Cleave | Loki x Reader

• V •

▪︎ of trust and confidence ▪︎

1665, Asgard

Y/n

Upon reaching the tender age of fourteen, it is required of an aspiring warrior of Asgard to venture on their first combat mission overrealms. Almost in every corner across the Nine Realms, there are wars to win; uprisings to quell; ambushes to impede. The Æsir then send their younglings to these sites of distress, so they may prove not only their might but also their undying fidelity to their realm. When the time arrived for the final initiation trial of the princes, they didn't have to wait long for an opportunity to present itself.
Around the Midgardian year of 1665, a small uprising rose in the south of Nidavellir, the home of the dwarves. Following the creation of the mighty hammer Mjölnir for Thor, the golden ring Draupnir for Odin, as well as the great boar Gullinbursti to gift the Vanir god Frey by the brothers Brokkr and Eitri, envy seeped into some Nidavellir folk and greed took over. They believed the smiths squandered their realm's resources and unique magic to be in favour with the gods. Yet Eitri, ever so loyal to Odin, and having taken a special liking to young and ambitious Thor, came rushing to the All-Father to inform him of the traitorous plans his fellow kinsmen had been drafting for a while now. Their intention had been to steal back the gifted creations from the royal palace - making use of the advantage their height served, Eitri had admitted rather timidly. Therefore, a mere day later, in an attempt to ambush their campsite at the river Aeliel, Thor and Loki and a dozen fellow aspiring warriors departed for Nidavellir. Of course, I, had to stay behind.

'Are you nervous?' I asked Thor just before their departure, whilst waiting on the remaining lads to arrive.
'In the face of a great battle? Never,' he took in a breath. 'In the face of my first great battle? I wish they equalled the same, but they certainly do not,' he admitted sheepishly, running his hands through his golden locks in obvious unease.
'Don't think it great, Thor. It's Dvergar you're battling, not Jötnar,' I reassured him, giving him a pat on the shoulder, accompanying it with a playful wink. In his usual boisterous manner, he threw a short laugh back at me.
'You're very wise for your age, Y/n!'
At that, I had put my hands on my hips, mock-chiding him.
'For my age? The gift of my person might have been granted to the worlds centuries after you took your first royal venture out of your mother's womb, but do not forget, Odinson, that I age faster than you do.'
I was about thirteen at the time - considered to be, that is. One could never know for sure with people like me. And throughout my entire life, there has only ever been me.
'Either you are younger than we were made to believe, or I am about to venture off to the home realm of your true father,' Thor retorted, winking at me. All he received was a very well-deserved punch in the gut. A light one, of course.
Thor had already been a giant by the age of fourteen. Loki at that time, on the other hand, only had a few inches on me. Having been rather tall for my age, though, I believed my mixed heritage to be the reason. Yet, the Vanir had always been considered the inferior race of gods in the pantheon - including in height. Eventually, I concluded that my father must have been a very tall man.

'Solely because your body grows and grows, in nothing but a desperate attempt to compensate the thing inside your head that refuses to do so, does not, in turn, make any of us Dvergar, brother,' sounded Loki's voice, saturated with witful sarcasm.
Turning, I caught sight of the young prince adorned in Asgardian armor fit for a true son of Odin. The Asgardian sigil gleamed heavily on his chest plate in a rich, golden shimmer. His black curls lay atop an emerald green half-body cape, perfectly framing the right side of his torso. Settling beside Thor, only then did I recognise his brother donning the same set of armour, though his had been but a normal cape, falling from his shoulders down his back and coloured in a bright red. The way Loki wore his cape gave him a regal air, mysterious even; the mix of black, green and gold on his person painting just the perfect picture for the eye. Do I remember him looking only fourteen? Certainly not.