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.
OK. And the downward trend begins... NOW! Um. Yeah, so read the warnings. You've been warned. Don't like? Don't read. :)
In this particular chapter the warnings about physical abuse of a minor. I do not think this is a good thing and this is not meant to titillate or make you feel warm inside. If you do get off on this kind of thing, you may want to get a therapist. Or something. In other words, if you hate a certain someone... please click-y on the review box and foam to your hearts content!
Thank you so much for faving, alerting and reading! Thanks to wbss for reviewing my chapter, And what a long review! Longer than Thor 2 Loki's hair! Maybe. (Only person who reviewed.)
I really feel encouraged when people give me a shout out - and I wish I could thank you better for your comments... I hope this chapter will suffice as thanks. :)
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 7
Cruelty of Love
Five winters later, a Mage newly pressed into service of the King returned to Jotunheim. The weary inhabitants of the yet ruined city raised their voices with joy and expectation. With the arrival of the Mage, surely Laufey would return sooner than later – and Utgard would be restored to its former glory. Such hopes filled the air and it did not matter that the winds from Dagaheim and Thrymheim were so bitter that season.
Mage Opna was no sorcerer, not even a magician – but the service of tending to the Altars remained and the protection of the Archives. Elska's workload increased as he the hitherto untouched reaches of the Gothahus were opened. The small one was also pressed into service, running errands to various rooms, carrying what its now larger arms could handle, taking notes for Elska or bringing and sending messages to others in the city. Thanks to its short legs, the lagreinn could not reach the far ends of the city, but it could get to the closest plant and meat markets and that was enough for Elska.
Weaving blakkrgras together, the caretaker fashioned a miniature stiff broom for the tiny child and set it to work clearing out the snow from hallways and from the outside steps and around the Altars. An hour later, half of the room had been cleared away and the little one was working cheerfully in the far corner. The Mage, emerging from the largest study he had commandeered, eyed the runt with disfavour, his red eyes narrowing.
"Elska," his voice boomed down the hallway. "What is that... thing... doing?"
Elska, poking his head out of the newly furnished pantry, glanced over at the small figure on the far side of the room, head bent as the lagreinn focused on his task.
"Sweeping, I should think," Elska finally said slowly, wondering if their new mage was soft in the head or just trying to pick a quarrel. "I thought you would wish the rooms clear of debris for when supplicants arrive. And they will come, depend upon it."
"Hmph... Well, keep that vaetki away – a defiled Mage is the last thing Utgard needs if Laufey is to come by this place again. Try to make its puny mind understand, Elska."
"Yes, Mage Opna."
"Very well. I will be in my study. Prepare the Dagaheim blargras brew. My neck is especially sore today."
"Yes, Mage Opna."
Elska sighed soundlessly to himself. Mage Opna was going to be a handful. He could tell already. Later on that night, he watched the lagreinn study a large tome that Elska had borrowed from the library. His heart tightened at the sight of the too slender shoulders. They look too puny to be normal, Elska frowned. Not that there are any accounts of Jotunn dwarves and it is uncertain as to what its weight should truly be... but the bone is sharp beneath the skin and there is not enough fat on it. No doubt the magic of the creature steals away any resources it may have.
He laid a hand on the tiny shoulder and looked down at the book. A basic treatise on Jotunn magicks. Already, the lagreinn was showing further signs of magical development. Elska remembered how a fortnight ago, the small one had changed his skin colour to the pale white-blue hue more common to Dark Elves. Apparently, shape shifting was as natural as breathing to the lagreinn. Elska leaned closer to look at the textbook now opened before the little one. This lesson was on moving from one space to another instantaneously – a matter of legends, but if anyone could achieve it, this one would, Elska believed, massaging his aching chest absently.
"Elska is not well?"
Older, red eyes glanced down at the younger pair and he laid a comforting hand on the lagreinn's head and forced a smile.
"Just tired," he said. "It has been a long day."
"Yes..." For a moment, the lagreinn studied the page and then whispered, "Master Opna has much to say."
"Too bad his words have less worth than Kolvi's rotten fish," chuckled Elska.
The lagreinn snickered softly but fell silent soon after and said nothing more for the rest of the evening.
Outside the wind howled, promising a long and harsh winter. Clouds scudded quickly across the sky blanking out the stars, promising more snow, and Elska gathered the hot rock scuttle and carried it down to Master Opna's wing just in case the mage desired some warmth – or liquid water come morning time. For a moment there was no sound except the whistle of the gale as it tore at the jarnvithr shutters, the sound of ice debris rolling down the avenue, the faraway crumbling of a neglected tower and the clattering of some boarding left unfastened. Then, there was the crunching of Elska's large feet as he returned down the hallway, the creak of the door as he opened it and then the spit and hiss of the red-hot rocks as he bent over their supper.
And so, a few more winters passed and Elska's worries increased as the pain in his chest also grew. The mage and two healers who now reigned supreme over the west wing of the Gothahus (and the entire neighbourhood) examined the caretaker after one particularly difficult bout. In the corner of the room, shrinking against the blakkrgras wall-hanging, the lagreinn watched with wide, worried eyes as Elska lay back, grumbling quietly. Casting a glare at the as yet tiny runt, Mage Opna swept out of the room followed by the healers, deep in conference.
In between meditation services, healing hours (long painful times in which poultices were applied and meaningless prayers were mumbled and the lagreinn gained more bruising from thrashing patients or the less patient healers), and basic feud settling, the mage applied his mind to the matter at hand. The healers when they returned to the still bed-ridden Elska (whose duties were now being completed by a younger, hot-headed Jotun named Thyrstr), they did not bring glad tidings.
"It is a condition of the heart – no doubt damaged during the war... we could not help but notice the wound you bear," long black-nailed fingers ghosted over the aged scar above the Jotun's breast. "And your years are many... I am surprised you have held on this long after the death of your mate. Many of us pass soon after our Other Souls are gone." An awkward pause. "The time for your passing may be sooner upon you than we would like."
"I cannot leave now," Elska gritted out, his sharp teeth grinding against each other holding back the pain which tried to force itself past his throat. "I have... have duties..."
"Thyrstr will take your place as proud Caretaker of the Gothahus," Mage Opna said calmly, leaning back to lift a potion from the table. "The dead do not carry the burdens and duties of the living."
I am not dead yet, fool, Elska growled to himself mentally. And I was not thinking of the Gothahus...
He kept his eyes off the lagreinn. It would not do to draw attention to the poor creature during a time like this. When the mage and healers left, Elska beckoned and drew the lageinn up onto the snow bed beside him. The small head leaned forward to listen to the thud-thudthud of Elska's traitorous heart and diminutive red eyes, filled with unshed tears, rose to meet his.
"Do not be afraid, little one," Elska said softly. "Not for me."
"Does it hurt?"
"A little."
"Do you wish for a potion? A drink? A blanket? Some matting to lay your –"
"Peace, little one," Elska sighed and drew the tiny, blue skinned shoulders closer, so that the young child curled up by him in the snow, its still dark-haired head resting on his larger shoulder as if it were a gigantic pillow. "You are more used to the snow now, I see. Perhaps you will be strong like your father and withstand the roughest winters yet."
"I would rather be like you," was the soft reply. "Fixing things and making things and hunting."
"You will," Elska said. "You will. You are strong, little lagreinn. You will make Haffa and Smarmurtr and I very proud – wherever we are."
"Tell me again about Smarmurtr. The story with the fish." The lagreinn did not wish to think of Elska being anywhere but by his side.
"Well now, that is your favourite tale, is it not? It began when Haffa found a fish and instead of killing it, he brought it home alive in a bowl of crystal –"
And so the night passed and days and weeks also and finally one day, Elska passed too.
[... Heimsrsal bent down, sweeping her child into her bosom, and brought him home...]
[... the nameless one cried...]
He was alone. Yet, some days, he thought: not alone enough.
"Is there no creature more witless than you? I think not!" Mage Opna's loud voice rattled the jarnvithr shutters as he yelled down at the lagreinn who stood before him. The mage was seated in his study, books open before him and he glared down at the watery tea which had just been served him. A large hand rose and descended, landing on the thin cheek snapping the lagreinn's head around. The blow sent the small creature sprawling and after a few moments, it struggled to its feet again and bent its head in silent apology, listening to his master's rant. "Jotun dvegr is no name for you, vaetki! I told you already the roots must be boiled on the rocks for three minutes – no more, no less! Do you hear me, you witless thing?"
A quick nod.
"Make it again!" snarled the Jotunn throwing the entire service tray and cups and metal teapot at the vaetki which dared not raise its arms in defence. It had learned quickly that was the surest route to a worse beating. With trembling hands, the vaetki gathered up the as yet hot teapot, setting it on the tray next to the mug, now emptied.
"Bring back something besides the swill you think is worth drinking – and clean up the mess on the floor," snapped Mage Opna and he turned back to his desk, muttering.
The vaetki scuttled off, still too-short legs tripping over each other to get to the kitchen and try again. This time, it would have to be perfect. Carefully, he rubbed off the mug and the tray and set the kettle again on to boil. Watching the water carefully, the too slender vaetki absently rubbed snow from the ice box on the now growing burns which laced his shoulders and chest thanks to the warm teapot which had hit him. Dull red eyes watched the flames leap and burn.
I wish I was but a flame, he thought, fingers rising to ghost over his now very swollen cheek. Or like Elska – here, his heart tightened – here one day, gone the next. The red-orange-blue flames blurred momentarily as the youngling remembered the day he had woken up at Elska's side and the older Frost Giant had not woken at his call and his body had turned to ice harder than stone.
The healers had burst into the room yelling something about cursed ones and he remembered the horror of guilt as he realized that perhaps this was something he had done – he tried to reach for Elska, force the green life of magic back into the still form – but Mage Opna had dragged him away, beaten him into silence – and thrown him into the small cupboard he now called home –
A sharp whistle jolted the vaetki out his dark memories and his hands were busy for a short time. At the correct moment, the Dagaheim blargras so favoured by the Mage Opna was added to the teapot with precise measurements – just like a potion, the vaetki thought, if only I could make potions like Master Lind – and then the boiling water was added. Setting the lid on the pot right away, the vaetki patiently counted to a hundred before setting it onto the tray and carrying it out. By the time the tea arrived at the door, it would have brewed correctly – if the batch of blargras was strong enough. If it wasn't, he would be beaten again. The vaetki bit his lip.
This time, the tea was received with a grunt and a peremptory wave of the hand. After quietly mopping up the half-frozen mess of old tea on the stone paving, he fled. It was dark now – time for supper. Creeping back into the kitchen, the vaetki hunted down two small bowls of food he had managed to scrape together – from the leftovers tossed by the others earlier that evening. Quickly, the vaetki finished the bowls of ventrmellin and blakkrbjorn.
Elska's favourite.
He choked it down trying not to sniffle over the memory and then read a little from the magical tome he had hidden and still studied carefully every night. When it was time to dowse the fire, the vaetki slipped open the secret drawer on the side of the cupboard and eased the book in, shutting it carefully away, before drawing the hot rocks into the inner hearth where they would smoulder for the rest of the night.
Then, easing himself into the small jarnvithr cupboard, the vaetki curled up on his now slowly extended fur blanket (stitched with his clumsier, less tutored fingers). If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the sound of Elska's rattling sleep-noise and the smell of wintergreen. The vaetki's eyes tightened against the unshed tears. If Mage Opna heard him, or the healers, he would hobble on aching legs all day long. They seemed to gain some kind of satisfaction from his whimpers of pain and it seemed like everyday they found something he had done wrong which deserved a strike against the back of his thighs or knees.
-0-0-0-
As time went on, as the struggle to survive became more difficult, the vaetki fell mute, seemingly deaf to the epithets hurled his way. What is it? They taunted it. It is nothing. It became nothing – a tool, a useful thing to have at hand. A whipping boy. A scapegoat.
Time stole away the memories of quiet moments, of kind if awkward hands and a voice quick to laughter. Time stole away tender words and the name it once had been called – little lagreinn. Time stole away so much and left behind bruises, loneliness and abuse heaped upon abuse.
It did not cry.
The wind cried for it.
[... it always does...]
[... did you know?]
There you go. Sadness and whumpage and pain and such-like will now commence. But there are bright rays even here. We will see.
Please let me know what you think! Concrit is much appreciated!
Next update involves Loki's life and learning. :D
Glossary:
Lagreinn – small one
blakkrgras – black grass
vaetki – thing, nothing
blargras – blue grass
jarnvithr – iron wood
dvegr – dwarf
ventrmellin – winter melon