Chapter One
(In which precautionary measures are ill-begotten, and the world witnesses what may be the beginning of the end.)
XXX
No.
No.
No, no, no.
Of all cruelties-
"They are children!" the anguished scream rented the silence.
Children, babies, his babies, his darlings, lights of his life, why-why-why
Fenris, Jormagundr, Hela-
-you already robbed me of Sleipnir, why
Odin sat on his throne-the monster that dared call himself his father, tyrant, HIS BABIES-watching his son (I am no son of yours, how could you do this) sob with heartbroken abandon, Thor holding him back.
Loki struggled to release himself from the iron grip, raging and snarling and weeping with all the chaotic wrath of a spurned parent.
"YOU TOOK MY CHILDREN! WHY IN THE NORNS DID YOU TAKE MY CHILDREN?"
"Loki—"Odin started, only to be interrupted by a barrage of curses in a number of languages, one melding into the other haphazardly.
"MY BABIES!" Loki roared, pain colouring his tones. "Why?"
The King (oh, the great Odin-King, he who would shun his second-born, he who would steal his own grandchildren from their beds) sighed, as though he was a parent dealing with a particularly bad tantrum (but what would he know of parenting, that one-eyed hypocrite upon his golden throne). Loki eventually quieted, composure stealing over his face, transforming it into a cold mask. Thor looked uncertainly at the way his brother breathed in jaggedly, and exhaled with a strange calm.
(The calm before the storm)
He looked not to his father (what have I ever done to you, to warrant this) but to the Queen (why, mother) who stood next to him, eyes shining with unshed tears. Her hands were clasped in front of her, face uncharacteristically stern. Only the curious brightness of her eyes gave her away.
"What," said Loki quietly, eyes raging-crying-imploring (why why why) her, "have I done this time, mother? To cause such retribution?"
Frigga opened her mouth, and closed it.
Odin sighed.
"Loki, you beget monsters," he said wearily. "They are not worthy…of the royal lineage…"
(Not worthy? Never worthy, am I?)
(My children are beautiful, blind fool; they are wonderful, perfect, BRING THEM BACK)
Loki's eyes narrowed, and he raised an eyebrow. "You believe anything in the slightest conjunction with me is unworthy, All-father."
(Don't even deny it)
(Never worthy, always second-best, shadow to Thor, what worth have I)
(MY BABIES BRING THEM BACK BRING THEM BACK)
(Do anything else, not my babies)
(Take me instead)
"Tell me the truth," Loki whispered. "Please, what have I done?"
(What could warrant this?)
"It is not what you have done," the All-father said. "Nor is it what anyone has done. It is more a question of what will be done."
And Loki felt what would commonly be termed as murderous intent.
Or utter chaotic rage. Quite possibly with a bit of are you really that stupid?
"You mean to tell me," said Loki in a dangerously low voice, barely supressing the urge to stab the All-father and take his babies back, "that you stole my babies from me because of a prophecy?"
(Of all reasons-)
(-if they so much as scratch as single of Jormagundr's scales, there will be patricide done.)
"They are to bring about Ragnarok," said Odin gravely. "Our ends will be brought about by your children, Loki."
Loki spat, actually spat, at the foot of the king's throne. "Prophecies aren't set in stone!" he snarled.
"We can take no chances!" Odin growled, eye narrowing, his hand clenching on his spear.
"If it were the offspring of your precious Thor," came the scathing response, "this conversation would not even happen!"
"That's an invalid point, because Thor would never father monsters!"
"THEY ARE NOT MONSTERS!"
A sharp silence followed Loki's shout.
"You are blinded by love—"Odin started, only to be cut off by Loki yet again.
"-then you are the grandfather of monsters!" he cried. "They are your grandchildren, father please…"
Odin's hard gaze softened, as Loki dissolved into pained, shuddering sobs. "…my word is final, Loki. They will be contained, but well taken care of."
And with that, he tapped his spear on the ground with a resounding noise, and it was made thus.
(Forgive me, my children, lights-of-my-life)
(Perhaps I am unworthy)
Note: So, huzzah, I am back. After a year long hiatus. I am back.
About this little...er, whatever this is; this is just the beginning, by the way. A prologue. I know this has been done and overdone so often the masses are about to puke, but bear with me, mkay?