Chapter 1 – A Most Majestic Visit

The small town of Adarfell was full of rumour and intrigue as the people bustled about the place preparing for an event that had not happened in any of the younger generation's memory.

The King of Asgard was coming to visit. Everyone was whispering about the handsome, magical young king that had only been ruling for four years, but had caused more upheaval than had been experienced in centuries. He was a warrior, a mage, a wordsmith and a lover of games. No one could bear wait anymore.

Adarfell's chief, Jarl Geirfastr, was running around like a madman, barking at the women to hurry their work.

"Why is there not enough food?" the Jarl demanded, "The king is coming to see our worth and you can't even make enough bread to feed his court?"

His wife Mjoll glared at him, "Perhaps if you lent your hand to it, we'd have a hundred more made."

Their daughters giggled then ducked their heads as their father rounded on them, resuming their work. They knew better than to let their father grow more ill-tempered; he was already close to madness thanks to the approaching guests.

"Why has it taken the king so long to visit?" asked the youngest daughter as she stirred a large pot with her two arms, her chubby face flushed with effort. "He's coming because of the rebellion, but that was so long ago."

"Three years is not so long, darling," said Mjoll, smoothing her hair back and picking up her knife, "And the king has been busy, remember that Idavoll was terribly damaged by the destruction of the Bifröst, he had to make sure that the city was well under repair before he could leave it."

"And," said the eldest daughter, "He had to try everyone who turned on him, and sentence them to proper punishment, not to mention who would have cared for the capital in his place since he's taking his most trusted men with him. He had to wait for the Dowager Queen Frigga to wake up and heal so she could care for the city while he goes through the realm reaffirming our loyalty to the house of Bor, and the house of Loki."

"Besides, his young boys were no doubt very fragile after all the trauma they've been through, and with no mother to care for them, the king has to raise them himself," said Mjoll with a cluck of her tongue. "Poor things, I hear they haven't grown an inch since they were returned to the king."

"I heard they're grey as corpses, slow and mute," said the youngest daughter, "They turn into monsters, and the king will feed us to them if he isn't happy with us."

"That's a lot of nonsense," said Mjoll giving her head a light smack, "And don't let your father hear you talking like that, not unless you want to set him off on a rant about bastards and runts, and goodness knows what else."

The daughters all pulled identical faces of disgust and resumed their work. Geirfastr had some dark opinions about the king's boys.

"I hear the king is the tallest man in Asgard, and he's smarter than anyone else," said the eldest girl, admiring her reflection in the back of a spoon.

"I thought his brother was taller," said the youngest.

"Oh, who cares about him? It's not as if he's ever coming back. Besides it was all his fault that we almost went to war with the Frost Giants." Mjoll's eldest daughter fixed her hair with a smug smile, "Really, who wants a big brute anyway? I heard the king is kinder than anyone else to women, and he's good with children."

Mjoll hid a smile.

As the evening drew closer, one of the many young men sent to watch out for the king's court came running down a hill,

"They're here! The king is here!"

"Places everyone!" barked Geirfastr, tugging at his tunic under his breastplate as Mjoll patted her hair and stood demurely beside him. "Remember, we're going to show the king we are loyal and steadfast, and true to the traditions of Asgard."

Mjoll rolled her eyes as their son joined them, having spent all day polishing his battle axe and armour. He pushed back his hair and grinned at his sisters. The youngest stuck out her tongue at him, earning her a cuff on the ear from her father. Soon, every person in the village was standing tall and still in neat rows, watching the ridge of the hill.

The sound of whirring engines and horses' hooves hitting the ground filtered towards them, indicating that a large entourage was approaching the village. The louder the sound got the quieter the village seemed to become. Everyone was both excited and terrified about this visit.

The Rebellion of Pigs, as the Rebellion had almost immediately come to be known, had been a brief event but the results had been far reaching, right to the very outskirts of Asgard. After so long knowing what to expect from Asgard's rulers, the new king, King Loki, had thrown everything into confusion. Jarl Geirfastr was convinced that his title and place among his village was under threat, after all, the king had already dismissed so many traditional jarls from their inherited titles. The king claimed it was due to corruption, but Geirfastr was adamant it was to undermine the rights of the traditional leaders of Asgard. He had kept Mjoll up countless nights in a panic about losing his position.

Four horses crested the hill, ridden by armoured warriors, leading the way towards the village. A rider with silvery blonde hair followed these guards, and behind him came a huge, black, eight legged horse.

"Woah," breathed Mjoll's son, his huge eyes fixed on the rider of this magnificent beast. He was the tallest man in the growing crowd, his crown-helm of golden horns only increasing his stance. He wore lightly armoured clothes of dark green and black, with gold accents, and in his long right hand he held a staff of palest wood, almost silvery white. He was slimmer than most men, with pale skin and high cheekbones. Despite his slim, clean shaven face, he was a handsome man, but what drew Mjoll's attention was the bearing he carried himself with. Strong, upright, noble and confident, he exuded absolute power and control, yet there was a softness to the way his left arm encircled the small boy sitting in front of him, holding him secure at the same time as he held the reins.

"Presenting his highest majesty, the King of Asgard, Loki Odinson!" cried the blonde man, nudging his horse out of the king's way, "Also presenting their royal highnesses, Prince Jörmungandr Lokasson and Prince Fenrir Lokasson."

The king was such an overwhelming presence, it was only when the names were spoken did Mjoll actually notice the boy sitting on the horse with the king. He looked about five, although Mjoll had heard he was much older, with pale skin that seemed to be slightly silver-grey in the sunlight, and thick black hair. His brow bore deep lines of anxiety as the king brought the horse to a halt and looked down at Mjoll and her husband. They dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.

"My king, I welcome you to Adarfell," said Geirfastr in a silky voice. Mjoll grimaced internally at the tone. It was the same tone he used when he wanted to wheedle something out of a person. "I am Jarl Geirfastr Atlison, chieftain of this village, this is my wife Mjoll and my son and daughters."

"Thank you for your warm welcome Geirfastr," said King Loki waving a hand to indicate them to rise up. As they did, Mjoll noticed that the king had let go of Sleipnir's reins and now had a firmer hold on his son's middle. He almost seemed to be watching their faces as they looked at Prince Jörmungandr, and Mjoll was careful to only look at the boy with motherly concern –he really was painfully thin looking. She hoped her husband was able to mask his own reaction as well. A quick glance at his expression told her to quickly interfere.

"Please, come inside, I'm sure you're hungry," she said with a quick bow of her head and a smile.

King Loki looked at her properly and he smirked. A little thrill passed through Mjoll's body. It felt like the king was looking inside her and he liked what he saw. To Mjoll's astonishment, she blushed and had to resist the urge to giggle like a silly girl.

"Yes, Lady Mjoll, I would be grateful for something to drink, as would Jörmungandr," said the king, swinging off Sleipnir with practised ease, sweeping Jörmungandr down with him and setting the boy on his feet. "Oh, this is my second son, Fenrir, and his nurse Hlin," he added, turning and extending his long hand to a pretty young blonde woman who was emerging from one of the horseless carriages with a babe in her arms. "I hope you won't object to her joining me as well as my councillors, will you?"

"Of course not," said Geirfastr quickly, "Your whole entourage is more than welcome."

King Loki smirked coldly and waved an airy hand to indicate to Geirfastr to lead the way. As Geirfastr turned away, Mjoll thought she saw the king share an amused grin with a red haired man who bore a badge in the shape of the king's golden horns on his breast. Even out this far from the capital, Mjoll had heard about the new habit of the king's most loyal followers to wear his symbol to display his favour and their loyalty.

The luncheon had been laid out in the village hall, the only place big enough to take the numbers the king was travelling with. Geirfastr gave the king his own usual seat, at the centre of the head table, and took the seat to the right of the king, with Mjoll bustling away to organise the serving. When she came back, the king was introducing his entourage to Geirfastr with the air of someone who had done this too many times to count.

"As I said, this is Lady Hlin Voljosdóttir, my sons' nursemaid," he held her hand as if presenting her to Geirfastr, and Mjoll watched as she blushed and stared up at the much taller king with adoring eyes. The second prince was a small babe in her other arm, while Prince Jörmungandr was sitting on his father's knee, peering out over the hall with wide, uneasy eyes. "And this is my Chief Jórsalafar Sverrir Kvasisson." The king pointed to the red haired man next to Lady Hlin, who gave a cheery grin as Geirfastr frowned in confusion.

"Ah, your… jórsalafar?" he asked carefully.

The king's smile widened slightly, "Perhaps you haven't heard about the change I made to my council? I have done away with the outdated term of Lendr Maðr, and tweaked the kinds of powers those who now serve the council can have. Now I have jórsalafarar, crusaders for the good of Asgard. That charmer is Jórsalafar Dag Dellingson."

The fair haired man gave a tense smile, looking more like a grimace.

"And this is Jórsalafar Ástríthr," a red haired woman inclined her head. She was older than the king or Chief Jórsalafar, and seemed more worn, as if she had not always lived the life of a noble. Mjoll studied her curiously, she had heard the king had put a former out-law on his council after she had led a defence of his rule. Supposedly she had cut a man's face clean off with a single swipe, although Mjoll did not really believe such a thing was possible. The rumours had been wild ever since the Rebellion of the Pigs. Suspicion and intrigue over every single member of the old council, with deaths and traitors around every corner, the whole realm had been in a flurry of excited whispers. The Bifröst had been destroyed by one of their own, the Gatekeeper Heimdall had nearly died, the king had claimed Mjölnir for his own and his father and brother were now lost to Asgard as good as if they were dead and four of the seven Lendr maðr who had served both Odin and Loki were dead.

It had been the most exciting and terrifying four years that Asgard had had for millennia. It was also the most entertaining Mjoll had personally had for a very long time. After decades of her husband growing fat and lazy, his once semi-endearing sleazy charm turning to outright insufferable smugness, to watch Geirfastr suddenly sit up and start to worry about his future was very amusing.

Of course, Mjoll reminded herself as she gave her husband his food and his shoulder a light squeeze, she still loved the old fool. She certainly did not want to lose her own position of power as the wife of the Jarl, but a little nervousness might be good for Geirfastr.

"The rest of my council are back in Idavoll, helping my mother with the day to day issues that I cannot deal with directly while I travel the land and see how all my people are doing," the king finished with a smile. Geirfastr stiffened under Mjoll's hand.

"Well, I'm certain you'll find Aderfall very, very well, your majesty," she said quickly offering him a cup of ale. The king looked at her and Mjoll had the uncomfortable sensation that he was reading her mind. She tried to hold her head up and display confidence, and the king smiled. Despite the charm of his voice, his smile was cold as ice.

"I'm sure I will Lady Mjoll," he said quietly, taking the cup from her hands.

"I don't like him," grumbled Sverrir to Loki as they walked into the king's transportable chambers. It looked like a large tent, but the material was deceptive. Light as air, strong as steel and completely soundproof, it was the safest tent in the Nine Realms. It was also large, with four rooms; a central room for private audiences, a bedroom where the king slept, and a second bedroom for the princes, which was shared by their nursemaid. There was also a private room the king retired to when he wanted to be left alone; no one dared enter it without invitation.

"You never like any of them, you really need to stop making assumptions because they're old and male," said Loki, amused at the sulky look on his friend's face. Jörmungandr's head was heavy on his shoulder, the boy having nodded off during the evening meal. Hlin had already retired with Fenrir, and Loki could hear her singing quietly as she bustled about.

"Hmm, you may have a point, but most of them are as unpleasant as I think they are at first glance. Xenophobic, conservative, misogynistic-"

"Can you spare me the usual first night rant, please? I agree with your sentiments Sverrir and your concerns, but I can't just assume every chieftain is like that. It's no better than the assumptions such men as you loathe make about women and seiðr users." Loki kept his voice low and quiet, he was not waking Jörmungandr on pain of a long, sleepless night.

"You're right… I suppose I've come to expect the worst because we've seen it already," said Sverrir, sounding gloomy as he dropped into the nearest seat. Loki gave him a slightly concerned look and he gave a sad smile, "I'm fine, honestly. I just… well, you know."

Loki nodded, as he walked across the room and edged past Hlin who smiled at him. Very carefully, Loki lowered Jörmungandr onto his bed and unwrapped the skinny arms from around his neck. Jörmungandr made a faint noise of displeasure and Loki quickly shushed him with a hand over his hair. He petted Jörmungandr's hair until his son was dead to the world again and then silently retreated to let Hlin tuck him in. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a large bottle half-full of golden liquid and two short tumblers.

"Oh, I'm not there yet," said Sverrir quickly as Loki poured out a measure of the drink. "And Ilmr will kill me if I come back drunk again."

"Just a glass, go on," said Loki swirling the liquid enticingly in the crystal tumbler. Sverrir hesitated one more moment before accepting it. Loki picked up his own tumbler and sipped the smoky drink.

"Where did you say this was from?" asked Sverrir, sniffing at the drink.

"A small island on Midgard, it's rather well known for its alcoholic drinks, and its people's reproductive ability," said Loki, enjoying the faint, warming burn of the whiskey.

"Alcohol and sex? Sounds delightful," said Sverrir taking a sip and then resting the bottom of the tumbler in his palm.

"Hmm… given how dreary and bitter their music is, I'm not so sure. Last time I was there they were rather… disliked by the Midgardian nobility."

"So Midgardians do have kings?" asked Sverrir.

"Lots of them, I wouldn't be surprised if they had a hundred or more, along with other forms of government," said Loki. "Of course some are more powerful than others –the last time I was there there were several Empires all vying for power –they were calling it the second world war."

"Thor would have liked that," said Sverrir.

"Hmm, maybe," said Loki quietly, "I'm not sure it would appeal to his sense of honour. Mortal wars are as messy as the ones on… Vanaheim." He swallowed. Even three years later his throat still closed up at the thought of it.

Sverrir gave him a compassionate look and took a mouthful of the drink before saying quietly, "We'll find her Loki."

Loki nodded, "I know. It's just… the longer we go without even a glimpse of the world the more I start to think… but I tell myself that if she was dead I would know it, if Vanaheim was really gone Heimdall would sense it."

Sverrir nodded, glancing around at the soft 'door' between them and Hlin. The material was soundproof enough that she could not hear them if they were quiet, but he was always cautious.

"Mýrkjartan wants to ask you for leave to go north east," he said eventually.

"Oh?" asked Loki, sinking into his chair and resting his tumbler on his stomach.

"He thinks he might have tracked down Byleist."

Loki raised an eyebrow dubiously, "He's said that before. If he weren't proving himself in other areas, I would wonder if he was in fact helping the thieving prince."

"Which is why he asked that I ask you instead of him. He said I would be better at convincing you." Sverrir gave him a weak smile as Loki snorted. "I think he's ashamed for failing you in this. He's been running himself ragged trying to track down Byleist, but… well it would seem skilful deception runs in the family."

Loki fixed Sverrir with a sharp look of warning, which Sverrir ignored completely, saying, "There's something else."

"Oh?"

"Mýrkjartan thinks that the reason he was struggling to find Byleist is because he assumed he was travelling alone."

Loki sat up a little, "But that's changed?"

Sverrir nodded, "He's starting to think there's someone helping him, in fact, he thinks he knows who."

"Sverrir, don't keep me in suspense," Loki growled, knowing Sverrir was deliberately being difficult to annoy him.

"He thinks it's Lady Gerd," Sverrir muttered into his glass.

"Lady –Lady Gerd? Freyr's missing wife?"

"She disappeared when Byleist did and she would know the land better than Byleist which might be how he's avoided being caught so far. We both know she had magic herself, she might be cloaking him."

"Why would she help him?"

"That… well, Mýrkjartan hasn't said, but I think she agreed to help him in exchange for something. Maybe a way to leave Asgard without her husband knowing, she's so terrified of him it could have been the only way she could do it."

Loki nodded thoughtfully, idly tapping his finger on his lower lip as he stared into nothing. "It's certainly a possibility –and would explain why she never came back. If they're waiting for the paths between worlds to stabilise so they can go to Jötunheim, they might be moving around in disguise to keep from being noticed."

"That's Mýrkjartan's theory. He's picked up what feels like Jötun magic, but it's always so faint he can't be sure, but if Gerd is hiding him away, that could be why."

Loki waved his hand to the side, "Tell Mýrkjartan that he may go and do as he feels best."

Sverrir grunted an understanding and finished his drink. "I'd better get back to my family, Áki is driving Ilmr mad at the moment –he's not dealing well with the constant changes of all this travelling. Still, we're nearly at the end of it now," he finished with forced cheer.

Loki gave him a weak smile, feeling some measure of guilt. After all he had been the one to insist that Sverrir come with him, and Sverrir had refused to leave his family behind. Frigga had tried to convince Loki to leave Sverrir with her to care for Idavoll and oversee the reconstruction of the Bifröst, but Loki had been adamant. When he had decided to take this tour, he could not face the idea of travelling without Sverrir's support.

"Good night Sverrir," he said quietly.

"Majesty." Sverrir bowed his way out, the flap of the entrance letting in a patter of the music and voices outside. Heaving a yawn, Loki got to his feet and downed the last of his drink. As he set the glass down on the table with the bottle, Hlin came out from behind the curtain and smiled at him.

"They're asleep your majesty."

"Good, thank you Hlin." Loki's eyes dropped to her pretty yellow nightgown. "Not staying up for the fun outside?"

"No your majesty, I'm a little tired today. Fenrir doesn't really like the carriage, so he fussed all day." Hlin gave him a smile and crossed the room, touching his arm, "You should get some sleep too, you look exhausted."

Loki chuckled and took her hand, "Ah Hlin, I asked you to care for my sons, not me. You don't need to fuss over my wellbeing."

Hlin's cheeks coloured slightly and she squeezed his hand, "But your wellbeing matters to the boys, so I am only doing my duty by them if I care for you in turn."

Loki laughed, "You've been taking lessons from me when I'm not paying attention. Careful, having a silvertongue can get you into more trouble than you might like." He lightly pinched her chin and enjoyed the way it made her giggle.

"I'm willing to take the risk," she said, "Besides, you brought so much of the government with you, but no one to take care of you."

"I am no child, I can look after myself," he replied with a faint smirk. Hlin's smile slipped slightly and she tightens her grip on his hand.

"Just because you can, does not mean you have to," she said in a quiet voice, pushing her hair back from her face as she looked up at him. "I was never very good at my duties for your mother, I know that, but ever since you gave me this position I know now that it was because I wasn't suited to that, but… I am suited to this. I like caring for the boys… and for you. Please your majesty, you should rest."

"After I do one thing," said Loki giving her hand a final squeeze before letting it go. He went into his own sleeping space and went straight to the mirror in the corner. He let out a heavy breath and stared at his own reflection. He let his vision slide out of focus and concentrated on seeing beyond.

Show me… Show me Vanaheim. Show me Sigyn.

The colours of his own face swirled and darkened into black. Loki kept his mind fixed on two words. Vanaheim. Sigyn. The swirling colours slowly came back into focus, but all they showed was black space, stars twinkling in the far distance and a sun drifting through nothing. Loki screwed up his face, trying to squint at the darkness. Sometimes when he concentrated hard enough he would see… there! A faint, barely there, ripple of the fabric of space. It was the faintest of distortions, but it was definitely there, round and large, large enough to be a planet.

It was not the figment of a desperate imagination, for Sverrir, Heimdall and Kvasir had all seen it, it had been the last thing Kvasir had discussed with him before-

Loki blinked and looked away, his vision taking a few seconds to clear. Heaving a sigh, he stripped off his clothes and pulled on a pair of soft trousers before climbing into bed. He laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, waving his hand to douse the lights in his room. In his mind he could see the faint distortion, over and over again. It was the only clue they had at the moment about Vanaheim's status. It was the only thing he could hold onto to give him any hope.

Good night Sigyn, he thought, repeating the promise he had made every night for 3 years, I'll see you tomorrow.

So, yes, I am back, a bit later than I had anticipated, but what can you do. Anyway, I am working on this story and have a bit of surplus built up –current word count is just short of 38k words, but I don't really have a set schedule for posting, it will depend on how the story is developing, because I am trying to keep a very tight leash on this one so it doesn't turn into a monster (well, no more than it already is).

Anyway, welcome, I hope you enjoy this next instalment of the Aimless Play Series and as always, feel free to send me your thoughts.