Thundering winds echoed through the halls, muffling a series of pained cries. The air was harsh, much colder than it usually was around this time. A final cry bounced off the ice-covered walls, laced with pain and exhaustion. The screams that were expected to accompany a birthing did not follow, causing an eerie silence to fill the room. The muteness of the situation seemed wrong. It was only broken moments later that an agonizing shout joined the angered howl of the wind outside.

One servant held a small, whimpering bundle wrapped in fur, arms shaking as he stood by the babe's Sire. Farbauti stared down at his fourth son. Anger prominent on his rough face. Another servant moved toward the lifeless form the rested on the ice, wrapping the larger babe in cloth.

"Give it to me." He snarled, voice deep and unforgiving.

The servant looked doubtful, pulling back and holding the small bundle tighter. Farbauti growled, reaching over and snatching the fur and babe from the other Jötuns grasp. He glared down at the silent child in his arms, it's face still covered in muck from the birthing. He then moved his gaze to the other babe and the pale limb hanging from the cloth. The exhausted figure atop several furs shifted and Farbauti glanced over at his mate.

"What of the other?" rasped Laufey, eyeing the tiny bundle in Farbauti's arms.

"Dead," mumbled the servant, "Has been for weeks."

"Take it to the crypt then." Replied Farbauti, returning his attention to the infant in his arms.

"Give it." Stated Laufey, stretching out his arms. The other Jötun complied, handing over the tiny babe.

The first thing Laufey felt was shame. Shame that he, one of the most feared Jötun alive had birthed such a horrid thing. Then he felt anger. Not only had his child perished, he had birthed a weakling.

A runt.

Laufey gazed up at the icy walls that surrounded him. Thinking what the red from the babes skull would look like spread across the stone like structure. Perhaps it would appease the Gods. It would erase his greatest mistake.

But as he gazed back down at the tiny figure, his feelings once again shifted. He was so small, so fragile in his large hands. A strange sadness washed over him. He had already lost one child, could he really sacrifice another. He wiped the blood from the babes face, sighing as he gazed down at his third child.

Laufey gazed down at the now clean face and realized something strange.

This babe was truly beautiful.

He possessed features much softer than he had ever seen on another Jötun. He looked delicate and fragile, almost in an Æsir way. The Frost Giants were a primitive race with an ancient culture, they were known for their fierceness, not for their looks. The desolate lands of Jötunheim were vast and pure, the only beauty its inhabitants needed.

But there was something else. Something more than beauty. There was power.

Laufey lifted a large finger and ran it along the babes forehead. He could feel it. The seiðr in the infants' veins.

His child would be powerful. He would do Jötunheim proud.

"I shall call him Loki."

-(._.)-

Deep voices thrummed through the large hall. Hundreds of Jötun had gathered in the Temple, each chanting in unison. Numerous Goði travelled down the centre isle, two holding a small stone casket. One stood by the alter, draining the blood from the beast that had just been sacrificed.

Jötunheim was bidding their dead prince farewell.

Laufey stood by his mate and two children, Loki in his arms. The babe was quiet throughout the procession. The older Jötun tried to ignore the sadness that gnawed at his soul. He shouldn't feel attached. He hadn't known the babe, he hadn't even heard its cry. It had never lived in this world and it would be cruel to keep its soul among them.

The third prince of Jötunheim was with the Gods now.

A/N: Yep I am rewriting this. I hope you all enjoyed and thanks for reading~