Signs of spring

He hoped that wasn’t the case. Hela didn’t seem to have any great affection towards the royal family, but neither did she do anything to put them in danger. And as the years wore on without incident, he began to accept her presence as a seemingly benign, if puzzling, fixture of his life.

To his everlasting shame, it ended up being something Thor said that finally made the pieces click in Loki’s mind.

They were in the library, his brother floundering between the towering wooden shelves like a whale in a forest. Berating him about something or another; Loki had long since stopped listening.

Thor didn’t seem to notice his inattention. “Hogun is still most upset with you, brother,” he insisted. “Surely you wouldn’t let a poorly timed joke stand in the way of your friendship?”

Oh. Was he still going on about the hunting trip from last week? Loki flipped a page in the tome he was reading. “The mud washed off, did it not?”

“The serpent almost swallowed him—“

“But it didn’t, and he and the rest of you killed the creature easily enough, once it was out of the cave.” He kept his eyes firmly fixed to the text in front of him, hoping that Thor would finally get the hint and move on. Surely he had better things to do than play unwanted mediator.

A heavy sigh sounded from somewhere behind him. “You spend too much time with your books, and too little time with other people. You’re becoming as dry as the pages you read.”

“Mm. Fascinating.”

“Loki.”

“Thor,” Loki parroted, mockingly. He waited, but Thor remained silent. Silent and present; he could almost feel the judgmental gaze stabbing into his back. Finally, he sighed, and turned around, meeting his brother’s eyes. “Fine, I’ll…go soothe Hogun’s hurt feelings, later. Are you pleased? You can leave now.”

Thor’s lips tightened, ‘no’ clear in every line of his face. “I only want you to reconcile with one of our friends, is that too much to ask?”

“One of your friends, Thor. You’re the one who keeps dragging me along to your adventures. Against everyone’s wishes, might I add.”

Loki could almost trace the red that rose up into Thor’s face. Thor unlocked his jaw long enough to grit out, “It’s good that this library was practically made for you—you’ll find little welcome elsewhere if you keep behaving so childishly.” And then swept out of the room before Loki could shoot back some retort about certain others’ childish behavior.

What did Thor know? Perhaps if the man actually spent longer than ten minutes in a library, he’d stop attempting to imitate Odin and find something actually interesting to say. 

In any case, while it was true that few of the Aesir spent as much time here as he did, he saw that as a failing of this kingdom, not him. 

He’d seen the famed libraries of Nidavellir and the vaulted universities of Vanaheim, with their floors upon floors of the accumulated knowledge of the ages. Asgard’s library was large, yes, and filled with important treatises and histories as befitted the realm’s importance, but it was an afterthought in a country full of people more likely to star in a heroic saga than read about it.

More often than not, the library was a dusty and deserted place, with books stacked up to the ceiling forgotten even by those that put them there. Frankly, Loki preferred it that way. With no one (except the occasional persistent brother) to bother him, he was free to do and study whatever he liked. To this end, the palace library was almost frighteningly well-equipped to satisfy his magical studies.

It was at this that he paused. Because his studies had long since departed from the standard fare offered by the schools in Asgard, especially when he’d made it a point to learn as much magic from Hela as he could. He’d developed his own tricks, of course, often having to visit other cities for research. But when it came to Hela’s own spells, Asgard already had everything he could possibly want to know.

For the first time, he wondered who the library was made for. Who’d stocked it full of magical theory and research, and then never returned to use it? Who misshelved the book about practical applications of extradimensional space, and left behind the ink stains on the study of auditory illusions? And on the heels of that thought was the old question, rising back into the forefront—why had Hela chosen Asgard?

So, Loki started investigating.

She found him in the throne room, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hello, sister,” he said, when he saw the tell-tale shimmer of her arrival. Hela had chosen to appear in Odin’s seat, sprawling carelessly over an armrest. Her dark hair was a curtain across her face. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d casually disrespected the Allfather’s authority—how had he not figured it out before?

“Loki.” She nodded at the book in his hand, “I see you’ve been catching up on your history lessons.”

“It’s the only book I could find that mentioned you by name. Truth be told, I didn’t expect to find answers in a poorly written memoir from a court painter.” Loki wanted to stare at her, scrutinize all the small details that he’d missed over the years. See the clothing, trimmed subtly with gold, distantly reminiscent of Odin’s armor. See the empty belt, a heavily reinforced loop just large enough to hold the handle of a hammer. Instead, he tilted his head up again. “Do you think he had the ceiling repainted, or completely rebuilt?”

Hela snorted. “Painted, probably. Odin’s never been good at lettings things go.”

“He’s done a pretty good job with you.”

“Not well enough,” she said, tightly.

“Judging by the effort it took to find even this book, I beg to differ.”

She bared her teeth, and leaned forwards. “Joke all you want, little brother. You feel secure in your little family unit, now. But there’ll come a day when Odin decides you no longer fit into the story the way he wants, and he’ll erase you so thoroughly from this realm that the only records of your existence are the scribblings of a,” she cast a disdainful eye over the book, “court painter. Never liked that woman, anyhow. She couldn’t get the nose right.”

“What do you want, Hela?” he asked finally, regretting it almost instantly. He was called the Silvertongue, wasn’t he? The prince of petty lies and flattery. What he couldn’t cajole outright, he could bide his time and manipulate later on. Blunt questions didn’t suit him, and it showed; the words dropped from his lips like lead weights and echoed in the empty hall.

Hela smiled thinly. “What, can’t an older sister visit family? Perhaps I simply wanted to know how things were in Asgard. It’s been so long since I last truly set foot here.”

“Odin barred you from this place,” Loki realized. “Not just this city, or surely someone would have known you. He’s blocked you from this entire realm, hasn’t he? And you’re looking for a way back.” His hand started to shake, minutely, and he gripped the book tighter.

“You may believe what you like.”

“I’m not an idiot, Hela!” The words burst out, louder than he’d intended, and he hastily tried to bring it back under control. It was the middle of the night; the last thing he needed was to draw guards to the throne room with the sounds of a confrontation. “And I’m not a traitor, either. If you’d hoped to—to get me to turn on my family, somehow, or open a gateway for you to stroll back in here, then I apologize, because you will be disappointed.

“I don’t know why Odin drove you from this place, but I trust that he loves—that he loves his country, and if he’s decided that it was too dangerous for you to remain here, then he must have had his reasons.” He could see Hela’s eyes glint at his moment of hesitation, and couldn’t stop retracing her words in his mind. There’ll come a day when Odin decides you no longer fit in…

She stood up, unfolding herself gracefully from the throne. Loki was suddenly reminded of all the reasons why he hated talking to Odin in this room—between her height and the raised platform, he had to crane his neck to look her in the eye. “I suppose you know everything, then,” Hela said, mildly. “You’ve chosen your side already?”

He wanted her to come down, so he could face her properly. He didn’t want her to come down, because then she’d be closer to him, and he suddenly wanted to keep as far away from those clawed hands and that knife-like smile as he could.

“It wasn’t a choice,” he insisted. “I’m flattered you chose to visit me; certainly, I’ve—I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. But…Odin wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to erase you from the histories on a whim. There must have been a reason…”

She descended the steps, then, strolling right up to him. It was all so familiar; he could recognize the cadence of her footsteps with his eyes closed, just as he could with Thor, or Frigga, or Odin. She was as much a part of his life at the palace as any of them were, and he suddenly, fiercely, wanted that back, wanted a return of his ignorance.

Did Odin see some aspect of Hela in him, he wondered. See some echo of whatever was so horrible that he’d banished her from this realm, in every spell Loki cast and every bit of green that he’d worn? Was that why he favored Thor—golden-haired, loud, blundering Thor—

Hela laid a cool hand on his cheek, stilling his thoughts.

Loki stared at her for a moment or two longer, as if he could pry answers from her with the force of his gaze. Finally, he huffed, turning to his desk. “I read the books you told me to.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “That was just two days ago.”

“I had time. They were more interesting than the monotony Master Augun puts us through, anyways.” He waved his hand dismissively, then paused. Framed against the window, something narrow flickered into existence over his outstretched palm, slowly coalescing into a small, plain dagger. He caught it by the wooden hilt just as the magic faded away and gravity took over. When he turned towards her, his smile was thick with smugness, and something else. Uncertainty.

Hela felt her grin widen.

She reached out to ruffle his hair. “Well, well. I didn’t expect you to learn that one so soon.”

“It was in the books,” he said, jerking away from her hand. “It wasn’t that difficult.”

Loki tossed her the knife, and she caught it, watching as the sunlight shattered off its edge. It really was just a simple blade, practically a toy, but she made a show of examining it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the way he tried and failed to hide his preening. His hair was still stuck up in all directions; he hadn’t even tried to neaten it out.

Poor, old, stubborn blind fool, was Odin. To have such a tool in his forge and not even attempt to sharpen it. Well, as history showed, Hela was very good at covering for his failings. Just as good, perhaps, as he was at forgetting her.

Oh, she had such plans.

Odin was worried.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling for him. The position of the King of Asgard carried with it any number of problems—trade disputes with Nidavellir, murmurs of unrest in Jotunheim, that damned ambassador from Vanaheim who was far too persistent in his insistence that his realm get special treatment…

As he watched his sons play in the courtyard below, however, a new sort of uneasiness settled over him. Black and green, whirling around a figure of red and gold. Old, dusty memories stirred in the back of his mind, where he’d attempted to bury them so long ago.

That was the past, he told himself. He’d sealed it away himself, deep into the bones of his palace, where it couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. Things were different now. He was different now.

Why did he feel so uneasy?