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.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! (tears)
Some of you may be at the point where you can't wait for the next chapter to come out... and if you enjoy my writing style, I'd like to encourage you to read "Christmas Magic", my first attempt at writing in the Avengers fandom. It's very complex - very sad and happy at the same time, and you may need tissues... but the ending is happy so it's a general feel-good story. But if you want nice!shining-white-armour!Avengers, stay away from it. They are VERY conflicted in this story... And it's quite a looonnnggg story (like epic hair Loki's new do). Like... majorly. But it's complete! So there's that...
At any rate... more Elska and Loki up ahead... and other things happen too. Don't expect the happiness (such as it is) to remain for long! (heads up)
To... SydneyJones: Yes to both. I started watching Doctor Who with the 11th Doctor and then went back and watched the 10th and 9th. Epicness. I am a huge fan of Matt Smith's Doctor... and RORY! RORY POND! THE CENTURION WHO WAITED! GAH! (ahem) And as for Sherlock... be. still. my. heart. I LOVE Sherlock so much. It's like a Sherlock fangirl's dream come true. I fell in love with the original Sherlock from the books when I was about 16... and when I saw Benedict Cumberbatch, I was like... "Hm. OK." Then, after half an hour... DEATH!
So, if you guys are curious, my top fandoms are: Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Star Trek, Sherlock, Doctor Who, anything to do with Loki, Naruto/Naruto Shippuuden, Bleach. I have MANY other interests (Garth Nix's "Keys to the Kingdom" and Psycho-Pass, as well as a few K-dramas... to name a few) but really, I write fic only for Naruto and Avengers nowadays... and I want to write something for Star Wars, one day, particularly on X-wing pilots.
I currently label myself an avid Hiddlestoner. I want to see Hiddleston and Cumberbatch duke out a charm battle on a talk show - preferably Graham Norton since he's so funny. But, frankly, both guys are great... I think I just love Hiddleston's degree. LOLZ. A man who can speak Ancient Greek can... well... let's not go there...
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 6
Crawl Before Walking
Sh-sh-sh-shhh... It was the sound of scuffling – leather on hard ice and stone. Scuffling and the occasional jingle of metal. In the dim light of the evening, it was easy to miss, but the keen eyes of three Jotunn passing by were drawn downwards to the slight figure darting across the broad avenue in front of the Gothahus. Two faces twitched in annoyance and the third Jotun, a new inhabitant from the frozen countryside, drew back in horror.
"An Abomination!" he hissed, pulling his friend to the side.
"Ah, that would be Elska's lagreinn."
They watched as the dark hair bobbed closer their way, trying to hug the shadows of the wall – but failing as the pot constantly tripped it up. It paused, hunkered by a bank of newly fallen snow and began to scoop up amounts of the cold white stuff to stow it in the small tin pot. A small pot by Jotunn standards of course – to the Jotun dvegr, it was no doubt the size of a barrel. But snow was light and it was important that leeches like the runt should show their uses.
If such cursed things had uses.
"Ilska, I forgot you didn't know about it, being new and all –" The tallest boomed good-naturedly. "Well, that's Elska's Folly."
"He bore a dvegr and did not leave it for the nattura?" asked Ilska, confused.
"Well, if it is Elska's..." The other much more squat Jotun murmured.
The pot was nearly full now and the creature paused at the sound of their voices, peering up and then scurrying back to press against the wall and let them pass.
"What thing does it wear on its head, Feitr?"
"Hair," snorted Feitr. "You really are a bumpkin, Ilska. Have you not seen any elves or Aesir?"
"I was too young for the wars – and Dagaheim was never attacked..."
"It is hair, and a strange sight, since our young ones never have a chance to grow it so long... Ah - and a leather forehead band – no doubt to protect what little mind it has within its skull," Hraezla added.
Ilska moved forward, leaned over and down to eye the puny creature some more.
"I can't wait to tell Meglin this... we never allowed this kind of thing to happen in Dagaheim."
"Yes, well," Feitr huffed, "you aren't in Dagaheim now, are you? Come leave it alone –" He paused as Ilska flicked the creature on the cheek.
It flinched but did not cry, merely shrinking back against the stone wall of the Gothahus. Ilska watched, fascinated, as a dark bruise began to form on the pale blue skin.
"It does not speak. Is it mute – or witless?"
"More than likely both," shrugged Hrazla with disinterest. "Elska swears it speaks – but we never hear it – and frankly, we don't speak to it either. Bad luck comes to those who consort with their like."
Ilska drew his hand back as if it had been burnt and he shuffled back nervously.
"They said that in Dagaheim as well."
"It is commonsense. Let us go. Elska may condemn himself to cursed company – he is a walking dead man after all."
"But to protect a lagreinn..."
"Ignore it, ignore it," sighed Feitr.
"It looks so sickly," Ilska said as the three of them moved off. "The colour of his blue is too delicate."
"Lacks some kind of nutrient, no doubt – we all lack what we need and it is not like a dvegr may have first pickings."
"I would have snapped its neck –"
They disappeared around the corner and the street fell silent once again, leaving the small shivering creature to stand there staring at its feet for a small moment before scurrying back to its pot and new burden of snow.
[... but the echoes remain and the words cut sharper than the wind...]
Abomination.
Vaetki.
No-thing.
Deformed.
Lagreinn.
Small one.
Runt.
Cursed.
Dvegr.
Dwarf.
These were the names of the creature who grew within the House of Elska the following years. It was a hard life, full of toil and loneliness. Watching the lagreinn patter across the icy floors, struggling to lift a metal pot of snow in its frail, skinny arms, Elska wondered sometimes if his choice had been just or intelligent. Commonsense (but Haffa never cared for commonsense) dictated that the child was better off dead.
For Utgard was a tomb.
Utgard, for a while now, had remained more or less empty – a ruined citadel of a more martial time. Poor refugees stayed whilst more fortunate Jotunn moved to the bustling cities of Griotunagardar, which had been easily raised after the fires of Asgard had abated – or Gastropnir. To towns further east, some departed - to Thrymheim and the other great capitols.
But Utgard stood alone, barren and wasted. Cursed by the mark of the Bifrost outside its gates and the dark horrors of the Eybjarg beyond. Its inhabitants found sustenance on the edges of the Myrkr Skogr and, harvesting the jarnvithr which grew there plenteously, found a means for income to buy the other necessities of life.
Useless leeches like the lagreinn were a burden no one wished to bear, but Elska shouldered it without complaint. Haffa was happy. Elska was sure of it. This evening he had decided on a thin soup for their dinner – his favourite which meant bear meat and winter melon. Sooner made than later, if the small one quickly returned with the second pot of snow he had ordered.
"Small one," Elska hollered down the ancient hallway. "Sometime before the moon sets tonight would be – ah. There you are."
He peered down at the insect (now that's an exaggeration, Haffa would say) which scuttled forward, tripping over its own feet in eagerness to please – eyes wide with worry and concentration as it staggered forward. Elska lifted the small pot from the arms of the lagreinn with ease. Small red eyes the size of pebbles (to him) watched with intensity as Elska poured the snow into another medium-sized pot placed on burning red stones by the hearth. Soon the thick iron cauldron would turn a slight red as the fire heated the metal. But the lagreinn did not press forward, keeping back – a harsh lesson it had learned when Elska had placed its hands on the fiery rocks, burning away the tender palms. Jotunheim's first and most important lesson in life: the danger of fire.
If Haffa and Smarmurtr were here, Haffa would have done the same, Elska chuckled to himself. Haffa said that I would father a child just grandly. Perhaps he is right... He eyed the lagreinn. Perhaps I would not do as badly as I feared. It helps that it learns quickly. In the end, the deformation is of the body only – in a way, this is a mind so great a weaker vessel is the only way nature may gift it disadvantage.
Elska had been considering this for the past ten years as the small infant grew. It had learned how to walk – and could already speak some, although only a few words and none fluently, for no Jotun would pay attention to it in the streets if it were to attempt conversation. Talking with a runt brought bad luck, or so they said.
We have already been cursed, Elska grunted to himself. It can't get worse than this.
"You think it cold out tonight?" he asked the youngling who still stood at his side watching the water boil with interest.
The small head – now covered in long hair not so dissimilar to the Aesir, but black instead of gold – nodded. Elska reached down and stroked back the slightly matted locks, noting how the braiding had come undone. A leather thong was missing from one end. One day, he thought, he will grow horns and his hair will molt and reveal the wires of an adult. Or perhaps not. He is a beautiful creature in his own right – if you look hard enough.
"Use words, small one," he prompted.
"Yes, Elska," was the soft lisping reply. "It is cold."
"Hm. You think snow will fall?"
A fairly standard conversation between the two for an average evening. Elska turned away from the pot and reached for a shank of blakkbjorn and large chunks of ventrmellin and the spicy sauce and herbs that disguised the sweetness. Turning he noticed that the lagreinn's right cheek was rather bruised. He frowned, sighed and said nothing. There was nothing to be said. It understood as much as he – Jotunheim had no need for the lagreinn and by compassion alone was it allowed to live. Still, Elska knew that the child had much to offer. More than we could ever imagine, he thought.
The small one shook his head in answer to his question and Elska did not push it. Then a small voice broke the silence haltingly.
"The stars are... big..."
"Yes, they do shine brightly, do they not?" agreed Elska. "No clouds make for a beautiful sky. It reminds me of the times when Utgard used to shine. When the King made this his stronghold and favoured resting place."
"The King?"
"The King," Elska repeated.
"My father?"
"Yes, Laufey-King. And you know we do not speak of your father. Come now. Straighten your headband."
Untying the leather strap with fumbling fingers, the small child took it off for a moment, revealing the tell-tale lines of his house before replacing the headband and tying the ends behind his head over his ears. It was a makeshift thing, but did its job – protecting the lagreinn from early death.
Idiots who would wish to curry favour with the King would seek to relieve him of his so-called burden... but the lack of enquiry is obvious. The King has no fear nor love of the creature. Let it live. It is what Haffa would have wanted. That was what Elska told himself – and later on that evening after dinner had been finished and the lagreinn had laboriously cleaned the bowls and ladles they had used, Elska combed the lagreinn's long black hair out with a comb Haffa had bought for Smarmurtr.
Smarmurtr would understand, Elska thought as he re-plaited the small one's long locks into one neat row. They have never met - but they are brothers. In spirit. Once finished, Elska brusquely turned the lagreinn around and straightened the small tunic he had sewn for the small body before him. It was basically a small, brown, square sack with a hole at the top and on the sides for its head and arms. No adornment graced the edges nor were there any fashionable nips or tucks as much wealthier families would bestow on youngling clothes. Elska's needle was not gifted with grace.
Ordinarily, after several more Jotunn winters (closer to a decade), Jotunn younglings would gain a roughness to their skin. Eventually, after many years (closer to a century), their hair would fall out or harden and the small horns of adult Jotunn would begin to bud. At that time, the little protection offered them against the elements would no longer be required. But a runt may be weak against the cold forever, sighed Elska. Pray to the Nattura that it be not so.
"Well now," he turned his mind away from such thoughts, "what letter were we learning today?"
With these magical words, the lagreinn wriggled out of his lax fingers and ran over to the large bookshelf and hefted the Jotunn language primer which Elska had excavated out of his old home. Haffa had used it, apparently, when he had been but a youngling and Smarmurtr would have learned his letters from it in his time as well. Although a lowly caretaker, Elska loved language and had often delved into the mage's library in the Gothahus's west wing. Now, he was the only one to enjoy such texts – until the rightful owners returned.
"You have been learning quickly, little one," Elska said in praise, once again stroking the fine black hair and then lifting the petite child as the lagreinn chanted "Up! Up!"
The caretaker smiled down with pride at the clear blue face and the now familiar curves and lines which whorled along his cheeks and chin. Intent red eyes met his briefly. Elska nodded. It is better the small one learns his place, he sighed. Less pain for him in the future. Still, it is a pity that such intelligence is so limited by what we expect from our people.
"Right then," he said. "Today we learn the last letter and then we will learn how to mix them together. The last letter is ae."
"Aye."
"Ae," corrected Elska. "Ae!"
"Ae!"
"Hm. Better. Let's put together two sounds. Thae!"
"Thae!"
"Sae."
"Thae," the little mouth struggled to form the word and a small chin wobbled as eyes became huge at the realization of the rather obvious mistake.
"What a lisp," chided Elska. "But I know you can do it! Try again."
"Sss-th-ssae."
"And again..."
"Ssssae."
"Hm. Pretend you are a sea serpent. Ssss."
"Ssssthsss."
"Haha. Well. Let that be practice for you all day tomorrow. Now. To write this letter, you must connect the 'a' sound right next to the 'eh' sound. See how they join back to back like mates?"
"Ae."
"Now, follow the lines as I do."
Together they practised writing along the black lines of the large book and then Elska sent the young one off to bed in the corner – but allowed the small creature to repeat the sounds they had learned three times before dowsing the fire.
Even with the lights out, Elska could hear the thin voice whispering to itself under the fur square Elska had found for it.
"A, B, D, Th, E, Eh, F, G, H..."
[... the wind of the world steals the soft chant away...]
[... Jotunheim is waiting...]
Eh! TOT LOKI! ADORABLE! Yes?
Say yes!
Tell me what you think!
Glossary:
lagreinn – small one (epithet)
dvegr – dwarf
Myrkr Skogr – Shadow Forest
jarnvithr – ironwood
Blakkrbjorn – black bear
ventrmellin – winter melon