FALLING FROM FANTASY
NOTE: Apologies in advance to purists who may find my "artistic license" offensive. I realize that Hela is, in the universe of both Marvel and myth, the daughter of Loki (from a frost giantess, no less—my good fellow, you could do sooo much better!). However, for this story alone I am using her alternate name Helja for a Niflheim princess who wishes to preserve Loki for her own purposes…thankfully, Marvel doesn't read this fan site, so I doubt they would object to my slight adjusting of their storyline.
He had fallen before, many times in fact, so this didn't seem very different. But for a descent to last this long had to be…unusual. It felt similar to falling from the treetops when he and his brother wrestled among the wide branches, trying to see who would trip up first—then each trying to reach the bottom before the other, once they both tumbled off.
No, this wasn't the same. He watched as worlds, stars, nebulae raced away as if time had sped up while he stood still. But he knew that their pace was unaltered. It was his body that was outside of time, sustained as if in a vessel hurtling without direction or purpose. His vision soon became a single blur of colors, giving a strangely pleasant peace to his mind. Truly the universe is without end, he told himself as he thought back to letting go of the Odinstaff. Maybe that decision was for the best. Perhaps Asgard truly was better off in the crude hands of his brother.
Fool, he chided. You should have forced Thor to be the one to let go.
He felt his father touch his thoughts, gently, trying to reach him with reason—but Loki would have none of it. He knew Odin wanted to explain, to show him why he was not yet ready for the burden of kingship…but it was too late. The taste of power had ignited in him an unquenchable fire, and he had no wish to hear the logic of how he still had much to learn. Nor, he realized, would he have willingly surrendered that power, even with Odin aroused from sleep. Despite the drawbacks and lack of support from many of the warriors, Loki had relished absolute control.
And now he had absolute and complete loss of it.
It was one thing to walk across the great bridge to another world, or to step through a door opening between realms. It was quite another, however, to slide past these same places with no ability to stop or even slow down. Despite repeated attempts, his speed seemed only to increase; it became apparent that unless his trajectory was deflected soon he might continue forever through this hole in space-time…
Or worse, crash into an object at full speed and cease to exist altogether.
Loki pressed his eyes shut, trying to block out the two unpleasant outcomes. He could feel his skin shred from the speed and the cold, an effect from which even his frost giant heritage could not shield him given such unrestricted extremes. Helplessly he recognized that his body was beginning to distort and fragment, as if claws were shrieking him apart cell by cell. But instead of pain, he was only aware of the ache in his heart as life seemed to slip from his grasp. He heard the thundering cascade of memories that forced him to fight to keep alive, remnants of all that made him who he thought he was, who he could become if only he could halt this aimlessness and stop every molecule from stripping away from him. Nonetheless he soon wearied of the struggle; he began to let himself fail, knowing it was often easier to surrender than to endure.
After all, he could not defeat the cosmos any more than he could change who he was by birth.
Helja watched with sinking concern as Loki released the staff, falling through the forever between the realms—and her own hopes and desires falling with him. So many carefully devised plans, so much she had already put into place, and it would all be for nothing unless she could find a way to manipulate a rescue.
She dared not directly interfere, not with him still so close to Asgard. Helja twisted the ends of her blood-flame curls, chafing with steady frustration. This fall could not last indefinitely; she could already see trouble as the density between the stars quickened. Whatever skills and arts she could use and remain above suspicion would need to be employed without much more delay or both of their futures would be at an end.
Even now she could feel the eyes of Asgard perusing the heavens. No matter how far Loki might fall, he could not escape their searching; from bitter experience she knew that whatever the watchful eyes of Heimdall might miss, Odin's stealth ravens would not. It was with good reason that the Great Hall had held the seat of power for so many ages.
Sensing that his mistress had held an uneasy mood for too long, Synjor quietly ambled to her as she reclined, resting his square black muzzle on her lap, ice gray eyes looking at her with loving worry. Helja's hand drifted to the great wolf's ears and head, thankful that no matter what happened he would be with her. Easily twice her size and weight, the wolfling was still a cub; as one of the last known living members of Fenrir's only litter, it was uncertain just how large he would become. Yet whatever his ultimate size, he would be more than a match for any Asgardian who tried to send him to the doom that had met his littermates. But though Odin himself suspected that the wolf had survived, the dark clouds of Niflheim managed to keep him hidden.
Loki had helped with the deception, and she owed him for that at the very least.
As Helja's breathing became more erratic with each moment of Loki's writhing plunge, her hands twisted cub's dense hair into a painful snarl. Instead of pulling away, Synjor beat his thick tail against the floor in a rhythmic plea, wanting to ease her concern as well as her grip. The long wisps of feathering swept against the lower shelf of a nearby stand, untidily clearing the collection of flasks, shells, capsules, cases—and a dark vial whose green oil oozed onto the white fur carpet.
The sudden pungent odor brought a furious gasp from Helja, eyes blazing as she lost her focus on Loki. Synjor cowered with ears flat and eyes closed, unsure of what he had done wrong but certain he was about to be soundly disciplined. Instead, however, he heard the delightful ringing of his mistress' laughter as she kissed his head.
"Sometimes," she purred as she wrapped her arms around his thick neck, "I think you have Loki's blood in you."
Brushing aside the pieces of the vial that protected the core, she picked the black oblong crystal out from the safety of its hiding place in the thick substance. Even now as she held it up to the light it remained stubbornly obscure, a black purity only visible in the white of her palm.
Her vision converged again toward Loki, whose path now demanded remedy. By her calculations he was on a collision course with an object that would doom her to future more to be dreaded than Asgard's punishment for her interference. Time was short, and she had to prepare as much as she could…
"Come, love," she snapped her fingers toward the wolfling. "I will need your strength and power to do this. My ability alone will not suffice, even with the crystal. I only hope that my skill causes this to work as well for us as it does for the master of magic."
Only Heimdall saw where Loki fell, heard his scream of horror and pain, but in his dazed state he could not get a clear vision of what was happening. Unable to render aid since he was still recovering from his own wounds, the guardian tried using his damaged voice to explain the event to the healers—who promptly calmed his anxiety with a soothing negator, touching his forehead to bend his thoughts away from discord and sending him to a more pleasant oblivion.
Loki roused himself with a start, the strange wet feeling on his legs at once concerning and comforting. He could hear the heavy panting, sense the warmth of body heat next to him, smell a familiar wild odor along with the touch of coarse hair tickling his hand. Despite the pain in his cheeks, he grinned; in whatever place his route might have ended, he knew who had brought him here.
Wherever here was, he mused, his hand idly scratching the great cub's head. Synjor seemed at once pleased and disappointed that Loki was awake; he was enjoying the taste of healing flesh, and Loki was certain that it likely would have gone far beyond a tongue washing if he had taken longer to come around. Nonetheless the wolf snuggled closer, resting his paws carefully on his charge, an invisible guardian to watch over him until his mistress returned.
Looking around was pointless. He was certain that only death itself could exceed this enveloping blackness. Loki reached out stiffly, feeling with raw fingers the oddly blunt edges of the hollow shelter. The bitter cold still seeped through the protective ward of the walls, but he could feel the freezing death course through him with delight. He wondered about the art she used to keeping him hidden, taking note of how her abilities had improved. Yet Synjor's presence was enough to let him know she was still concerned about discovery, making sure that anyone looking for him would be diverted by the monster acting as his coverlet.
Reflexively, Loki touched his forehead. The runic symbol etched as his mark from birth was cleanly felt, reminding him why he was not the least distressed by the frigid shelf beneath him. He could feel his body mending itself, the flesh burned and stripped by his travels already returning to a frosty smoothness—and with it an evolving surge of unleashed power. Closing his eyes to force himself into patience, he idly continued to stroke the nurturing beast next to him.
Heartbeats later, warmth came as a quick breath. Loki looked up to catch the brief view of a stone wall choked with sickly vines and withered leaves. He was doubly pleased with the form stepping through the tear in space. Helja, dangerously lovely, clothed in starlight and ebony, smiled at his progress. The opening sealed itself quickly, leaving the vision to be seen only in his mind.
"Ah, Loki, how wonderful that you are awake at last," she purred, draping herself invisibly around him. Her scent alone was intoxicating enough; in the thin air of the hewn space he could even taste her. Loki was grateful she could not see how truly enthralled he was.
"We dare not stay much longer," she continued, her voice lowered as if ears were everywhere. "Even now Odin's search for you is extending well past Niflheim; it was fortunate I did not secret you there." She gave a short laugh. "Your father is quite determined to find his wayward princeling."
Loki snorted in disgust, but Helja touched him with a gentle rebuff.
"Do not underestimate his love for you," she crooned. "You may have Laufey as sire, but always remember that Odin is your real father. You are a true son of Asgard, and have as much right to the throne as your brother."
The memory caused him to wince, but Helja pressed on. "We have no time for regrets and remorse; you must go quickly to a safer place for healing. This ball of ice has a directional path that will take you near to Midgard. Yes," she continued, encouraged as she sensed his reaction. "The very world Thor has adopted. For whatever reason, he has now decided to give it special attention—and you must as well. Despite the mandates handed down over the ages, you well know how easily we influence them—and how delightful it is to control them."
"Midgard," he rasped through clenched teeth. "But…why there? And why now?"
She paused. "Let's say many of us have…unfinished business there," she replied, finding his hand in the emptiness. "It will give you time to think of your position. Things have changed now, Loki. You are the heir to Jotunheim—or have you forgotten? I am certain that time among creatures so far beneath you will help you…reshape and design your future."
"And yours," he said slowly, beginning to understand. He felt her smile as she moved away, calling his protector in the process.
"I give you aid because I can only begin to repay you for my beloved pet," she said distantly, but he could sense unspoken intrigue in her careful words. "As to my own future…let us say that keeping you alive makes it more secure."
He felt the warmth of a breeze wash over him as she stepped away, Synjor giving a whine of concern as he looked back at Loki. Helja nudged him into the opening as she again turned.
"Your powers are as strong as ever, my lovely one," she called to him. "Leave quickly—this meteor will soon wither in the sun's rays. Once you are safely on Midgard, you will see what I mean. Until we meet again…"
Loki languished in the comfort of the hot tub's bubbling waters, letting the sweet salts continue to heal the last of his wounds. He had to admit that Helja was right. Midgard held many pleasures and amusements, not the least of which was the numerous ways one could find personal enjoyment by manipulating the minds and actions of humans who considered themselves highly intelligent. He had been here before, of course, but this time he was without Asgard's watchful eyes—for the moment.
He knew that sooner or later his brother was bound to find that he was here and seek to prevent him from causing mischief. Loki grinned to himself, tracing circles of ice in the air with droplets of water, his eyes shining as he watched the rainbows reflect against the Italian marble walls of the penthouse bathroom. Too late, he mused as he recalled peeking over the shoulder of the scientist befriended by Thor, trying not to laugh as he and the other so-called experts proposed various possibilities for the artifact they had discovered. That they would even dream of replicating the complex circuitry of the Destroyer was beyond foolish—they lacked access to even the most basic elements needed to make the shell, let alone understand the energy source.
But Loki was certain of one thing: they would not only try to make a duplicate, they would kill themselves in the process if they thought it might give them advantage over others. Their arrogance and greed, it seemed, almost always overcame their scant ability to reason—and he would be more than pleased to assist them in their quest.
Rising from the waters, Loki paused as he reached for the thick towel, gazing at himself in the mirror with a critical eye. The scars from his fall had nearly all disappeared; his mouth was slower to recover from the damage, but as Helja had reminded him, there were many advantages to his Frost Giant breeding. Even more important was the feeling of savage radiance coursing through him, the result of wielding the kingstaff. He sensed untapped abilities now open to him, skills that demanded exploration.
Loki, king of Jotunheim. He liked the sound as it rolled off his tongue. And some day, king of Asgard as well… but there was plenty of time for that. It was now clear to him why Laufey had attempted to take over this world, only losing the war when Odin was told the whereabouts of the Casket of Ancient Winters. Since he was to be ruler of the giants, he also understood that though they were a coarse and unimaginative race of brutes, they were fierce fighters and would follow their king wherever they were led.
His army, however, would have to wait. He was on a world in dire need of strong leadership, and he had the perfect solution to their problems. This time, he swore that whatever needed to be done or sacrificed, he would prove to all of them that he was more than a match for his brother. When he regained the throne of Asgard, he would be certain to never let go—no matter the cost.