HE, THE WISE.

wisdom noun

the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgment; the quality of being wise. "listen to his words of wisdom"

indie odin ( mcu/myth/headcanon based ) penned by jen.

THE YOUNG PRINCE is fighting to remain calm & collected despite his inner turmoil . His heart aches & his stomach hurts . There’s a large lump in the very back of his throat & his emerald green eyes sting , tears forming in the corners of them . But , he refuses to show his emotions now by starting to cry . It would only be another WEAKNESS , one that would no doubt be used against him by ODIN in the future as a way to keep him off of the throne . Why ? He doesn’t fully understand . For as long as he could possibly remember , all he had ever really wanted was his father’s approval . If he wouldn’t be able to earn it through his smarts , his wit , his MAGIC , then he’d fight to be KING OF ASGARD – a title that belonged to him but would never be his because of his oaf of a brother & Frost Giant lineage .

LOKI lifts his head up ever so slightly , gaze finally meeting the Allfather’s . In an attempt to calm himself , he draws a hand up & begins to pick at his left palm – a nervous tick that he picked up from his mother during all of the time that they spent together . “ LYING would have been preferable to the truth . ” A brief pause , then he clears his throat . “ Why have you kept this from me , for all of these years ? ”

          THE  REALITY  IS,  he  would  much  rather  have  both  his  sons  rule  together.  Thor's  brawn,  and  Loki's  wit  put  together  is  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with.  But  he  knows  that  the  two  wouldn't  fold  and  see  things  his  way.  Thor  didn't  always  seek  out  council  before  brash  choices,  actions  were  made  without  a  second  thought,  yet  Loki,  he  was  the  one  who  could  come  up  with  a  plan  that  would  never  see  failure.  But  in  this  moment,  his  emotions  would  be  his  fall  from  grace.

          He  watches  as  Loki  picks  at  his  left  palm,  it  clicks  with  him.  Odin  thinks  back  to  all  those  years  ago  when  Frigga  had  taken  the  boy  under  her  wing,  being  gentle  with  him,  soft,  sheltering  him  from  whatever  came  his  way.  He's  delicate,  in  order  to  keep  him  from  breaking  one  must  tip-toe  around  their  words  with  him,  yet  Odin  wasn't  like  his  beloved,  if  it  was  he  who  had  taken  charge  in  the  boy's  youth  things  would  be  different,  maybe,  just  maybe  he  would  be  worthy  of  wearing  the  crown  and  everything  that  came  with  it.

        he  has  not  been  the  same.    odin  speaks  now  of  peace,    of  a  new  chapter  for  asgard,    as  if  his  golden  castle  has  not  been  built  by  her  slaughter.    he  covers  the  murals  in  the  throne  room    —    the  ones  that  depicted  their  conquests,    side  by  side  for  the  glory  of  asgard.    and  now  this  tomb,    to  hide  away  honored  warriors  far  from  sight.    and  the  insults  sting  far  more  than  she  will  admit.    she  dared  to  question  him,    confusion  and  fear  loosening  her  tongue.        what  would  she  be,    with  no  army  to  command  in  his  name?        it  was  a  childish  fear,    but  one  she  could  not  seem  to  banish.        if  her  purpose  is  conquest,    as  the  allfather  has  always  told  her,    then  what  is  she  now?

        tension  sits  like  a  stone  in  her  gut,    unsure  of  why  he  has  brought  her  here.        does  he  wish  to  test  her,    or  to  rub  salt  in  the  wound?        her  footsteps  echo  odin’s,    a  shadow  as  torchlight  bounces  off  of  rough-hewn  stone  walls,    and  her  sense  of  unease  grows  as  they  reach  their  destination.    finally,    she  cannot  stand  it,    and  the  question  slips  free  before  she  can  think  better  of  it.    his  response  chills  her  already  frigid  blood.

        she  notices  fenris,    then,    and  the  guards  with  their  blades  drawn,    and  he  has  timed  this  well    —    even  she  does  not  have  time  to  stay  their  assault.    the  howl  her  wolf  unleashes  is  more  desperate,    more  pained  than  she  has  ever  heard  in  all  their  years  of  battle  together,    and  an  equally  anguished  cry  is  torn  from  her  own  throat.

        “    fenris!    ”        she’s  moving  past  her  father,    a  blur  of  black  and  green.    fenris  is  collapsing,    so  cold  fingers  tangle  into  blood-soaked  fur  and  she  sinks  to  her  knees,    the  wolf’s  massive  head  nudging  her  weakly  as  she  draws  it  towards  her  lap.        stay  with  me.        but  she  holds  no  dominion  here,    and  hela  feels  her  slipping  away.    

        her  dark  head  turns  to  face  odin,    and  she  doesn’t  recognize  the  wetness  on  her  own  cheeks.        she  does  not  cry.        none  of  this  makes  sense.    why  would  he  order  the  death  of  the  animal  he  had  given  her?    fenris  has  always  been  loyal,    even  to  her  last  breaths.

        “    what    —    what  have  you  done?    ”

      HE WAS DOING WHAT NEEDED TO BE DONE. She had grown to be reckless, selfish, and even foolish. She refused to see things the way he did, so she must go. It’s the right choice, he had to do right by the people, and if that meant he had to rid Asgard of Hela, so be it. Yet he had to get rid of everything that showed that she had existed by his side. He stands there, watching as her figure throws itself onto the hound. It could be worse, his calloused hands could be wrapped around her neck, and he could be the one forcing her final breath to come from her lips. But he had chosen to spare her from that, instead he was going to lock her away, deep deep down, far far in the darkest pit of Hel.

     He watches as the canine’s blood flows onto the floor, traveling through each and every crack it could find. His face didn’t twist in disgust, his expression montone, heartless even. He knew that once she got the chance, she would take her rage and direct it his way, but in this moment her heart was nothing but a festering haunting house as the life slipped away from the wolf. 

     Odin will no longer let her turn golden skin soft shades of maroon, he sees her as nothing but the rotting pit of a prized peach. Deep down he wishes that she had seen things his way instead of viewing the world with flitered eyes.