As the tide washed in, the Dutch Tulip Man faced the ocean: "Conjoiner rejoinder poisoner concealer revelator. Look at it, rising up and down, taking everything with it."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Water," the Dutchman said. "Well, and time."
—Peter Van Houten, An Imperial Affliction
Voices. That was the first thing he could make out, but they were too faint for him to comprehend. He felt faraway as if he was in a dream, but the prickles of consciousness were coming back to him one by one.
"I merely hit him hard enough to knock him unconscious. Do not worry mother, he should awaken soon."
"He looks so weak, though…"
"He's without power."
His eyes fluttered open and he was acutely aware of the painful throbbing at the back of his head. Memories from last night flooded back to him—There was a man who knocked down the door. He took him. Abducted him, actually. Though if he recalled correctly, the man asked him to join him outside, but Loki acted on instinct and took Darcy's taser from her purse. His blood suddenly went cold. Darcy. Was she…?
"Loki?"
Taking in his surroundings, he was hit with a wave of nausea. Gold walls. A crystal tree in the center of the room. People with armor and gowns. This couldn't be real. This was a dream—some sick nightmare from his childhood.
He took in the pairs of eyes that observed him. Breath quickening, he swallowed, and spotted the blonde man who hit him. Fight or flight instinct consumed him, but he was too weak to do either, so he raised his head and stared squarely into the man's eyes.
"Where the hell am I?" He choked out, and he wished he had something on besides boxers.
A woman advanced towards him, and he shrunk away. Her brows furrowed in hurt and heartbreak and she gently brushed away some stray hair off his forehead.
"You're home now," she said and erupted into sobs as she embraced him. Reacting on reflex, he pushed her away and she fell back with a startled cry.
"I-I'm sorry," he spluttered, and looked around again in defense. The guards on the sides of the doors raised their swords. "I don't know who you are. I think you have the wrong man. Please—let me return home to my wife!" His words sounded just as helpless as he felt, but he didn't know how much time he would be able to plead for his life. From the looks of the situation, these people weren't to be bartered with.
The woman stared at him in wonder and looked to the blonde man. "He has a wife?!" She hissed to him, and slapped him against the shoulder. The man looked visibly apologetic.
"I had no idea. I found him in the place he resided on Midgard."
"Odin, fix him!" The woman cried out, and Loki turned around to see an old man with an eye patch. He held a golden staff in one hand, and eyed Loki warily.
He moved with such grace and authority that Loki debated bowing, but he knew that it was futile. Jaw clenching in anticipation, the man raised the staff to Loki's bare chest and pressed it into his torso. A small droplet of blood broke free and trickled downward.
He held his breath even though he knew this was the end, but it couldn't be. Darcy was waiting for him at home in their bed. Darcy would make him easy over eggs because he couldn't. Darcy would hold him and tell him it would all work out. It had to. It always did.
The spear met him again, and an electric shock filled his entire body. A scream erupted and echoed off the walls. That was his own scream, he realized, as the pain engulfed him. He convulsed against the ground—this was it. I'm so sorry, Darcy. He thought, trying to remember her beautiful face. Blue eyes. Full lips. Chestnut brown hair that curled at the edges.
"Do you remember the flood, Loki?"
I am Loki Odinson, God of Mischief and Lies and harbinger of chaos.
I am a Prince of Asgard.
I am a Frost Giant—stolen by Odin for his own selfish agenda.
I am Loki Laufeyson.
…
I'm Loki Loncastre, husband of Darcy Lewis.
I live on 54 Vann Street.
I was supposed to buy bagels this morning.
Shit.
When he woke the second time, he cried out in such a fury that the guards rushed in. Writhing in panic, he cast them out as they flew into the air and impacted with the wall. Subsequently, he passed out again.
The third time was easier. This time he was crying, and no one dared to enter his chambers. He allowed himself to let the memories flood in—Loki Odinson. Son of Odin. Son of Laufey. Prince of Asgard. Traitor. Liar.
Like a chant, he repeated these words over and over in an attempt to solidify his memories. However, the new ones intruded his mind like a poorly built dam against a torrent of water.
And it broke, and he couldn't take it anymore until he shut himself away again, this time resorting to magic to try and clear his head.
Magic felt strange on his body; it was familiar, but his movements felt too practiced and too sure of his power.
Slowly, little by little, the memories began to piece themselves back together in a distorted timeline until Loki resolved to get out of bed. He grabbed a piece of parchment—the action was automatic as his hand reached into a drawer—and he began to jot down his before and after.
This made things clearer on a physical level, but in retrospect, it didn't. Emotions flowed into the wrong memories, and the lines between what was real and what wasn't blurred to the point of madness.
His punishment was banishment, but he had an inkling that this wasn't true at all. No. It was much worse.
A knock resounded against the door, and it waited for no reply as the figure entered. His mother. Frigga. Those memories were clearer; they were filled with love much like the ones on Midgard.
She ran to his bedside with a look of wonder. Her eyes were rimmed red and she touched his cheek tenderly as if he was porcelain. He stared at her blankly; mute like a child waking from a nightmare.
"My son…" She whispered and enveloped him into a hug. "How are you feeling?"
The words were knotted in his throat. Alive. Well. Confused. He tried to put them together, but he only managed a tear down his cheek. Frigga also broke into tears and stroked his hair lovingly.
"You're home now—you're safe. Do you know who I am?"
"Mother," he choked out and she released a relieving sigh of happiness.
"Your father wants to see you as soon as possible. Are you feeling up to it? Shall I fetch the healers first?"
His heart hardened at the mention of his father. No, Odin. Even though he could have excused himself for another day, he knew that this confrontation needed to be made for his own peace of mind. He gave himself an hour, and Frigga excused herself from his chambers after a quick kiss to his forehead. He didn't respond, and sought to pacing in his room.
Clasping his hands, he noticed the familiar weight on his left hand. A golden ring. His wedding ring.
The throbbing returned to his head as he recounted his previous life, and he went through the motions again. Darcy Lewis. The name rang reverently in his mind, thoroughly contradicting his previous life's sentiments. He worshipped her, and the mix of lust and love confused him even more. However, the feeling was absolute, and it seemed like the only truth in the midst of memories.
His hour was up as his feet took him to the throne room where Odin sat. Loki placed himself in front and nodded his head slightly. Odin rose with a discerning eye and dismissed his guards.
"Welcome home, my son," he said, and the words bristled against Loki's heart.
"Father," he replied tersely.
"Much has happened since you left. Shall we take a walk?"
Wordlessly, Loki followed. They stood on a familiar balcony at the edge of the palace. It overlooked Asgard and the Bifrost. Odin held Gungnir steadily and looked to Loki.
"After you left—"
"Banished," Loki interrupted curtly, paying no heed to manners. The familiar bubble of hate grew stronger as similar scenes flashed through his mind. Thor. Coronation. Favored brother. I remember living in a shadow.
Odin didn't look particularly annoyed, so he carried on. "When you led the Frost Giants into Asgard, and our subsequent battle with them, Jotunheim wanted revenge. They failed, but that was only the beginning. They seek vengeance—vengeance that is so powerful that they're claiming war soon."
"We've fought wars in the past," Loki offered, but Odin looked genuinely grave. This perturbed Loki and he reveled in it all the same. The great Allfather—afraid.
"Not in a very long time. This is…different. I know you were not yourself when you arrived on Asgard, but Yggdrasil is not well. The roots are rotting and this is only the beginning. Ragnarok is upon us."
Loki's mouth went dry and the habituated clench in his hands returned. "What exactly are you asking of me?"
Odin looked into the distance and tilted his head slightly downward in shame. "My son, I know we left on unpleasant terms, but this is your chance for retribution."
A guttural sound escaped Loki's throat and a bitter laugh escaped him. "Retribution?! Did I not face my punishment on Midgard?! I am back—"
"But not for that reason! You did not learn the value of truth."
Loki's eyes darkened and in a measured tone, "Why did you bring me here?"
Odin was silent, and Loki stepped closer, leaning down towards his father's frame. "Look at me!" He snarled.
"War is starting, and the gods are preparing. You must fulfill your role as a prince of Asgard."
"With Thor I'm assuming?" He mocked and circled Odin. "I am not a stolen relic to be used when you see fit, old man. I am not your pet to call upon, and I am not your son!" He paused and he chuckled. "I see now—You knew this would happen. No jail in Asgard could hold me, so you do the next best thing and incarcerate me to Midgard. You never intended for me to return with liberty—This was in your plan to use me; to manipulate me to help you!"
"That isn't true—"
"Oh, but it is. It's written all over your face. You fear me, Odin, it's best to admit it now. You fear my power and everything I can do. And you should. You may have stripped me of it before, but that was only temporary."
"I'm trying to save Asgard!" Odin pleaded. "I know it cannot be done without you."
Loki raised a thrilled eyebrow. "Do you? This shall be interesting then."
The color drained from Odin's face as he outstretched a hand in realization. "No, Loki. Please. We need you."
"And that is why I must leave," Loki answered with a laugh, and his armor appeared in a golden shimmer. "I understand my punishment now. Did you think you could debilitate me with this curse? These two lives living within me? That it would make me weak? You're wrong—it'll be easy to shut out once I've had enough time to ruminate it through."
"Loki…" Odin faltered, abandoning his role as king and looked at him with the eyes of a father. "It wasn't my intention."
"What wasn't your intention?" Loki seethed, meeting eye to eye. "To steal a baby from Jotunheim? To lie to him for years? To use him? Take your pick."
"I'm sorry."
"You're becoming awfully desperate. It's not fitting for a king, especially with a war brewing." He drew in a breath and smiled. Yes, this was more like it. Magic pulsed throughout his veins, and his anger only fueled it even more.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a war to prepare for. Oh, but don't trouble yourself banishing me, I'll do that myself." And he brought himself into the void, the space between worlds, and he found the icy path that he opened long ago. Jotunheim.
Yes, this story is going to be mythology inspired, and most likely butchered. Please keep in mind that it's inspired so some elements aren't going to be exactly accurate to the Prose Edda and other sources.
Darcy will be making her appearance in upcoming chapters, don't you worry. This story is going to be told in a (hopefully) unique way, but I don't want to give away anything :)
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed so far! You guys keep me writing! Reviews = love.