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He could not recall the first one; the time Odin came and stole their people’s prince. He himself an infant, left to the trials of survival for his small size, was only collected again after so many were lost. Ulfr was raised by his own kind, taught his own history, and grew up in his people’s culture. He’d lived believing King Laufey’s son a prisoner, wishing only to go home and, in time, rule his people…

Then Ulfr saw whose side Loki was truly on. With Odin’s son, Thor, and Asgaridan warriors they came onto Jotunheim land. They trespassed, they demanded, they attacked. The lost prince turned on, murdered, his own kind in favor of his captors. Looking over the ruins of his homeland, the bodies of his family, his mate, his future, Ulfr knew he could not let it slide.

He’d been brash though; he went straight for Thor when the god was sent to Midgard, powerless. Ulfr imagined an upper-hand, but not that certain Midgardian’s would have ways to capture and contain him. He let his rage flourish behind unbreakable walls; heard rumors, in the end, their prince made the highest betrayal in killing their king, his father. Still Ulfr waited, docile and patient, for his opportunity.

Surprise that it was the brazenness of his sworn enemy that would give Ulfr what he wanted most. Loki Laufeyson came to Earth to rule only to be taken down by the same men as he. In the rush to secure Loki they’d forgotten about him completely, thrown him in a cell with just what he needed most…the cold.

Out, free, serving under the man he hated, Ulfr would bide his time until he could no longer abide the other’s existence….Until he could avenge what was lost and could never be returned.

* * *

In the brief seconds of waking he thinks he can smell her, then the sheet of ice under him crackles and Asta, his love, is gone. Ulfr turns his head, notes the sun, and sighs.

He wonders how much longer before he can make his move; it feels he’s been waiting eons.

He wonders if the bold one is dead or still lives; it’s so hard to tell with Midgardians.

He sits on the edge of the bed, watches blue patterned hand turn to human flesh with only the fainest hints of his markings remaining, and wonders if the dreams help to push him on or merely hold him in painful past now…