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.
So, today, for various reasons, I'm feeling a little blue. (sigh) (not even seeing long-haired Loki will cheer me up) I'm gonna need to watch something light. Before I do, I'm gonna cheer myself by kicking commonsense fanfic rules and post a chapter a little early because I need some happy chatting with you guys to cheer me up. I hope I don't sound too pathetic.
And I had a nice talk with my parents over Skype and everything today! You'd think I'd be on top of the world, right? Right? Nope. Apparently the numbness in my hands and feet, disorientation, extreme fatigue and disorientation I've been feeling lately may be due to a massive B12 deficiency. Sigh. So tomorrow I have to go, armed with my Chinese dictionary, to a pharmacy and find B12 vitamins that won't kill me.
I hate medicine. Sigh.
Anyways... all this to say that lately I've been having a massive writers block over chapter 23. GRRR. Is it the lack of B12/my unknown illness? Or is it just issues with my muse? SIGH... Now I feel depressed... and this is an important chapter too! Like... Loki and Thor meet for the first time important! What if I mess it up? (panics) (realizes some Linkin Park has come on. FML) Right! Let's move onto happier things... A longer chapter! Yes! Um. Yes. If I were to give this chapter another title it would be... "The Promise of Comeuppance". Yep. That's my hint to you.
Once again, thanks to all my lovely reviewers!
Warning! Warning! Child abuse! Warning! Warning!
May want to look at the map I drew as well. :) Chapter 5 has the link.
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 10
New Seasons
It was one such winter season, when the healers had returned to Dagaheim and Mage Opna was once again in Gastropnir and Thyrstr had departed to the dark regions of the Myrkr Skogr to hunt for wolves, that the vaetki was able to sustain himself enough to practice one of the new magicks he had been, as yet, unable to complete thanks to complete exhaustion.
From the rising of the cold suns to the domination of starlight, the vaetki was worked hard – running errands, cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, washing and scrubbing and sweeping and dusting and answering to his many masters – and fed little. Those were the hard months of the slow years which passed. But one winter season, the vaetki foraged along the edge of town and using a simple misdirection spell and a notice-me-not magick chant, it was able to steal the left hank of a wild hog and several rare fruits which had been imported from Alfheim and Asgard itself.
Partaking of his unusually large feast, the vaetki leaned back and patted its belly, eyeing the small sack he had packed in preparation for what he wished to attempt.
Short-distance transportation. Of himself and his small pack.
Once again he considered what he had stowed away. Two short knives, flint'n'tinder box, tiny bundle of coal, his journal, the ink and pen he had long since stolen from Ketill, his second kirtle, four leather thongs for his hair, food stuffs (including dried fish and sea serpent), a fishing rod, twine and bait. Over it all was laid his second, small fur blanket-cloak, which he carefully wrapped about his shoulders and secured with a black piece of twining rope.
He looked about the room and double-checked that everything was in its place and the hearth was safely clear of any possibility of wild fire. Pulling on the pack, the vaetki rose to his feet and stood there, imagining the place which he wished to see – the damaged portion of the South Wall which he had scouted out previously as a possible hiding place for short-distance transportation. Twisting his hands, letting his fingers drift down in the now familiar sigil, and chanting the short command, the vaetki felt a jolting pull from the centre of his stomach – there was a flash of green and black smoke.
He was gone.
When he opened his eyes a few seconds later (somehow they had closed of their own accord and he berated himself for his cowardice), the vaetki surveyed his surroundings, forcing down the bile and nausea that caused him to sway on his feet. Waiting for the sickness in his belly to settle, he imagined the bit of wall on the other side of the city's massive ramparts now falling into disrepair. He disappeared and then reappeared gain - now outside of Utgard. From there, the vaetki took his time, moving slowly on foot or by magic to the far bridge which crossed the Flara River a half-days journey outside of Utgard. On the last teleportation step, sharp red eyes widened as he recognized the black tall jarnvithr posts which rose about him along the sides of the wide bridge which Thyrstr had described to him in excruciating detail that one time he had gotten drunk and talked the vaetki's ear off about his hunting exploits. Head swivelling about, the vaetki took stock of his surroundings – and then without hesitation, darted southward down the road toward the lake he had always heard of from Elska and the others: Vollrvatn, Lake of the Plains.
The Flat Plains, known as the Holkn Vollr to the Jotunn, were situated south of the large Garfjall mountain range – and in the middle of its narrow western section was the large Vollrvatn Lake, into which streamed the Flara River and out of which streamed the Holdra River, which, it was said, a mighty Jotun had carved in a battle against one of the ancient Titans. These plains were wide desolate places and filled with only scrub, the hardy blakkrgras and the wild wind.
To the young vaetki, it was a glimpse of oft-wished for freedom and terrifying emptiness. Carefully, he stepped forward onto the snow, leaving the wide road, and made his way magically in short bursts down the side of the river, crouching low in the snow and trying to make as small a profile in the open spaces as possible. An hour later, when he arrived at the shores of the eternally frozen lake, the vaetki found enough energy to dig deep down into the snow, creating a small warm burrow which he hollowed out carefully as Elska had taught him so long ago –
- when he could leave Utgard in the protective arms of the one he considered father –
- when he was happier –
Better not to think of it, he scolded himself and he began to press down the snow carefully as he had been taught and then carefully hollowed out a deeper, harder hole below and a smaller hole for ventilation above. Afterwards, the vaetki laid several stones down which he scrounged for at the edge of the lake. On the rocks, he laid the coal and the tinder he had brought and lit the small fire, curled up by it and fell asleep.
Several watches later, the vaetki rose, tended his small fire again, ensuring that the hole at the top of his burrow remained clear before he left with his fishing gear. Scurrying over the ice in the bright starlight, the vaetki avoided the small village of huts which perpetually sat on the edge of Vollrvatn Lake, and made a beeline for an abandoned fishing hole. Several hours later, he had a fair catch – four hafnathr, eight silvrfiskr and two holkimurtr.
Well, that was surprisingly easy, he thought, eyeing his catch. If I come for one night once a week, I will eat like a king every night. He was quite pleased with himself.
Of course, the winter months passed by in their own good time and Mage Opna and the others returned in no better temper than when they had left. Nursing his new bruises, while healing the worst ones, the vaetki sighed. Perhaps they do not love Utgard after all. Perhaps it is the place which makes them so unhappy.
Every night, he was once again locked away in the jarnvithr cupboard in which hung several robes (which he was not allowed to "maul with his dirty paws") of office – and experience had taught him that jarnvithr, the dense wood so easily grown in Jotunheim (and nowhere else if you believed the books) dampened his magic and disallowed him from magical travel. (Teleportation, the books had said, but the vaetki did not know how to say the word.) It was a dismal stuffy prison and bred the voices of condemnation deep inside.
Perhaps it is not Utgard at all... perhaps, a dark voice within whispered, it is you.
-0-0-0-
Mage Opna sighed as he read over the King's missive yet again. Laufey-King was choosing to travel to the far east to Thrymheim for the clement months, ignoring the state of the citadel once again. When will we be released from this cursed place, he scowled. Tear it stone by stone to the ground and be done with it – It is under the watchful eye of Odin and his Gatekeeper, forever shadowed and it will never raise its head again.
But no, he told himself, Laufey-king is a grasping king and does not wish to part with anything that may have some kind of worth – although what worth there is to be found in Utgard nowadays is beyond me. It is nothing.
Nothing.
At the word, Mage Opna thought of the steadily growing vaetki who now stood three spans tall. No sign of ageing in the Jotunn fashion, of course. Still blessed with soft hair and skin – His lips quirked up and for a moment, the older Jotun considered calling the creature to him for some evening company.
The tall Jotun rose and eased open his door and peered out into the gloom. An icy eyebrow rose at the sight of the ever puny vaetki kneeling before the Under Altar head bowed and hands clasped. His jaw dropped open. Surely not... the thing... was praying to the nattura? The... nerve... His eye twitched. (For a moment he saw red and all the injustices of his life reared up before his mind.) Nearly tearing his study's door off the hinges, Mage Opna stormed out, taking pleasure at the startled squeak of the impudent thing which had thought to desecrate the sacred place with its abominable prayers. And who does it pray to anyways? Who does it think will listen?
[... Heimsrsal is always listening...]
Scrambling backwards, the vaetki pressed up against the tall sides of the Under Altar (on top of which burned the eternal scents of tunglbloms now farmed by Lind). It trembled like a leaf, flinching as Opna's broad hand descended to slap it soundly across the face, sending it tumbling down the steps from the force of the blow.
The mage swivelled, didn't even have to turn, to grab the beast by its long matted hair and unceremoniously dragged it across the floor, its short legs trying to keep up and failing. Ignoring its soft whimpers of fear and pain – and the small fingers which scrabbled at the hand which jerked its head along painfully, Opna pulled it into his study. Ketill and Lind put their heads out of the storeroom and jeered something about Opna showing the little dwarve its place in life.
The thick, slightly stiff leather belt around Opna's waist was good enough – and within minutes, he had pinned the vaetki against the table and applied the leather strap to its back, over its bottom and down to its legs. A good twenty minutes later, he stopped – uncertain as to how many strokes he had applied – but it was enough.
The creature had passed out. A few seconds later, dark lashes fluttered and he gave the vaetki a few ungentle slaps before he hauled it unresisting to its feet. Stomping down the hallway, the Master Mage threw open the small cupboard and tossed the thing inside, yelling something about sacrilege and it learning its place.
"Don't feed it," he snarled at Thyrstr who nodded with disinterest. "You can keep it inside the whole day and on the second, make it work extra for its food. As soon as it gets ideas, foolishness will abound, you hear?"
"Certainly, Mage Opna."
"If it protests, you know what to do."
"Of course, Mage Opna."
"I will retire for the evening. Tomorrow, I go to the West Gate to see what can be done to partition off or build supports for the new cracks appearing in the West Courtyard pavement."
"Very well, Mage Opna."
The Mage disappeared for the evening. After a few moments, Thyrstr rose and left for a late night drink of blakkrbjorr. The scrap of nothing locked away in the cupboard cried silently.
[... the spirit of the realm had been stolen...]
[... but its soul remained strong – and it flared with anger...]
Three months later, the Mage and Thyrstr rode to the Myrkr Skogr to receive the annual taxes due to Laufey-King from the two villages situated within its murky, gloomy depths. Mage Opna thought it was a dreadful waste of time since the entire amount collected from either village was not even enough, he thought, to buy the King a comfortable bed. Still, I must finish this one task, he smiled to himself, and then I can ready myself for Gastropnir. The Dagaheim blargras is running out and Myko says that the traders from Alfheim this year are particularly generous.
Fog was drifting in now across the path and the steady tread of Thyrstr grew faint as Mage Opna dropped behind. When he came to the crossroads of two small paths, the Jotun turned to his partner only to find that Thyrstr was nowhere to be seen.
"Is it my lot in life to be surrounded by fools?" grumbled Opna to himself – and at the sound of a howl far in the distance, he gathered his fur cloak tighter about him and glared up at the canopy of dark leaves above his head. The giant, silent forest of Myrkr Skogr. Never before had it seemed so empty. And ominous.
Howling again. Closer now – and Opna, glancing about nervously, eyed the roads. Which way did Thyrstr say again... I rarely come out this far, since it is as abandoned as Helheim, he cursed to himself.
"Thyrstr!" His voice boomed loudly in his ears – but it could not penetrate the thick fog rolling in. "Thyrstr! Holla! You idiot! Where are you!?"
No answer. Only increasingly more distinct howling. Opna shifted uneasily and turning back down the road he had come from, he decided to return to the North Gate and then return with one of the farmers who would no doubt come to the market to trade around mid-day. Thyrstr will be fine on his own, the hot-headed fool.
After slipping and slithering down the treacherously slippery ice path which wound downwards from the hills rolling through the forest, Mage Opna found himself puffing and panting in a very embarrassing kind of way as he eased out from under the eaves of Myrkr Skogr. Behind, he swore he could hear what seemed to be a large wolf pack coming from the depths of the forest. It was hard going thanks to the winding paths which ran up and down the hills situated to the north of Utgard. They were troublesome, but unavoidable since they spread from the uncertain ground of the Eybjarg's edge and thence eastward to make steadily higher foothills before building up into the Grarfjall Mountains.
With these thoughts in mind, Mage Opna fixed his eyes ahead of him – to the far walls of Utgard which seemed like a pinprick in the distance and he began to move quickly, abandoning the narrow roads and making a beeline across snow and stone and uncertain ground. At the sound of one long particularly long-drawn wail, he turned slowly and then began to run in earnest as the quick glance imprinted itself clearly on his mind.
A pack of thurblakulfr. Giant black wolves which roamed the far north -
[... what lives in Utanheim but the wind, the wolves and the spirits of Jotunheim?]
According to Ketill and Lind, these could tear a Jotunn apart before you could finish chanting the First Prayer. What are they doing so far south? He spared a thought to the puzzle before focusing on the most important task at hand – getting safely across the wastes to the North Gate of Utgard. He could see the sentinel watches on the walls. Other dark shapes swarmed inside and the mage bit back a curse. If those witless fools lock the door on me, I'll –
Another howl. Too close for comfort. Mage Opna sped up, cursing his long nights spent reading and sleeping and not running with the others on the wastelands to the south. Why must this happen to me, he wailed. The large Jotunn's sense funnelled to the sound of his heart thrumming in his chest, his feet pounding over the sharp ice ignoring the cuts growing on his thick soles, the sight of the slowly growing black walls and the still open gate.
Heimsrsal, he prayed. Let me make it in time.
[... the wind carried laughter from the heavens...]
[... he had forgotten the creeds of all Jotuns...]
[... do not disrespect Heimsrsal...]
[... they will find you...]
I HOPE YOU DON'T MAKE IT IN TIME, YOU TERRIBLE CREATURE! (ahem) We'll see what happens...
Loki is, Earth years, about 8 years old or 9. Poor baby.
Glossary:
Myrkr Skogr – shadow forest
Vollrvatn – Lake of the Plains
Flara River – Treacherous River
Vollrvatn – Lake of the Plains
Grarfjall – Grey Mountains
Holkn Vollr – Flat Plains
Holdra River – Hero's River
hafnathr – sea serpents
silvrfiskr – silver fish
holkimurtr – small flat fish
blakkrbjorr – black beer
grarulfr – grey wolves
thurblakulfr – giant black wolves
Eybjarg (Chasms of Forever)