“Come; let us return to Asgard in triumph! From this day onward, today will be the day all of Asgard celebrates our victory over the Frost Giants!” Odin Allfather raised his spear as his army let out a roar. Heimdall didn’t need any prompting, it seemed, as the Bifrost was opened and the first batch of soldiers when home with smiles on their faces and a roar in their speech. Odin let out a light chuckle as the next batch went up just a loudly as the first; hopefully Heimdall didn’t go deaf.
It was good for him, he supposed, the all-seer spent too much time alone.
“My King,” Odin looked upon his highest warrior. “Would you like to return home first. Our army will part for you and you will lead us home from a glorious battle.” Normally, Odin would not hesitate in leading his triumphant warriors back into Asgard; going home and grabbing Frigga, his wife whom just gave birth to his only son, and kissing her until her lips bruised. Today, though, on this day he did not feel as high as the glory that he would receive; he did feel like he had just won a great battle.
“Folkvar, you have done more on this day than I. You will take the glory that comes with this victory.”
“B-but my King, I-“
“Do you deny the expression of your King?” The fair haired solder splattered in Frost Giant blood felt to his knees and bowed his head in shame as well as honor.
“No, Odin Allfather, if that is your wish than I will fulfill it to the best of my abilities.” Folkvar stood and bowed his head once more before turning and walking to the retreating soldiers with his head held high. The man deserved this honor; he’d slain more frost giants, saved more lives, and protected those who needed him more than the Allfather did on this day.
He still stood not meters from where he’d taken the casket from Laufey’s possession so the King could no longer spread terror throughout the nine realms. He hoped their forefathers were happy with the outcome of their decision to begin war. Many lives were lost, hatred for the opposing race spread like wild fire, and no longer could the frost giants and agrarians live in peace.
Letting out one final breath or relief and letting go of his brooding on the past, the Allfather turned and stepped toward the bifrost; only a few warriors remained.
“Apuuuu…” Blinking, Odin grasped his sword as he turned toward the sound. Was there another frost giant? What fool of a creature would challenge the Allfather one on one?
“Come out you coward!”
“Ba, Ba, Berrrr…” Looking down, Odin eased the grip on his weapon, eyes softened, and his heart melted a bit. There, left out to die, was a child; a runt frost giant child that couldn’t have been more than a few hours old. The markings on his forehead told the Allfather all he needed to know—this was the bastard son of Laufey.
Gently he picked up the poor child by its wrappings, the one who was unwanted by all who surround him, the one who—even though he desperately wished he didn't have to—the one who would die by Odin Allfather’s hand.
Looking down at, no doubt, the smallest creature ever born on Jotunheim, Odin let one tear fall from his eye. Oh, by his Allfather he wished he needn’t do this. Children were meant to live, grow, learn to laugh and love, not be rid of their existence before any joyous or sorrow filled occasion was bestowed onto them. The least he could do was make the death swift and painless; no different from falling into a dream. Taking out his dagger he looked into the little one’s ruby red eyes and tried so very hard not to see his own, newly born son in the child’s place.
“I am sorry, little one.” Debate raging inside of him, he threw all thoughts of pain and injury aside and pressed his lips to the infant’s forehead. It would injure, yes, and his lips would burn to a black but he would return home and fall into Odinsleep then his injuries would heal but this child, he knew no love, was cast aside and left to die. If the infant had only one emotion bestowed upon him before he die, least be it love.
Retreating, the Allfather rapidly blinked in surprise when the infant giggled. His lips didn’t burn and the child, this child of Laufey, its skin of ice retreated and gave way to the complexion of an Asgardian. When the transformation subsided in his hands lay a boy, a small newborn of Asgard, with fair skin, black hair, and eyes that shone brighter than emeralds.
Laughing out loud and giving a sigh of relief, a plan quickly formulated in his mind as he put his finger in front of the babe for his entertainment; the boy was as sharp as a whip, for not a few moments in the small hand wrapped around his finger.
Letting out a booming laugh, Odin quickly turned and strode toward the bifrost; all Asgardians, save for he, had already returned home.
“Heimdall,” His seer needed no prompting and the nanosecond transportation of the bifrost pulled him into the air and up the tree until he was standing in front of Heimdall in Asgard. The bundle still in his arms he strode past the all-seer but paused before he stepped onto the rainbow bridge. “You must tell no one of what you saw here on this day.”
“If my king demands it, then so it shall be.” There was a pause, a tensions break, neither turned to look at one another and neither raised a finger. “If I may be so bold, Allfather, what plans become of Laufey’s bastard child?”
“He will live and be raised in the house of the Allfather. He will become a son of Odin. Then one day, one day this child might hold the key to eternal peace between our realms.” A heartbeat passed.
“And what shall I call this new child of Odin?” Looking down to the sleeping child, his new son, he brushed back a lock of hair.