Chapter Text
Your outfit is going to get ruined on public transportation, my brain goblin mocks.
Well, an Uber is more expensive, and I don’t want the awkwardness of having a grown adult confused as to why a teenage boy in a suit is traveling alone.
I see a woman in a plain tux wave me over. A metallic name-tag identifies her as Lexi.
“Hello!” She chirps. “What’s your name?” She holds a clipboard inscribed with way too many names to count.
“Magnus Chase.”
She scans the first page, quickly finding it. “Right this way, please.” She smiles, opening half of the large double-doors behind her. “I love your suit, by the way!” She adds shyly.
With that, I head through, her staying behind to welcome others.
I never liked parties to begin with. At least in the Hotel, you can run away or kill someone, or both, and nobody even bats an eye. I can’t do that here. Definitely not the murder part.
A large line of tables sit against the wall, catering still covered securely, plainly marking it off-limits. On the next, bottles of golden alcohol glittering in the artsy lighting. Weddings have different aesthetics these days, and I don’t know if I like it or not. To my surprise, it’s not champagne, but rather, mead.
Beowulf Meadery
Since 1189
That’s impressive, and hopefully not indicative of a trap being set to catch a Norse demigod. I really hope not, because it looks like good mead.
When I turn around, I see a lanky child in a dress staring at me. The heterochromia is the next thing I notice, one gray, one green. The stark difference is actually a little spooky. Wearing a black dress shirt and an intricately decorated dark green pinafore dress, thick black hair held back by a matching green headband.
She tilts her head and gods this is like a creepy child in a horror movie. “Who are you?” She asks, voice flat.
I nearly scream, which is embarrassing, because I’ve faced much more intimidating enemies and come out alive. Well, not completely alive, but you know what I mean.
I laugh it off anxiously. “I’m Magnus.”
She keeps staring.
”Um… what’s your name?”
She inhales sharply like I’ve startled her, running off before I can even blink.
Note to self: don’t ask creepy children for their name.
Trying to forget the spooky kid, I decide to make an attempt at mingling. A few teenagers are present, and a sizable amount of young adults, a few noticing my apparent loneliness. Blessedly, they actually try to interact with me, and for once in my eternal teenage life, I don’t feel like they’re making fun of me.
I’m engaged in some conversation about college class requirements and the nicest professors at Harvard, when a dog catches my eye. A beautiful German shepherd, calmly looking around from their spot at their blonde owner’s side.
Next to the blonde man stands another with salt-and-pepper hair, an arm slid into a forearm crutch. They both seem to be involved in their own conversation with other adults, and now I see the kid from earlier run up to the pair, still visibly anxious. The blonde turns aside, speaking to the other man, and I get the bizarre feeling that in a few minutes they’ll come looking for me.
Maybe I offended the child? Or maybe I’m just interesting? Hopefully they won’t ruin this wedding and try to kill me.
Like some sort of perfectly-timed distraction to save me from the oncoming attention of a possibly displeased couple and their child, another staff member in a tuxedo calls everyone’s attention, instructing us to find our spot at the tables, mentioning that while it’s alphabetized, it goes by family name, so each group can stay together. Now it’ll be even more obvious that my uncle couldn’t come. Great.
Oh. Even more not great.
I get confronted with my girlfriend’s mother.
He just stares blankly in my direction, and I recognize him as the blonde with the dog. He looks very… nice. The scars on his face seem to be gone entirely. He doesn’t look phased by me at all.
As I stare back, to assert dominance of course, I notice a peculiar detail. His eyes are green.
It feels like reality has been twisted, noticing the next person, the other man he’d been standing with.
Randolph Chase.
My uncle looks just as surprised as I am. I can see practically every feeling in existence pass through his eyes, but it’s not visible on his face.
The girl chooses now as the perfect time to reappear, pointing at me enthusiastically. “See!”
Randolph opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, thinking better of it.
Possibly-Loki seems confused, but it only shows in his voice. “What am I missing?”
The girl moves over to him, whispering louder than was probably intended. “It’s Magnus Chase.”
And then he freezes, before forcing a smile onto his face. It looks like he’s sick. “Wonderful.” He says, with blatantly false happiness. If this really was Loki, he’d have insulted me by now, or tried to broker a deal. He wouldn’t be failing at sarcasm. Sarcasm is Loki.
“Why don’t we sit?” Randolph offers, trying to defuse the tense atmosphere. I don’t know about his injury, but it’s probably better for him to sit than stay standing with his shitty knee.
We all awkwardly take our places, the table for 5 having an unoccupied seat, leaving me sitting next to my uncle, with an empty chair separating me from the girl.
“You probably have a lot of questions.” My uncle sighs, looking defeated.
“Probably? I watched you fall! You died!“
He’s silent, and I swear it looks like he’s going to cry. Never in my entire life have I heard of Randolph Chase crying . ”I did.” His voice is shaking.
The girl’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of us, concerned. Loki’s doppelgänger puts a hand on my uncle’s free shoulder.
“I didn’t-“ his voice stops, and he slowly takes a deep breath. “They weren’t… they weren’t there.”
“What?” I’m confused, but I think I’m starting to understand what he’s trying to say.
“When…” he splays his hand, trying to imply the event, “they weren’t there. Caroline, my daughters, your mother, my parents… none of them were there.”
He seriously can’t catch a break. It also revives the question of where my mother’s soul is. Not Valhalla, not Folkvangr, not Helheim. How many other afterlives are there in the 9 worlds?
The girl seems out of place, and I can see her struggling with the sensitive topic. As the other man tries to comfort my uncle, she stares at me, as if silently asking for help. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s thinking right now.
The blonde man smiles softly at my uncle, speaking in a reassuring tone. In Old Norse or something similar. I’m not surprised, honestly.
Randolph nods slowly. I can glance over, barely making out the writing on the name cards. While my uncle’s is properly written, I’m pretty sure Henrik Larson isn’t the real name of the man accompanying him. I can’t read the one sitting in front of the kid, though.
“So, Magnus,” my uncle begins, still emotionally recovering. “This is Helblindi.” Am I supposed to know that name? I get the feeling I am, and that he expects me to. That solves the mystery of the name card.
“Don’t make jokes about my name.” The subject deadpans.
Skipping right over the discreet threat, he continues. “And this,” Randolph gestures to the girl. “Is my son, Sigurd.”
Oh… so Sigurd is a boy. Okay. Not that I really care either way, I just didn’t expect a boy to be wearing a dress with long hair. Curse these heteronormative dress standards! Not to mention, he dresses better than plenty of male or female einherjar. I’m a little jealous.
Now I’ve completely missed the son part. Not only is Sigurd a boy, he’s Randolph’s child. As in, had a relationship with someone who was not Caroline.
There’s really no other guess: Loki.
Considering the other individual accompanying him, I’d say it’s a strong possibility. Maybe.
“He’s turning 11 next month.”
Rather than smiling, Sigurd frowns at me. I do not like seeing that look on his face.
I can tell Randolph is trying not to dive right into the giant pool of trauma and emotional turmoil, but we have to do it sooner or later. I’ll give him a break, though, since that pool is pretty deep.
”Magnus, you must have a lot of questions.” Hel ventures, removing some of the pressure.
“That’s an understatement.”
”Pick somewhere to start, then.”
”Okay, first off, why aren’t you dead now?”
My uncle sighs. “Hel, the goddess,” clarifying: not the Hel sitting next to him, “decided I was needed. So I got sent back to the worlds of the living.”
“Needed for what?” Freeing Loki a second time, perhaps?
“Raising my son.”
“Oh-“
“So… I was… revived? I guess? Back in October, and I’ve been living with them since.”
“So who is he?”
“Hel?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to take a wild guess that he isn’t a human.”
The not-human raises his eyebrows. “What an astute observation.” Now that he’s not shocked by my presence, I guess the sarcasm is coming naturally.
“Okay, but who are you? Do you happen to be related to you-know-who?”
Helblindi, whose name is really something I don’t want to say every single time, picks up the question quickly. “I keep getting told I look like a slightly bigger version of him, so I’m surprised you even feel the need to ask.”
“Fair point.”
He takes a sip of his drink, eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. His mood seems to have soured, he’s not even looking at anyone.
I lean over to Randolph. “Is something up with him?”
He doesn’t get to answer before the definitely not upset giant interrupts. “I’m not Deaf.” He growls, before sweetening his tone to a sickening degree. “Why in the nine worlds would you think I’m upset? You only re-imprisoned my older brother after he was tortured for nearly two millennia.”
When he puts it that way, I can understand where he’s coming from. “I don’t think this is the right time or place to have this discussion.”
He smiles, but it says I’ll tear your heart out while you watch, and not, I’m so happy you’re here! “Then where is? When is the right time?”
Now it’s time to use what I learned in Not-to-the-Death Therapy. “I understand you’re upset, but could I please talk to my uncle? Just the two of us?”
He frowns, holding Sigurd’s hand, and with the other, the handle on the dog’s vest, as they get up from their seats and walk away.
“Is he blind?”
He sighs. “Yes, he’s blind, Magnus. Why do you think he had a service dog with him?”
“Oh… That makes sense now.”
“His name literally means All-Blind.”
“Did you really expect me to know that?”
He smiles. “Nope.”