(A Devotional fictional story for Loki and Laufey; this is not strictly personal gnosis, but it is based on my personal gnosis about Laufey. Still, I’d say it’s fiction. )
Of Mothers and Sons
Laufey stood just outside of the magnificent home of the Gods. Beneath her bare feet, she felt the grass duck low to the ground, and small insects scurrying from underneath her, unnerved but unscathed.
She had always so loved the woods. More times than she cared to remember, she had been warned not to go there. ‘It’s not safe’, they would say, ‘the woods are no place for a Goddess’. Not safe… the words rang in the vast recesses of her memories. And they were right, it hadn’t been ‘safe’. But to her, the love of all things that grow in deep, dark greens and browns had been stronger than even the warning of her own heart could have been.
Where the others would love golden wheat fields, and the warm wool from sheep’s bodies, Laufey loved the dangerous stories a knarled, twisting root would tell as it ran across barely visible trails in the underbrush. Where they would revel in lovely hazel and apple trees, their fruit and sacred woods, she would run among the firs and spruce, and borrow their needlework to adorn her hair. And where others listened to the words in birds’ cries, Laufey preferred the voices and stories of leaves in the wind and underfoot.
Now, she watched in silence as the great wall was being erected, slab after slab of forbidding rock and iron. The works were going fast, too fast. Oh, she knew. She knew her son, and she knew why he had pushed for it so, and her heart warmed in her chest at the thought. But she knew, too, that Loki did not understand, that he could not see what was in front of his all-too-sharp eyes.
He had never understood just how great her love for those wild, untamed things was. And as his mother, she could appreciate the subtle irony in that, for he was by far the wildest of her sons. But all he ever saw was the pain it had brought her.
Of course, it hadn’t been safe. When Laufey had fallen for the unpredictable force of her children’s father, there had been no great wall to keep him and his kind at bay. But she had known, when he consumed her, all it would bring her, both good and bad. And Loki, her wit-fastest son, who had grown up knowing only her torment but never her bliss, had pushed too hard.
He had overplayed his hand—and Laufey knew he was well aware of that, had known it from the start—for the sake of his mother. It wasn’t safe, and he knew it, and yet there was not a force in the world that would stop him. It ran in the family, on his maternal side, and he would learn. It’s not safe, she thought once more, as the sun began to set in the West.
In the night, as she slept among the things she loved, the trees whispered to her again, as they always had. They told her of racing hooves on earth covered in many years’ worth of pine needles, of large, too-dark eyes widening for a fraction of a second, and of the fates of the world changing forever. And as she woke, Laufey gave the trees of herself and asked for their help in seeking out her son. They led her as she closed her eyes and listened for their trusted direction.
She found Loki in a clearing, and saw she was exhausted. Her fair flanks were quivering with exertion, darkened with the damp of sweat. Laufey quickened her step as she padded towards her beautiful son. Her eyes, larger and darker than usual, lit up in recognition just when she stepped into the clearing. And it was at that exact moment that Laufey understood the price Loki had payed, the life that she had created.
With great care, Laufey’s fingers ran over her son’s sweat-drenched coat, brushing her down with only the strength of her nails. Oh, how she felt for her as she picked the limpets from her silky mane and tail. Laufey admired her strong, elegant form, the subtle grey of the markings on her coat, and the dun colouring of her pasterns, muzzle and mane.
Now he would learn, she knew, just as she had learned. ‘I love you’, she thought silently, but stopped herself from saying it aloud. Loki had always known that, and Laufey believed in practical things. Telling him what he already knew wasn’t that. Loki knew its essence, and had taken it with all the consuming greed and entitlement that a son has to his mother’s love.
Instead, she leaned so close to her son’s head that she could see the white of her eyes. Laufey’s arms went up and enfolded her powerful crest as she whispered in one ear words she knew would never have any meaning for him, except from her very lips: “I am proud of you.”
She did not know how deeply her words resonated within her son’s heart; neither did she know how they turned into a well of strength eleven months later, when she became the sole witness to her grandson’s birth. She only knew they rang clear in the wordless melodies she sang for many hours, until her fingers carded through familiar fire-red hair again.