LOKI
Yes, he had allowed the Jotuns into Asgard. But he had not counted upon starting a war. Or Thor's banishment. Or watching his entire world unravel in front of him. This is "THOR," from the point of view of Odin's second son. NO SLASH. Tie-in to Fallen Star.
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This story is dedicated to those who have traveled with me on this great adventure—and who will stay by my side as we discover new territory.
I have been looking forward to writing this for a very long time, and I have put quite a bit of thought into it. Therefore, I will begin with a great deal of back-story, which I believe to be crucial to our dear Emerald Prince's character—vital to understanding how he ticks.
I hope you enjoy.
-Alydia Rackham
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Throughout almost all of this chapter, I listened to the Thor soundtrack "Science and Magic."
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PROLOGUE
Loki's eyes snapped open. He sucked in a gasping breath—it tore through his chest. His vision would not focus, no matter how hard he blinked. Blurred, dark shapes punctuated by brilliant dots passed over him. Panic grabbed him. He took another breath. It snagged.
He exhaled a sharp cry. His voice sounded like a slap—raw and close in the silence. He ground his teeth as needles of pain danced across the ribs of the right side of his chest and back. He screwed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take quick, shallow breaths, even as faintness threatened to take him.
Sensation began working its way down through his limbs again, like water through frozen pipes. There—he could feel his arms, now his fingers. They clawed downward into dusty sand. His legs lay crooked, a large stone between his feet. His green cape draped halfway across him, like a blanket haphazardly thrown over a prisoner. He opened his eyes again.
His vision cleared. Black sky replaced the dark blur. And stars—sharp points of white—replaced the flickering lights.
Loki frowned hard, his brow twisting, as he stared upward. The sky looked wrong; it looked—
Another wave of throbbing washed through him, and his hands came up without his consent to press against his chest. Again, he made his throat unlock, he closed his eyes, and forced his mind and breathing to calm so he could retrace what had just happened.
And he lay there in silence, wracked with agony, staring up at foreign constellations and blinking away the cold tears that ran down his temples.
CHAPTER ONE
Centuries Earlier…
"Fee, fi, fo fum—I smell the blood of an Asgardian…"
Loki hesitated, stopping in the pool of light beneath the torch that hung just outside his brother's bedroom. He pressed his little hands against the stone wall near the doorframe, tilted his head, and listened to his mother's low tones wander into the dark corridor.
"Be he alive, or be he dead," she went on gravely. "I'll grind his bones to make my bread!"
Loki gulped, eyes widening.
"And what did Fenris do?" Thor's eager voice darted out—and Loki heard his bed squeak as he leaned forward.
"He stayed exactly where he was, hidden inside the Frost Giant's icy cupboard," their mother assured him. "Holding his breath and praying that the Giant would not have a sudden desire for salted beef…"
Thor giggled.
Loki crept forward, close to the slightly-open door, leaned against it, and peeked around it.
Their mother sat on Thor's bed, wearing her long, purple velvet dressing gown. Her golden curls tumbled down over her shoulders and back, and her dark eyes bright and warm with amusement. Thor sat facing her, wearing his red nightclothes, tightly hugging his pillow. His wide blue eyes fixed on Mother's face, his own gold hair tousled. Lamplight from the flame on Thor's nightstand bathed them both in a soft, quiet glow, accentuating Thor's freckles and making Mother look otherworldly—angelic.
"Then what?" Thor demanded.
"Well," Mother leaned a little closer to him. "Fenris knew then that he would never escape back down the grape vine while the wicked giant lived—not with the silver lute, anyhow. Somehow, he would have to trick the Frost Giant. Now, Fenris was very clever—very cunning—as cunning as an old wolf! And so he thought up a lie."
"A lie?" Thor gaped.
"Yes," Mother nodded.
"I thought no one was supposed to lie," Thor objected.
"We aren't," Mother said. "Unless telling the truth will endanger our own lives, or the lives of people we love."
Thor glanced down at the bedcovers. Loki frowned, weighing those words.
Finally, Thor looked up at Mother, and canted his head.
"What lie did Fenris tell?"
Mother smiled.
"Well," she said again. "He took a deep breath, then stepped out of the cupboard. 'Hello!' he called, up into the air. And the Frost Giant turned around. His footsteps shook the floor. He towered over Fenris—massive and terrible—the color of darkest ice. He looked down at the Asgardian, and his eyes blazed red, like fire. He smiled—he had pointed teeth. And before Fenris knew what was happening, the giant bent down and scooped him up—"
The door creaked.
Loki jumped back—slipped and fell down.
The door swung open all the way.
Mother and Thor turned and saw him.
"Loki, alskling," Mother's eyebrows drew together. "I told you that this story is too scary for you!"
"You're telling it to Thor," Loki cried, suddenly on the verge of tears.
"It's too scary for you," Thor declared. "You'll have nightmares."
"Will not," Loki shot back, standing up and glaring at him.
"Will so," Thor retorted. "Go back to bed."
"No!"
"Alskling, come here," Mother beckoned. "You can probably hear this part—I'll try not to make anything too frightening."
Loki beamed, then raced into the room.
"Don't leave anything out!" Thor whined.
"Scoot over and make room," Mother reached out and pushed on Thor's shoulder. Thor shuffled sideways just as Loki leaped up onto the bed and crashed into him.
"Get off me!" Thor shoved him.
Loki slapped him in the neck. Thor grabbed him by the hair.
"I won't tell any of the story to you if you don't behave," Mother snapped.
They instantly let go of each other, and turned to her. Thor folded his arms with a huff. Mother stared at them each in turn, eyes burning.
Then, her frame relaxed, and she lifted her chin.
"The Frost Giant scooped Fenris up in his huge, meaty hand, and pulled him up to hang right in front of his ghastly face," she continued. "Fenris could smell his awful, cold breath—it billowed at him like a north gale. 'I have found you at last, little vermin!' the giant cried, gnashing his sharp teeth. 'And now I shall eat you!'"
Loki shuddered hard.
"He doesn't eat him, though," Thor said in a small voice. "Does he?"
Mother's eyebrows went up, and she half smiled.
"Not yet," she said. "Because Fenris was able to shout loudly enough that the giant heard him. 'I would be honored to be the dinner of such a mighty king!' Fenris said. 'But before dinner, wouldn't you like some entertainment?' 'Entertainment?' The giant was confused. You see, Frost Giants are so barbaric, they never have music or dancing or anything of the kind. They hardly ever even cook their meat. 'Yes!' Fenris said. 'Music! Surely you have an instrument here upon which I can play! And I can sing to you as well! It calms the nerves, soothes the digestion!'"
Thor snorted. Loki tried to calm his shivers as his vivid imagination played all of his mother's words before him.
"The giant considered this offer. After all, he had been suffering from digestion pains for some time," Mother went on. "All because he ate three whole cows without chewing…"
Loki turned to Thor and made a disgusted face—his brother made one right back.
"Let that be a lesson to you," Mother shook her finger at them. "Always chew your food."
"Yes—I'll remember that next time I decide to eat three whole cows," Thor rolled his eyes. Loki gagged on his laughter, and Thor chuckled and shoved him again—lighter this time.
"So," Mother said. "The giant—being stupid and easily fooled—set Fenris down on the huge kitchen table, which was really just a massive block of ice, and commanded him to make music. However, the only instrument in the entire castle was—"
"The magic lute!" Loki cut in. Mother pointed at him.
"The magic lute," she confirmed. "And because of the spell upon it, only a true Aesir could get it to produce even a single note. And so Fenris sat down on a huge bit of dragon bone, took up the silver lute, and began to play. The music was beautiful—unlike any that had ever entered a Jotun castle. And he sang a low, soothing song. 'Blow, northern wynd—send to me my sweting…'"
The boys knew the rest of the song—they sang along with their mother. Their voices mingled perfectly in the quiet of the night.
The three finished the song. Silence fell for a moment. Loki's brow furrowed as he watched his mother in the candlelight.
"Was Fenris afraid?"
Mother looked at him.
"Oh, yes," she said, nodding. "Very afraid. In fact, it was the most afraid he had ever been in his life. But the lute helped him, and the song was as familiar as his name. It helped him keep his wits, helped him think. Helped him take deep breaths, and remember his home, and the people he loved—and what he was fighting for. And as he played, the Frost Giant sat down on the floor, and slowly drifted off to sleep…"
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Loki's eyes opened. He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.
Cold sweat broke out all across his thin little body, and he trembled so badly he could barely breathe. He threw the covers off himself, sat up, and gulped. He felt sick to his stomach…
Clumsily, he lifted both hands, and clapped. The sound cracked through the silence.
A little orb of green light flashed to life in front of his face, casting brilliant, cheerful, fairy-like illumination through his room and pushing the shadows back to the corners. He glanced around.
There stood his footboard, carved with winged horses. Beyond that, his toy chests, his wooden animals and swords flung out all over the rug. The window, off to his right, the curtains half closed. He squeezed his eyes shut.
A vision of the Frost Giant in "Fenris and the Vine"—blue-faced and scarlet-eyed—loomed back into his consciousness. It opened its fanged mouth, leered toward him—
Loki gasped, forcing his eyes open.
A noise.
A grunt—a soft cry.
He sat up, listening.
It came again. Tighter—like a wail.
He kicked the rest of the covers off and slipped out of bed. The little green light trailed after him, just above his head, as he padded across the rug toward his door. He reached up, pulled the cold, silver handle and opened the door, and slipped silently out into the corridor.
The torches had dimmed, but Loki's vision instantly sharpened so he could see everything clearly. He hurried across the stone, the light bobbing after, until he came to Thor's room. He paused, then pushed on the door.
It eased open. Loki slid inside. Stopped.
Thor thrashed in his bed. Let out three more urgent grunts, his hands balling into fists. Loki took a brief breath, brow furrowing, and picked his way through the maze of toys toward him.
He halted at the foot of Thor's bed, watching him in the light of the green glow.
Thor's face twisted—tears ran down his cheeks. His eyes stayed closed.
Loki's mouth tightened. Then, he came around on the other side of Thor's bed and climbed onto it.
Thor twitched.
Loki stopped.
Thor swallowed hard. Shivered.
Loki eased down next to him, onto his side, and faced Thor. The green light hovered over their heads. Thor violently threw himself to one side—and suddenly he was facing Loki. Choking on sobs.
Loki held out one hand, and touched Thor on the bridge of his nose.
Thor's eyes flew open.
Loki stared straight into his brother's vivid gaze.
Then, Thor caught sight of the friendly, bobbing green light. Startled, his tear-filled eyes flicked to it for a moment, then back to Loki.
And Thor let out a long, deep sigh. His frame relaxed. He blinked slowly, and swallowed again. He brought his right hand up, and patted Loki on the head. Then he let his hand fall down onto Loki's forearm, and his eyelashes fluttered shut. The little light hummed. Warmth seeped back into Loki's muscles, and he sank into the soft mattress. Within moments, he had fallen asleep.
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Loki dashed after Thor and his father, back up the shining armory steps. Father's story of the fearful war on Jotunheim still rang loudly through his head. It had been a long time since Mother had told the bedtime story of Fenris and the Vine, but it still gave him and Thor nightmares. They never uttered a word of that to Mother, of course. But when Loki had just heard Thor declare that when he grew up he would kill all of the Frost Giants—and in the same moment, when he gave Loki a flashing, reassuring grin—Loki's chest had loosened, and he felt better.
Yes. Maybe when Thor did that, their nightmares would stop.
Loki's feet pounded loudly on the steps as the trio passed between the two large torches. He stretched out for Father's hand—
Tripped. Fell down on the landing.
Crashed onto his hands and knees.
Thor's laugh echoed through the chamber. Loki's face burned.
"Careful, my boy," Father advised, bending to grab him around the waist. As if he weighed nothing, Father lifted him and set him upright again. "Your feet are much too large for you at the moment."
"Big feet," Thor muttered, covering his smirk with his hand.
"I will kill you," Loki snarled at Thor, desperately straightening his tunic.
Father gave Loki a severe look and flicked him hard in the forehead.
Loki's head snapped back, and his hand flew to his brow.
"You're not to say such things to your brother," Father commanded, his voice like a lash. "And you," he turned to Thor. "Loki is simply growing too quickly—he cannot help it. He will one day be a tall man."
Loki forgot his stinging forehead for a moment, and peered up at his father.
"I shall?"
"Yes," Father nodded, glancing down at him with his single eye. "Quite tall, I would imagine."
Loki's whole frame swelled, and he sent a haughty look at Thor—who stuck his tongue out at him. Father firmly grabbed their hands, and led them through the towering doors, out into the gold, torchlit corridor, past the statue-like guards, and to the right.
"Father?" Thor asked as all of their footsteps tapped on the marble. "Where is Jotunheim?"
"Ah," Father lifted his bearded chin. "I shall show you."
Loki frowned, his stomach tightening again. They wove through the corridors, the flamelight flickering against the brass ornaments Father wore on his robes. Loki kept firm hold of Father's calloused hand, absently rubbing his thumb back and forth against Father's.
"This," Father said, drawing them into a tall-ceilinged side room, whose walls were draped with scarlet velvet. "Is Yggdrasil. The World Tree."
The three of them paused in the center of the floor, gazing up. Loki's lips parted, but he said nothing.
Before them, dominating the entire wall, stood a great, gnarled, twisting tree, carved in relief onto an ancient, stretching piece of wood. And in its branches, its roots, and far beneath it, gleamed fist-sized jewels, each of a different, dazzling color. Father let go of their hands and stepped toward it.
"There," Father pointed at the top of the tree—though he could not reach it. "Is where we live. Asgard." He began pointing to the other brilliant gems. "And nearby is Vanaheim, Alfheim, and Nidavellir. Beneath, there, is Midgard—very far away. And equally far is Jotunheim." Father pointed to a glimmering, cold, silvery stone on the level with Midgard. "Even further is Svartalfheim, there—and Hel, there; Niffelheim, and then Muspelheim."
Father turned to face them. Loki still stared beyond him, up at the huge, spreading tree—the smooth edges of its still, wooden leaves, branches and roots gleaming in the torchlight; the gems winking mysteriously, as if they enjoyed keeping secrets from him.
"Have you been to all of them, Father?" Loki murmured.
Father chuckled. It was a deep, rich sound—and it drew Loki's attention to his father's face. Father smiled—and the skin around his eyes wrinkled pleasantly as his eye twinkled.
"I have."
"Will we ever get to go?" Thor gasped, his blue gaze bright as ever.
"Certainly," Father assured him, reaching out to touch both Loki and Thor on the head. "And soon! I intend to take you myself."
Loki grinned, warmth rushing through him.
"But not to Jotunheim," Father amended. He raised his eyebrows. "Though I don't imagine either of you would want to waste any time there."
Thor shook his head—Loki shook his own harder.
"Good lads," Father chuckled again, taking up their hands. "Come. You must go outside and play, and I must relieve your mother of your little brother. Hurry, hurry!"
To be continued…
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