The Natura were the earthly protectors of old; the Mater, the Tempest, and the Fera. For centuries had the mother of the earth worked alongside her daughters to sustain their namesake, without peril or decline. Yet, the mortals held only two of the guardians in high regard. There was no more compassionate than the Mater, and no more powerful than the Tempest, but the Fera was no more than a beast. She stalked the night, treading ground with her creatures alone. There was no need for her to present herself to the mortals; no need for a public display. And, until that fateful night, she had been entirely transparent to their eyes. It had been then that the mortals had realised the true face of the beast was not one to be provoked. And they had provoked her, poking and prodding at the beast with their filthy ignorance until the Fera was entirely consumed.
One hundred and seventy-six people were slaughtered that night.
By both her family and the leaders of the nine realms, the Fera was exiled. She was never to set foot on the soils of earth again, nor of any other land atop Yggdrasil. She left without quarrel or qualm, and made her home in the darkest corner of the universe, never to be seen again.
Although, fate rarely sided with the gods.
The god of mischief was stood on foreign ground, in a place where the stars dared not shine. He had brought light with him, however unintentional. Quite distinctly, he recalled his mother telling him as a child that the light within could prevail in the gloom of lesser travelled worlds, though he was in no mind to feel nostalgic or sentimental. He knew what little light there was left of him.
"You have travelled far."
The voice came sailing through the still air like a harsh whisper, from an opening in a rugged wall of stone. It stung his ears to hear, and for a moment he pondered leaving whilst the opportunity still presented itself. He understood that there was little hope for him, should the source of the voice emerge from the cave.
"I have come to pledge allegiance, my lady," he proclaimed, his sights never once leaving the shadowed opening.
"I know why you have come, liesmith," said the voice, grating once more. "Your intentions are folly."
"My lady-"
"You seek to rule the Midgardian realm," it interrupted. "Do you take me for a fool, liesmith?"
"I harbour nothing but respect for the great Fera of Midgard."
"Do you lie to all those whom you respect?"
"I offer you power," he continued, choosing not to answer the question directly. "Once I am king, I propose that we rule the mortals together, my lady."
"I seek no power. It would suit me ill, as it would you."
"I offer you revenge."
"Nor do I seek vengeance, liesmith. Return home, whether it be Jotunheim or Asgard. I care not."
Loki exasperated, gesticulating wildly in his attempt to sway her, "The mortals ought to be punished for their wrongdoing! They mocked you for centuries! They created ghastly images and slaughtered your charge-"
"I know what they did!"
The opportunity had disappeared; Loki could almost physically see it, slipping out of his grasp. The Fera had emerged - he had angered her. He, Loki, was the subject of her rage, and that was not what he wanted. Still, he could only watch as she slithered with an eerie grace from the cave, out of the purity of darkness and into his dim glow. He was the first to see the face of the Fera in centuries. It was a face that could have been beautiful, once, and if it had not that single, unsightly scar, tearing down her forehead and across the bridge of her nose, before curving under her lips and disappearing around the corner of her jaw. Between that, her yellow eyes, and her pointed teeth, he did not know where to look, and he remained soberly tense until the beast retreated, and the eyes and teeth of the Fera returned to a natural state. But that scar still lingered.
"You should not test me," she told him, her voice still cold yet less grating than before. "I have been known to lose my patience."
"As have I."
The Fera emitted a close-lipped laugh, though there was little humour in it. She began to circle him, then, as a predator would her prey. Small noises of consideration escaped her every so often, and Loki did not so much as twitch under her inspection. After a while, she settled in front of him once more, scrutinising his face with an expression he could not read. When she offered him a smile, however sinister, he relaxed slightly.
"You have come to recruit me, liesmith, not for the wrongdoings against myself, but those against you. Wrongdoings, I might add, which have very little to do with mortals. And so I must ask why; why does a prince of Yggdrasil choose to substitute his father for several billion lesser beings to accomplish his personal vendetta?"
"It is not a matter of substitution."
"Is it not?" she asked, once again beginning to circle him. "But it is him for whom you hold all of this resentment."
"I am a king," insisted Loki, yet came to regret it when the Fera halted and quirked an eyebrow. However, she simply smiled in her simpering way and continued after a moment. "I am being denied of my right to a throne."
"Ah, yes ... by Odin or by Laufey, you are an heir. Tell me, liesmith, why you do not return to Jotunheim, and rule your own people?" The Fera waited patiently, tilting her head in seeming anticipation, before she let out a loud laugh of mirth. "Oh, but the word travels! I know all that you have done, and all that you have tried to do. Whispers reach even these corners, liesmith ... whispers of your deceit."
"I do not deceive you, my-"
"Oh, we all know that I am no lady," she interjected. "My very name is an ancient Midgardian term for beast. They wrote tales of me, attested my likeness in their art. You do not question my nature, surely? You understand what I am? My exile was not unjust."
"This punishment is not justifiable," Loki disagreed, turning slowly with each step the Fera took. "After all the mortals did, they still reside on the earth that is rightfully yours, whilst you skirt the borders of the very universe, in darkness and seclusion."
"I was given a position of protection."
"And you honoured your position!" he exclaimed. The Fera had once again stopped, and was watching him inquisitively. He approached her, none too cautiously, so that there were mere inches between them, and when she showed no response he took a gentle hold of her chin. "You and I, my dear Fera, are the victims of misfortune and injustice. Redemption is beyond us." He traced his thumb over the line of the scar below her mouth. "But retribution is not."
He released her and turned to take his leave, walking too slowly for it to be anything other than deliberate. The Fera was wise, as he was very well aware, and would not be fooled by petty trickery or even his silver tongue. She wanted nothing from him, either, and so there was no offering to be made. And in all of his vanity, Loki almost believed himself victorious when the Fera's voice floated over his shoulder from several feet behind him.
"I am in your service."
I am in no right mind to be starting another story when I've already got Wilson and Normies to work on, but the inspiration for this has been haunting me like a poltergeist for weeks.
However, my words are starting to flow again, and I am in dire of a creative sustenance in these boring times.