CHAPTER 1: Ginnungagap

A note before you commence reading:

I am not the best marvel fan out there. I'm the average fan, the average viewer who knows what's going on in the movies, but won't remember details. This fic is Loki-centric, so you won't see any other marvel stuff going on, mostly (mostly).

Also, I have done little research on norse mythology, but considering that the tale presented to us in the Thor movies diverges greatly from actual myths, I will also take the full liberty of writing things that do not agree with the legends. Though I'll get my inspiration from them in some instances.

Anyway...In other words... This is an abomination. But I love trash like this.

If you still want to read, I greatly appreciate it. Here you go. This is set after Infinity War, following the launch of the murdered Loki and half the Asgardian population into space by Thanos. Sad times.

CAUTION: I haven't proofread. I apologise in advance for the wrong spelling, grammar and everything else.

Loki... Loki, son of Frigga, son of gods, son of giants, the son of magic, no, the god of magic...

God of Mischief.

Ah, yes. God of Mischief. That's what people recognised him as in the past centuries. He had grown used to the title. Loki of Asgard, god of mischief, Loki, brother of Thor...even.

Thor? Asgard...no, it was gone. The people... Thanos...!

"Aaaarghhh!"

With a cry that send currents of pain through his lungs and throat, he arose.

"Lie back down, child," a creaky female voice he did not recognise commanded.

A hand pushed his head back rather ungently. He winced from another surge of pain, a groan escaping his lips despite his efforts to withhold any signs of weakness or ungracefulness in front of whatever idiot had taken him as prisoner.

"Stop squirming like a maggot," the voice spat, and immediately, all muscles on his body went loose. Loki felt like that one Midgardian food , the noodles, that were all wobbly when boiled. He tried desperately, yet his body did not obey his mind. Magic, he concluded, and powerful too.

Loki tried to focus on his surroundings but to no avail. No squinting would clear the blur in his eyes. Everything felt out of place, his senses were dull. He himself felt like he was underwater, floating and unbalanced. If there was one thing that scared Loki, it was not the unknown in itself - it was the loss of means to understand it.

"Who are you?" he finally uttered, somewhat demandingly.

"I have no name, child."

He scoffed.

"None that you should concern yourself with.", the voice continued, "It wasn't a concern of your mother's either."

Hands reached out blindly and grabbed clothes, the paralysing spell broken in an instant. Loki twisted the fabric, bringing whoever it was closer to his face. Was the woman scared? He couldn't tell. But she better be making an expression of utter fear. "Who are you?" he repeated.

"Do not lay hands on me, child," the voice replied, perfectly calm. "If you value your life, you shall stay put lest I cut off your cute little blue fingers one by one and feed them to the fire demons of Muspelheim."

Loki found himself being grounded by the same spell as before. He let out a grunt. This time, the magic was stronger. There was no getting away. How did that woman even know about him being Jotunn? Confusion overwhelmed him.

"I am someone of no significance other than what others make of me. Your mother, Frigga, told me a great deal about you. You and I, we both seem to value our significance based on others' perception, ironically. I decided that maybe as a show of gratitude towards your mother, I should save one of her beloved sons. I wish I could have seen her before her passing. Shame. You really couldn't hold your tongue, could you? Stairs to the left... Stupid child. Though I suppose you shan't be blamed, as it was not your intention, certainly."

He wanted to strike that old hag, wherever she was, to scream and let her feel his pain when she spoke of his doings, for how dare, how dare she-

Something clicked in his racing mind.

"You. You're a witch," Loki whispered, his anger gone.

"I suppose I am."

"You raised Frigga."

" 'suppose I helped with that too."

Loki stayed quiet for a second, contemplating. The echo of something dripping in the distance, painfully slowly yet undoubtedly rhythmically, sounded in the silence. "What happened?" he asked finally.

"The Mad Titan, known as Thanos, killed you."

Yes, Loki vaguely remembered bones cracking. Ouch.

"Then disposed of you and half of the people of Asgard that were on that ship."

"Disposed, what do you mean, disposed-" he spoke fast, the lack of clear memories making him uneasy.

"Half of Asgard was left to die in emptiness, airless and barren, where no warmth ever reaches. He threw you into space, child."

"The people..."

"None of them made it. Rest assured, your brother Thor still lives."

Loki fell silent again, feeling ill. The urge to ask any more questions had vanished. He wished himself into oblivion. And surprisingly, it came, as a soothing sleep spell that he knew he hadn't cast. Sweet numbness started to spread everywhere, soon spreading to his mind, slowly dragging him into nothingness.

"Your soul had not strayed too far for me to reach. It was an easy fix to bring you back, since your body fared alright in the conditions of cold thanks to your ancestry, and with the help of the fading remains of your magic protecting your corpse. I have to say, it was impressive. It's to be expected however, I suppose. You have a purpose to fulfill, after all, as an apprentice."

Before he sank into unconsiousness completely, Loki managed to mumble one last and crucial question:

"Where?"

"Ginnungagap, child. Now hush. You need rest."

Hah. As if he'd believe such a blatant lie.

It was an old bedtime tale. Ginnungagap was said to have resided between Nilfheim and Muspelheim, a gap between them in the times before time. His mother often read him stories when he was little, about heroes and wars and all sorts of myths with monsters. He remembered quite a lot of them, but Ginnungagap was a place, not a person nor an adventure, having nothing worth remembering as such - yet he recalled it because of its dispicable discription of a monster, the first Jotunn, the first Giant, which made every child laugh and ask their mother when the heroes would come to slay it. And slay they did. The stories always ended with the slaying, of course.

From Ymir's flesh the earth was created,
And from his blood the sea,
Mountains from bone,
Trees from hair,
And from his skull the sky.

And from his eyebrows the blithe gods made
Midgard, home of the sons of men
And from his brains
They sculpted the grim clouds.

Loki's mind drifted from those quotes, to candle-fires shedding dim light on his bedroom walls, to the tender hands caressing his cheek while he lay on soft pillows, to the lullabies that brought him sleep on the darkest of nights. And soon he lost himself in sweet thoughtlessness.

So there it is, first awkward chapter, yay. I hope it was enjoyable.

Thank you for reading up to this point!