A/N: Another real source!
XXIX
Excerpt from Mythology: An Illustrated Encyclopedia. Edited by Richard Cavendish. Little, Brown and Company. 1992. "Scandinavia" pg. 178. By Eric J. Sharpe, Professor of Religious Studies, University of Sydney.
Loki the Trickster
There is no stranger figure in world mythology than Loki. Half divine and half demonic, Odin's foster-brother, the begetter of horrors – he is an intricate web of contradictions. He has been compared to the Greek hero Prometheus and in some modern eyes has been given a spurious grandeur as the enemy of constituted authority. Even his sex is in doubt. Perhaps for this reason, he (or she) finds it hard to strike up any normal relationship with gods or with men.
[continued…]
In Loki normal values are turned upside down and normal relationships confused. Is it too far-fetched, or too 'modern', to see him playing a role in the cosmic drama similar to that of the skull at the banquet or the jester at the wedding? He personifies the paradoxical, he acts out the inversion of values. A paradox cannot be explained, but it can be acted out. In this case the paradox is that of the god who hates the other gods, and is hated by them in turn. Loki was not a magician, but he knew some of the magician's arts – those of changing shape and flying. Magical powers could hurt or heal, just as the fire can burn but also give warmth. It is significant that a variant of the god's name is Logi, 'wildfire', which again recalls the myth of Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods and gave it to men.
In the end Loki is seized by the gods, who could not forgive his part in Balder's death, and bound with bonds of iron (like Prometheus). A snake, with venom dripping from its fangs, is fixed above his head. His wife, Sigyn, holds a bowl to catch the drops, but when she has to go to empty it, the venom drips onto his face. At the end of the world he will be released and he will fight against the gods in the last battle. He will struggle with Heimdall, the watchman of Asgard, and each will kill the other.
XXX
A trail of dust heralds the arrival of the sleek black vehicle. Lukas can hear the gravel crunching beneath the tires. Pickles bounds up beside him and barks at the newcomers.
He has been wondering when S.H.I.E.L.D. would send an envoy. Enough time has passed since the assault on Raina's warehouse that the men apprehended should have been interrogated, and as much information as possible gathered from the material left behind.
Time now to deal with potentially duplicitous consultants.
Lukas had hoped his gifting of the Ring would render this visit unnecessary. Giving up such a valuable artifact to mortals had felt like pulling off his own fingernails, one by one.
But – as he continues to remind himself – the gesture served his purposes better than hoarding it for himself would have. A demonstration of his usefulness. An excuse to overlook certain eccentricities. There is no information he needs so desperately at the moment that cannot be obtained through charm or guile.
If he is truly Lukas Eld… he must be everything that name entails. Lukas Eld is a consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D. If he had taken the Ring, absconded with it, or stolen it for himself – no, that was the echo of an old instinct, his past life's inclination. He has chosen Lukas.
Of course, he had taken the liberty of rendering the Ring impotent against himself before handing it over. Or rather, he had instructed the Ring to ignore those with both jötunn blood and the magic signature of the Æsir. Effectively him, as he cannot fathom another situation that would result in such an abomination, a creature formed of two worlds and disavowed by both.
A precaution, on the small chance S.H.I.E.L.D. proved more ambitious than predicted, and conspired to make use of magic to wring the truth of his identity from his lips. That folly with Raina – that will not happen again. If he is to reveal his name to these mortals, it shall be on his terms, and no others.
The Ring's runic inscriptions are fairly straightforward. The base working from which the Ring operates, engraved upon the metal eons past, had only needed to be adjusted, not rewritten. A matter of parameters, no more. Instead of breaking what had to be an immensely powerful enchantment, one bound at the deepest level, joined by fundamental forces to the metal's starheart, to its twining, dancing charge sparks – he only refined the field upon which the enchantment would act.
Raina must have been uncommonly clever to manipulate the Ring as she did. He can scarcely believe a mortal could possess such ingenuity when working with a foreign magic.
But it is not out of the realm of possibility. Most mages in Asgard held a similar disbelief when it came to his experimental workings. He had fiddled with them endlessly as a young man, brash and confident in his skill, straining against the boundaries set upon him. The mages had alternately derided his attempts as foolish, condemned them as perversions of nature, or stewed in their own jealousy. They conceived of magic in a certain way – a staid, rigid conception of what was truly a changeable, unpredictable force. He hadn't subscribed to the same beliefs. He saw seidr for what it was, rather than what he had been taught.
That this happened to ruffle some very important feathers… well, that was simply an unexpected treat.
And Mother had always smiled as he demonstrated some success, or even failure. That secret, pleased smile that he treasured, a smile that was his and his alone.
Lukas blinks rapidly and gives his head a sharp shake. He knows better than to think overlong of his youth, of that realm with its golden, hollow façade. He watches the S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle approach.
Roseanne is absent, visiting with her daughter in the next town over. He is glad. Lukas does not fancy explaining why his research colleagues are concealing holsters beneath their jackets.
To his surprise and bemusement, it is not Agent Roberts, nor even Agent Coulson who steps out of the vehicle when it screeches to a stop at the head of Roseanne's gravel drive. It takes Lukas a beat to recognize him without the garishly colored, indecently tight armor. Pickles runs to greet him, his entire body shaking with the force of his wagging tail. Perhaps the sheepdog is an excellent judge of character, or perhaps he's just the poorest excuse for a guard dog that Lukas has ever seen.
Agent, or Captain? The etiquette in this instance escapes him. He opts for his name in lieu of a title and hopes this is not perceived as a slight.
"Steven Rogers, yes?"
The man scratches behind Pickles's ears. He looks up when Lukas speaks, and rubs a hand through his short blond hair, then tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves. The brown trousers and dark blue button-down shirt are indeed quite sedate, from what he's seen of Captain America's wardrobe. "Yes. Please, call me Steve."
"Steve," he says, somewhat stilted. "I suppose you should call me Lukas." It is only gracious to reciprocate, but the informality jars him. He has not grown accustomed to the overly familiar manners of most Midgardians.
Steve Rogers smiles. Despite his best efforts, Lukas can detect neither mocking nor disdain in the expression. No smugness, no contempt. Only sincerity.
He returns the smile hesitantly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a personal visit? This must be rather far removed from your usual routine."
The Captain jolts, and begins patting his sides, his hips. Feeling for something in his pockets. "Oh! I, uh, brought you this. From Agent Coulson. He said you'd understand if they didn't include the vodka." He proffers something, laid out on his right palm.
Lukas takes it – and begins to chuckle. "Ah. Agent Coulson does possess an odd sort of humor." The Rolex sparkles in the sun. The shadows cast by late afternoon lend enough contrast to discern the engraving on the back of the watch face. To my dearest Roseanne.
The Captain appears to be restraining his curiosity for the sake of politeness. Lukas relents. "A previous, ah, negotiation of my contract included this as one of its stipulations." He doesn't mention Raina, but he privately wonders what Coulson intended with such a gift. To remind Lukas he has not forgotten that ill-fated agreement he made with the woman? A token of gratitude for delivering the Ring into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody? A bribe, that he might consider continuing his career as a consultant?
Lukas taps one of the diamonds encrusting the watch face, and breathes out another laugh. A fake, but a brilliantly constructed fake. Perhaps Coulson's way of thanking Lukas while reminding him of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s displeasure.
Tucking the watch into his pocket, he glances up at the Captain. "Surely you are not S.H.I.E.L.D.'s errand boy?"
The man scuffs his shoes in the gravel. "Uh, no. They were going to mail it, but I asked if I could hand-deliver it instead."
Lukas tilts his head in consideration. "The countryside is in full bloom, I grant you. A picturesque landscape. Are you so taken by the scenery?"
"Well, it is beautiful," the Captain murmurs. He crouches down next to a stand of daffodils and traces the edges of a petal. Lukas eyes him keenly. For a warrior of such great renown, the Captain is more quiet and pensive than he expected. "Seeing these hills out your window… It must be nice." He shakes his head with a wry smile. "But no, you're right. I wanted to ask something, and you seemed to be the man with the answers."
"I am at your disposal."
"This – Ring. You said it can tell a truth from a lie."
Lukas gives him a searching look. He had resigned himself to thorny questions about his past, or his omissions regarding his involvement with Raina. Not questions of myth and magic.
"Yes…"
The Captain frowns. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to use this Ring. I don't know how, or on who. But I'd be crazy to think they wouldn't press such an advantage if they've got it. And I think it could save a lot of lives, if they use it right. But –" He breaks off and chews on his lower lip. "You know this Ring the best of anyone, except maybe Raina or whoever made it. I just want to know what the cost will be."
Lukas can feel his brow furrow. "The cost?"
"It's – in my experience, power like this comes with a cost. You might know it from the outset, you might agree to it, thinking you know what it entails. Or it might blindside you later." The Captain's lips press together, and he looks away from Lukas, out to the garden and its nascent blossoms.
What has your power cost you, I wonder?
The Captain speaks to the flowers. "I'd like to know what this Ring is going to cost us before we use it, so we can prepare, or at least mitigate the damage."
Had the agents not told him? "When I was first contacted by S.H.I.E.L.D. and spoke to them of the Ring, I warned them of its curse. A curse which is eventually levied against all owners if it remains in their possession long enough."
He shrugs. "I kind of don't think Director Fury takes cursed objects very seriously."
Lukas blinks. What fool would ignore such malignant rumors, especially when handling an ancient artifact, steeped in powerful magic? "The more it is utilized, the greater the consequences," Lukas says, voice taut. "Do S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists even have the proper knowledge to examine the Ring's base workings?"
"Workings?"
"Specialists in runic transcriptions? Advanced –" Lukas scrambles for a word that isn't mage or seiðkonur. "Philosophers? Scholars of metaphysics or of the theory of dark energy transformation?"
"I think that curly-headed guy has some flying robots," Steve offers.
Lukas sighs. "I advise against the use of the Ring until such time as someone capable of handling it is acquired."
Steve looks at him. Lukas starts. It's quite obvious once he's said it. "Oh. I suppose I do already have a badge." The weight of the watch in his pocket takes on a new meaning. A promise, or an expectation.
"Yeah. But I think Coulson did say something about an extremely in-depth, bug-under-a-microscope level of a background check before he lets you back into a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility."
The expression on his face holds a question, but Lukas brushes it off. S.H.I.E.L.D. can wonder, speculate, or suspect all they want. In fact, he'd prefer it. There is a plan germinating in his mind, a plan that could see him in front of the Tesseract before long.
The plan ends there, abruptly, a cliff over the edge of an abyss. Lukas does not look too deeply. His goals remain short-sighted, temporary by design. The present is enough for him. Anything beyond that – and the Void echoes in his head, presenting a slew of possible futures, from the visions that arose out of that horrid blackness to prey upon his weakened mind.
None of those shall come to pass. He won't let them.
He breaks from his reverie, but notices the Captain has fallen into his own. His gaze is back on the young summer blooms, but it is distant, a veneer of interest.
"Are you well, Captain?"
The blond man turns, trying to paste a smile on his face. "I'm fine."
Lukas raises a brow. "Really."
"Yep."
"You're an atrocious liar."
The Captain laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, so I've been told."
"Something plagues your thoughts," Lukas observes.
"A lot of stuff."
He hazards a guess. "The attempt by Centipede to gain the hidden powers locked in your blood and bone?"
The Captain pales and Lukas knows he has touched upon the point of contention. "It would not sit easy with any man, I am sure. To be the object of such an obsessive crusade."
Frustration creases his brow. Lukas can read something else too, something like despair, in the lines around his eyes. "This wasn't a one-time deal. As long as I'm here, there's always gonna be someone around who wants to take me apart and use what they learn to create soldiers like me. And people are always gonna be hurt in the effort. And for what – power? Control? More weapons?"
The Captain's turmoil runs deeper than Lukas supposed. The notion of a philosophical soldier strikes him with a certain whimsy. The man continues to intrigue him. A warrior with the soul of an artist, thriving in battle yet seeking desperately for peace. Quite a compelling set of contradictions. He lets the silence extend, soundlessly imploring him to continue.
"I just feel like – like maybe it wasn't worth it. I shouldn't be here. I don't belong here. Maybe I was supposed to die when that plane hit the water."
Lukas feels a visceral stab of pain in his chest. It takes him several bewildering moments to identify it as empathy. He does not often succumb to the emotion. The impulse doesn't come naturally. But he unexpectedly identifies with the Captain's words, and it drives him to speak where normally he would remain silent.
"It would have been easier, would it not? Better for it to end when you meant it to. The fact that you survived cheapens the attempt, yes?" he says softly. The Captain looks at him sharply, wounded anger in those achingly blue eyes. Lukas can't meet his gaze for too long without dredging up memories better buried.
"Those were my thoughts," he adds quietly. The Captain jerks but tries to hide it. "I did not mean to arrive here, much like you, Captain. But I awoke in this bizarre land and knew not what to do except carry on."
It is easier to speak while studying the line of the horizon, shaded black with the coming sunfall. "I know what it is to be an outsider. To feel with certainty you do not belong. To entertain the thought, just as sleep claims your awareness, that your continued existence is a cosmic mistake on the part of the universe."
He risks a glance and sees blue eyes filled with moisture. Hesitantly, carefully, he rests a hand on the Captain's shoulder; afraid he'll shake it off and reject the touch. He doesn't.
"Yet when I open my eyes with the following dawn, I see more than I ever dreamed I could. A whole world laid out before me like a tapestry, full of beauty in its own strange way." He huffs a soft laugh. "Do you know, in my last life, I had never been licked by a dog?" Lukas pets Pickles's head and the dog gives a pleased bark.
The Captain chuckles. He releases the man's broad shoulder, unsure of how welcome the touch is and where the odd impulse to do so came from.
"Nor had I seen this land of Virginia. Or had a cell phone, or known Roseanne and her grandchildren." He pauses, then continues in a quieter voice. "It does not banish such thoughts, but it does distract me from them. Perhaps you should find your own distractions, Captain."
"Steve," the man says abruptly. Lukas looks at him. His fair cheeks tint pink. "Call me Steve, remember? And yeah – I… I think you're right. And I think I might have found a couple."
The Captain – Steve – holds out his arm. Just this once, Lukas forgoes the traditional Midgardian custom and clasps his forearm in a warrior's style. Steve grips back without question.
"Thanks, Mr. Eld – Lukas," he amends. "It was nice talking to you. I hope to see you around S.H.I.E.L.D. one of these days."
Lukas feels lightheaded, a tingle of something unfamiliar in his limbs. Could it be – contentment? He considers it and shakes his head. Sentimental nonsense.
"I look forward to it. Steve."
He gives a wave and retreats to the vehicle. Lukas watches them go. Pickles presses a cold, wet nose to his side, sneaking up under the tunic he wears. Glancing down, he sees his tongue lolling out of the side of his snout. The sheepdog barks at him.
"Yes, quite. A walk would be pleasant," Lukas says absently. "I agree, Pickles. I agree." The pair of them stroll down the gravel drive under the shade of cottonwood trees, and Lukas breathes freely.
End of Part One.
