Author's Note: So, I was requested to write a Loki/Daenerys story by Rin Shirosaki, and so here is the prologue. I'm not really sure about this one, as I had long ago decided to not write any GoT/ASoIaF stories simply because I don't think the type of politics and war strategizing used arereally my thing, but I decided to give it a shot. The Loki portrayed in here will be more closely related to the one in my story Mutual Enemy than in In That Moment, but a bit more psycho. But not too much. Probably. Anyway, this chapter shows Loki's introduction to the GoT world and his thoughts.
When he let go of the staff, allowing himself to fall into what could only be the nothingness of the universe, Loki had accepted that his death would quickly follow. He had hoped, secretly, that perhaps he would fall to Midgard, so that he may let out his anger on those his brother cared so deeply for. There was a part of him, a part he buried deep inside behind false confidence and sly words, that dreaded the possibility of him falling into the hands of a being much stronger than himself.
He couldn't have imagined the place fate would so callously throw him into.
It was a strange world, truly. It was like nothing he had ever seen or heard of. It shouldn't have existed. It was as if it were created in the image of the two worlds he had become so very familiar with in recent times. Not quite Asgard, and not quite Midgard. Though, admittedly, it was much closer to Midgard as it was centuries ago. The humans—as they obviously were, there was no god-like quality to the beings that inhabited these lands—ran around, swinging their swords in a pathetic mockery of those in Asgard, much like the Midgardians before they created their deadly machines to fight for them.
They all spoke languages Loki had never heard before, taking a whole day for the All-tongue to notice the shift in words before he was finally able to understand and converse with those around him. Not that he really did much talking, too absorbed in his observations.
Just like the Midgardians of old, these people were strongly religious, worshipping their own godly figures that Loki highly doubted existed. While there was a new feeling in the air of this wretched place, it was nothing like the magic and wonder he could feel in any other world along the Yggdrasil.
Still, it was curious.
For many months, Loki wandered. He studied the familiar routines these people followed, comparing them with what he had seen in Asgard and Midgard.
In his mind's eye, he pictured Asgard in all its golden and regal beauty, its people powerful and courageous—and sometimes less than intelligent. He recalled Midgard, colorful and loud, with its poisonous air and people too free for their own good. But this new place, it was broken. It was wrong.
But it was a puzzle, it was confusing, and it was incomprehensible—Loki wanted to learn it. He wanted to know everything about it, to see it all, to shape it, to own it—
He wanted to rule it.
Loki soon realized that he was not the only one with this desire.
The Iron Throne, a chair said to be forged by the breath of a dragon, made by the swords of the thousand fallen warriors of the conquered kingdoms many years ago. It wasn't difficult to discover the many plots behind the taking of such a seat, the many mortals festering in the shadows, waiting for the Game to begin.
Although Loki knew it would be only too easy task to take the throne from the current "King," some drunken fool by the name of Robert Baratheon, he would wait.
Loki was no fool, quite the opposite, really. And so, he would wait until it was time to take, not only Westeros, but also Essos and Sothoryos, and the numerous islands scattered across this world.
He would have it all, and it would be nothing short of glorious.