A/N: A rather long chapter, this one. Again the two POV's; Magni & Loki (reminiscing - re: Norse mythology).
BTW: I've always wanted to see the northern lights but, alas, I live in a zone where we only get to see them when it's a particularly strong solar flame. I had hopes for last night's forecast show (April 13, 2013), but, as it always happens when I get excited over such a thing...the skies were overcast.
Chapter 4: The Northern Lights
That night, Magni barely touched his dinner, his mind awhirl with the strange incidents of the past two days. Just as the waiters brought in the pudding, he rose to his feet and politely excused himself from the table, eliciting curious glances from his friends.
"Loki didn't even touch his pudding!" Jeremy mumbled, looking down at the untouched dessert.
"Blimey! That's a first! And it's his favourite!" Colin added.
"This isn't like him at all..." Peter said, his eyes following his friend as he left the restaurant to God knew where.
"I think he's coming down with something. He's been behaving rather odd," Colin said, leaning over and taking Magni's untouched pudding.
"Leave that, Colin!" Peter snapped, intercepting the other boy's retreating hand holding the cup.
"He's not coming back to eat it, Peter." Colin protested.
"He may still want to eat it later, tonight. Give it to me."
"So you can eat it yourself?"
"No, I won't. Now, give it to me." Peter held out his hand.
"Oh, just hand it over, Colin," another boy, Robert, called from the adjacent table.
"I still think he's unwell. Remember the way he looked this morning? And I haven't seen him eat anything all day!"
"All the more reason Peter should keep this pudding for him in case he finds his appetite later tonight," Robert replied, glaring at Colin.
"Oh, alright, then. Just..."
"Colin. You have my word; I won't eat it. I'll make Magni eat it. He'll have to get something down at least."
Peter took the vanilla pudding and quickly followed Magni to the lift where he just saw the doors close behind his friend. As he stood there, waiting for it, he watched the indicator and noticed the car went on and on...to the last floor! The roof?
Blimey! NO!
As soon as he stepped on board the returned lift, he willed it to go faster and when it finally halted, he was out the doors before they were fully open and ran up the stairs to the roof, bursting through the door and into the crisp air of a December night.
He breathed a sigh of relief at finding his friend sitting cross-legged watching the bright lights of the city.
At the approaching footsteps, Magni turned his head, green eyes wild with apprehension which quickly faded to relief when he saw who it was before turning back the way he was staring.
"Magni..."
"Why did you follow me, Peter?" Magni's voice was soft.
"You had us worried, you know?" Peter shivered. A T-shirt and a light jumper were not enough to fend off the chilly air.
"Why. There's no reason."
"I brought you some vanilla pudding..."
There was a soft chuckle. "Pudding..." Magni whispered, but then he shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
"You should eat something. Are you feeling unwell?"
"I'm fine, Peter. Don't worry." Magni gave his friend a weak smile.
"You're a poor liar, my friend."
"I'm not lying, though. I'm not ill."
"Then have a pudding," Peter said, offering the cup with a coffee spoon. "You love pudding! You'd commit murder for the stuff!"
Now that had the raven haired boy laugh outright. "Oh well. Give me the pudding, then. It would be such a waste, otherwise. Unless you would...?" He gave his friend a lopsided grin. "Okay! Okay! I take that frown for a 'no'."
He dug into the delicious dessert and even managed to push his thoughts aside to fully enjoy the sweet vanilla flavour. He finished it in no time.
"There! Empty! Am I a good boy, now?"
"Yes you are. Can we go back inside now? I'm freezing!" And to put action to his words, he wrapped his arms around his torso, then blew in his hands and finally started to flap his arms and beat them to restore some warmth.
Magni held out his empty cup and spoon which Peter took, his teeth chattering.
"You go back inside, Peter. I'll stay out here for a little while longer, I think."
He lifted his face to gaze at the starry sky up above. "It's a nice open sky, tonight. And, look there; if you watch really carefully, you can actually see some very slight coloring to the north. It's the green of an aurora borealis! I'm surprised we're able to witness it in this part of the world... Very rare, here, and with all this light pollution..."
"All very fine, Magni, but I'm going back inside and I really think you should do the same."
Peter turned to go, turning back around when his friend made no move to follow. Magni hadn't heard. He was watching the stars too fondly...and the wee bit of green from the northern lights.
-o0o-
Meanwhile in Iceland...
The tall man entered the stables with long, slow steps.
Luther Leifson was very lean and had a pale complexion which was highlighted by silky raven black hair. His chiseled face bore a determined look that brooked no nonsense. One simply didn't want to displease him. He oozed total control and definitely didn't lack confidence. When he moved, he was smooth as a cat and with such an elegance one would swear he was wearing it like a coat. His deportment was regal and charismatic, so much so that, when he walked into a room, all those present would turn and actually look at him; instantly making him the center of attention whether he liked it or not.
Some would think he was a most charming and handsome man, whereas others would sense the presence of a rather dark personality; often disturbing and threatening. With Luther Leifson, one never knew.
However they could never guess who or what he really was, nor how conscious he himself was of his bloodline for he was indeed of noble birth.
"Valgeir, I'm taking Elding for a ride. Hand me the saddle." Never breaking his stride, he spoke in a slow, clipped and deliberate tone with an English accent as if he was born and bred in Oxford.
"Yes, sir," a young man complied and shortly came hurrying after him, the requested saddle over his arm.
Luther opened the latch to one of the stables and walked in. A gorgeous dark silver dapple – or vindótt – Icelandic horse of an unusual height for its breed, raised its head in anticipating alertness, its ears pricked in his owner's direction.
"Hello, my lovely. Ready for a nice ride? I know I am. I'm in dire need of some...time to myself. Away from the buzz of the city."
Elding replied with a soft nicker and tossed its long silvery mane.
Luther stroked the beautiful animal's neck, giving it a final pat before turning to Valgeir who silently handed him the gear.
"Takk, Valgeir."
In no time, the silver dapple was saddled. The man swung his legs up with such ease and grace. A contented sigh escaped his thin lips as he sat back into the saddle. Clicking his tongue, he urged Elding into an easy canter with a minute squeeze of his long legs.
Nearly outside, he called back. "You are dismissed for tonight, Valgeir. No need to wait up for me; I have no clue when I'll be back."
Then, he was out, breaking into a fast tölt typical for an Icelandic horse. "Kiiiiyyaaaaahhhh!"
He loved his horse and he loved riding out late at night.
There was a smile of pure joyous abandon on the rider's face as he and Elding sped through the night to the vast plain which spread to the north of the city.
Freedom!
The power of doing as he liked. No worries. No fear. No responsibilities.
Just peace with one's self. It was such a good feeling and one he hadn't felt for a long time.
His brow darkened momentarily as some unbidden memories forced their way to the surface of his thoughts.
"I come with glad tidings! Of a world made free!"
"Free from what?"
"Freedom. Freedom is life's great lie. Once you accept that, in your heart, you will know peace."
With a vexed shake of his head, Luther- or Loki, for that was who he really was - forced the memories back to the recesses of his mind. There was absolutely no need to dwell upon those dark thoughts from that questionable time when he was acting under the influence of the Chitauri...The Other...and Thanos.
It was a beautiful night as he knew it would be. He knew exactly when the aurora borealis would illuminate the skies above, bathing the snow covered plains and mountains in a surreal white, green or even red light. It was what he'd been waiting for. He longed for moments like this. He found peace, here, in the wilderness of ice and fire when the curtain-like fluorescent green glow played all around him, the diffuse rays spiraling as if alive. Over the years, he'd become increasingly awed by the northern lights and he'd started to wonder if this was a sign of homesickness because they reminded him of the place where he'd been raised. At first, he'd angrily cast aside this ridiculous notion which he saw as a sign of weakness.
Tonight saw a clear sky and high solar activity and he was going to have an exceptionally big show.
He so enjoyed watching this spectacle; he could stay here all night if he wanted to. In fact, that was his plan all along.
He halted and dismounted and lay down on his back in the snow, staring skyward in rapture as Elding stood nearby, scraping with his hooves to find some springs of grass to chew on.
Luther's thoughts now took him to forgotten times; the carefree days of his youth when he, Loki Laufeyarson, and his brother enjoyed each other's company, inseparable as they were.
"Isn't it a sight, Loki? The splendour of the norðrljós?" Thor called excitedly to his brother.
"It's a glorious sight, indeed. Listen... Do you hear it?"
"No. What? I don't hear anything, brother."
"If you cared to stay quiet and listen for a change."
"Oh! What is that?"
"It's the sound of the northern lights."
"Odd. How is it I never heard this before?"
"Perhaps...because you're always noisy?"
"Ah... So much better..."
"Thor?"
"Oh! For Walhalla's sake! Must you always fall asleep whenever we watch one of nature's wonders?"
"Yes. I know. Too boring for your restless warrior mind."
Loki grinned at this memory. Those were the days.
The grin faded as his thoughts took him to the less than stellar times as they grew up of which two...no, three, actually...stood out: his living in the shade of his mighty brother, the botched crowning through his own undoing, and the discovery of his true parentage which was the beginning of the end. But was it the end? Was his fate sealed or could he still bend it? Would he still have the power to balance things out and turn some of the chaos he'd created back into harmony? Was it still worth trying? After all the harm he'd done? His actions couldn't be undone. That much was as sure as eggs is eggs.
Ragnarök had happened as the Völva had prophesied; all Nine Realms at war while Midgard was overwhelmed by natural disasters as fire and floods ran their destructive courses.
Yes. The proverbial runes had been cast with this Völuspá and Loki's name had been announced as the harbinger of death and destruction. His fate had been sealed, as well as that of the others.
A terrible series of unstoppable events led to the end of the world - or worlds - as they knew it and he had no power whatsoever to stop his own downfall and save the Nine Realms. He tried. He really did. To no avail.
And yet, their world had risen from the ashes like the phoenix. What's more: the immortals, called gods, had returned as well. Even Loki, his name tainted with thoughts of devilry and destruction, had been allowed to make his comeback. The God of Mischief, Destruction, Chaos, Discord…
There had been no other Völuspá after that, but he had found and read all the manuscripts describing the fyrsta spá or first prophecy. In fact, he'd been able…privileged, even…to read the original Prose Edda which was kept right here on the island at the Árni Magnísson Institute! But these works relating his involvement in bringing about Ragnarök were written long after the Great Battle that saw Óðinn, Þórr, Týr, Freyr, Heimdallr and himself, along with so many others, killed..albeit temporarily.
Still, he was forever to be known for engineering the death of so many.
He sighed and shifted with unease.
And yet…the way things had been going, lately… It scared him.
"And mine own hatred have I even hated…"
This was a line he'd come across when devouring books and manuscripts in the vast library of Asgard. It was a line written by a famous Mitgardian philosopher, Nietzsche.
Even though there had been no new prophecies that foretold his destiny and the destruction of the world - of any world – by his hands, he had once more brought death and destruction.
It had all started as he hung on for dear life onto Gungnir after his fight with Thor which saw the destruction of the Bifrost. And then, there had been that split second when he'd resigned to his fate, convinced he had lost the love of his...family.
Death was the only way out as there was nothing left worth living for.
By letting go of his life-line that was Gungnir, Loki had given in to his wish for death.
His whole life had been a lie. He'd been living that lie – literally a cuckoo in the nest – only to see his hopes and aspirations shattered on that day when he had accompanied Thor and his friends to Jötunheim.
How could he ever forget that day when, first, he'd seen his hand and lower arm turn blue at the touch of a Frost Giant, and later, down at the Vault, when he briefly held the Casket of Ancient Winters, which Odin had brought back from Jötunheim after his victory. There, Odin had exposed the chilling revelation that his second son was not Aesir at all. Loki was livid when he learned he was one of that race of monsters, the Jötnar.
Oh, the sheer irony of this: he'd been lied to all his life. Trust those Asgardians to brand him the God of Lies. A lie-smith.
He felt empty inside as if he'd lost his soul, and what better death was there than letting the great void claim him?
Yes. He was ready to surrender to death. He'd expected to die. How was he to know he'd end up a captive of the Chitauri, instead?
After falling away from Asgard, he'd had been literally sucked into the vortex of the lost Bifrost and through its portal into the Chitauri world.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Anyway, after the Chitauri invasion of Midgard, Thor, with the Avengers' help, had taken him back to Asgard to face justice. Of course, he hadn't been too happy about that at the time.
Yet, Loki and many others were in for quite a surprise.
At the palace Glitnir, serving as a court of justice, it had been established that he'd been most effectively brainwashed by the Chitauri following endless sessions of torture and brutal manipulation. The evidence was enough for Forseti, the god of justice, to show some leniency. Instead of a severe punishment as he'd faced in his former life, he had been escorted to a high-security unit or healing centre where he underwent some rigorous treatment by the best healers to help him regain his sanity.
As soon as he was free to go, he had announced his Asgardian family he would like to spend some indefinite time away, his choice having fallen on Midgard of all places. He was granted permission by the Council, albeit with some reluctance. Could he be trusted?
They certainly had no idea of the ulterior motive behind his wish and he thought it wise to keep them in the dark for as long as possible.
He knew the Aesir would try to keep an eye on him. Heimdalr would want to keep track of his whereabouts and report to the All Father personally.
So now, as he lay there on the cold ground of this realm of fire and ice, staring into the overarching nightsky, his thoughts went to someone he'd left 15...or was it 16?...Midgardian years ago.
Magni. His son.
Where would he be now? What would he be doing at the moment? Would he also be watching the northern skies and revel in their colorful display?
It was his son's birthday, too.
Loki closed his eyes.
What would the boy look like, now? Would he take after his father? Would Magni be a younger version of himself? Would he be just as tall and fair skinned? Loki remembered the small tuft of black hair on his baby's head and arctic blue eyes, but those might still change as it often happened with infants. He was only certain about one thing: the spell had held or he'd have heard about it if the boy had somehow managed to shift to his Jötun form.
Somewhat agitated, he opened his eyes and sat up, staring off into space as if trying to see across the miles that separated him from his son. It pained him he couldn't use his magic to check on him. No. It would give him away, possibly them both, and all his effort to keep a low profile, concealing himself from Aesir prying eyes as well as those infernal mortals who called themselves the Avengers, would be for naught. For his protection as well as his son's he couldn't apply his sorcery to seek him out. It was best to hide Magni from the Asgardians. They wouldn't take too kindly to Loki's offspring. The boy was safe as long as he remained unaware of his bloodline. It was best if he continued his life as a mere Midgardian mortal even if he was...in reality, an Asgardian or Jötunn immortal.
Still, he longed to see Magni, curious about how he was doing. How was his relationship with his 'parents'? His foster sister? Did he have friends or was he just such as solitary in his ways like himself? Would he be loved? Truly and undeniably loved?
Would he have discovered his magical talents, yet? And if he did, how would he be using his power? With prudence and sagacity?
He had no reply to any of these questions.
Loki knew nothing at all and he felt frustrated for it.
Soon, he'd put out some cautious feelers to see his son. He had to admit he was a little apprehensive for he hadn't used magic for quite some time and he wasn't sure how he would react to it. Would it be like welcoming back an old friend or would it plunge him into exhaustion like it had happened to him before? Sometimes, kraftaverk could exhaust his energy right to bottom levels, leaving him at his most vulnerable. He didn't like that one bit. What good was he if just keeping his balance proved a nigh impossible task with his legs going to mush?
Even now, just thinking of this, sent his heart rate into the fast rhythm of a human's, his breath ragged and laboured.
After calming down somewhat, he felt confident he would find a way to see his son. This time, he felt a comforting warmth spread through his body. He would succeed.
"And mine own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted thee!" - Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche