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It's about magic. It always is, and there's always a price to pay. Odin wants all the knowledge in the world. All the power in the world, some would say, but strength is nothing if you don't know where and why to apply it.
"Isn't it what you want, too? All the magics?" he asked Loki one day.
"Only the entertaining ones!" Loki answered.
Loki didn't wish to sacrifice an eye to get wisdom, more because he scorns wisdom than because he wanted to keep all his eyes. Loki neglected to hang himself upside down from a tree for knowledge of the future, because he likes surprises, he said, and he doesn't like pain, Odin added. Loki might have taken that remark badly. The future will tell.
So now, just as planned, Odin is doing it alone. He won't pretend he likes pain. His spear though his body, his blood running, on his mouth, on his eyes, until the remains of what he can drink falls into the void. He dreams about power. He dreams about knowledge. He can't sleep, but he can dream.
On the ninth day, it might be not due to magic, just pure obstinacy, that he can still see. But the fallen leaves on the ground form shapes, and for a brief, glorious moment, he understands the whole shape of the world.
He can also see all the people around him, hanging from the tree, the ghosts of people who looked for the same power as Odin did, and who found it. They're still hanging from the World Tree forever, like an eternally suffering spring of prophecies. Because success doesn't mean you have the strength to free yourself, after nine days. Because as much as Odin would like to triumphantly pull the spear out of his chest and use it to cut his bonds, right now this seems more impossible than beating death itself.
There's a catch, like in everything worth something. So many more people would be trying it otherwise.
Odin closes his eyes. He doesn't even try to read the runes, not yet. They deserve him fully strong, as a victor. He thinks about sleeping. How fleeting is the knowledge that he wouldn't wake up, how much more solid the hope it would give him back his strength!
But there's another hope, warmer, sharper, that takes precedence. As the sun is rising, he can hear something slither on the ground - a small snake. There are too many monsters here. A snake that hasn't been eaten yet is incredibly clever, or has arrived recently, or both.
"It suits you," Loki says, back to his usual shape, slim figure, sharp cheekbones, fire-red hair. "If I could, I would steal the whole tree with you."
Odin feels the joys of victory rush in his veins. Of course, one can't win this trial, not by oneself. And so few people can come here, between worlds, and live. It would have been, for Loki, a real challenge. It was why Odin was hoping for it.
Odin didn't make him promise, of course. That would have been the best way of never seeing him again. Loki is free like water or fire, and he will betray to remind himself of it if needed. This is only a problem if one trusts him, really.
Hoping is another matter entirely.
Loki pulls the spear from Odin's chest, and for a short while the wound reveals his heart, but he starts healing quickly. He already has magic for this. He will heal even more easily from the bruises he gets when his ties are severed and he falls on the ground.
This particular freedom is the best Odin ever knew, the most intoxicating. He won. Joy and triumph and maybe what some might call happiness. As he stands up again, eyes burning with the most tender needs for revenge, he grabs Loki's head and kisses him.
Loki will take it as victory too, saying he managed to seduce Odin; his deft tongue is flickering against Odin's lips, still a bit of the snake. At this moment, Odin doesn't mind. They're able to win at the same time.
"Try it," Loki says, indulging him. He has already walked all over the twigs that made Odin see the magic the first time, but it's in his mind, in his bones, in his one eye now. Loki kicks them, sending them in all directions, and they reveal new shapes...
It hits Odin like a spear through the heart.
Betrayal in the future - he doesn't care about betrayal, Loki always betrays. They swore to be brothers, but not to be good ones. But this day there's a dead child, a son so loved that Odin could go to the world of the dead to get him back, and Loki will kill him a second time, because once was not enough, because it's no longer about betrayal but about cruelty and it hurts him deeper than he could have imagined, deeper than the bone or the inside of the heart.
After a short second of confusion, Odin smiles, a magnificent lie given the situation. He won't let Loki know, he won't snap at him now (killing him, he thinks, won't stop destiny, it never stopped even one prophecy; Loki would do this from the world of the dead.)
"What did you see?" Loki asks.
"Sad things," Odin says, with a pride as fake as his smile.
"Not a surprise," Loki answers, shrugging. “Prophecies will do that.”
Odin wonders if he knows, but it's impossible. It's knowledge only he himself has, with all its weight. It's knowledge he absolutely won't share, because it's the only advantage he has.
He can still remember, like through a fog, how Loki saved him and gave him this victory. Something more powerful than the Gods seems to have taken offense. There is, indeed, always a price to pay.