“We don’t get given a lot of second chances in this life. My advice? Don’t fuck it up.”
—Tales of Midgard, Volume 18
12 Months Later
“This is it,” Eir said. “One more push.”
I couldn’t. I needed to catch my breath, to stop the pain. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Somehow, I’d forgotten how truly horrific childbirth had been.
Loki pressed kisses into my shoulder, holding my weight on one side, while Idunn held the other. “You can do this. You’re so close, darling.”
I nodded, unable to choke out anything to say. I took a deep breath and pushed. Just like when Váli was born, a celebration swelled on the other side of the door as my family waited on the birth of our new baby. They roared when I did, a war cry shared between us. I pushed and breathed and cried until I thought I would carry on like that forever. And then it was done.
Eir swept the baby up into her arms. She wiped the fluid from the child’s face and waited. No one spoke. I’d never heard such silence in my life.
And then the baby cried.
I fell onto my bottom, laughing with relief.
“You did it.” Loki took my head in his hands and kissed me. “You’re incredible.”
“I’m tired and disgusting.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
Idunn reached over and pulled a bowl of water closer. She gave me a smile and handed the bowl to Loki. “You’re still incredible,” she said.
While Idunn went to help Eir with the baby, Loki dabbed the cloth against my face. I was so warm that the water felt chilled. He slid the cloth down my cheek, then along the line of my chin. He was so gentle that I could’ve fallen asleep while he worked.
A smirk slid its way onto his face. “So. How soon would you like to have another?”
I groaned, slapping at his hand with what little energy I could muster. “Never. I’m never letting you do this to me again.”
He put on that look of false offence that he was so good at. “Me? Do this to you? These things take effort from both sides, you know. You were there; you should remember.”
That was enough to make me crack a smile.
Idunn came back and helped Loki get me into bed. My eyes were already fluttering shut, but I wasn’t going to sleep without seeing my baby. Eir came to the bed, the tiny bundle in her arms. “A boy. Congratulations.”
She passed the baby to me, and I nearly sobbed just looking at him. He was wrapped up in a tiny blanket, his little round face sticking out. The wisp of hair on his head was brown, and his skin was like fresh snow.
Loki crawled into bed next to me, leaning over us. “He’s so beautiful. And wrinkly.”
I smiled up at Loki and shuffled the baby into his arms. “Hold his head. Like this, yes.”
Loki held him so gently as if he were glass and might shatter with a breath. I laid myself down in the sheets, my head against his hip, and drifted off to sleep to the sweet murmur of Loki making promises to our son.
◦ ● ◦
We took our time finding a name for him. We’d thought of many, but now that he was here, none of them seemed to fit. We poured over books and listed the names of distant relatives, hoping to spark an idea. Eventually, I found myself staring into his tiny face, hoping he might reveal his own name if I looked hard enough.
And then on the fifth day, we found it, tucked in the back of some ancient textbook. Narvi Lokason was named by his father, surrounded by our family and friends. The evening was full of food and drink and merriment, made more beautiful in light of past pains. Loki took in every moment as if nothing else in the world had brought him more joy. And perhaps nothing had.
It would be a lie to say that everything fell into place after that. It didn’t. We struggled with having two young boys and a spirited pony. Narvi fussed through the day in a way Váli never had. He had an incessant need for physical affection, which was endearing when it was suitable and irritating when other things demanded our attention. And demand they did.
Sleipnir needed to be groomed and tended and taken out to run and frolic. He could be destructive if the mood suited him, and it took a great deal of expertise from one of Asgard’s best horse breeders to teach Sleipnir the things a horse should know. His needs were entirely different from the boys.
Váli couldn’t be set within arm’s length of his brother, otherwise he’d begin to yank at his hair or limbs. Loki insisted he was just curious about his new brother, but I saw the mischievous look in Váli’s eyes. He couldn’t even stand to let Narvi sleep. In order to keep the peace, we often kept the baby strapped to one of our chests, where he could coo and drool away from the reach of Váli’s eager hands.
They slept in shifts, meaning we did as well. Sometimes, Loki would wake for the day as I was crawling into bed. I stopped living by the illusion that the day began with the sun and instead let the beginning of the day come whenever it had to. Often, it began at noon and ended in the early hours of the morning. More than once, we came close to putting the boys to sleep with runes, but thank the Nornir Idunn was happy to step in before it came to it.
One day passed and then the next and the next. One morning I looked up, and summer was gone. By the time we got the boys sleeping on the same schedule, the snow had begun again.
Despite the exhaustion and the bickering that seemed to occur daily, Loki thrived as a father. He tended to the boys and to Sleipnir, giving them as much of his time as he could stand to give. He still ran errands and attended to the odd task from Odin and took up the wolf’s share of the cooking. Best of all, his busy schedule kept him from getting himself into any real trouble. Sure, he was caught cheating at a round of dice or committing some small prank in Valhalla, but I was thankful that he’d stopped coming home bleeding.
And me? I was tired, but I was happy.
Other babies were conceived and born as ours grew; Sif gave birth to a girl named Thrud, and Thor’s mistress surprised everyone by showing up in Asgard with a pair of half-grown boys, Magni and Módi. That left Thor sleeping in our spare bedroom for a while. Freya, never one to be left behind, had twin girls, Hnoss and Gersemi. Time passed as the children grew up together, though some gods were happier about that than others. Narvi was too sweet for their war games, and Váli sent most of them home crying. Not to mention a nearly full-grown horse to keep them company.
I blinked, and four years disappeared in front of my eyes. Gone, just like that.