Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little.
Chapter 3
"Well, well, well. If it ain't Remy LeBeau."
There was a moment of unadulterated shock—like a lightning strike that shot right through him. Like the feeling of someone pouring cold water over him from behind. Like finding out someone he loved was dead.
Shock, that someone in this world, a hundred years later, would know him. Could know him. Letting his head fall back into it's normal position, he removed his fedora and let his red-irised eyes study the figures in the hoods. Still, he could not get a read on them and so he narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, mumbling, "Who are ya?"
The man inside the hood knocked back the rest of his beer and slammed it down on the bar top before stepping away from the long, glassy surface and moving toward the board on the other side of the room. With careful consideration, he studied the bounties posted, before pulling one down off of the board. With intentional strides, he made his way back to the bar and handed the paper to his companion, who studied it. She seemed unsure, but gave a curt nod and handed it back to him.
The man laid the paper out in front of Remy. "Where can I find him?"
Remy let his eyes fall to the bounty. Written across the paper, in a rough, scratchy handwriting were the words:
BOUNTY: LOKI LAUFEYSON
12 MILLION THANDERIANS.
DEAD OR ALIVE. PREFER ALIVE.
Remy's eyes widened. This bounty had just been posted today. One of Thanos' top generals—a woman, an assassin who had always seemed familiar but in a distant sort of way to Remy—had brought it. There was no picture, but he had noticed that she was more intrigued with the bounty than any of his other generals had ever been.
And, of course, he knew who Loki was. One hundred years ago, he'd heard the name in passing. God of mischief. Troublemaker. Villain. But now, the whispered musings of a broken world told of a different Loki. A heroic Loki. One that fought against Thanos' masses and sent civilians off-realm to who-knows-where, where there was tell that they would receive a better life—a better chance.
It almost made him sick to think such a man—or god—as this was being hunted. It made him even sicker to think he had been the one forced to post it. And of course, he'd heard rumors of where Loki and his meager numbers might be hiding. But they were only rumors—idle talk. He wasn't sure how reliable the words were. Still...
"I can give ya a gene'al idea," he replied. "But only if ya answer a question f'me. Who are ya? How ya know who I'm?"
"That ain't none of your business, bub. I just wanna know where to find Mr. Mischief."
Bub. The lightbulb switched on inside his head so fast, that Remy nearly barked the man's name out there, right there in the middle of the mumbling masses, not all of whom were trustworthy. Reaching out without fear, he pushed the hood back, his eyes widening in surprise, yet filling with the light of confirmation as the man beneath was revealed to him.
"It's ya...Logan."
Deep within the icy realm of the Jotuns was a series of tunnels—caves that branched through the frozen mountains of what once was Jotunheim. Each cave twisted around inside the icy mountain ranges, until meeting each other in the middle, connecting to a deep, high cavern, big enough to house the majority of their race. In this cavern lived the remainder of the Jotun royal family—the remnant of Laufey's house.
This included Yngvild, the last of Laufey's wives—the biggest of them, the strongest...the one Jotunheim had called "queen"—and her children. Her youngest, Lognir, was the current captain of the guard. He was built like a skyscraper, tall, and muscled—sturdy. He was responsible for the protection of the caves, rallying Jotuns against anyone who may threaten what was left of his race. He also led small rebel bands of Frost Giants against Thanos' regime whenever necessary, and sent out scouts to create chaos for Thanos whenever possible. With skin the color of a bright blue sky and born with the marks of a warrior, he carried the Jotun race through the difficulty of this new world with sword and strength, assuring their movement was safeguarded whenever they slunk through the caves.
Her middle child, a Jotun female named Lyrn, was a Jotun of the highest calibur. Only about a head smaller than her younger brother, she wore her own royal blue coloring with just the regality the color suggested. Her markings were a mess of sloping, swirling lines and circles, which indicated her place as princess and prophetess. On top of her inherent abilities, she was also a fierce warrior, a master of the tonfa and quite skilled at hand-to-hand combat.
And then, there was Ljot. Ljot was Yngvild's oldest child—the first son of Laufey born to Yngvild—and the largest of the Jotuns left alive. He was two heads taller than his brother and at least half a kilo heavier. His skin was the icy blue of frost under the gleam of sunlight, his markings a twisting, swirling web. A web which marked him as heir to Laufey's throne. And so he was. When Laufey had fallen by Asgard's hands, Ljot, being only a few hundred years old, took up the helm of his father's rule and led Jotunheim back to its glorious former pride.
And now, among his brother, sister, and the queen mother, he reigned as king, wielding the great long-spear his father once had, his red eyes gleaming with the brightness of royalty.
Lognir took a knee at the feet of his brother, who sat regally on a throne of ice, carved within the mountainside cavern by a pair of Jotun carpenters—brothers, and the only ones left of their family since the merge.
"You've come to report?" Ljot asked, his head was turned toward his spear, with its four sharpened blades, each sitting opposite the other in a cube-like shape.
"I have not, brother, but Lyrn has returned and she has something to relay to you," Lognir replied, and then turned, holding a long, sharp-fingered hand out to the female Frost Giant who approached.
Yngvild watched the scene unfold, seated on her own throne a few feet from her eldest child, her own red eyes full of condescension. She cared little personal well-being of her children, but much for how they upheld the values of Laufey himself. With a small shift, she lowered her head so the light could hit her fair, Jotun features more fully as she witnessed the moment between her offspring.
Lyrn approached and bowed before her brother. Her tonfa were strapped securely against her back, and her red eyes gleamed without pupils, as was the norm for Jotun prophets and prophetesses. She lowered her head in reverence and murmured, "Brother...sire...a small group of us traveled to the eastern most sector of our lands, where the Flat-ice spreads for miles. We had learned mere weeks ago that Thanos plans to mine the Flat-ice for purposes unknown...so we were deployed to destroy the Flat-ice plains as much as possible...but..."
She looked up into her brother's eyes. "He knew we were coming. We were ambushed by his Chitauri. Two of our own were taken down, right there before my eyes. I myself would have been, but..."
Ljot pursed his lips, red eyes narrowing thinly.
"One of Thanos' generals was clumsy on the ice, and thus I was not felled by her attempted strikes. They also caused the Flat-ice's destruction when they allowed our kind to fall, heavily, against the ice. They were imbecilic...stupid...they finished what we had started..."
"Get on with it." Ljot knew there was more to this than simply her informing him that she was alive. He could obviously see that.
"Brother, the woman..." Lyrn murmured. "...she was one of the Avengers of old."
Ljot looked startled, all of a sudden—an expression that didn't often grace the features of a king—and stood from his throne, rattled. His grip on his spear tightened and he paced back and forth in front of his throne for a moment, before turning and looking at Lognir.
"Send word to him."
"Are you certain, broth-"
"Yes."
He had to inform his tentative ally. The one who had found a place in their broken realm for them to dwell away from Thanos' prying eyes.
The only other one who'd ever born the Jotun markings of heir. Laufey's true firstborn. The runt.
"Send word to Loki."
Remy placed two ice cold beers down on one of the old, dry-rotted wooden tables that sat scattered across his tavern. Sitting across from the bulky, black-haired mutant, he leaned back against the creaking wooden chair he seated himself in and let his red-on-black eyes study Logan, carefully.
" 's been a long time, friend."
"Cut the bullshit, LeBeau," Logan replied and took a swig of his beer. He was a little surprised to find it was so cold in such a sweltering place but he didn't question it. Having a nice, cold drink after days of trekking through the remnants of Muspelheim was incredible and he wasn't about to look a cold beer in the mouth. "What're you doin' lettin' Thanos post his dirty work in your place? You ain't never been one for authority."
Remy leaned forward, pushing his fingers through the handle of his beer mug and taking a long, thoughtful drink. He smirked, his expression dry and bitter as anger kinetic energy buzzed, lightly, up the side of the glass, causing the beer to boil inside a little. "He got cher."
"Come again, bub?"
"Rogue, Logan. He got Rogue Inside dat big steel and glass compoud a'his, somewhere. He keepin' her," Remy replied. His eyes moved, quietly, to the girl next to Logan, when she shifted in her spot, uncomfortable and tense. "We was both under his command. He did somethin' to us, Logan. Made us into somethin' we wasn't."
Before Logan knew it, a deck of cards appeared out of the pocket of Remy's old, musty trenchcoat and were being flipped through the long, powerful fingers of the energy user. A nervous, thoughtful gesture, Logan realized.
"He made us like you, Logan...immortal, or at least...long-lastin'. I dunno how but he did it." He let out a long sigh and then looked up at him. "How long it been now, Logan? I been scared to ask...how long since the merge?"
Logan was silent for a long moment, his drinks slow, as if savoring the taste of barley and alcohol that slid, smoothly, down his throat. Then, he put the mug down, firmly, and glanced at the woman at his side, before looking up into anxious black eyes. "Just over a century, Remy."
Logan noticed the physical reaction in him, watched him crush a card into his hand, and smelled the blood as the hard paper cut into Remy's skin.
Remy averted his gaze, twisting his line of sight to the small window at the other end of the tavern, gazing out into the heat-ravaged landscape in which he lived. He threw the card away from him and mopped the sweat from his brow, smearing tiny tracks of blood over his forehead.
"Dat ain't all, Logan." His voice dropped, the soft tenor of it now a low murmur.
Logan leaned in close to hear him.
"He does somethin' else, Logan. Somethin' that makes us forget who we is." Remy's eyes clamped shut, tightly. "So that we're loyal. Unwaveringly loyal. And deadly. Dat's what he done to me and cher. Dat's why he was keepin' us. Each of us in our own chambers, 's far as I can remember. Chambers made to seem like bedrooms, each wit' dey own beds. Even give off artificial sunlight when we wake in de mornin'. Like we getting' up on a cool, spring day...like got some kind of our own agency. But we ain't, Logan. We're slaves to him. And...after I remembered...when I was runnin'...when I was leavin' the compound...I saw dem...hundreds...thousands of those chambers. Dey ain't beds, Logan...dey stasis pods. Whatever he's dosin' us wit' to keep us loyal, it comes from dem stasis pods. I jus' know it."
Logan's face was dark; it's expression filled with anxiety, worry and anger. Rogue was his friend, once upon a time. One of his best friends, in fact. Last time he'd seen her, though, her relationship with the infamous Gambit—who Logan hadn't seen in 10+ years—had been fresh and new. But she was happy. Happier than she'd been with Bobby. At least when her powers came back. Remy knew this trick, he remembered, where he could use his kinetic energy as a kind of invisible, full-body shield. It gave Rogue license to touch him. To kiss him.
It was like Rogue could be completely who she was with him.
And clearly, she'd tamed the wild man in Remy, too.
Logan glanced at the yellowing piece of paper beneath his beer cup, now soaked by a rim of condensation, which dried nearly instantly when he moved the beer from atop it. "And what about him? If I remember correctly, it was just a year before all this shit went down with Thanos that this douchebag was workin' for him, wasn't it? Suddenly, Thanos has a bounty out on 'im."
Remy crooked a finger at him, gesturing him to lean in close. He noticed the woman leaned in with him. "Rumors been spreadin', y'know. Firs' of all, y'know, 'fore all this went down, that the 'vengers was lettin' Laufeyson try to redeem himself for Manhattan, ya?"
"I heard somethin' along those lines," Logan replied. He and Captain Rogers had met briefly during the war. He'd still kept in contact with the Captain up until that point. So, he had had some insight into the world of the Avengers.
"Well, I guess when the team fell, and Loki was de only one lef' alive, he had some kinda major change'a heart. He been shuttlin' people off-realm wit' his magic for years now, so I hear," Remy finished. He leaned back in his chair, listening to it squeak, feeling the warm, rough wood against the skin of his forearms as he placed them against the armrests. "Pers'nally, I get the feelin' he was startin' to change 'fore the team's defeat. Y'don' just start helpin' a race y'hated 'cause a couple'a people you never liked in the firs' place up and kick the bucket. 's all I'm sayin'."
He turned his eyes to his card deck, shuffling.
"Wouldn't be surprised." Logan finished his beer. "After all, Cap was tryin' to keep me in the loop during the whole thing. In case he went batshit insane on New York again. Wanted to make sure I had the heads up if we had to evac the school. But he said, Mr. Mischief was makin' progress...spendin' lotsa time with his bro...and the redhead."
"Redhead?" Remy's head snapped up. "What red-"
"James." It was the first time the woman had spoken. In fact, she hadn't even removed her hood.
Logan took a deep breath and nodded. "I smell 'em, L." He jumped up, throwing a few Thanderians down with a smirk. "Thanks for the beer, LeBeau."
"Wait, what's comin'?" Remy asked. His eyes shifted to the paper that Logan snatched up. "Wait a sec...ya goin' af'er Loki?"
"Guess we'll see. So, if you got some intel as to where he might be hidin', I'd like ta get out of your hair, bub, considering there are at least five Chitauri comin' this way and I'd rather stay under Thanos' radar," Logan replied.
Remy blinked, cursed to himself and then sighed. " 's hard to say. Las' I heard, he and his men were makin' their home underground...and in this weird, new world, there's a web of interconnecting tunnels from mine shafts to old catacombs to mausoleums. He could be anywhere."
"Ten seconds, LeBeau, I'm serious," Logan growled.
"Alright, alright...las' I heard, his men make their main base in an old mine," Remy whispered, glancing around for any overly curious eyes and ears. "...near the border where de old Jotun realm meets what once was Russia. A few hundred miles from Chernobyl."
"Chernobyl?"
"James, two minutes," the woman murmured.
Logan nodded, then turned to Remy. "Still radiation?"
Remy shook his head. "De pure air from Jotunheim cleansed the radiation away. Or so I heard. The place is more...Jotunheim than Russia now."
Logan snorted. "What's the difference?"
"James, now!"
"Fine, fine!" He looked at Remy. "That's all I need. Thanks again for the beer, bub."
With that, the two of them rushed the bar, hopping from table to table, disturbing drunken patrons as they dove through the back window and out of sight. A few seconds later, the Chitauri guards came through the door, and Remy was left with a twisting tale to weave about why his customers were angry and why his window was broken.
"I do not like this alliance you have with the Odinson."
Ljot lifted his pick from the ice, where he carved the history of the Jotuns into the inner walls of the mountain. He glanced at his mother, the sharp lines of his head shining like organic icicles. "Mother..."
"He is Laufey's firstborn, Ljot, my love. How do you know he will not try to steal your throne—to steal your crown?"
"Mother, Loki Laufeyson may be a Jotun by birth but he is Asgardian by upbringing. He has made no interest toward my throne," replied her eldest, and began his task yet again. He would not let his people disappear into oblivion.
"It is not just that. He is not to be trusted. He killed your father," she argued, while her jealous thoughts swirled: And he is the hideously tiny son of a hideously tiny female. Laufey's tenth wife—the daughter of a man who had tried to rebel against Laufey's calloused rule. She was payment for his disloyalty. And of course, despite how Laufey had wanted Yngvild to be the first to give him a child, the runtish female had become pregnant first. And where her pregnancy had been a blow to Yngvild, Loki's small size had been one to Laufey, who then cast him away from his birthright, despite his markings.
It was many hundreds of years before Ljot was born after that, but for that Yngvild was pleased as she had been able to give Laufey a son to replace the disgraceful one he'd disposed of. But now, Ljot, whom she had been so proud to give to Laufey as a true heir, was making the mistakes of one of lesser birth—trusting a traitor, and a runt.
"Perhaps, Father deserved his fate," Ljot replied. "For trusting his firstborn again so very easily."
"You bite your tongue! He-"
"Sire."
Ljot stood from his crouched position as Lognir's lieutenant captain approached, bowing to him, respectfully.
"Yes?" Ljot asked, placing his pick down nearby and picking up his spear.
"The Asgardian is here."
Loki hated visiting the Jotun caverns. He felt the same ugly loneliness he'd once felt when he was still angry and hurt by Odin's deception. Surrounded by the cold, icy walls of the caves, he could just recall the frosty bite of bitterness that such a lie had caused deep within his heart, and as he traveled down the deep tunnels, he could see his skin wavering between milky white and blue, as if the memories caused all that was Asgardian in him to war against all that was Jotun.
With his hair tied back in Frigga's band, and wearing his best cloak—still made of rough wool but dyed a deep green—he was led by the Frost Giants through their now sacred tunnels into the main chamber where he knew he would meet with Ljot—his half-brother. He was paused in his stride just outside the chamber by the Frost Giants leading him, and the lieutenant captain traveled inside the chamber. He could hear the muffled voices within and could discern that only three Jotuns resided within. The rest must have traveled back to their prospective dwellings within the caverns.
A few moments later, the lieutenant captain returned. "You may go in."
Loki checked his earpiece to make sure it was still in tact and working and then traveled into the confines of the chamber, his own spear—his new spear—clutched firmly in his hand. With the slow, sweep of his cloak, he bowed to the Jotun seated on the king's throne, and gave a small nod to the Queen mother.
"You summoned me, Ljot," Loki murmured. "May I inquire as to the purpose?"
Ljot stood, towering over Loki, a monumental beast compared to his smaller half-brother. "You may. As you know, my people have all been rallied to your cause—on a tentative basis."
"Of course."
"As such, we sometimes send small, concentrated teams out to cause disturbances in a few of Thanos' more ill-ochestrated plans," Ljot continued. "As of late, we sent a condensed seem of some our best—my younger sister included. Upon her return, she reported that Thanos has some interest in something beneath the Flat-ice. Or perhaps something within the Flat-ice. It disconcerts me what that might be."
"And so?" Loki asked, pacing the main chamber with calculated steps, his boot-heels clicking against the cool ice beneath him.
"And so, Lyrn and her team were sent to destroy the ice before Thanos could procure whatever it was he was searching for," Ljot replied.
Loki gave a dry chuckle. "You were unsure whether he wanted what was beneath the ice or within the ice, yet you sent a team of Jotuns to destroy the ice, thereby, perhaps, making it even easier for Thanos to get whatever he might be searching for? And this is my concern, how?"
Ljot's expression darkened. "The ice is broken, Loki. It may take those uncertain waters weeks to refreeze and the Chitauri cannot dive in such cool temperatures. Our plans were not so ill-advised."
"Touche. Well, if that is all, I, myself, will dive the waters in search of whatever Thanos' craves. If that will put your mind at ease, brother."
Yngvild hissed and Loki smirked, deeply. "It's good to see you, too, dear Queen. How is your husband? Oh, forgive me. After a century, the mind begins to go."
Yngvild jumped up from her place on her throne and took large, angry strides toward the smaller Loki, but his magic coursed through the runes carved onto the spear like water through a swirling canal. The adamantium glowed a deep blue.
"Another step, madam, and I promise on the Odinsleep, I will not hesitate," Loki growled.
"Mother, enough," Ljot boomed. "I am still King!"
Yngvild quelled her anger, and let herself wander backwards, sinking back into the cool comfort of her throne, her red eyes gleaming with malice at her late husband's banished firstborn.
"There is more, Loki. Something vital that my sister must relay to you, immediately," Ljot continued. "Lyrn!"
Loki swiveled his head on his long, strong neck as the Jotun princess stepped into the main chamber, dressed in a long loincloth, which seemed to be made of lace and which gleamed with jewels the deep blue color of ice. A veil of the same material and make hung over the back of her head, two long strips of lace from it falling over her shoulders to cover her breasts.
She may have been beautiful if it weren't for her sharp features—features that seemed to be carved from the icy mountain itself—and her pupiless red eyes.
"You summoned me, brother?" Lyrn questioned.
Ljot stood, picking up his spear, bending his elbow, revealing the sharp point of it, as he slammed the spear down, authoritatively. "Tell the Asgardian what you relayed to me. About your time on the Flat-ice. Tell him of Thanos' general."
Lyrn gave a deep nod and turned to Loki. "Welcome to our caverns, Loki. As my men and I traversed the Flat-ice, we were ambushed by Thanos' factions. They were being led. By a woman."
"What has any of this got to do with me?" Loki asked, his expression a painting of apathetic boredom.
"Sir, it has much to do with you. The woman was most certainly-"
Loki held up a hand to her and pressed a finger to his ear.
On the other end of his earpiece, he heard, "Loki." Heimdall. "We have a problem. We need you to return immediately, my prince."
"I'm in the middle of-" Loki began.
"Now, my prince. It's urgent. There are intruders."
Loki's green orbs widened and he looked at Ljot and Lyrn, distressed. "I must leave, immediately. I am sorry, Princess, but your story must wait for another time." He turned to leave, his cloak sweeping the icy floor, the magic in his spear causing a stream of glowing light in the air for a moment.
"Wait!" Lyrn called.
"I haven't the time!" Loki hissed, but he paused when he noticed the paralyzed state of the Jotun woman, her pupiless eyes glowing a bright, blood red.
"Then, listen well to this, Loki, son of Odin, son of Laufey," the woman bellowed, her voice like an echo. "If you will not hear my story, listen well to my words. I see this woman, a general of Thanos, among your men. Among your closest friends and family. For good or ill, I cannot say for sure, so take heed, Prince of Asgard, and Jotun child. Take heed."
With that, Lyrn slumped to her knees, dizzy from the prophecy.
Loki was frozen in his place, fear gluing him to his spot, while the insatiable urge to burn all to the ground that had Thanos' mark on their minds and hearts clutched his very soul. Using this inner strength, this ferocious drive, to break free of his fear, he turned, quickly and began his long, determined stride through the caverns. The last thought he had—a triviality of thought, he realized, yet somehow could not let go—was how very much the Jotun female's voice sounded like the deep chime of a bell.
The hike from Muspelheim's Remnant to Jotussia—impromptu names that Logan himself had come up with to keep the mish-mash of realms and places straight—took until nightfall. Everything seemed so much smaller nowadays. But still, he and his companion had been walking for nearly ten hours straight, and if the position of the stars was any indication, it was almost 11pm now.
"I think we're close," Logan mumbled, taking a deep whiff of the cool air around them.
A soft breeze cropped up as they walked, blowing the woman's hood back from her face, long black hair spilling down over her shoulders. She looked at him. "Why did you allow Gambit to call you Logan? I thought we'd decided'James' was safer."
Logan frowned. "It's not as if Remy knew any better, L. And he was real quiet when he realized who I was and why I was around. Now, quiet. I'm listening."
He got down on his stomach, pressing his ultra-sensitive ears to the ground beneath him, feeling his ear becoming frostbitten and then heal as he listened for the sounds of rusting pipes and footsteps. The Jotun caverns were at least 400 miles from here, and Chernobyl another 300 in the other direction. Which meant any sounds of life he heard beneath his feet would have to be the old mines that Laufeyson had made into a shelter for his rebellious sect.
Then, he heard it. The sound of water rushing through pipe, the creaking of a rust worn scaffold under heavy boot-falls. He smirked. "We're close. C'mon." He jumped up and began to take heavy steps forward, as if searching for something with his feet. All he heard were the sounds of ice and cold, packed dirt, where he was sure, perhaps, grass may have grown once upon a time. All was cold now.
Finally, he found it. Letting his foot fall with a thud, he heard the clang of metal under his heel and grinned. "Found ya."
Wiping the snow away underneath his boot, he revealed a circular metal hatch. "Come on. Help me open this thing." Looping his thick fingers around the rusted metal ring connected to the hatch, he began to pull, grateful for the extra leverage when his companion did the same. With a deep, billowing creak and a 'thunk' the hatch bounced open and revealed a long, dark tunnel down into the mines, lined with ladders, one on each side.
Logan jumped down and grabbed onto a ladder, firmly, then craned his neck to stare at the young woman above him. "Come on, L."
The woman—"L"—frowned, but slid onto the second ladder and began to climb down after him. They moved carefully, cautiously, being very intentional to make as little noise as possible. Little did they know, as they slid down the ladders, quietly, that they passed a few subtle, infrared motion sensors, causing an alarm deeper into the mines to sound, blaring into Fandral and his workshoppers' ears.
He thought it might have just been a glitch, at first.
Until Heimdall, who was tasked with the watch that night, informed him that he'd seen two strangers descending into their west entrance just moments before.
After they called it into Loki, it took him only ten minutes to return to their hideaway, and only that long because he knew that the Jotun cavernswere protected by wards carved into the ice that did not allow for arriving or disembarking via any kind of magical transport. He had had to weave his way outside of the mountain and out into the open, which was a danger to him, but necessary in such an emergency, before he could phase back to the mines.
And so, when Logan and "L" finally landed on one of the many criss-crossing metal scaffolds of the mines, Logan turned with a triumphant grin only to come face to face with the sharpened tip of an adamantium spear glowing with powerful Asgardian magic.
"Well, L," Logan said, "I think we found him."
"For you were bought at a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God's." 1 Corinthians 6:20
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