Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, Elder Scrolls, Mass Effect, Dragon Age, Final Fantasy, Harry Potter, or anything else that finds its way into these pages. No disrespect intended, only homage, no profit made, only entertainment intended. If you're a fan, read it, if you don't like it, stop reading. Simple as pie.
Rating: M for Mature. Please respect the rating.
Summary: AU. Loki /span/spanspan style="font-size: small;"span style="font-weight: normal;"encounters a weapon with a strange affinity for him, and bad things happen. Occurs after escaping Enchantress but before Thor's Coronation (original timeline) in my fic "Bad Influence." You should not have to read that to read this.
Spoilers: Possible throughout the comics and the entire MCU.
AN: Special thanks to "Bacon" aka SPORKY DORKY! for helping me figure out what the hell was happening here.
Chapter One: Empty-Hearted Town
"I'm walking down the sidewalks of L.A.
Wishing I had a warmer jacket,
And the leaves are falling down.
And I'm just another man,
With an empty-handed heart,
In an empty-hearted town.
I'm walking down the sidewalks of L.A.
Wishing I had a warmer jacket,
And something more to say."
- "Empty-Hearted Town," by Warren Zevon
Golden leaves danced in a stiff breeze along the cobbled street. The buildings lining it on either side were all tall, white, and pristine, the homes of the wealthy. A tall, dark-haired young man walked the street, huddled into a dark jacket, his details hidden by the shadows cast by the buildings in the rising sun. Occasional glints of sunlight caught his headguard, lighting the tips and curves of the short, golden horns thereon.
Another young man came up from the Bazaar and joined the first young man, and they proceeded on together to a large house with a sign out front.
"After you, Your Highness," the second young man said, bowing grandly.
"By all means, Prompto, after you," the first young man said.
"No no, I insist."
"Just get inside already."
The young men entered the building. The inside was quite as grand as the outside, with ivory marble floors, the finest woven rugs, a glorious crystal chandelier, and two curving staircases leading up to the second floor above. In the light of the chandelier and the sunstones on the wall, the details of both young men could be easily determined. The later arrival was an Altmer, shorter than the first young man, freckle-faced with short, spiked blond hair and blue-hazel eyes. He wore a black sleeveless tee, a similarly sleeveless black denim jacket, had a bandanna tied around his left bicep, wore dungarees and black boots, and had a red flannel shirt tied around his waist. The other young man was a Vanir Nord, and he wore black leather with green trim and gold details, had black hair, and green eyes. Both young men were quite pale.
They were hailed by name by many of the people lounging about inside, people ranging from Nords to Elves to Dwarves to Moogles. They pushed their way through the crowd and took seats at a card table where a game similar to Poker was being dealt out.
"Deal us in, Fang," the Nord said, nodding to the dark-haired Vanir woman dealing the cards.
"You got it, Your Highness," she said. She dealt them both hands. "I'm glad you dropped by today, Your Highness. I got a line on a job and I thought you might be interested."
"Really? What is it?"
"An archeologist sent word to the Clan for hunters to clear a tomb for her. Standard sort of clearing job, but it's the tomb in question I thought might interest you. King Raithwall's tomb."
The young man's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "The Dynast-King's tomb? Someone found it?"
"Apparently so. Or at least they think they did, and it's all full of creepy-crawlies like you'd expect. I took the posting from Montblanc last night. Interested in joining me? I figure I'll need help, and you're good in a brawl."
"I confess I am intrigued. The tomb of the founder of the Asgardian Empire… that's quite the find, and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for exploration."
Fang grinned and leaned forward. "You know you want to take me up on it, Your Highness. Quit beating 'round the bush."
The young man laughed. "You're right. You may count me in. Prompto, what about you?"
"Gee, I dunno, Loki… Fang didn't invite me," the young Altmer said, rubbing the back of his head.
"Take my cut of the bounty, I certainly don't need it," the young Nord said. "Join us."
"Well… all right, I'm in."
"And I suppose your entourage will be joining us as well, Your Highness?" Fang said.
"They go where I go, so you can count on it. But you needn't cut them in, they're paid by the Crown for serving me."
"Well they'll be welcome hands. Ancient tombs are full of traps and all manner of nasty critters. I want to go in force."
"Well, I'll let you choose who else you want to go along. Shall we take my skiff?"
Fang shook her head. "The tomb is in Jagd, your skiff won't get us there. We'll have to hoof it, Your Highness."
"Really? Well, that's disappointing. I suppose it's a very long walk through very hot desert with lots of nasty wildlife."
"Yes, through the Ogir-Yensa and the Nam-Yensa Sandseas."
The Nord made a face of disgust. "Unfortunate. Oh well, I suppose I shall simply have to bear with. What fascination did deserts hold for the ancient Kings, I wonder, that made them wish to build their palaces and tombs in the middle of them in all this lush realm? I suppose I shall never know."
"Could be the fact that gold is so abundant in this region that the sand is literally gold dust," Fang said, leering.
Loki took a card and placed a sizable wager. "But with so much gold that you actually feel like you have enough to build palaces out of it, you'd think it would start to lose its value. Move somewhere there is more fresh water and cooler temperatures. The heat of this place is miserable."
"You've lived here all your life and you're not used to it?"
"You cannot get used to it. It is merely something you suffer. Endlessly."
"You could try dressing down a little, Your Highness."
"You know why I cannot."
Fang studied her cards and looked at the pile of coin on the table. She looked at the Nord and back at her cards. She lay them face down on the table. "I'm out," she said. Prompto also folded. The two other players did not.
"His Majesty is a notorious bluffer," one of them, a green lizard-like Bangaa, said. "I don't think he's got a decent hand at all."
They both anted up, and showed their hands. Both had decent hands, but the green Bangaa's was the better, a pair of Queens. He laughed and started to pull the pot towards himself but the Nord cleared his throat.
He laid his hand on the table one at a time. All spades; ten, Jack, Queen, King, Ace. The Bangaa cursed. "Impossible! He wins every hand! He must use some form of trickery!"
The Nord stood up. "Never bet the Devil your head," he said, grinning a death's head grin. "Milady Fang, you may keep the pot. Good day, gentle people, I have business to discuss with our esteemed leader."
He went up one set of stairs to the upper floor, where he found a small white Moogle with yellow hair and orange wings standing in his usual spot on the balcony rail. "Lord Montblanc, a word?" he said.
"Of course, Your Highness, Kupo!" the Moogle said in the squeaky sort of voice you would expect of a Moogle.
"This bounty Fang told me about, the clearing of Raithwall's tomb… there is much glory to be had for the first to clear Raithwall's tomb. Did not the Fighter's Guild bid for this bounty?"
"No, they did not, Kupo! Ms. Amelia Peabody brought it straight to us!"
"Amelia Peabody? That's… an odd name. I take it she is not a Nord?"
"I cannot say for certain what she is, Kupo, it was all done via courier, but she said she does not like the Fighter's Guild, Kupo, so she brought the work to us!"
"That's rather odd. There is glory associated in working with the Fighter's Guild. I wonder why she would not desire it?"
"She's a woman, Kupo. Women do not often hunger for glory in the same way men do."
"Mm. Perhaps."
"The Nord went back down the stairs, collected his friend, and together they left the building. They walked the empty streets in the still slowly-rising sun. Most of the city was awake but businesses generally did not open so early, so there were few if any pedestrians and almost no traffic. There was never much traffic, most people in the city traveled by skiff if they traveled by any mechanized conveyance, so air traffic was the worst of it. A few simple traders still came overland by horse or chocobo-drawn wagon, and that was about all you could expect to see on the roads. They did not talk. The Altmer wanted to, was on the verge of it a number of times, but was stayed by the icy distance he felt from the Nord. That distance was a new thing, and they did not talk about it.
"The Altmer thought they were simply walking, but soon realized they were approaching an entrance to the undercity, commonly referred to as "Lowtown."
"Are we… going hunting in the Waterway?" he asked, in a hopeful tone.
"Not at this time," the Nord said, and opened the gate.
"Then… why are you going to Lowtown, Your Highness? You know that's no place for a prince."
"Don't fret yourself, Prompto."
"Prompto pushed the gate shut and held it closed. "I know what you're doing. You're going to Lowtown to get a bottle of Skooma."
"So?"
"So that stuff is killer! Don't do it, Loki!" Prompto sighed and dropped his hands. "Listen, I know you're hurting, but there's got to be better ways to deal with it than this."
Loki merely regarded him for a long moment with a steady gaze, then opened the gate and headed down into the darkness. Prompto sighed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and headed after him. His Highness may not realize it, but he needed a friend now more than ever.