And with a final glance at his father and brother, Loki released his grip and fell down, into the freshly ripped unknown.
The God of Mischeif was floating freely through the atmosphere without a flicker of reality. His mind had sunk into bliss and thoughtlessness. No more schemes and plots. Just relief. But then, he began to dream.
He was in a bright, white place, and in the distance was his mother Frigga. She was glowing brilliantly, but the look on her face was grief. Loki tried to call to her, but his voice wasn't cooperating. He grew immensely frustrated, and walked towards her. Oddly, he wasn't getting closer. Tears started falling from Frigga's eyes, and Loki felt more irritated with his lack of movement. The faster he went, the further she was. He just wanted to shout to her, and tell her that he wasn't dead. He may have even told her that he was sorry. But he couldn't. All his life, the God had gotten what he wanted, and the word 'couldn't' was barely used. But right now, he couldn't stop his mother from suffering. And it shook him deeply. Loki fell to his knees, willing his mind to go back to the tranquil state it was in before. His silent pleading was useless.
Suddenly, Loki found himself dropping. The sensation of falling was more than just in his dream, because he could hear wind rushing around him. The white dream dissolved into blackness and he opened his eyes. Loki quickly regretted doing so, as he could do nothing but watch, as grey barren land sped closer. He landed with a thud, and unconciousness took over.
When Loki woke, he couldn't tell if he'd been out for hours, days or even weeks. At first, questions plagued his brain like disease. Where was he? How did he get here? Why was he not dead? But as soon as he tried to get up, dizziness pushed him back. His throat was dry and he discovered how thirsty he was. Now was not the time for walking around, completely lost. The God looked around. He could see nothing but a dead-looking tree. The stars were the only light on this strange realm, and it was not one he recognised. There was the possibility of hostile life, but it seemed like there was no life at all. Except for the tree, of course.
Seeing no water or food sources, Loki suspected he would die here. A wave of nausea pushed at him. His body was in no shape to go looking. After a few minutes of pondering, he slowly sat up. He thought he should go to the tree, eventually, and investigate. Loki closed his eyes when blood rushed to his head. He hated being so weak. The nausea had increased and there was also pain in chest, likely from impact. He noticed he was wearing the tattered remains of his robe. His helmet was missing and so was his staff...
His magic! Of course! Loki wondered how he could have been so stupid, and resisted the urge to hit himself. Although staffless magic took considerably more power, it was still sustainable.
The Asgardian concentrated hard to make water with his remaining strength. Sweat broke out on his forehead, then so did water from his hand. The steady stream lasted no longer than ten seconds, but it was more than enough for Loki to drink. The scratching of his throat cooled and the sickness died down. Feeling fresher, he attempted to stand. After a couple of tries, he succeeded. Falling who-knows-how-far from the sky takes some out of you.
His chest throbbed with pain as he walked with a stagger. How long had he been lying there? A few minutes passed and he reached the tree, leaning against it, collecting his strength. Unfortunately, there wasn't much left. Sleep tugged at the corners of his mind. Loki detested being in this weak state. He sat down against the tree, and decided whether it would be safe for one night. But it wasn't like he had much choice in the matter, as he was asleep within seconds of closing his eyes.
Loki woke up, and was quite startled when he couldn't remember where he was. He recalled the events of yesterday, and stood up. He was hungry and thirsty. Being on a mysterious planet wasn't part of his daily routine, but his appetite didn't care. Unluckily, it was impossible to conjour food from magic, so the odds were not in his favour. There didn't appear to be anything except this tree for miles. He turned, looked up at the tree, then jumped out of his skin.
"Greetings. Have y'come from up there?" The girl sitting in the tree gestured to the sky. She looked as if she was asking the weather.
"I... yes. Who are you? Where am I?" Loki's voice was raspy from lack of use. Questions began popping in his mind.
"I don't have a name. Except Laatnahl, but don't call me that. Have y'heard of me?" She began to descend from the tree. She was wearing dusty blue shorts and a torn green dress.
Loki's confusion mixed with annoyance. How could she be so casual? Especially to him, son of Odin? Then he realised that he had vaguely heard of Laatnahl. Only childrens stories and myths.
"I have heard-," his sentence was interrupted by a cough hacking at his lungs. It was so horribly violent, that he tasted blood on his tongue. Laatnahl frowned and produced a goblet of water, but Loki didn't see where from. He took the water and gulped it down, soothing his throat.
"T'happens to most of them. Drink this." The strange girl pulled a purple vial from her pocket. He would have laughed at her foolishness, if he had the breath to do so. The cough returned and stabbed at his insides. There was also more blood in his throat.
"Look, just drink it! See," she took a sip for herself, "T's fine!"
Loki supposed he didn't have much room to argue, so he tipped the substance into his mouth. And unsurprisingly, it tasted absolutely foul. It had the bitterness of lemon, and the saltiness of seafood. Trying not to spit it out, he swallowed it down, and his cough subsided.
"T's the air that does it. Too much dust," she explained simply, "so, y'have a name?"
"Loki Odinson. God from Asgard," he said importantly, towering over her. She'd show him more respect.
"Asgard? Really? Y'should have said something! How is it up there?" Laatnahl grinned, "I'm Asgardian. God, y'say? Odinson?"
Loki suspected that he should be the one asking questions, but didn't ask anything. He would have his turn at interrogation.
"I am the God of mischeif and lies. Brothers with Thor, God of thunder. We are heirs to Odin." To his chagrin, she grew more excited.
"Mischeif? By Valhalla, that's excellent!" Loki raised an eyebrow, "Heir to the throne of Asgard... well, I hope y'won't miss it too much, Nokmun."
"Excuse me?"
"Nokmun. Lie-man. They don't speak ancient Dovah any more, do they... I am thousands old."
"No... I won't miss Asgard?" Loki's eyes widened.
"Oh, y'can't go back. Sorry," she looked down, and kicked the dust. This realisation had just hit him. How would he get back up? Was it even possible? By the sounds of it, the chances were zero to near impossible.
"Can't go back? Have you tried?" He pressed, almost frantic.
"Nope. But many have before you. Don't know if they ever made it. Has anyone spoken of me before?"
"There... there are children's tales of the land beneath the universe. Ruled by Laatnahl, Goddess of wasteland."
The girl's laughter exploded from her pressed lips. She doubled over, and appeared to be tearing. Loki stood, emotionless.
"Goddess...haha, Goddess! Of wasteland! 'Haven't even seen anything past the well, let alone rule...!" Laatnahl continued to laugh, until Loki coughed lightly, and she straightend up.
"Sorry, krosis. You're a bit stiff for the God of mischief. 'M only Laatnahl, or Last-living. But don't call me that, I hate it."
"You mentioned a well," he reminded her impatiently, "how far is it?"
"T'just off that way," she waved her hand to behind the tree, "'Made it when I could still do... magic..." Her face fell as sudden dread took over her features. She grabbed Loki's shoulders and shook him.
"Can y'do magic? Have y'done any!" Laatnahl shreiked, clearly panicking.
Right then, Loki did something very senseless and inappropriate. He went against all clear warnings from the girl and from his mind. Instead, his defense instinct took over, and he sent a blast of magic at her. She was propelled back into the tree with a thud.
"No...no, no, Loki, no, no..." He could hear her muttering to herself. But it wasn't the pain she was murmuring about, or even the fact that he had attacked her.
It was the fact that the ground had started to shake.
Disclaimer: I don't own Loki, or Marvel. Or Bethesda and Skyrim.
A/N: Cliiiffhaaangerrr. Beware of those, I quite like them.
Yeah, thats right. The language of ancient Dovah isn't mine. We'll thank the Skyrim wikia for all translations!
Plus, if anyone wants to help me out a bit, and Beta this story, that'd be great! Just PM me :D
Please review!x
