Chapter Text
The swell of his belly had grown to a gentle curve while his family packed their things and gathered their livestock from the plains. He did not speak to anyone but his mother and the servants (excluding the one who had exposed his relations with Thor) and continued about his life from his tent and in the fields. He reacquainted with the mutts he had trained so long ago and found some comfort in stroking their glossy coats as he wandered the fields.
Thor was constantly on his mind. Everything reminded him of his dead husband, but mostly of the last image he had of him, lying naked on his back with pallid skin and a slitted, gaping throat. He caught the thick scent of Thor’s blood with every breeze, and each morning he woke up drenched in sweat that he always mistook for Thor’s blood until his screams brought his mother rushing in to soothe him.
He was stirring a pot of stew when he saw two mules appear on the horizon. One of the hounds started to howl, which brought Laufey from his tent. Loki left his pot, pulling his black cowl over his face a little more. He had been wearing black since he had learned that he would not be joining Thor so soon.
His black robes billowed around him in the wind as he walked toward the mules, head raised in quiet confidence.
“Loki!” Helblindi called. “What are you doing? Come back!”
Loki paid his brother no mind and continued his approach, resting a hand on his belly as if to coax his child not to listen either. The ground was warm on his bare feet and the wind made the sunlight not so stifling, even in mourning clothes.
He smiled weakly as the riders dismounted and was soon gathered in a gentle embrace.
“Frigga,” he greeted softly, looping his arms about her slender waist. She was also dressed for mourning with a black veil and gown. Gaea embraced him next, sobbing quietly into his shoulder.
“I did not think you would come,” Loki confessed.
“Of course we would,” Gaea whispered. “You are just as much our son as…as Thor was.”
Hearing his husband’s name was like being punched in the chest, but he could handle it if it came from Thor’s mother. He closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself before pulling back.
“How…how is the child?” Frigga asked quietly, glancing down at his belly.
“Strong,” Loki replied with a small smile. “Healthy too.” He gently rubbed his slight swell, a motion that had soothed him out of his fits of deep sadness. With time, he knew he would be able to raise this child as Thor would want, in the palace of Asgard where this child—and Loki—belonged.
“Your mother is sending your things?” Gaea asked, looking behind Loki to where his mother was no doubt standing outside of the tents, watching him. Loki nodded once. Everything had been prepared.
Gaea took his hands, squeezing gently. “Come then.”
Loki turned, and sure enough, his mother stood there in a magnificent gown of pale blue silk. He could not find the ability to smile at her, but she seemed to know that. The house of Laufey had destroyed all connection with him the moment Helblindi had put a blade to Thor’s throat. Loki had not been able to sleep for a week when he realized that Thor must have woken up, but in an effort to save Loki from seeing him die he had not stirred or cried out. Instead, he had stayed quiet and pressed his nose into his husband’s hair one last time.
Loki gently swiped the moisture from his eyes and took a shaky breath. Farbauti lifted a hand and gave him a final wave before Loki turned to the two queens.
“It is time for you to come home, Loki,” Frigga murmured.
He nodded once and mounted Frigga’s mule with the familiar pull of the sheath for his dagger against his thigh. Taking one last look at the grasslands of his once-home, Loki felt a wash of relief. He would never have his Thor again, but he would have Thor’s child, Thor’s palace, Thor’s kingdom.
That would have to be enough.