Legacy

Flashback

Ollerus's presence was the only thing keeping him from losing it. The boy was a calming breeze of innocence and optimism in a room stuffy with distrust and unanswered questions.

"What does that mean?" His son pointed to a pulsing image in the multilayered, mystical chart hovering over Sif's body. Its complex data was being sifted and manipulated by two pairs of hands, both old, wrinkled, and amazing at their craft.

"They're getting closer to finding a cure," Loki said softly, regretting that he couldn't offer a better explanation. Eir and Odin were channeling magic beyond his understanding, and not for its complexity, but for its orientation. Light was like a foreign language, learned best through immersion rather than books, a culture that shunned him at the gates.

Ollerus looked at him with eyes warmed by compassion. The intuitive youth could sense the tension and all the unspoken grievances built between the time of Odin's awakening and now. "She's going to get better," he smiled.

Loki's return smile was forced. He hadn't the capacity for the genuine thing, not while he was depending on the being he despised the most to save one he loved. This was a torture beyond anything his flesh had ever endured, probably some sort of recompense for underestimating Angrboda, a being who was quickly overtaking Odin's place at the top of his hate list. At what point had the rug been pulled so cruelly from beneath his plan that he was to end up here, helpless, useless, and practically speechless since Odin caught him wrestling with Thor over some stupid Midgardian computer.

"See, I told you," Thor had said, snatching back his device. "It was our fighting that woke him up."

Loki had been too paralyzed by Odin's appearance to argue back. The events following all seemed to blur together in a stupefied dream, Thor pulling them off the floor, slathering the old badger with praise and gratitude, then guiding him into the healing chamber while he explained why they woke him up. At one point Odin had squeezed Loki's shoulder with an unspoken relief, but the moment was shortened, thankfully, as Eir descended up them and scanned Odin's state of health.

He watched from behind as the All-Father worked, noting the creases and folds in the regal armor where flesh once fit it. He had withered even more since Loki last saw him. According to Frigga's observations, he has been deteriorating ever since he used dark energy to send Thor to Midgard while the Bifrost was disabled. It showed in the thinning of his hair, the dullness of his beard, and the deeper set of his eyepatch. He was no longer the stout ruler of Loki's youth, but a shadow of a king ready to be succeeded.

Any other time, Odin's failing condition would be a pleasing sight, but not today, not when Loki needed him at full potential. Funny how tragedy had a way of shuffling the deck. No longer was the throne at the forefront of his mind. It had been crowded out by fear, grief, and regret. He couldn't decide what pain was more pressing: what he would do if he lost Sif or what was he going to tell Ollerus regardless of Sif's fate. To tell the truth would risk losing his son's love and Loki wasn't certain he could handle that on top of losing Sif. However, to lie would only perpetuate a detestable legacy that would stop with his parentage. Loki has lied enough to his own blood, from the empty promises made to Fenrir to the bargain he never intended to honor with Hela. Ollerus would not join the ranks of the deceived.

But how was he to tell him? When and where? Certainly not in the chaos of Sif's unknown fate. That would be a disaster. He had to wait for the right time, choose his moment appropriately, and in the meantime be as truthful as he could. Ollerus deserved no less.

Loki stood back from the healing table, one hand resting lightly on his son's shoulder while Thor stood vigilantly at Odin's side, monitoring him closely and steadily annoying the piss out of him.