warded their home and the area around it, crafted spell after spell to hide them so that even Hiemdall, should he be compelled to search, could not find them.
Slowly, their home became... home. They had things of their own, built with their own hands. Fur and meat from animals they'd hunted themselves. Territory they could claim, far from anyone who might wish them harm. Hidden from Asgard, from humankind. Loki almost dared to consider their lives perfect.
Until Ebbe vanished.
“Ronal, has Ebbe returned?” Loki asked as he stepped into the house, struggling to hide his worry. His children did not wander off. Not even Vali, now old enough to be considered grown, would leave Loki's sight for more than a minute without telling him.
“I thought she was with you,” Ronal said, setting down whatever new trinket he was carving. He stood, brushing wood shavings off his clothing. “I'll go look for her.”
“Take Asti,” Loki said, biting his lip. He hoped, really and truly hoped, that this was simply a prank. Ebbe was only 11, and her sense of humor sometimes expressed itself in less than ideal ways. “Go no further than the river.”
Ronal nodded, rousing Asti from her nap by the fire, and both obediently set out into the chill spring morning. Loki turned in the opposite direction to keep looking himself.
Only a few minutes had passed before Loki heard the worst thing he could ever hear: one of his children calling for him, frightened.
“Mother! Mother, come quick!” Valka was all but screaming, the edge of her voice shrill, sawing at Loki's heart as he ran to her. He scooped her up, holding her close to calm her, and she clung to him. “Mother, someone's stolen Ebbe!”
Among the churned-up pine needles and earth, spread across the tangled roots of the shadowing trees, was Ebbe's basket. Valka had woven it for her as a gift, and it lay in shreds and strips of wood, broken beyond repair. The wild mushrooms she'd been gathering were mixed in with the dirt, torn and flattened. Strips of cloth, the brilliant purple Ebbe would dye her entire wardrobe if Loki let her, hung from lower tree branches and fluttered along the ground.
Wherever Ebbe had gone, she had not gone willingly.
“Valka,” Loki said softly, setting her on her feet. “Go home. Run as fast as you can. Arm yourselves and don't leave for anything. Go.”
She went, bless her steady soul.
Loki knelt heavily, touching the ground. The furrows in the earth were deep. Elongated. Claws. Smaller furrows from Ebbe's boots, heartbreakingly tiny craters where her hands had slammed against the ground. She'd fought, but not for long. No blood, thank the Norns; he could hope she still lived. And if she might still live, he would rescue her.
The taint of magic, heavy and inefficient and crudely wielded, marked where a tear that could not rightly be called a portal had damaged the fabric of space, forced open and shut again very recently. Limited as Loki was, it was within his power to force it open once again and find where his daughter had been taken.
But, much as he wanted to follow her immediately, he had other duties to see to first.
He stood, turned back toward the house. He couldn't steal back Ebbe until the other children were safe, and they obviously weren't safe here.
The children were all waiting for him inside. Only Narfi and Torrey, too young to know how to fight, were without weapons. The shelves were stripped bare, and all the material possessions they had were wrapped in makeshift bundles, ready to be moved.
“Mother, come with us,” Vali said, standing. “Send me after Ebbe, but stay where it's safe, at least until the baby comes.”
Loki shook his head. “The babe will wait a while yet. Longer, perhaps, than Ebbe has. I must go after her.”
“I can-”
“You can protect your brothers and sisters, Vali,” Loki interrupted. “I haven't much magic, but it's more than you carry, and I'm many times your master at combat. I will find Ebbe, you will keep the others safe for me.”
“Mother-”
“This is not something which may be argued, Vali,” Loki snapped, turning on his heel. “We need to leave. I'll find you a safe place to stay. Come.”
They followed in a solemn pack, drawing comfort from their closeness. If nothing else, he could be glad none of them would know a life like his, outcast and always alone. They would forever have each other.
“Mother?”
Loki looked down to find Brant beside him. “Yes, sweetling?”
“Mother, will you be safe?” Brant asked. He was ever a worrier, and the familiarity of it made Loki smile, patting his head.
“I will, Brant,” he promised. “I will be safe, and I will bring Ebbe back. You have my word.”
Brant smiled up at him, his dark blue eyes shining. So like his father. Loki had never learned the man's name, but he at least had seemed to understand the rare honor it was to bed a god.
Loki felt a shift in the air, heard a faint sound like a bottle of wine being uncorked, and Brant's smile slid into a cry of pain as blood blossomed along the side of his thick tunic.
“Brant!”
More faint pops as Loki caught Brant, pulled him close. His magic, the magic he'd gathered and horded for his yet-unborn daughter, it buzzed in him. Not enough, not near enough, Brant was too hurt-
Arms, Ronal's arms, pulling at him. Words in his ear, urging him to... to... he didn't know what. All he could think was to heal Brant, somehow, to save him, to save his child.
“Mother, please!” Ronal exclaimed. “You have to let me help him!”
Loki barely heard him. Not enough, not to heal him, but to save him... he had enough, barely enough magic to heal the worst, to maybe pull Brant's life out of danger...
He could hear shouting, faint and indistinct. He was dimly aware of fire nearby, and dying screams. Not his children, so let them die. He poured his magic into Brant, knitting torn muscle and shattered bone, sealing gaping holes in vital organs and veins. Save Brant. He had to save his son.
“Mother!”
Vali, too far away to matter right now. Vali would keep the others safe.
Brant moaned, a dying-animal sound, and Loki fought to keep from sobbing over him. Not dead, not dead, not dead-
The litany in his mind crashed to a halt as unfamiliar hands pulled Brant away from him. Black gloves, black arms, hidden face, the hateful emblem of a howling wolf.
Loki reached for his magic, spent and exhausted from saving Brant. Nothing left for the little one, nothing left to defend himself or his children.
“Tag, godling,” a voice that Loki knew better than his own said. Something touched his neck, just above the fur of his collar. The sharp pain of an injection, and the world began to swim. “You're it.”
“We have to go back,” Aric said, his grip tearing chunks of bark from the tree as he found for control of himself.
“We can't,” Vali disagreed. He was just as upset as Aric, wanted to go back and save the others just as much as Aric, but he knew they couldn't.
“I don't wanna be caught, too,” Valka sniffled into Asti's furs.
The four of them had escaped the ambush. Mother and their siblings had been surrounded, taken down like animals and loaded into waiting vehicles. Even if they went back now, there was no one there to rescue. They'd only wind up prisoners themselves.
“Vali's right,” Asti said. She was only nine, but even Aric wasn't stupid enough to ignore her. Mother had gifted her the magic of runes, that special ability none of them had save her, and she was smart. “We have to find somewhere safe and make a plan.”
Vali nodded, lifting Valka and holding her close like Mother would. He had a duty to protect those of his siblings who remained. “Let's find shelter for now,” he said.
Aric glared at him, but eventually gave a sharp nod and stepped away from the tree.
Vali sighed, holding out his free hand to Asti. She took it, stepped close by his side, and held her other hand out to Aric.
The four of them set out deeper into the forest, away from Mother. Away from home.
Hopefully, toward safety.