No smut in this one :(
Trigger Warnings: Character Death
Chapter Twenty One: Asgard Can Burn
Loki took a deep breath and tried to steady the tremor of his hands. When he entered the treasure vault, he had sent the guards away by telling them he needed to perform a few dangerous experiments on the necklace. Though it was technically against their vows, they had left him alone. The silence of the vault's golden walls weight down on him, pushing into him until he felt he would suffocate. But he didn't leave. Loki needed to know—know that he wasn't the very same creature that his family scorned and hate. He wasn't the monster of nightmares; was he?
The ride back from the northern forests had been excruciating. Every little word from anyone set him on edge. Loki had felt as though any moment Yeva or Thor would look at him and see what he truly was. He couldn't bear to see the revulsion and horror on their faces, so he had kept to himself as much as possible. He could tell Yeva was confused and hurt—angry even—at his recent neglect. But he couldn't allow himself to touch her until he knew. By the Gods, if his suspicions were true about himself and if he had managed to get her pregnant in the short few months that he had shared her bed…well, he shuddered to think of the damage was Jotun babe in her womb would do.
The Casket of Ancient Winters rested before him on a golden pillar, glittering with a harsh blue glow. Loki could feel the cold rolling off of it. It was the crown jewel of Odin's vault and once the source of Jotunheim's power. Without it the frost giants were nothing, but if it ever fell into their hands again, they would be a force fearsome to behold. No one but a Jotun could use it. The Allfather could barely touch it and only at the expense of his powers for as long as he was in contact with it. It would surely kill any other aesir.
Taking a deep breath, Loki slowly extended his hand and gripped the Casket by its golden handles. The second he touched it, it hummed to life. Lifting the Casket from where it rested, Loki marveled that he hadn't yet been frozen where he stood. Glancing to the side at his hands, his marvel soon turned to horror as Jotun blue blossomed over the skin of his fingers.
"STOP!"
Though he would know that voice anywhere, Loki did not turn around to face the Allfather.
"Am I cursed?" He asked.
Loki felt sick at the hope that laced his voice with that question. Anything would be preferable to being a Jotun. Please, let it be so.
"No," the Allfather's voice was flat, revealing no emotion or clue as to this thoughts.
The disappointment hit Loki so hard he struggled to breath. He wasn't cursed, at least, not in the traditional sense. He wasn't cursed and he could use the Casket. There were no other options. He let the Casket clunk down on its pillar.
"Than what am I?" He rasped, still holding on to the slim hope that Odin could offer him another explanation.
"You're my son."
Loki hadn't heard Odin speak that way, claiming him as his own so simply without an audience, since he was very little. Why had it taken this nightmare to set in for his father to acknowledge him? Not his father, though, not really, he reminded himself.
"What more than that?" He asked, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.
He turned to look at the Allfather. Loki had held the Casket long enough to feel its cold slip over his entire body and he knew exactly how monstrous he must look. He wanted to see Odin's face when he was confronted with Loki's blue scared skin and red eyes.
Odin watched him silently, not reacting. So he knew. Of course he knew, he was the Allfather, the All-knowing. Suddenly, it hit him. Loki had been so concerned with proving himself wrong, proving he wasn't a monster, that he hadn't bothered to consider how he had been brought to Asgard in the first place.
He walked towards his father slowly, enunciating each word and trying to detect a lie on Odin's face.
"The Casket wasn't the only think you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?"
He reached the foot of the golden steps and look up at the Allfather, wanting to see anything in his face but the truth.
"No," Odin said, pausing, considering his words carefully. "In the aftermath of the battle I went into the temple and I found a baby. Small, for a giant's offspring…abandoned, suffering…left to die: Laufey's son."
As he spoke, Loki couldn't stand to look upon the Allfather's face, for there was no lie in his words.
"Laufey's son?" He name felt strange in his mouth as he tested it, foreign and bitter.
Laufey's son. Laufeyson. Not Odin's son. He looked at Odin, for once letting his emotions play across his face.
"Yes," the Allfather, but not his father, said simply.
NO. Not only was he a monster, a creature from that vile race of demons, he was the son of the creature that had tried to kill his wife.
"Why?" He looked at Odin; both dreading and seeking answers. "You were knee-deep in Jotun blood. Why would you take me?"
"You were an innocent child. You would have died."
He felt is anger rise at that, "no! You took me for a purpose," he said, advancing the steps. "What was it?"
The Allfather stared at him, silent.
"TELL ME!" He screamed, a torrent of emotions exploding through his voice and across his face. Anger, disappointment, fear, betrayal, terror, sadness.
"I thought we could unite our kingdoms on day. Bring about an alliance; bring about permanent peace through you."
"What?" Loki whispered, all the memories of Odin telling him and Thor that they would both be kings flooding back to him.
"But those plans no longer matter," Odin said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
Loki felt sick; sick from anger and disappointment and revulsion. Did those plans no longer matter because he was not good enough? Had not proven himself worthy? What had he ever done wrong, besides not be born Thor? What was he for then?
"So I am no more than another stolen relic? Locked up here until you might have use of me?" Loki's anger was coloring his words and clouding his mind.
"Why do you twist my words?" Odin reprimanded.
"You could have told me what I was, from the beginning," Loki said, sadness blending with his anger. "Why didn't you?!"
"You're my son. I wanted only to protect you from the truth," Odin stated simply.
The truth. And what good did that do him now? No wonder he was the fucking God of Lies—no one deigned to give him the truth! Lies were all he knew.
"What? Because I…I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?!" There, he had said it out loud. Monster: that was what he was.
"No," the Allfather whispered, wearily.
Stop denying it he wanted to scream, his anger and pain blinding him.
"You know it all makes sense, now! Why you favored Thor all these years!" Loki screamed venom rising in his voice as he advanced on the Allfather's sitting form. "Because no matter how much you claimed to love me, you could never have FROST GIANT SITTING ON THE THRONE OF ASGARD."
Loki was leaning over Odin, breathing heavily, unaware of how they had come into their positions. Odin reached for him, trying to take Loki's hand, but his fingers slipped as his body went limp. Loki stared in horror at his father's exhausted, unconscious form. Had he done this as well? The Odinsleep could be brought on by extreme stress or heartbreak. Was this his fault?
He reached for Odin's hand, the childish urge to shake and waking him up taking over, but Loki hesitated. What would his touch do if his anger and pushed Odin over the edge? Swallowing his fears for a moment, he gently felt the Allfather's hand, hoping to feel the strong pulse of his heart. It was there, but weak.
"Guards!" Loki cried. "Guards, please! Help! The Allfather!"
He scrambled away from the body as the treasure vault guards marched in and swooped over Odin, ready to take him to his bed. Loki followed listlessly after, dazed and horrified by the Allfather's revelations.
Laufeyson.
Loki didn't know how to react, he simply felt empty. His entire life was one elaborate lie. He wasn't an Odinson. He wasn't a prince. He wasn't an asgardian.
He was a monster.
And he deserved to be alone.
The dungeons were quite, save for the dripping of water down the dark walls. It must have been night time, since there were fewer guards patrolling the silent hallway with their grotesque and distorted shadows stalking him through his sleep. Beowulf was prompted against the wall of his cell, wavering between a fitful slumber and consciousness.
His feet had been painfully re-grown by the king's healer; muscle, swine, and flesh all built up over days of excruciating pain. At least there weren't any maggots involved with that process. His new feet were pink and soft like an infant's. Yet it hurt to walk over the rough ground of the prison, free as they were from calluses.
As he lied there, in the darkness, he heard her before he saw her—the scuffle of silk slippers over the uneven stone floor, the draw of cold air into lungs. Melisende appeared before his cell door, carrying her own torch, her dark hair both framing and hiding her tawny face. She motioned for him to approach.
Standing on shaking legs, the floor cut into his new feet as Beowulf walked the short distance to the door and hot blood coated his skin. Absently he wondered if he would have the strength to walk to his execution tomorrow.
He licked his lips and waited for her to speak.
"All is arranged. I've been speaking to those who would wish change, and change they shall have," Her voice barely carried through the darkness, but her words brought comfort though the riddling was necessary. Safety first, after all.
"What role shall I play?" He questioned.
"Just do as you would. I will take care of the rest. On the morrow, you will have that for which you have so long wished."
With her whispers echoing in his ears, she turned and fled.
Sigyn watched Baldur as he paced around his small dark chamber, excitement clear in his movements. His golden eyes shone brightly as he watched her. He had called her to him earlier that day, though she had not been able to slip away from the queen until just now, as twilight set out over the golden city.
"It was beautiful, my dear. I had not yet decide how I was going to frame him—for frame him I must as he's too clever by half—but then he all but handed me his head on silver platter. Do you want to know how?"
Sigyn felt uncomfortable; she hadn't seen Baldur in such a state before and he seemed likely to do something rash. Oh how she wished she had never gotten mixed up with him; that she had never ventured to the gardens to meet him that night. But if living at the royal court had taught her one thing, it was how to survive. How to keep her head down and do as expected while working quietly behind the scenes.
"How…I mean, what happened?" She whispered, afraid to hear.
Baldur stopped his pacing and fixed his gaze on her. Walking towards her, he captured her hands in his and kissed her knuckles; she tried not to gag.
"You'll hardly believe it, I think, but as we fought the Jotuns on my northern estates, I happened to glance over at my dearest cousin. Loki was caught 'round the wrist by a frost giant, and do you know what? His arm turned blue. And not just any blue, not the bluish-black of frost bite, but the bright blue of a true Jotun." Baldur paused to throw his head back and laugh. "So tell me, my dear, did you ever suspect? How did his Jotun cock feel inside of you? Was it cold as ice? Did you like it?"
Was he jealous? Sigyn felt revulsion well up in her stomach and for once she acted on her impulses instead of caution. The chamber rang with the sound of her hand slapping the curve of his cheek smartly. An imprint of her fingers blossomed on his face, a violent, angry red. Baldur hiss and grabbed her by the throat, slamming her against the smooth wall. Sigyn's head rang as she clawed at his hands, trying desperately to breath.
"Sigyn, darling, beautiful Sigyn. I promised you immunity at the end of all of this. Don't make me break my promise to you," he growled, his hot breath washing over her face.
Baldur squeezed her windpipe for a long moment, eyes never leaving hers as her vision started to blacken. Finally letting go of her, Sigyn dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. Looking up at him from where she lay sprawled on the ground, her heart darkened with hate. She hated his handsome face that belied his cruel, grasping nature; hated his golden eyes and foul breath. Most of all, she hated herself for being sucked into his madness all because he promised her to give her back something that had never really belonged to her to begin with.
"Run along dear. If you ever want to fuck your jotun again, you had better to do it soon. He'll be dead by tomorrow. Once I notify Laufey that everything is going exactly to plan, Asgard won't have a change."
Sigyn stood shakily by supporting herself on the nearby table. She stared at him in horror as the full weight of his words hit her.
"You promised we would both be safe!"
Baldur threw his head back and laughed, its merciless tones reverberating off of the dark walls.
"Oh Sigyn, you naïve thing. I promised you two things. I promised you Loki, which I am at this moment giving you, and I promised you immunity when this little mess is over—when I am king of Asgard and Laufey rules the Nine Realms! These promises were mutually exclusive of each other and it is certainly not my fault if you were stupid enough to think otherwise."
His laughter chased her down the hall as she feld from him. Baldur was so self-assured of his grip on her that he did not bother to chase Sigyn. He did not think she would ever betray him, because to do so certainly meant death for her. But he was wrong. Sigyn did not care much for her own life at this point; she knew enough about his pact with Laufey to know she would probably die anyway. All of the Worlds of Yggdrasil covered in ice. She needed to tell someone before all Hel broke loose, but the only person she could think on was Loki. She dreaded seeing him again, particularly after their last encounter but he was the Lie-Smith, he would know the truth as it tumbled from her lips.
As she reentered the main halls of the palace, everything seemed to be uproar. For a moment she thought perhaps Baldur's plans had already been put in motion and they were under attack. Servants and messengers were dashing to and fro, looking harried and terrified. She barely had time to slip into an alcove when a cohort of guards marched by, long spears ready in their hands. What in Valhalla was going on?
Turning a corner, Sigyn nearly crashed into another of the queen's handmaidens.
"Sigyn? Where have you been? The palace is in chaos! The Allfather has fallen into the Odinsleep. The Queen is beside herself—they do not think he will waken!"
"By the nine realms! How did it happen?" She inquired, gripping her friend's wrists tight with fear as they crouched out of the way—if Baldur's plans came to fruition while the King was in the Odinsleep, they were all doomed.
"No one knows," She whispered furtively. "He was alone with Prince Loki in the treasure vault when it happened. The guards said they could hear shouting, but when they went to investigate, His Royal Highness was panicked and calling for them."
Sigyn closed her eyes, trying to think. She was almost certain Loki had confronted the king about his parentage, if Baldur's words could be trusted. Her urgency to see Loki tripled. If the Allfather was gone, Loki was the only person in the royal family who would listen to the reason of her warning. Thor was too rash to understand the importance of avoiding a fight with Jotunheim at all cost and Frigga would be too distraught by Odin's sickness to do anything.
Breaking away from the other maid, Sigyn hurried up her now un-used but familiar route to Loki's chambers. It would take longer as she was traveling the servant's paths, but she couldn't risk anyone seeing her. She only hoped to Valhalla that he would be there when she arrived.
Theoderic looked out over the night sky from his pavilion, his mind heavy with many thoughts. An ill feeling had followed him throughout his days ever since Yevanna had left for the Realm Eternal. Unrest followed him everywhere—whether it was an increase in goblin raids to the north or the disappointing situation with Beowulf, it seemed his old age would be marked with trouble.
The young elf's face bloomed in Theoderic's mind's eye. Tomorrow was Beowulf's execution and though he preferred to swing the sword of justice himself, he had deferred to Princess Melisende's wishes that she be the one to sever the head of her brother's killer.
He took one last look at the cosmos glittering above his head before retiring for the night. The greens and purples of the stars calmed him and brought him a quite resolve. He would need all his strength for the next morning for though he knew what must be done, it ached at his soul to execute one he had raised himself.
The next day, Theoderic felt weary as he seated himself on his throne. He had not slept well the night before; he could not shake the dark cloud that had settled over him. As soon as he was done with this business he would write to Asgard; he needed to know Yevanna was alright as he feared this current mood was some portent of his daughter's doom.
"Bring the prisoner," he ordered as Melisende assumed her position at the foot of the dais.
The great hall was full to bursting with courtiers, both those from the Western Woods and the Eastern Shore. The high heavy doors boomed open and the shell that once was Beowulf was dragged in by two guards who needed prop him up between them. A trail of hot red blood flowed from his feet back to the dungeons. When the boy was right before the dais, Theoderic stood and carefully walked down the stone steps.
"Beowulf, once Lord of the Northern Reach of the Western Woods, you are brought here today to serve your sentence of execution. Through trail by ordeal you have been judged by a jury of your peers to be guilty of the murder of Lord Ibelin of the Eastern Shore. For your crime may your head be struck from your neck so that your blood runs free. Do you have any last words?" As he spoke, he peered down at his once-nephew and wondered where the stars of the boy's life had led him astray.
Beowulf licked his lips, considering the King's words. "The sword of justice is about to fall, there is no need for words."
Theoderic stared at the younger elf, puzzling over his suddenly contrite attitude until he decided it did not matter. Beowulf would die today, and if he was repentant than perhaps Hel would have mercy on his soul. Turning he motioned for an attendant to bring forth the great sword used for executions.
"Kneel," he ordered.
Beowulf complied, getting on his knees, hands bound behind his back and neck bent. The hall was silent as a tomb. After a moment, Theoderic turned to Melisende and held the sword out to her. She picked the blade of from his outstretched hands, bowing her head to him. Theoderic took a step back, to stand behind her as she raised the great blade over Beowulf's head.
Melisende swung the harsh metal. It struck not down onto the traitor's neck but out towards his own.
A comforting, sticky warmth flowed down Theoderic's chest as the erupting chaos of the hall dimmed. He saw the sparkling blue eyes of his wife as his own sight failed and darkness engulfed both king and land. He would have rasped her name save for his severed vocal cords.
Loki sat numbly in his darkened chambers, trying to keep his emotions at bay. Think of nothing, feel nothing, be nothing, and nothing can hurt you, he thought.
Laufeyson.
Jotun.
Monster.
The thoughts kept echoing in his head, not matter how hard he tried to block them out. The voices of a thousand memories pressed in on him. He was different, odd, not like everyone else. Why did he have to like magic and not swordplay? What was wrong with him? Not much like his father, is he? Look how thin he is. Tricky little bastard, isn't he? Where do you think the dark hair comes from, anyway? Strange child. Strange man. Different, different, DIFFERENT.
Not like the rest of us.
He could feel the storm building up inside of him, black and hateful and furious. A baleful wind, ready to break free and leave a path of destruction and chaos in his wake. It was fueled by all that was deep and dark and buried inside his heart: fire and ice and rage.
Loki had stared into the abyss of his soul, and the abyss had stared back. The monster was string. They would regret their lies.
The click of a door closing snapped him out of his inner turmoil, if only enough to see what was before him.
"Sigyn," he said, hardly believing his eyes.
Why had she come? And now of all times. Could she not see he was not to be trusted around anyone? She looked half-crazed herself, eyes bright with panic and red welts lining her slim neck. She was kneeling at his feet and babbling.
"I'm sorry, Loki please. I know, I know. He told me. But I need to tell—only you can stop it, please, please listen to me!"
Only half his mind was on her, the rest was still tumbling into the chaos of his soul. What did she mean? He looked at her, really looked at her. Perhaps she was here for a reason. Yeva was still a problem he must solve, after all.
Slowly, Loki knelt so that he was at her eye level. Pretty green eyes, to be sure, but not the light blue he could no longer allow himself to love. Gently he reached forward and captured her face in his hands.
"What are you doing?!" She gasped. "What about Princess Yevanna?"
That made him pause. What about Yeva? Surely this was less cruel that the truth—by the god's he could hear her approaching now.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured, searching her gaze, before crashing his lips down to hers.
Sigyn resisted his touch for a moment, but his grip was too strong and the memories too potent. With a sob of relief she relaxed into him, clutching at his body, desperate for something she had never quite had.
And then the door opened.
Yeva smiled at Sif as they walked into the common area between their rooms. They had just come from the practice yard, bruised and sweaty, perhaps, but it was a welcome distraction. Between the clash of swords, free from the cocked ears of those too curious for their own good, Yeva spilled her recent fears.
"What is troubling you, my friend?" Sif asked, concern written on her face through the moue of concentration.
Yeva hesitated to speak, but she realized of anyone in Asgard, in all the Nine Realms, Sif was the only person she trusted with these words.
"Loki has not touched me since we returned from the north," She murmured, parrying Sif's sword thrust. "And it is not because of my moon-blood."
Sif ducked Yeva's sweeping swing. "Loki is a changeable man, prone to periods of solitude. Could that not be all it is?"
Yeva frowned, considering her words. "I think not. He has always been willing to speak with me before, regardless of mood. He hardly looks at me anymore."
Yeva watched her friend retreat into her chamber, before turning to enter Loki's. She took a deep breath, resolving to speak to her husband and find out what she had done to earn his freezing behavior.
Opening the door, she paused as her mind worked out the utterly foreign scene before her. As her brain slowly started to function, bile rose in her throat and her stomach churned. There was Loki, her lover and husband, kneeling on the floor, lips locked in passionate kiss with another woman.
Vengeance, violence, fire, and bloodlust boiled through her body but she was all but frozen to her spot, unable to speak or move, only stare.
The woman—Sigyn?!—realized Yeva was there first, or perhaps Loki knew, but he did not seem to care. Either way, the other woman's green eyes widened and her soft moan of pleasure turned into a gasp of horror. Slowly, Loki stopped betraying Yevanna with his lips and turned to face her. He didn't say anything, didn't move towards her, just watched. Sigyn back away, though Yeva couldn't have been bothered to care; she only had eyes for Loki.
Finding her ability to move, she stalked towards him, her face blank. She didn't say anything. He didn't deserve her words, her screams, or her wrath and she wouldn't have been able to speak if she wanted too. When she reached him, Yeva locked her gaze on his in defiance, proud of the fact there was not a tear in her eye, only a firestorm of rage, fearful to behold. Raising her hand, she slapped him across the face so hard his head snapped to the side and red welts appeared on his pale skin. He didn't react, taking her fury as though he knew he deserved it.
Yeva turned on her heel and marched to the door. She stopped before crossing the threshold and turned to face him once again. She could not stop the spill of tears anymore, so she let them fall, hot and salty down her face. She hoped he felt guilty; she never cried. Turning her attention to her hand, she ripped his engagement ring off of her finger. Staring at it a moment, Yeva considered what it meant before flinging at him. It hit Loki square in the chest and he caught it as it bounced off of his body.
She turned and left, head held high and shoulder's squared. As she entered the common area, Theo burst into the room, looking frantic and capturing the attention of everyone that her interlude with Loki had failed to gain.
"YEVA! MY LADY! New form Alfheimr! Your father—"
"We're leaving," she said, her tone icy.
"But Yeva, you need—" He started.
"Theoderic. I said: we. Are. Leaving. Assemble the company commanders and inform them. Have them organize the troops' departure and then meet me at the Bifrost."
The sound of his full name from her lips froze the blood in his veins more than the terrible news he had been about to deliver. What in Valhalla's name had happened to made her so furious, so cold?
Her announcement had shocked everyone and Thor stared in horror.
"Yeva! You cannot be serious. What of Asgard?" He called after her rapidly retreating form, confused by the recent turn of events.
Yeva turned in the archway, ready to leave, and looked upon Thor, his companions, Sif, and, lastly, Loki who still stood in the shadow of his rooms for the final time.
"Asgard can burn for all I care."
Well, I hope you enjoyed it...or at least don't hate me too much. lol. Don't worry, there should be 5-10 more chapters to go. The next chapter might be a little delayed. I'm going to be away from my computer for a few days with the 4th of July and I have major edits to do on my thesis so it can be published! Due date for that is next week Wednesday, so hopefully you'll have another chapter a few days after that.
I'd like to thank Shard-01, HarryPotterFreakie, Furionknight, Ikatiecullen101, and Loki'sdreamer for their lovely reviews. A further thanks to anyone who added this story or myself to your alert / favorites list!
A special thanks to my tumblr friend Sing-Hummingbird-Sing for helping me figure out Yeva's reaction.
Comments, Questions, Criticisms? Please PM or Review! :D