Rain Keeps Beating on the Rooftop, Muddying the Glass
“I love being called a ‘bastard.’ It somehow implies that the most heinous thing I’ve done is exist.” —Lord Byron
Loki’s heart shattered into billions of stars. He thought he’d known pain before: the pain of violation, the pain of isolation, even the pain of the universe. But this pain was like everything before was just a pinprick of a spinning wheel.
“No, no, no! Please don’t do this! Please!” He wanted to scream, but his mouth was sewn shut with seiðr-binding thread. He was bound to the bed, helpless.
The servants pretended that it was for his good, that they were helping him, and that their king knew what was best. But the truth was they’d never liked the dark-haired prince.
He’d always been a strange child. He was a child still. He could not possibly raise a baby on his own. Overwhelmed with hormones, he must not be thinking clearly, but his mind had always been a dagger. He knew exactly what he wanted.
But it was against Odin’s will, and surely Aldafaðr knew best.
Loki didn’t give a damn about what was best for him. He just wanted his baby. “P-Please, I just want to hold my baby!”
His arms felt empty like the night sky unable to hold its stars. The baby cried, and Loki’s heart was no longer made up of stars. No, his heart was stardust. He didn’t even know if he had a daughter or a son. He didn't even know what his baby looked like.
The servants took his baby away. They didn’t even spare the broken boy a glance.
The broken boy felt darkness overtake him. He would not shine again.
***
Carrying the squirming babe crying for its mother, the servants brought the baby to the Aldafaðr. They assumed that their king would know what to do with it.
Its appearance was troubling.
But what child of Loki could be innocent?
In disdain, Odin watched as the servants lay his grandchild at the feet of his throne. He would not look at the child, after all its blood was not his. If only he had heeded the words from the seer’s tongue…
***
The war with Jötunheimr had shaken Odin’s faith in himself. He did not believe in seers, but he had given so much. He needed to know…
The seer without eyes stared at him as if she could see his very soul. Are you so sure, you want to know your fate, Aldafaðr?
“I must know it,” Odin said.
The seer laughed. You sit on a throne of lies Aldafaðr. A true son and a false son. Wary ye be for the false son shall be your undoing. Ragnarok shall be born of his loins.
“You said Hela would bring Ragnarok!” Odin growled. “I banished her to hel!”
Ragnarok will come, regardless of what you do, the seer hissed. You ruined Hela, and now, Ragnarok will be born of Loki.
“How do I stop him!” Odin roared. He had sacrificed one child, and Loki was never his flesh and blood.
You will try, Odin Borson, but you will fail.
***
The babe’s cries were weak just like its mother.
Odin snorted.
Loki had always been weak. To think such an Ergi could destroy all he’d built… But he had born a child from his own loins.
The prophecy was coming true.
Perhaps, Odin should have studied the jötunn further. He had not believed that their males could conceive, but the proof was whimpering on the cool steps leading up to his throne.
But this child was already on death’s door…
***
Loki wept. Reaching out with his seiðr, he tried to find his baby, but he felt nothing but an endless void. He’d been terrified when he realized he was pregnant. He hadn’t understood why he was sick and didn’t understand until he saw his growing stomach. And like a fool, he’d gone to his father.
His mother and Thor were visiting Vanaheim, so there was no one to go to but his father.
Loki knew his father favoured Thor, but he’d thought his father loved him. He was wrong. Blinking back tears, he knew what he was now: a jötunn, a monster, and an abomination.
Odin had made that very clear.
All he wanted was his baby. Curling into a ball, he reveled in the pain overtaking every inch of his body. Pain was something he knew, but he would never know his child that was a greater hel than any other.
The longing of billions of stars filled him.
The darkness of a thousand nights tucked him away.
The nightmare of reality would drown him over and over again.
Loki was not allowed to grieve openly. He greeted his mother and brother as if nothing had changed. Maybe, he’d hoped that they would know something was wrong, that they still loved him enough to care… The broken boy, cloaked in darkness and illusion, pretended he was still a star. He never shone again, but no one noticed.
***
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