Chapter Title: Shock upon Shock

Author: Sam

Story: The Neutered Omega: 13 of 23

Settings: AU Omegaverse: Asgard

Note: Again, the missing days are marked by a triple x.

xxx

Opening his eyes, Loki could tell that it was full night outside the temple; the lights inside the room had been dimmed to near darkness leaving only a shadowy outline of furniture and walls. Someone lay in bed with him, a large muscular arm encircling him, trapping him, a massive body pushed up against his back. Loki felt panic rise and he began to push at the arm before the scent hit him. Thor . . . his mate. Drawing a soft sobbing breath, Loki ran his hands over the warm skin, trying to get his heart to slow, his breathing to even out. He sobbed again and wondered if he'd ever be able to wipe away the memory of Tyr ripping into him from behind, pinning him to that mirror.

Unable to lay there, despite the protective warmth of Thor, Loki finally lifted the strong arm and slid out from under it. Thor barely responded, murmuring something in his sleep and snuggling his head deeper into the pillow. Loki watched him sleeping for a heartbeat, two, three, then reached for the temple-issued robe and pulled it on. He needed air, space. On quiet feet, Loki slipped from the small bedroom into the wider, open hallway.

He drew a long, shuddering breath of the ozone-laced air. There was a storm in the air. He walked down the hallway in the only direction available and soon the dead end opened into a perpendicular hall. Walking slowly, Loki let the sameness of everything, the white walls, the conformity of the architecture, sooth him. It might get annoying in the long run to live in such a colorless world, but for now, with no pressure to assimilate anything, Loki could feel its calming effect.

Thus, when a soft light glimmered from a nearby room, the very oddity of it drew Loki's curiosity. He stepped over to the open doorway and peered inside.

A healer stood by the single bed, his body practically hiding the patient he tried to help. He had his hands out, on a white-linen bandaged head, and a sunset orange glow seemed to emanate from him and around her. Her lightly tanned skin appeared sweat-drenched, what Loki could see of her white robe clinging to her arm and hip. Soft whimpers escaped from the patient, sounding strangled as if she tried her best to muffle them, suppress them. Finally, shaking, the healer dropped his hands, the glow instantly ending as the man stepped back. He shook his head. "I . . . I . . ." he panted from exertion, "I need to get Freyja. I cannot do this."

The man turned and hurried out the door, brushing past Loki in his haste. He glanced at the lithe brunet and said in a rush, "excuse me, Lopt. I've got to go find . . ." but his words were lost as he turned into another hallway.

Loki turned back to meet the patient's pain-filled golden-brown eyes.

"Lopt?" she asked, a tremor of pain in her voice. She looked to be around his own twenty years with fine features and strong athletic body. Around the edges of her bandages the skin had pulled tight and looked raw; it was apparent that the bandages had shifted during the healer's ministrations.

Stepping quickly to her side, Loki unwound the constricting linen, knowing the odd pull of it added to her pain. When he had exposed her head, he fought to keep the horror from his face. Her head, shoulders, and part of her face were eaten away, as from a flesh-eating disease. Gaping wounds adorned her and she lacked even a single tuft of hair. At least her wounds appeared to have been cleaned, but that seemed to have little effect.

Drawing a breath, smelling the raw, open wounds, blood, and a tinge of something acrid, the former prostitute murmured, "My name is Loki." Noticing healing supplies on the bedside table, including two vast basins of bandages treated with some form of ointment, Loki reached for some of the fresh linens to redo her dressing. "Some call me Lopt, however," he added as a way to continue the conversation and perhaps distract her from her pain a little.

"You were attacked in The House of Laufey?" she asked, hands clenching and unclenching on her bed sheets.

Surprise coursed through the man and he looked at her with a slight frown, ice green eyes studying golden brown in an attempt to discern her thoughts, her memories. "You aren't one of the priestesses," he finally responded, curiosity rising. He sank next to her on the bed to better tend her wounds. "Are you also from the House?"

Her eyes met his and she answered in a breathy, pained murmur. "Recently. I had yet to meet Laufey for my primary meeting, but I have been there a month."

A frown crept over Loki's face. "You met him tonight." There was no question in his words. "A worse time could hardly have been arranged by the Norns. He would be in a rage after my attack." 'Not to mention my removal from his clutches,' Loki thought.

"Yes," she replied softly. "After Donar's master came for him, Laufey sent for Heartha. Very shortly after, he sent for me and another woman . . . I didn't catch her name." She never wavered in her eye contact with Loki. He found he appreciated her straight-forward manner. "When none of us could answer where you had been taken, he threw a decanter of what looked like dark red wine at us . . . it wasn't wine."

"Acid," Loki hissed, his eyes going to her raw bleeding head.

She plucked at the sheet and continued in a whisper of pain, "I had turned my back, so I was . . . fortunate. The other women were not as lucky." Again her hand seemed to spasm on the sheet, and Loki took it in both of his, wishing he could end the suffering his parent had caused this unknown slave.

Recalling how Frigga's touch had soothed him while he'd been sick in the courtyard, Loki took a deep breath and lifted his other hand to gently cup the back of this woman's neck, the only part that was undamaged and most likely because she'd had a thick braid of hair blocking the hit. He concentrated on massaging gently, in the relaxing, non-sexual way he'd been instructed in so many years ago, before every caress had become foreplay and every word an innuendo. Feeling a warmth in his hand, humming up his arm, Loki let his eyes close, unaware of the soft green glow beginning in his palm. The sound of the woman's muffled whimpers of pain, which she'd obviously been fighting, eased off and Loki smiled. He continued to caress her neck, releasing her hand to begin tracing his finger in her palm in a mindless pattern.

Softly the whisper of a long skirt or robe came across the room, but Loki ignored it. His parent had hurt this woman severely, and he intended to ease that hurt. A gentle hand cupped over his elbow and another covered the hand he kept at the patient's neck. Calmly, in a voice of remembered joy and peace, a woman murmured "Feel her pain, Ast. Draw it into your hand. Let it flow around your arm and weave it into comfort. That's right. Keep weaving." Pain began to race up Loki's arm, but a warmth flowed through his elbow and down to his hand, helping him to control the rising agony, transforming it slowly until it felt cool instead of fiery, soothing instead of roiling.

A gasp from the injured woman broke his concentration and intense exhaustion filled Loki, pulling his arm down like leaded weight. He ached in his back and shoulders, and his head throbbed . . . and he felt nauseous once again. Blinking, biting back a groan, he turned to see Frigga smiling at him, bent over in what seemed to be an uncomfortable position, arms still encircling him.

Freyja and the male healer from earlier stood just inside the doorway.

Frigga nodded and straightened, tired lines on her regal, beautiful face. "You have a strong connection with seidr, Loki."

"Seidr?" he asked then snapped his mouth shut to hold back the wave of sick rising in his throat. Eyes widening, he looked up at the Allmother almost desperately, covering his mouth with a shaking hand, not wanting a repeat of earlier.

Apparently she understood as she grabbed a basin, emptied the treated linen on the bed, and thrust it gently into Loki's hands. He leaned over it but continued to fight the nausea. As he regained control, Frigga stroked his hair, glancing at the woman on the bed. Finally the queen spoke. "I'll walk you back to your room, Loki, so we can let Lady Sif rest."

Leaning heavily into Frigga, Loki glanced at the woman on the bed, Sif, who watched them with relief in her gold-brown eyes. She mouthed the words "thank you," and he smiled wearily in return before letting the queen aid him in standing. The Allmother guided him past Freyja and the healer, into the cool darkened hallway. Loki barely looked at the pair, too drained to really care about more than curling up in Thor's arms and sleeping the rest of the night.

xxx

It had been a week since he had come to live at the palace: a week of whirlwind confusion, too many faces, too little privacy, and too much everything else. Loki, as nude as his day of birthing except a thin leather belt with dagger, pushed away from the jade-trimmed vanity in his shared dressing chamber and strode to the wide balcony overlooking the vast palace grounds; he missed his ocean perch. The only time he felt truly at peace was at night in the arms of his mate . . . and that still felt uncertain, forbidden.

A large hand touching his shoulder had Loki whirling suddenly, heart racing, a scream in his throat. One graceful hand shot down to clasp the hilt of the dagger at his left hip. Green eyes wide, he frantically searched the handsome, troubled, nude man before him before allowing himself to relax. "Thor," he breathed out then closed his eyes, lay his forehead on that strong chest, and sighed, feeling his mate's arms circle around him protectively. Damn. Loki felt like a coward after such frights, always jumping at ghostly images of Tyr reaching for him, grabbing him. With a soft sob, Loki wrapped his arms tightly around Thor and held on as if his life depended on the strong, steady man; his sanity certainly did.

The large, calloused hand carding through his curls calmed him, as did the murmuring voice of his lover. "I am here, little one. You are safe with me." A week of heightened awareness, of startling at the slightest unknown movement or unfamiliar sound . . . a week of jangled nerves and little peace . . . and still Thor remained patient. The pair had not been having sex; though, they both were comfortable in little to no clothing due to their upbringing as prostitute and gladiator and so left nothing to the imagination as they walked their own chambers.

Loki lifted his face, meeting Thor's summer sky eyes with his own winter ice gaze. "I perhaps should have stayed in the temple after all, I think," he said, not meaning it but not taking back the words. "I find I do not trust people."

No laughter or disappointment met those words. Rather, Thor nodded as if he understood. He stroked Loki's dark curls again and said, in his matter-of-fact way, "you are used to only two at a time, not the tens and hundreds here. If you wish, little one, we can go back."

Drawing a deep breath, filling his lungs with the comforting scent of Thor, Loki shook his head and straightened, once more the controlled, almost aloof man he often presented in public. "No. Our place is here. Where else could you learn to be king, idiot?" No rancor tinged the derogatory; by now both had accepted that Loki would always use such terms for Thor, just as Thor would always call Loki 'little one', despite only three fourths of an inch difference in height . . . Loki's lithe body was perhaps what had the bulkier, former gladiator seeing him as small, in need of protection. Sometimes Loki didn't even mind.

Trying to bring normalcy back to the day, knowing nothing was normal, Loki strode back to his vanity and sank onto the cushioned seat, once more brushing his shoulder-length raven hair. He looked at Thor in the mirror and sighed, watching the man's every move, comparing and finding the differences between his lover and the other blond gladiator he had spied in a broken mirror not long ago. It helped to catalog the many, many differences he found: height, muscle mass, skin tone, hair and eye shading . . . Thor was by far the better specimen.

"When is the trial set?" he asked, knowing the answer but needing the reassurance that his rapist would be dealt with soon. Loki noticed his hand shaking and so lowered the brush to the gleaming vanity top, breathing deeply.

Thor walked over to their shared wardrobe room and looked inside among the numerous outfits created for them so quickly by the palace tailors and seamstresses. The oddity of sharing a room had yet to wane, though most often Loki found it a relief to turn and see he was not alone . . . never alone. "Directly after noon," Thor replied from the other room before re-emerging with a red tunic and dark blue trousers, gold trimming the outfit in a mark of Thor's rank of second prince to Asgard.

Loki turned from the mirror to watch Thor slide into the trousers, neglecting the small cloths he complained made it hard to breath. The trousers were soft enough not to chafe the man's groin, and Loki hardly minded the idea that there would be one less barrier between them should he choose to touch his mate's beautifully sculpted body.

They had not mated since the temple, as Loki was often sick at random times during the day. He had yet to see the palace healers for it, knowing he had a slew of reasons for the nausea and vomiting: withdrawal from the incorrectly administered Alpha inhibitors, stress and fear, and even the fact that he might well be breeding, though the healers and even the High Priestess Freyja worried that with the past eleven years of incorrect inhibitor, his heats might never produce children. In effect, Laufey might have neutered his Omega son, whether by design or accident. At least the bonding and knotting had ended the unbearable heat; Loki would take the small comfort of that.

Placing a hand over his flat, toned abdomen at the thought of breeding, capable or not, Loki sighed. He'd never thought to have children and now, with the possibility, came the wrenching realization that he might never give to Thor what he suddenly longed to: a child of their own.

Softly, Loki asked "and what of Laufey? Have they found him yet?"

"No," Thor squatted down and placed a hand over Loki's, looking him in the eyes, all seriousness and concern. For a man of such bulk and strength, he moved like a cat at times; a truly unnerving ability in the strong warrior. "But the guards who searched for us now look for him. I trust Fandral and Hogun to track him down."

Thor reached over and cupped the side of Loki's face and leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips. He pulled back, as if reluctant, and smiled his sunny beaming grin that so lit up a room. "Come, Loki, we have a meal to eat before we put that bilgesnipe away for good." Thor stood, apparently unaware that the mention of food had Loki's stomach roiling in protest.

Rising and walked gracefully to the large clothing room, Loki's eyes barely registered the array of beautiful fabrics and clever designs. His mind was too taken with his morose thoughts. When the inhibitors totally dissipated from his system, the healers could test him for whatever damage was left behind. Then, Loki would know just how much Laufey had hurt him . . . and his dark suspicions would in all probability be confirmed. He knew what he'd tell Thor on that day; he'd practiced the words a hundred times in his head already. He would gently tell his mate that there would be no children, but he would grant Thor the right to find a secondary mate, one which could birth the children Thor would need to carry on the line of Bor. And Loki would do his best not to show how much it hurt to see his lover in a woman's arms or hear the cry of a child he could never bear.

Blindly reaching out, Loki grabbed the first outfit that came to hand. It was an emerald green tunic that reached his thighs matched with cadet grey trousers. Like Thor, Loki eschewed the use of undergarments, merely slipping into the outfit and finding matching green stockings to wear under his dark grey boots. When ready he turned to Thor and offered a grim smile, knowing it was the closest he could get to anything resembling happiness with the weight on his shoulders and heart. It seemed the Norns were always taunting him to snatch things away once he realized he could have them.

Walking over to Loki, Thor offered him his sunny smile and slid his arms around the leaner man's waist. Kissing him again, he almost purred when Loki chose to lean into the embrace. "After the trial, if you wish, Mother has offered to give us a lesson in seidr."

Green eyes widening, Loki studied Thor's eyes for teasing, though the large man was not one to joke about such a subject dear to Loki's heart as education. Loki had been longing to learn how to control that mystical energy flowing through and around him, ever since he had blindly used it to aid in Lady Sif's healing. He had not gotten the chance to repeat such actions, draining as they had been, and the promise of working with someone as skilled and caring as Frigga tugged Loki's half-hearted smile into a full grin.

"Then what are we waiting for, idiot? Let us go so we may learn the sooner." Loki pulled from Thor's embrace and ducked around him, listening to Thor's rumbling laugh. Loki continued smiling as he listened to Thor pull on his boots in order to follow down the wide hallway.

Fortunately, there was no banquet set for the day's noon meal. Rather each of the small group of diners was served individually by deferential servants. While Thor ate meat and bread with a large side of vegetables, Loki asked for plain toasted bread wafers and weak tea. He had found over the past few days that this meal bothered him least when the nausea struck. Conversation remained light among those in the room, gathered almost intimately at one end of the large raised dais on which the royal table sat. All in all, a rather pleasant meal, though Loki was relieved when it ended and the remnants of food removed, leaving only the vague lingering odors of what had been consumed.

As Odin, the Allfather, stood, so did the rest of the group. "Well, let's get this sordid business over with," Odin rumbled and led them from the dining room to the opulent throne room. Unlike that mainly empty dining chamber, this room was particularly crowded. Courtiers, nobles, and servants lined the walls and filled the space along the center aisle. Odin, Frigga, Thor, and Loki made their way up to the royal dais where Odin sank onto his throne with an easy grace born of a thousand years of ruling.

"Bring the slave in," Odin intoned.

Two guards in full regalia, green armored outfits and golden, horned helmets, strode in with Tyr shackled heavily between them. The prisoner had chains on his wrists, bound to his waist, and on his feet, hobbling him. He also had a sturdy, heavy iron collar around his neck, with another chain leading from the collar to the waist iron. Tyr was effectively being treated as if he were one of the more dangerous criminals kept in the dungeons.

Loki stiffened and felt Thor's strong hand on his lower back, carefully caressing. Unwilling to meet Tyr's eyes, Loki merely stared at that painful looking collar. He stood, stiff and slightly trembling, waiting for the entire affair to just be over. He felt sick pushing at the light meal he'd eaten and wished he'd simply skipped luncheon.

"The gladiator known as Tyr, slave of Thor Odinson, also known as Vidar Gridjarson," Odin intoned in a deep, detached manner. "You stand before the Allmother accused of rape on an imprisoned Omega in first heat. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Shock raced over Tyr's face and he shook his head. "I was told he was a Gamma! No one ever said anything about an Omega!"

Odin raised one eyebrow in what could almost be called condescending disbelief. "And thus, because you thought he was a Gamma, you raped him?" A hint of disgust threaded through Odin's reverberating tones.

"No!" Tyr shook his head, chains rattling heavily and iron collar biting into his thick neck. "Not rape, your majesty! He was a prostitute. My master paid for his use. I did nothing but rut with him . . ."

Loki covered his mouth as the bile rose, turning from the sight of the pale, inferior version of Thor. The real Thor pulled Loki into his arms and murmured soothing words into his ear as a distinct sound of whispering came from those observing. Lifting one hand, Odin brought the talking to a stop and pinned Tyr with his unforgiving gaze. Tyr fell silent.

Frigga stepped forward and asked, in an equally controlled voice, "and did the prostitute consent to sex?"

Apparently hoping the Allmother would be sympathetic due to her feminine gender, the prisoner turned towards her, lifting his weighted hands in a plea. "It's his job, your majesty. How can he refuse his job?"

Lifting a hand to keep the court silent, Frigga coldly stated, "even a prostitute has the right of refusal. Even a slave has the right to refuse work, punishment to be decided by the owner of the debt, not the customer or observer of the defiance. I ask once more, did the prostitute consent to the sex?"

"He was begging for it, your majesty." Tyr answered in a slightly shaking voice.

"Before or after his heat began?" Frigga asked and another ripple of noise washed over the court, silenced once more by Odin's glare.

Tyr shook his head. "I did not know he went into heat, your majesty. I thought he was a Gamma with no heats."

"Very well. And do you have a statement to make pertaining to the injuries he received at your hands? The glass cuts? The head injury?"

Unable to turn, not wanting to even see the man who'd attacked him, Loki kept his face buried in Thor's chest, breathing the scent of his mate and willing his heart to stop racing and his nausea to ebb. He did not want to vomit in the throne room before the court.

Clearing his throat, Tyr's voice trembled noticeably as he said "uh . . . well . . . some people like it rough. And after a couple thrusts, he was begging, so, I . . ."

"After a couple of thrusts?" Frigga asked, still coldly.

Tyr stopped talking, looking around the room as if searching for help.

Finally, Frigga's voice came again, gently this time. "Prince Loki, do you wish to give a statement?"

"Prince?" Tyr yelped to be silenced by a hard tug on his neck chain by one of the guards.

Taking a breath, Loki stood and turned, glad that Thor did not remove his hand. Clasping his left hand over his abdomen, in an unconsciously protective gesture, Loki took two shaking steps forward. He feared his voice would be barely audible, but when he spoke, it was clear, cold, and well modulated. "Yes, I would," he said, eyes falling inadvertently on Tyr who paled upon recognizing him. A surge of power shot through Loki, bolstering him as he continued his claim.

"As I was imprisoned in a brothel, the brothel keeper labeled me a Gamma in order not to be caught keeping me there, thus no customer would have been told of my Omega nature," He swallowed as the bile threatened again, right hand going to his mouth. Concentrating, breathing slowly, Loki lifted his hand, grateful that Frigga seemed to understand and give him time to compose himself. Lowering his hand, Loki said "I was going into my first heat when the customer known as Tyr was assigned to me. I allowed him to touch me, but when he . . . breached me, I protested . . . vehemently." Finally, Loki dropped his glare on Tyr, wishing he could shrivel the man with his venomous look.

"He told me to scream because he liked it. And when I began to struggle, he slammed my head against a mirror on the wall. Then he continued his rutting, holding me against the broken glass. I do not know when my struggles turned to acceptance, I only know I was overwhelmed with my heat and could no longer protest or defend myself." Humiliation welled up at having to rehash this in front of these strangers. Loki straightened his back and shoulders, head high, and claimed coldly. "The man known as Tyr savagely raped me, Allmother, and caused me four days of hellish heat fever afterwards until my bondmate was found and tended me."

Tyr stammered as if he wished to protest, but the Allfather raised his hand. His glare brought Tyr to silence. "And how do you wish to counter this claim, Tyr?" With a gesture of his other hand, Odin signalled Loki to walk forward.

Unwilling to leave his mate, but knowing he had to go through the humiliation and terror of this ordeal, Loki took a deep breath and stepped up in front of Odin. He pushed his hair from his forehead, displaying the long freshly healed scar that he had been assured might fade in time. Without being instructed, for surely they would never ask it of him, Loki stripped his tunic off, dropping it to the floor. Stunned eyes followed his every graceful movement as he unlaced his trousers and let them fall to his feet, revealing quite eloquently the scars over his arms, chest, thighs, and genitalia. There was no doubt just how injured he had been from the attack, the trauma he accused this prisoner of inflicting on him.

Tyr passed out and Loki wanted to scream and spit. 'The fucking coward passed out!' he grit his teeth and glared at the inert body on the floor, dangling from heavy chains still held in the guards' hands. To add one last vindictive insult, Loki said quite clearly, "and as the seidr cannot be used until the poisons from captivity are leeched from my system, it is unclear if I am forced to bear my rapist's child."

The room roared in anger and shock and it was all Odin could do to regain control. The guards had to protectively lay down over the body of the unconscious prisoner, protecting him from those nearby who wanted to hurt him as the rare Omega had been injured. Loki merely turned, finding Thor's arms encircling him, lifting him, and carrying him from the room out a back entrance. Loki cried and shuddered and tried not to vomit as the noise behind them died down.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Fourteen: Trials and Results