Summary: The war between Jotunheim and Asgard draws to a close, but thanks to a horrible twist of Fate (or perhaps not), the nameless runt of Laufey-King is not discovered by Odin and so begins a remarkable journey of life that should not have been. Jotun!Loki AU. Set pre-/during-/after Thor/Avengers Assemble. MCU-verse only.
Warnings: ANGST! Loki-whump! Language, adult situations, violence, child abuse, dub-con, sexual assault (also of a minor), substance abuse, one abortion scene (sort of), slavery, sex trade (maybe), some mild original character/Loki M/M pairings.
Comments: This is not a slash fic. Sorry. It's Loki-centric, although I definitely show the rest of the Avengers and etc. Please review! Constructive criticism welcome.
Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers. Marvel owns it. I do not get paid for this piece of work. Sadly, but understandably. LOL.
Well! It looks like people are slowly jumping on the DiT angst-wagon! YAY!
Thanks to everyone who reviewed and fav'd and alerted and stuff so far! I hope no one gets disappointed by this story - it's going to be a harrowing journey! For realz! Strap yourselves in!
(pauses)
OH CRAP. I forgot two important tags. Ummm... (adds) (points upward) You've been warned. (edges off screen) Now, I don't write graphic stuff. So if you're looking for an author who's going to glorify sex and the sex trade and abuse and stuff like that... this isn't the fic for you.
Otherwise, thanks for hanging in there!
[You might be thinking that this chapter is longer and epic - like Loki's hair. Sadly. It is epic, but not longer than usual. Length of this chapter is attributed to map information at the end. Enjoy!]
Please let me know what you think!
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 5
A New Destiny
[... for those who listen, they call...]
Elska's feet dragged through the snow drifts which now piled up in the streets untended to as the Jotuns began to gather their dead. It was a long process – families reunited if possible, loved ones embraced, tallies of dead taken, the remains of supplies hoarded and divvied up – and then the mourning would begin in earnest. His mourning had already begun.
Mind blank, numbed by the carnage he passed by, Elska made his way back as if guided by puppet strings to the only place he could think of – what remained of his small home snuggled up against the lower east wing of the Gothahus. As he approached he couldn't help but shudder at the bone-dead silence of the place.
No longer a temple. Now a tomb.
Where there had been cheery starlight drawn in and enhanced by the Kero Fornvetr, where there had been pinpricks of light from candles and intricately welded iron lamps (imported from Vanaheim and Alfheim), there was only dark and blood now icing over in sheets of black and red. Elska's feet crunched along the swirling patterns of red and black as he stood and looked at the tumbled down portion of what had been the front wall of his house. The jarnvithr door, of which Haffa had been so proud... (Haffa had been so proud of the little things, the idiot, but now Haffa was nothing –
Haffa was dead –
and the door was gone),
Elska turning, discovered that it had been embedded in the wall opposite, across the wide street in which he stood. He fell onto his knees and raised his voice and howled for Haffa who had died holding Smarmurtr in his arms impaled on a gold spear – both of them through the heart. Howled and mourned for the darkness around him and for the blood on his hands and for the silence of the temple which would, he knew, be filled from now on with nothing but puppet masters – and for the loss of the his home's power thanks to the misbegotten hubris of his people.
Who had paid in the end but we ourselves who would not let go our foolish dreams? And how did we pay – but with the lives of the ones we loved. Haffa. Smarmurtr.
With a heaving sigh, Elska rose to his feet. Tomorrow, he would clear the dead and wash the steps and prepare the Gothahus as best as he could for whomever would come to take residence there as the Priest or Mage.
Not that there will be any of those for a long time to come, he sighed. Casting an eye to the lowering sky now filling with clouds, promising more snow and less starlight, Elska decided to find shelter within, somewhere in one of the small storerooms – or libraries – if they had not been discovered and pillaged and destroyed. He paused at the door and then looked back down the street at the empty houses further down.
First, he thought, I must forage for some food. With ill health there will be little work done.
-0-0-0-
After an hour of searching, Elska returned to his home with a sack slung over his shoulder. It was full of dried fish, blackened hvaeta loaves, roasted meats and a few imported delicacies of which he knew not the name. There was no one to eat them, but Elska hoped that the ones who had passed on and become one with the snow of their Ancestors would understand.
Stowing the bag within the closest storeroom by the front door, Elska stepped out and round to his damaged home. Hefting the black rock and ice chunks away with a variety of curses, the Jotun caretaker managed to rescue his family's cooking equipment. Haffa's prized treasure which he had haggled over. Many a dear coin had been spent on the metal pots and pans, for the dwarves are ever greedy and enjoy driving a hard bargain with Frost Giants.
Extricating the last of his family's belongings, including the blakkrgras woven mats which Haffa had hung on the walls in imitation of the elves and Aesir (curse them), Elska returned to his new hideout with another bulging sack of belongings. This time, he stayed indoors, hunting down a good storeroom with a strong lock which matched one of his many keys and then unpacking what he had brought with him.
Some time passed, spent quietly sorting his things and stowing the food in a corner where the ice box was set. Filling it with ice, he laid the perishable food items inside, dusted his hands off and looked about. Almost done, he thought. Now for the bed.
That was easily gotten from a drift of snow outside the Gothahus.
He laid down in the pile of snow he had gathered. Stared up at the black ceiling. Emptiness. Empty thoughts. Empty spaces. A vast, yawning void – like the darkness of the Void. It brought nightmares, the ones all Jotun feared as children. Look into the Chasms of Forever too long, they said, and it will never leave your eyes. Fall into the Eybjarg and your death will be slow and desperate and your soul will never reach the company of the For-Eldra.
It threatened to swallow him whole – until the light of a most powerful star reached toward Elska. The Northri Stjarna? Without second thought, Elska stepped forward and reached out – and that was when he heard it –
[... the stars sang together...]
[... the music of the spheres...]
A chiming voice calling his name and Elska answered –
"Here I am! Haffa!"
He woke. It was not Haffa. It would never be Haffa. Haffa was even now suckling Smarmurtr in the company of the For-Eldra. Elska turned and forced his wail of rage and grief down – and heard a sound drifting on the wind.
[... the wind's voices are many...]
A thin, weak wailing. Light and piercing.
Grarulfr? Blakkrbjorn? Or a child? Elska rose heart racing and wrapping his kirtle about his waist hastily, he strode out the room in search of the voice. The scuffling of his feet and the crunching of ice was too loud. He stopped. Listened.
Patience...
There, there it was again.
Elska hunted down the hallways listening carefully. It was a desperate thing and young by the sounds of it – and as he drew closer, he realized that it must be an abandoned babe.
Over here...
It was difficult to see in the deep watches of the night, for no light shimmered along the walls except the small torch in his hand. Elska thanked his For-Eldra for his acute night vision when he pressed close to the wall and noticed an absurdly tiny bundle of coarse sackcloth almost completely iced over with Asgardian blood.
Small. Pitifully small. Horrifically small. An abomination. A lagreinn. A Jotun dvegr. Cursed. He nearly dropped it – but the frail blue creature opened bleary red eyes and Elska's heart softened unaccountably at the sight of dark patches on its face and the one arm which had freed itself. Heavy bruising. No doubt it had been knocked about in the battle which had taken place here.
Take him...
Elska could swear he could hear Haffa's voice as he pushed the rough sacking away from the babe's forehead revealing the rounded lines of the House of Laufey. For a moment, he could not believe his eyes... and then the Caretaker remembered the rumours. Elska's stomach clenched as he recalled how Laufey-King had tired so easily during the most recent months. Somehow, he had begun to carry a True Heir despite the war – and had failed.
Was it a war wound which had forced the child out too early? Or had expediency demanded Laufey to be free of this burden? At any rate, Elska sighed, it does not belong anywhere. Not even here. I should leave it on the Under Altar for the nattura...
Tears were rolling down the sides of its puny bald head and the tiny hand brushed against Elska's thumb which firmly held the babe against the palm of his hand. Elska froze as the tiny fingers latched onto his darker thumb – the tiny yawning mouth opened again in a helpless bleat and the tall caretaker's red eyes widened as green wisps drifted from the tiny fingers.
Take ahold of hope...
It has magic, he thought, his stomach churned. By the stars and the moonlight, the child has magic – but it is a runt, he corrected himself. Still, it is alive, argued the other side of him, the side that sounded like Haffa and the voices of the world. And all living things deserve a chance.
That may be true – but is this life worth saving considering what lies ahead for it? Likely its brain will never grow – it will be a child forever.
But it will be a child, said Haffa. It will be my child.
Never let it go...
Well... Does Elska keep the little thing? Does it live? Does it more than thrive? What will happen next? GAAAHHHH!
OK. I dunno why I'm freaking out. I KNOW what happens. LOLZ.
Gosh. I'm liking little Jotun Loki a -little- too much.
Just a little.
Please REVIEW!
Update will probably happen sometime on Friday or Saturday!
Glossary:
Kero Fornvetr – Casket of Ancient Winters
jarnvithr – ironwood
hvaeta – wheat
blakkrgras – black grass
Eybjarg (Chasms of Forever)
For-Eldra – Ancestors
Northri Stjarna – North Star
Grarulfr – grey wolf
Blakkrbjorn – black bear
lagreinn – small one (epithet)
dvegr - dwarf
THE MAP OF DOOM [http COLON SLASH SLASH s1354 DOT photobucket DOT com SLASH user SLASH scarecrowslady SLASH media SLASH Fanfiction%20Fanart SLASH labelled-JotunheimmapFINAL_zps04751133 DOT jpg DOT html?sort=3&o=0]
Legend
Cities (Yellow Dots)
1. Dagaheim
2. Utgard
3. Gastropnir
4. Meerauk
5. Griotunagardar
6. Skalldi
7. Thrymheim
8. Vatnboer
9. Snjarhamr
Lakes (Light Blue Dots)
10. Mykyreg Vatn
11. Vollrvatn
12. Gnottvatn
13. Silvrvatn
14. Vithrivatn
15. Grjotvatn
Mountains (Grey Dots)
16. Grarfjall
17. Kaldrfjall
18. Offaerfjall
19. Offaerdalr (pass)
20. Svelshelf (ice shelf/plateau)
21. Thokafjall
22. Vestrefstland (west highlands)
23. Austrefstland (east highlands)
24. Nethriland (low land/canyon)
25. Blarsvel Fjord (fjords)
Woods (Green Dots)
26. Mykyr Skogr
27. Doga Skogr
28. Jathar Skogr
29. Offaer Skogr
30. Smar Skogr
31. Eybjarga Skogr
Plains (Green Dots)
32. Holkn Vollr
33. Auster Vollr
34. Mornathbjoth (the Wastes)
35. Nether Vollr
Rivers (Dark Blue Dots)
36. Flara River
37. Holdra River
38. Vestrisilvra River
39. Austrisilvra River
40. Gleytha River
41. Vithra River
42. Eybjarg River
43. Kvistra Rivers
44. Bathmra River
OTHER
45. Eybjarg
Drekeinn Eyland (the big island)