The Chronicles of Loki: Book One: The Gathering Storm

Chapter One
Fathers and Sons

Jormundgand

As a longstanding servant of the House Farbauti and the faithful bondsman of Lord Loki, it had been Thrimm’s misfortune to interact with a great many unpleasant folk over the years. Ill-bred Jotuns, conniving dwarves, Vanir whores, and bellicose Aesir among others. But no one was more difficult to deal with than the man towering over him at the present moment, Loki’s eldest Jotun offspring, Fenrir.

Fully seven feet in height—a true giant even among a people that were normally over six feet tall—and a veritable mountain of muscle and sinew, Fenrir was a terror to behold. Nor did the face glaring down at Thrimm, with its thick raven black locks, glowering green eyes, scarred vulpine features, and brilliant white teeth make him feel more at ease. Verily, this one truly deserved the cognomen, “Wolf,” which his father had bestowed on him as a young man.

“My Lord Fenrir surely knows that the morning is his father’s time of reflection and meditation. I am under strict instructions from him that he is not to be disturbed.”

“You mean he’s busy reminiscing about his life among his Aesir captors,” Fenrir growled. “Time enough for that when we’ve put that lot to the sword and burned their precious Asgard to the ground.”

“Be that as it may, Fenrir, your father’s wishes are commands I am sworn to obey, with my life if necessary.”

Thrimm’s remark elicited a deep contemptuous laugh from Loki’s son. With his thumb, he pointed to the two unconscious guards in the anteroom behind him.

“They said something similar to me Thrimm and now they’re enjoying an early nap. Come now old man, you know I have no desire to harm you, particularly in light of the fact that you’re family, but I must see him now.”

“Why is that Fenrir?”

“I have received important news that is vital to the progress of the coming war against the Aesir. I know my father would want to hear of it immediately.”

Realizing that any further attempt to dissuade Fenrir from his course of action would be futile, Thrimm asked him to wait while he informed his father that he wished an immediate audience with him. Turning on his heel, the aged bondsman approached the doors to his master’s sanctum sanctorum, the study of his second Jotun son, Fafnir, High King of Jormundheim. Knocking gently, Thrimm stepped inside the room, closed the doors quietly behind him, and stood in silence; waiting patiently for the man he had served his entire life to take note of him.

While waiting, Thrimm found himself once more awed by the space in which he stood. Directly in front of him, behind the large desk at which his master worked, was a beautifully beveled ceiling to floor window looking out across the city Jormundgand and its ship filled bay. Etched in the center of this glass was the god of the people of Jormundheim, the great Ouroboros serpent eating its own tail. To the left and right of this wondrous portal were great book shelves carved into the walls and running the length of the room, and within this shelving Thrimm knew were crammed all manner of manuscripts--histories, atlases, lexicons, works of philosophy-natural and metaphysical-memoirs, art treatises, compendia of magic and sorcery, and even recipes. And in the center of this great storehouse of knowledge, deep in thought and frenetically writing away was Loki scion of the House Farbauti and by dint of that lineage, High King of Jotunheim.

Though no longer a young man, Thrimm was struck once more by how well his master had aged. While flecked with grey, Loki’s auburn hair was still lustrous and wavy. Except for the furrow of his brow, his face retained the fair, almost delicate features of his youth. A smooth forehead atop high well-defined cheekbones. A long aquiline nose, thin lips, and dimpled cheeks and chin. It was his eyes, however, which he now turned upon Thrimm, that were his most arresting feature. Jade green with a hint of gold around the irises. Few could resist their allure.

For a moment, Thrimm was unsure if Loki was even aware that he was in the room. He knew well that far away look in his master’s eyes when he was deep in some reverie about the past, present or future. Whether Loki suddenly became aware of Thrimm’s presence, or had simply completed his train of thought, his gaze fell directly on his bondservant, and a gentle grin broke across his dimpled face, a smile, Thrimm thought, which had won his master the favor of more than one woman, or man.

“Well, old Billy Goat, why the interruption? Have I forgotten to break fast for the morning? Do I need to bathe? Is there some protocol you wish to run me through for an event later in the day?”

“My lord knows it is long past when I deigned to disturb him with such mundane matters. A high king may eat when he wishes, and no one is more adept in matters of protocol across all nine realms than Loki of the House Farbauti. As for bathing, unlike so many of your Aesir or Jotun kin, you have appreciated the benefits of cleanliness since childhood.”

“Ah, a family matter then. Let me guess, Fenrir has important news for me again.”

“As always my lord, you are most perceptive.”

“My son is aware that this is the time of day I set aside for reflection and study?”

“So I informed him my lord, but he was quite insistent that you see him. So insistent in fact that he left two of your guards unconscious in the anteroom. Shall I send him away?”

“No, no. He’ll only become more agitated and likely damage anything or anyone with whom he comes into contact on his way out. He’s been stubborn and headstrong since he was a boy. Send him in, Thrimm.”

When Fenrir entered his study, Loki was once more struck by his son’s resemblance to his mother, Angrboda. Tall, dark, raven haired, every inch a Jotun of her noble house. Only his face with its green eyes, aquiline nose, and long chiseled jaw attested to the fact that he was Loki’s son as well.

“Well, what is it now Fenrir that necessitates disturbing me during the time of day I set aside for reflection? What is it that cannot wait until our regular meeting this afternoon?”

“A missive has arrived from my sister, father. A message of some importance I think.”

“Was this post addressed to you, Fenrir, or me?”

“Why you father, but Thrimm would have sat on it until far too late in the day.”

“I need not remind you boy that Thrimm has been my good and loyal servant since I was a child, and, unlike certain members of my family, he is aware of and sensitive to my needs. Further, if a letter for me from the Lady Hela arrived at any time of the day or night, he knows to bring it to my attention post haste. I am displeased with you Fenrir. You take far too many liberties, show too little respect for my servants and counselors, and, as I am weary of reminding you, you are woefully lacking in the patience and tact required of a son of Loki, a son, who may well be a high king someday.”

Loki paused to let his reprimand have its full effect on his headstrong offspring. The crimson flush on Fenrir’s face signaled that the young man was both furious and ashamed at the same time. “Good,” Loki thought, “my son needs to be reminded of his place, and that it is his father who commands here, not he.”

Taking a less stern tone, Loki asked, “I take it that aside from intercepting a post not intended for you; you have also taken the liberty of reading it?”

“Father, it grieves me that I am such a disappointment to you. As you know, patience has never been counted among my virtues, particularly where our enemies are concerned.”

“And as I’ve told you repeatedly my boy we will be avenged on those who have wronged us, but it will come at a time and place I deem likely to bring victory. In the meantime, you must learn patience and also give my servants and counselors the respect they deserve. If you need to vent your spleen on someone, then do it in the training yard with our recruits. They need your hard hand to ready them for the coming battle with Odin and his brood.”

“Well, what does your sister have to say?”

At the mention of Hela’s letter, Fenrir’s scowl was replaced with a fierce grin.

“Her husband Ragnar will join our crusade. Further, he places the resources and armies of Nifleheim under your command. When you summon them, they will come.”

“Well at least we’ll have sufficient supplies of walrus meat and oil, not to mention Nifleheim’s hearty hunters and fisher folk to throw into the fray. I’m sure the news of this will make the Aesir tremble.”

“I wouldn’t be so dismissive of Ragnar’s people, father. To survive the wastelands of the south requires both iron resolve and constitutions. I can turn them into warriors equal to any of the Aesir’s Midgard mercenaries.”

“See that you do Fenrir. Now leave me, I wish to finish my meditations for the day, and compose a letter to your sister, expressing my thanks for her husband’s support. You will accompany me later this afternoon, to check on the progress being made on our flagship, Naglfar. Contact your brother Fafnir, and tell him to meet us here in the citadel. I have questions for him.”

“As you command father.”

“Oh, and Fenrir…”

“Yes father?”

“I would appreciate your sister’s letter. You know, the...