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Heimdall watched Loki since the day of the prince's birth, at Farbauti's death and Jotunheim's demise. He saw his king take the babe for his own and shade it pink like the Æsir, and he met Odin at the Bifröst when he had finally returned to Asgard.
He cast his golden gaze down to the fur bundle held in the crook of Odin's arm, curious but waiting for his king to speak first.
Odin cleared his throat. "I know you have seen what I have done," he said, holding the bundle closer to his chest. "And I ask that you speak of it to no one."
"As you wish, sire." He would obey, but he doubted anyone would ask.
Frigga did, not two days after Odin returns from Jotunheim.
"Heimdall." She approached him, gentle in voice but with a stern expression. Her mare stood nervous, snorting and raking at the bridge. "You have seen my younger son before he was brought to Asgard, haven't you?"
"I have, my queen." Heimdall stood passive and safe behind his sword. "But if you seek more answers about him before he was yours, I cannot tell you. I am bound by my king to silence."
Frigga smiled and stepped up to his pedestal, the edge of her long, white cloak floating across the smooth floor. "Of course he has," she said in a soft voice. "I will not ask you to break your oath, but I ask for one between us, as the mother of Asgard's newest prince."
He would likely regret this, Heimdall thought to himself, but he was honor bound to both his king and his queen, so he would not refuse. "And what oath shall I swear to you, my lady?"
"Swear that you will watch Loki now and as he matures, and spare an eye for him when the Nine Realms sleep. Swear that you will tell me when his life is threatened, or if anyone in Asgard should learn who he really is." Frigga reached out to lay her hand on the top of Heimdall's sword.
Heimdall took her hand and raised it to his lips for a gentle kiss against her knuckles. "I swear, until the day comes when I cannot watch the Nine Realms."
And only Frigga knew through her clairvoyant eyes when that day would come, but she seemed content enough with his oath for now.
She sent him a basket of warm bread and jam the very next day, and Heimdall ate the loaf at his leisure in his observatory.
--
He watched the princes play and grow; he watched his little sister join them in their games. Sif played as hard and rough as any of the other boys, and Heimdall saw that her lack of interest in flowers or dresses worried their parents. He didn't share their worry; he observed his adopted family with the same indifference as anything else in the universe, though sometimes he spared some attention for Sif.
She knew that he could see anything and everything, and if she asked the right questions she could hear the most wondrous stories. When she finally received her own horse and could ride around Asgard as she pleased, she stopped by his observatory often with a snack, paper, and charcoal.
"Draw me something," she asked, brandishing the art supplies at him like a shield and sword. She may have been old enough to ride, but she was far from a lady. "Something with the elves. Please? You may have half of my sandwich."
Technically, Heimdall did not need to eat for another hundred years or so, but he accepted her bribe. He sat down on the steps and drew a feast held by the Dökkálfar, the dark elves, with dancers and long shadows and tall bottles of wine. Sif sat next to him, munching one half of her sandwich as she watched him work.
"Loki says he's seen the night elves."
The corner of Heimdall's mouth lifted in a small smile. "Yes, he would say that."
"Well? Has he?"
"He has seen their ambassadors to court," Heimdall said as he finished the picture, "but he has not been to Svartalfheim."
"I knew it!" Sif took another bite, and then stood and began to pace in front of him. She brims with youthful energy Heimdall couldn't remember having. Maybe it was because he didn't have royal playmates. "Loki is always saying there are things only he gets to see, because 'he's the prince,' but I don't believe him. He's always reading, which means he can't do half the things he says..."
He let her rant while he drew another picture, this time of nine beautiful maidens with dark hair who lounged in the shade of large palm fronds. "But he has seen those things in books, Sif; it is as close to the truth as a young prince can get."
"But they only have pictures!"
"You cannot see everything in the universe firsthand. I would accept it." He stood and offered the paper to her again. The anger on her face softened as she held and examined it. "Some things are better seen from afar."
Sif rolled her eyes. "Oh, of course you would say that, brother." She gave him a hug around the waist, and he smoothed her blond hair with a gentle hand until she pulled away. "Thank you for the sketches. I'll practice with them tonight." She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek, like she always did when visiting even as a little girl, before dashing off a whirlwind energy that reminded Heimdall of Thor.
Heimdall returned to his duty with fresh eyes.
--
He watched all their terrible years of adolescence. He saw Thor become brash and arrogant. He saw Sif rebel against her parents and the court. He saw Loki find magic and escape into it, away from Thor and all of his friends, away from Odin and even Frigga.
Sometimes, Frigga asked him where Loki went, and he told her every time, but one day he could not see Loki at all. The next morning, Sif rushed to his observatory with her hood over her head, and Heimdall comforted her as a brother for an entire day and night until Thor was able to flush Loki out of his burrow in the northern fields.
Heimdall watched Loki stand and laugh without remorse when he had to face Sif, watched him taunt her further with barely a pause for breath until Thor backhanded him. One return hit escalated into an all-out brawl that stretched across the city. Loki was saved by the fact that Thor hadn't received Mjölnir yet; Thor was saved by his own armor and luck.
"Why do they do this?" Sif asked while watching from the safety of his observatory, the hood still pulled up on her head.
"Because it is in their nature," Heimdall answered, though he already saw Odin leaving the palace to collect them both before any more buildings fell. "You will understand when you have seen more battles with them, Sif."
Sif snorted, but she had a little smile on her face, now, and that was all Heimdall hoped to accomplish that afternoon. "You mean this will appear less idiotic?"
"Never." Heimdall kept the humor from his face, but it was a close thing. "But you will understand their stupidity."
"So you say, brother." Sif looked back out to the city, where a thick plume of grey dust rose up from the toppling of another building. With a blinding flash of white light, a thunderclap rolled out across Asgard, and Heimdall saw the Allfather strike both of his sons.
--
Loki hid in deeper holes and darker corners after that fight and after Thor took Mjölnir for his own. He disappeared from Heimdall's sight for days and weeks at a time, but it only became a concern when Frigga approached him again, asking where Loki was.
"I know not, my queen." It sounded like an excuse to his ears, and yet he had nothing else to tell her.
"What?" Her brows knit together in worry and confusion, and Heimdall swallowed back burgeoning feelings of guilt and failure.
"I cannot see him," he repeated, but for her sake added, "but he usually returns to his chambers...I am sorry I cannot be of more help." And he truly was—but Loki was not an enemy of Asgard, and those were the only individuals that Heimdall must always be able to see. Everything else was optional.
"No, that is all right, Heimdall," Frigga said and turned back to her waiting chariot. "Thank you."
--
For all that Heimdall can see, the future remains a grey, impenetrable fog to him, and that is the only reason he does not scold himself for not seeing the coming of Loki's madness. Fortunately for him, he doesn't have time to dwell: there is always something to watch, like the repair of the Bifröst.
He doesn't make conversation with Loki as he works, and Loki returns the favor while he pounds crystals together and seals them into the edge of the bridge. When Loki first starts working, he can only work half a day before tiring. Heimdall doesn't stop him from leaving.
With each day, Loki works a longer, accomplishes more. Whatever his pace, though, Heimdall remembers that he's only one man, and that the engineers in the city will finish the transport machines and his new observatory long before Loki completes his work. However, no more than a week after Sif tells Heimdall about her time in the market, Loki steps up to him and declares, "I will finish this bridge sooner rather than later."
Heimdall blinks at him, says nothing, and lets him work. He's not going anywhere.
The light of day passes into the glow of two moons, then the dark twilight lit only by distant, multi-colored nebulas. Another day comes, and while Loki's movements drag with fatigue, he does not stop, nor does he say anything.
A spark of light zips down the side of the Bifröst and pops up several yards before the break. It spins itself into an orb, and the voice of one of the city guards echoes through. "Prince Thor wants to know why Loki has not returned to the palace."
Heimdall glances at Loki, who continues pulling crystal slabs from the cart as if he hasn't noticed. "Tell him that Loki wishes to work," Heimdall says on his behalf, "and that he should not be concerned."
The ball of light curls in to a point, drops down onto the Bifröst again, and zips away towards the gates.
The work continues—another day, another night. A visible tremor starts to develop in Loki's hands as his muscles tire, but he doesn't pause for food, drink, or rest. The cart is almost empty of raw crystal, and the nascent edge of the Bifröst gleams under the starlight. The hammer pounds with a predictable, unwavering tempo, cracking the crystal so its splinters can twine with its neighbors...
It comes down too hard, too fast. The tempo stutters, Loki gasps as his hand seizes up, and the hammer falls over the edge and down into the mist that rolls off the edge of the continent.
That must be it, Heimdall thinks, because without such a tool the work is rough, dangerous, and slow. For all the years he has watched Loki, he knows that self-preservation is his utmost concern, yet Loki continues. The fallen prince takes one half-worked block and slams it against the solid bridge, coaxing cracks and splinters in a gross imitation of a hammer, and then pushes it against another block, trying to get it to bond like the others. It won't. The cracks are too shallow.
"Loki," Heimdall says, but Loki keeps working. He pounds his fist against the rough edge, trying to drive the cracks deeper, and there's no hesitation for the pain (if he feels it).
"Loki." The shards cut into Loki's hands, and when he pushes them into the bridge streaks of blood block the light through the prisms. It ultimately won't affect the operation of the Bifröst, but it will dampen the aesthetic beauty of the rainbow, forever give it a dark patch, and Heimdall is the one who has to stand there and see it until the end of time.
He swings his sword and knocks Loki flat on his back, away from the cracked edge of the bridge. Loki scrambles to push himself up, smearing blood wherever he touches. He's tired and uncoordinated, and Heimdall knows that there won't be any more construction tonight.
"Laufeyson," he says, nearly shouting, and Loki stills, shivers, and stares at Heimdall with wide eyes as he approaches. He looms over Loki, his helmet casting a shadow on Loki's pale face. "Return to the palace. Your work is done for now."
"I can finish this," Loki insists as he pushes himself to stand—blood stains his trousers at the knee, at the hip—and he sways a little on his feet.
"What you would finish would not be worthy for Asgard." At this, Loki scowls, and he stumbles dangerous close to the edge, but recovers. Heimdall is not impressed with his persistence. "Go, before Thor comes to retrieve you from your madness."
Loki laughs, hollow and mirthless. "Who do you think has given it to me?" Not waiting for Heimdall's answer, he begins the long walk back to the palace, the bridge echoing with his uneven steps. Heimdall watches him leave, every step becoming heavier, and when Loki is out of earshot, he taps his sword against the bridge. A ball of light jumps up and hovers before him, waiting.
"Tell the Queen that Loki is heading towards the palace, and that he requires her care." Loki may not be an Odinson now, but Heimdall has seen nothing that severs him from his mother.