Witnesses
The Jotnar—frost giants—are well known to be little more than savage beasts, bent on conquest, incapable of courage or compassion. Repulsive creatures, the most reviled monsters in all the Nine Realms. Ever since Odin drove them back from their invasion of Midgard, it has been forbidden to travel to their homeworld—to Jotunheim—so only the warriors who fought in that war have ever seen the monsters face to face.
Here and now, at their first glimpse of the Jotun in their midst, the faces of the court show various mixtures of disgust, contempt, revulsion, hate, and rage.
Aimed at Loki. Until today, a prince of Asgard, however odd. Until today, Thor’s brother.
Shackled and chained and muzzled, on his knees between the guards, his seidhr locked away. Desperate and horrified. Utterly helpless, and slated to die.
By Thor’s hand.
The dagger in Thor’s hand is impossibly small for the task he has been given.
Scanning the crowd again, Thor notes that Sif looks disgusted, even a little outraged, while his other friends wear expressions far less certain than the rest of the assembly. As ever, they look to Thor for guidance: If he decides to hate Loki, his friends will be quick to follow, despite the many years they’ve fought at Loki’s side. He knows they’ve never held any great love for Loki, and would never side against Thor for Loki’s sake.
But if he tries to save Loki, to fight his way out, they’ll be at his side in moments; just as loyal, even knowing that the effort is doomed. Would he trade their lives for Loki’s?
All around them, the murderous looks of the crowd proclaim that Loki will never leave the room alive. If Thor tries to fight his way out, he’ll need to use killing strength, or risk Loki getting ripped apart before they can flee. He can’t fly out, or bash his way through a wall, not without Mjolnir.
And Mjolnir sits at the foot of Odin’s throne, no longer Thor’s to command.
The words still ring in Thor’s ears, the Allfather’s decree:
Prove your loyalty to Asgard, my son. Prove that you will defend the Realm from enemies and monsters, that you value your responsibilities above even your own feelings.
Kill the Jotun runt and take your rightful place on this throne.
He didn’t even soften the blow; why would he? Jotnar deserve no such consideration. How many times have Thor and his friends laughed at the thought of taking down a frost giant? Sif showing off how she’d skewer the beast through its belly; Volstagg planting his feet and lifting Fandral high enough to stab it in the eye. Hogun taking the more sensible route of slicing at its tendons, bringing it down to their level so that Thor could lop off its foul head.
Even Loki, though generally less bloodthirsty, occasionally joined in on the boasting, dreaming up unexpected tactics to slaughter whole groups of the creatures without even using his seidhr.
Given time, the boasts would surely have turned to deeds. Thor’s little gang—never one to stick too closely to the rules, or care overmuch about prohibitions—would have gone behind the Allfather’s back to visit Jotunheim and bag themselves a giant. If anything held them back, it was the lack of glory: What was the point if they couldn’t openly brag about it?
And now there’s a frost giant kneeling there, ready for the kill.
Thor looks at the prisoner and tries to see anything other than his brother. To see a monster, a beast, rightfully bound before the throne.
A thousand years and more, this… creature has thought itself to be Aesir. A prince of Asgard. Thor’s brother. It’s all been lies, and now it’s obvious why Loki—why the Jotun runt could never measure up to his—its—peers.
Smaller, weaker, less durable than the others who’ve grown up alongside them; even Fandral weighs more, is more filled out. And maybe a frost giant could have raised arms with the rest of them, but this runt was slow and awkward any time he had to train with sword or axe or hammer, any time he tried a real weapon. He’d resorted to the daggers after failing at everything else.
Clever, yes—or cunning, as the Aesir said of enemies and beasts. Sly, deceptive, manipulative, given to tricks and pranks that would never occur to a true son of Asgard; even in battle, Loki resorted to deception, to illusions, rather than the straightforward combat techniques they’d all been raised on.
(Did it matter that Loki’s tricks had saved their lives on dozens of occasions?)
Perceptive, insightful—but that could just as well be the keen senses of a predator. Loki has ever been at odds with the rest of them, his perspective so different from theirs, and Thor had never really thought to question the cause of that distinction.
Thor’s gaze drifts down along the pool of Loki’s ceremonial robes, the black and green with accents of silver—such a contrast to Asgard’s royal red and gold, as Thor himself and Odin both wear. Should that have been a clue, all this time, of how he didn’t fit in?
(In Thor’s sight, the golden banners that hang along the walls look tarnished, covered in mud.)
Were it not for the muzzle, Loki might try to talk his way out of this—desperately profess his allegiance to the Realm, appeal to their sense of justice or mercy, make use of his charm, his wit, his skill with words. But Odin has robbed him of all that, keeping him silent and passive as the events unfold around him.
Because, of course, Loki’s strengths lie in wordplay. Wordplay, and deception, and the shameful womanly art of seidhr.
Never mind that Odin himself has mastered his seidhr; that’s to be expected of the Allfather. Never mind that Loki was taught the art by their moth—by Frigga, Thor’s mother, and does she even know—she’d have to know Loki’s true nature, right?
Where is Frigga? Why isn’t she here to put a stop to this? Surely she doesn’t agree with… surely she wouldn’t…
…but even Loki must have concluded that if he truly is Jotun, he deserves no better than this; no Jotun could possibly merit the thousand years of relative happiness he’s known among them, innocently believing himself to be Aesir. Shock and horror are writ large across his face, yet not betrayal—even now, trembling in his shackles, he doesn’t even seem to be fighting this fate. As Odin said, maybe he should never have been allowed to live.
Maybe letting him die would be a mercy, compared to letting him live with a truth this abhorrent.
But Loki’s tears, cascading down faster than they can freeze, have roused all of Thor’s protective instincts. Thor wants nothing so much as to snatch up his brother and hurl Mjolnir into the sky, burst through the ceiling and fly away to the Bifrost, to send Loki somewhere safe.
But where would they even go? Not Jotunheim. He’d never consign Loki to so wretched a fate. Asgard can never be home to him again, unless, perhaps, as a grave. And the allies of Asgard—Vanaheim, Alfheim, Nidavellir—would hardly offer them sanctuary; their nobles are among the faces calling for Loki’s destruction.
Not that any of that matters, if they wouldn’t leave the room alive.
Glancing behind him, Thor looks at the throne—not at Odin, who has returned to his seat, but at the physical structure from which the Allfather rules. The steps that put him above the rest of the court, clearly demonstrating that while others may have opinions, the Allfather alone holds all the power.
Thor has always solved his problems through show of force, and the Norns have frequently favored him with victory. But force is clearly not an option this time. And if he simply refuses to obey… well, Odin has ever been inflexible in any matter that might challenge his authority. Thor can’t imagine that Odin would simply let them leave, not after this much spectacle; there is no contesting the Allfather’s will. One blast from Gungnir and the matter would be decided.
If Thor does not kill Loki, then Loki will die anyway. Or worse. Unless Odin relents.
Don’t worry, brother. You’ll always be safe if you stick with me.
The muttering of the crowd has turned to taunts, almost a chant: Monster! Trickster! Baby-eater! Ice-heart! Coward! Ergi! The common insults against Jotnar, mingled with those that Loki has borne throughout his life and never deserved.
To his shame, Thor recalls mocking Loki that way as well, now and then, never in malice, but… he’s never thought too much of it until today. He’s never stopped to see the blows from Loki’s point of view.
Loki, who hangs limply between the guards, his face a mask of devastation. Thor looks away again, scans the crowd as if to find someone, anyone, who might be able to stop this. But the only ones not hurling abuse are his friends, and Odin, who silently watches him from the throne, hawk-like. He’s used to Thor’s love of spectacle, and is likely allowing some time for him to adjust to the shock.
And then there is Tyr, the impartial judge of these proceedings, watching him just as silently. Waiting, like the Norns, to see what Thor will do. If Thor does not kill Loki, then the duty will likely fall on Tyr, on Odin’s orders and probably with some deliberate cruelty just to make a point.
Heroes kill monsters; it’s a truth that Thor was raised on, the core of so many of his adventures. Never before has he stopped to consider the monster’s side of things; even little children know that giants and dragons and trolls are inherently evil, and that a happy ending means the monster is dead.
Monsters don’t get happy endings.
But monsters never crawled into Thor’s bed in the middle of the night, never let Thor wipe away their tears; they’d never fallen asleep in his arms after he’d soothed their terror with reassurance.
I’ll hunt the monsters down and slay them all!
You’d really do that for me, Thor?
Of course! You’ll always be safe if you stick with me.
How can he go back on that now?
Torn by indecision, Thor clenches the hilt of the dagger convulsively, wishing for a different weapon to be in his hands. For all the good it would do.
How can Odin ask this of him? To make Thor a kinslayer?
But then, they’re not really kin, are they? They were raised by the same parents, but they don’t share blood.
What would Frigga think of this? Does she know? Does she consider Loki her son?
If not, she’s done a masterful job of hiding it, all these years.
A sense memory hits him: sitting in the grass of Mother’s garden, the cold night air lit only by the stars above them. The silhouettes against the night sky, Mother murmuring instructions to Loki until suddenly a light bloomed between them, a glowing orb floating above Loki’s hand, his surprised and delighted face briefly lit up before he raised his hand and let the light float out over the water until it winked out again.
Loki’s dismay soothed away by her assurances: That’s normal; you’ll get better with time. Give it time, my dear one.
They’re out of time.
If he were king, he could stop this.
But if he were king, it would already be too late. Maybe this is just… fate.
From the moment you were born, the entire kingdom has known your destiny: You were always meant to be king.
The moment of ‘true choice’, Loki had said, and the Norns are watching… but Thor’s options have narrowed to an agonizing few. Some lead to the throne, some to his own banishment, maybe worse. And Odin has laid out all the steps, all but inescapable.
If Thor did raise his hand against Loki, if he had to live with that knowledge of himself, would he go mad? If he refused, would they both be killed, right here before the throne?
Even if they could get away, would the Norns strike him down for daring to break the oaths he made not even an hour ago—for putting Loki above the good of the Realm? And then who would dare to stand up for the Jotun outcast? Without Thor at his side, even Loki’s best efforts could hardly protect him for long… and Thor could well imagine him taking his own life, rather than live with the knowledge of his monstrous nature and the loss of all he’s ever known.
All the paths that Thor can see lead inexorably to his brother’s death, and some deaths far more terrible than others.
At least if his hand is the one that wields the blade, he can cut short the suffering. Let the last hands that touch his brother be ones that have loved him.
He just has to… has to raise that blade, and do the unthinkable.
With slow steps, he approaches his brother, knowing what he must do. Hearing the crowd chant for Loki’s demise: slay the beast, kill the monster, destroy the serpent hidden in the heart of the palace.
He can’t meet Loki’s eyes.
He’s been born for this moment, and in this moment he wishes, with piercing sincerity, to have never been born at all. Not for this.
Before these witnesses and before the Norns—
What were the Norns thinking, setting up a choice like this?
Through this moment—if he survives this moment—lies the throne and the crown, the transition from immature Prince to unquestionable King, the position and power of the Allfather. Like his father before him, he’ll maintain the stability of the Realm through his very presence, another link in the line of Odin: Buri and Bor, Odin and Thor, and Thor’s son after him, and then his son’s son in turn. Since childhood, his life has been mapped out for him.
Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition, and to uphold the good of the Realms?
The crown is not the great prize he once thought it was, but a burden that few could bear, and only a fool would wish for. Shackles, not freedom.
Do you swear to preserve the peace, no matter the cost to yourself?
Asgard has never been at peace with the Jotnar, not true peace. And never will, unless Thor could somehow find a way to change that from the throne.
But if he slaughters Loki, here and now, then the chance of peace will die with him.
Do you swear to guard the Nine Realms against all threats, whether from without or within?
Loki’s never been a threat. Not to Asgard. If not for Loki, Thor wouldn’t even be here.
Pass this one last test, my son, and take your rightful place—
If he could see any way—any way at all—to save his brother, then he would take it. Surrender everything else: his crown, his throne, his future. It’s all dross, meaningless. The advantages he’s been born to, the wife they’ve already set aside for him, the children that might have been raised alongside Volstagg’s, trained to defend the Realm; none of it matters, if this is the price.
But he can’t fight
can’t run
can’t get the crowd on his side—not that it would matter if he did.
And with the Allfather’s decree laid down, there’s no chance of persuading him that sparing Loki is the better move. Odin doesn’t retreat, and the words he’s said in public are as inviolable as any vow. Always have been.
Looking down at Loki’s silent, shaking form, Thor imagines cutting his throat, the blood welling through the skin. He looks down at his hand, at the thin, almost invisible line of scar tissue, remembers the blood welling from the cut as Tyr raked him over the coals for playing around with blood oaths to the Norns.
Tyr, judge and executioner and huntmaster, has long been the symbol of justice in Asgard, his missing hand a testament to everything he’s sacrificed in the name of honor.
It had taken Sif to point out that according to the legend, Tyr lost his hand as a consequence of going back on his word while tricking the dread wolf Fenrir to its doom. One of the great warriors of Asgard, resorting to guile and deceit, out of the kingdom’s fear of a monster? And then, instead of a clean kill, to bind and torture the beast?
In her mind, it was the Norns themselves who had maimed the so-called God of Justice.
Thor recalls her words during a lakeside camping trip: “If Fenrir does break free during the last days, and helps destroy Asgard, it’ll be our own fault.”
For Sif, there is no glory in trickery; small wonder, then, her long-standing rivalry with Loki. But no matter how badly they’ve treated him over the years, Loki has never broken faith with any of them.
Glancing up at Sif again, Thor notes her expression as subtly different from those around her, the ones twisted in rage, in hate. Perhaps her outrage is directed more at the way Odin has treated Loki, who trusted him.
Suddenly Thor huffs, not quite a laugh.
The crowd stills to hear his reaction.
They’re waiting to see what happens, as much as we are.
“I cannot believe,” he begins slowly, still studying the dagger, “that I was taken in by such lies. All these years, all this time together, and I never questioned it… I believed we were family. Such comforting lies, but now… now that my eyes have been opened, I must adjust myself to the truth, no matter how difficult or monstrous that truth might be.”
His gaze flicks over to Loki, whose deep red eyes are staring at him with so many tangled emotions that Thor has to look away again.
“And though my heart aches within me, it seems clear what needs to be done.”