The Aesir marched and Laufey had mere moments but he paused nonetheless, shielded inside the temple. The sounds of the oncoming war were muffled in the greatness of Jotunheim's stronghold; he could almost convince himself that nothing was amiss – that life would go on. Almost. The ice sparkled in the light as ever it did, the deep, solid colours of his home rising in thick walls of coldness that protected he and his kind, too cold for Aesir, too cold for any but them.

Laufey bent, his knees against the ice floor, hard and colder than stone to his skin but pleasantly sweet, somehow. Jotuns were born and raised of ice, and it was to the ice that he entrusted his prince. Tiny, small – not insignificant. He would grow, Laufey knew – his son in his hands, the war on his doorstep and the moments-long decision to hide him here; his son was destined for great things. Small he was now but never was there a Frost Giant that did not grow, and the prince was Jotun. He was of Laufey's own blood.

His own blood and he laid him down, carefully and so gently – a gentleness that his size belied. The prince was laid unto the ice, eyes closed in blissfully unaware sleep, and Laufey wasted precious moments to look at him – just to look. His prince was small but he was Laufey's son, the heir of Jotenheim, and he would be great one day. He would rise up as King of Jotunheim when Laufey's time was come and this prince would be the greatest king the Frost Giants ever knew, better even than he the warrior king who was in just moments to march at the head of his army. He would meet the Aesir, and he would meet Odin of Asgard – the greatest enemy any Jotun had ever known, and he would have him slain, dropped from his pedestal to rot at Laufey's feet and when that was done his son would have Asgard as well. No being in any of the Nine Realms would not know the name of Laufeyson and it did not matter that Laufeyson was small because Laufeyson would grow. Jotuns always did.

Laufey rose, his gaze still upon the prince. He had a war to win, and yet here he was, sheltered inside his temple to hide his son, his greatest achievement. Whatever the outcome of the war; Laufey's pride rested here. Red eyes moved beyond the small form of the prince to pass over the gleaming walls near shaking with the drum of Aesir warriors as they marched and humming with the battle cries of his own sentries. The Jotuns did not have gods, but he prayed his ancestors, to the ice – to the cold. He prayed to all the Jotuns had; the ice that sheltered them and no other, the ice that was in their very blood, the ice that made them Jotun.

Keep my prince safe, for I shall return for him. This, I vow.

The King of Jotenheim turned and he did not look back, striding away from the ice temple, striding away from his prince and the temple that was all the protection Laufey could offer him. Laufeyson would be safe protected inside the temple, protected by the ice that had always protected the Jotuns. Laufeyson slept, unaware of the war and the battle, unknowing of the ice and the great sacrifice it took his father to turn his back, to walk away and trust that he could return for him, his prince already marked as Laufeyson, the patterns engraved in the skull to set him apart, to set him above.

Laufey walked away because he was a warrior, and he couldn't sacrifice his whole people just to be a father.

The battle was long-fought, hard, lengthy. When it came to pass, Laufey was not the warrior he had always been but a beaten adversary, broken and bleeding on the ice as his armies crumpled under the might of Asgard and the Terrible One marched away with the Casket of Ancient Winters to leave Jotenheim to its ice, leaving Laufey's kingdom and his people to die a desolate death after a desolate life – without the Casket the very heart of Jotenheim was no more.

Laufey's heart, however, was in the temple. Laufey's heart was the prince, the little prince he knew would grow, his son, in the temple where he had left him, safe behind the ice, safe because Laufey had no other choice.

But he arrived at the temple and the ice was slick there with Jotun blood, his soldiers' corpses littering even here, and as he stepped inside there was no prince, no Laufeyson. The temple was empty as befit the heart of Jotenheim without the Casket, without the prince.

The ice cracked under Laufey's weight as he fell, a scream of rage and agony and everything that could never be said letting loose upon the cavern, echoing through the ice and across the lands of Jotenheim as Laufey realised that not only was Odin the Terrible One, the Allfather who had bested him, now Odin One-Eye – he was Odin Thief for he had not only stolen the heart of Jotenheim he had stolen the only heart Laufey had known, his very hope for his kingdom – the prince he'd known would grow. Now he never would. Odin Thief had stolen Laufeyson, had stolen that which meant more even than the war and Laufey had truly lost. He had lost everything.

AN: Random drabble more than anything else – I have a lot of Laufey/Loki feels and I have elected to ignore the fact that Loki was abandoned because he was a bastard and have gone with the nicer way of thinking that Laufey put Loki in the temple to keep him safe. It's not meant to be something super true to the comics, the myths, the films or anything like that – it's literally just my wishful thinking and then typing up the stuff that's spewing out of my thoughts because otherwise I'd not be able to stop thinking about this.

If you read this...thanks! If you want to leave any feedback that'd be awesome – I'm thinking of writing up a bit from Loki's POV of when he goes to Laufey knowing who he is, and maybe something where Laufey realises – basically I have a lot of feelings on this subject and I like writing so this sort of thing happened.

Thanks for reading – drop me a review to let me know what you thought! :)