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.
WRITER'S BLOCK SORT OF BANISHED! I got through the first painful awkward conversation between Thor and Loki. Ugh. I don't know. We'll see. And now I'm starting to find momentum again. YAY! And I started on this short fic about Tom Hiddleston and Loki. Don't ask. It's, like... almost halfway done. I'll post it up somewhere. AFF or something. And when I do, I'll let you guys know. XD
Onward. CAN YOU GUESS WHAT HAPPENS BY THE CHAPTER TITLE? Pull out those hankies. Well. Not yet. Maybe. We'll see.
Thanks to all the reviews!To... endlessvamp (reviews~ yes! yay!), wbss21 (as always, many thanks), princessofd (huggles), puretsubasa (thx!), DragonsFlame117 (don't die... yet), SpaceHead3 (sorry! another cliffie sorta up ahead!), Double-Gemini (cackle away...), Raven's Dusk (good anticipation!).
I'm so encouraged and I hope that I can keep writing something great here.
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 13
Hope Lost
At the news of the arrival of the King – no, Eldar Orn later corrected the gossip-mongers, the Crown Prince Helblindi – the vaetki felt only curiosity, which as time passed by grew into suspicion. Crown Prince, he thought, my older brother... then? And then more questions crowded in. Why is he here when Utgard is not ready? Is this only because of Mage Opna – or is Laufey-King really about to return? Has he heard of me? Has Laufey-King come back for me? Will I be taken from Utgard...
But then, Healer Lind had grabbed the vaetki painfully by his bare shoulder and dragged him to the metal-worker Hritha, who pulled his feet across the table and clapped jarnvithr shackles on them. Now, he was locked – trapped – in yet another hateful jarnvithr cupboard, curled up yet again in the dark, unable to flee his doom.
In the pitch blackness of his prison, the vaetki's thoughts turned to the faces of those who had looked down at him all his life – if they ever looked at all... Horrified faces. Sneering faces. Angry faces. Always so angry. And then, fearful faces.
None like Elska.
Of course, the darkness whispered. What do you expect, you - the pitiful burden on their backs? Useless leech!
Thin arms tightened about bruised knees.
And you really think your brother will come to... what... save you? All night long, what do you think they are telling him? The thoughts descended into his deepest fears and realizations – if your Royal Father had wanted you, he would have fetched you before now.
Burying his head in his knees, the vaetki shivered.
You are... alone.
[... never alone...]
Dear heart...
[... never alone...]
Now he stood before his brother in the Storrholl of the King's Court – a great hall filled with splendid pillars, paved with the special blue-black marble imported from far to the north and east – beyond Skalldi and Thrymheim. Ornate carvings newly dusted gleamed from high above and long windows spaced evenly along either side let in intricate shafts of Jotunheim's cool morning light. The dais before him was wide and long, situated at the far end of the room before a wall now decorated with intricate banners no doubt weaved in Alfheim or Vanaheim. Several stairs high, the King's throne stood empty now... the vaetki's eyes widened – it was at least the size of his cupboard!
Crown Prince Helblindi sat on a smaller seat before it in respect. He cut an imposing figure. Amongst all the other Jotunn, Helblindi had stood out like a tunglblom on a black plain of blakkrgras. Tall, washed and well-clothed with his sharp muscles and aristocratic posture, Helblindi dominated the room in style and authority. A circlet of manisilfr around his upper arm and another intricately wrought buckle which sat on a fine belt made of Vanaheim braiding had proclaimed him the highest ranking personage in the room. The silver set off his even skin tones and matrilineal lines which swooped over his broad forehead – and the vaetki sighed in envy at the short hair obviously molting to reveal the stiff wiry under-hair and horns of adulthood.
Unconsciously, the vaetki pushed back his long unkempt mane, lingering on the flat, worn headband across his own brow. For the first time, a small seed of shame in his belly blossomed.
No horns yet. No horns ever, something deep within him sneered.
Then the Prince rose, straightening to his full height and, walking down the stairs, loomed over the vaetki who had to bend its head back far enough to meet the taller Jotun's eyes. Small fists clenched.
I may be nothing, he thought, but if I die, I will die without tears. Elska will be proud to welcome me home.
[... the spirit of Utgard, of Jotunheim...]
[... it lies in the least of these...]
-0-0-0-
"You have caused us many troubles, cursed one," Helblindi leaned forward, eyeing the small thing. "Do you know what the mages would have done with you?"
The vaetki stared back and Helblindi smiled.
"They say you are an abomination and your blood running on the streets of this city as we stone you would cleanse this place – ah ah ah!"
Helblindi's foot moved forward, stepping on the length of jarnvithr links between it's ankles, tripping it up as the vaetki began to move back, fear in its small red eyes. For a moment, he stared down at the wildly thrashing thing. The arms, the fingers, the legs and the feet were all tiny and stunted. Ugly, yet fascinating, for it reminded him of the pictures of Asgardian children which he had read in books bought at great price from the Elves and Dwarves.
But the Asgardian children were fair-haired, where this one was dark. The Asgardian children were well-built and round-cheeked, where this one was skeletal and concave with hunger. The Asgardian children were clean and shining, where this one was beaten and dirty. The Asgardian children were like their horses – energetic, groomed and spoiled rotten. This one was a wild animal, more like a wolf than a Jotunn – full of fire, if thread-bare and half crazed.
Witless, Mage Orfr had said. Perhaps. Mute? I think not.
Judging by the low growls and hissing issuing from the vaetki, it could make noise of some kind, if no known language. Foot still not budging despite the scratching of small black fingernails along his toes, Helblindi knelt down on one knee and pulled the creature up by its unwashed hair, the better to look at it. Dirty blue skin pulled tight over thin sharp ribs, a sunken belly to match its cheeks and a low riding, threadbare kirtle which had gained a hole over one thigh. Its lines were still faint as usual with youngling Jotunn. Helblindi wondered if they would ever rise and harden. He thought not. Not that we will ever know, he amended. The miniscule black nails were now scratching at his arm unpleasantly and he cuffed it gently, tutting.
"You should know your betters, vaetki. Something you forgot during your impudent existence, obviously." Helblindi smiled then, "Well, at least you will die knowing that you caused an entire city to quake in fear of you. That is something at least."
At his words, there was a renewed struggle, twice as desperate, and he watched with amusement as sharp, white teeth fastened on his hand and attempted to bite through his tough hide.
"That will do me no harm, I am afraid," Helblindi laughed then. "But you can understand me. Come now, desist and let us talk together." He pushed then at the headband bound across the small forehead. "Who is your father? He must be beaten as punishment for his carelessness – if he has not already died in shame..."
The thrashing increased and the creature's ice dagger reappeared, sinking into the Prince's wide palm. Helblindi cursed, slapped it and holding its head still, dragged the binding off, revealing its matrilineal lines. For a moment, there was nothing but stunned silence.
[... silence fell...]
[... on Jotunheim...]
He blinked at the lines and then, dropping the leather headband absently, his hand rose to trace the lines which ran down from the black hairline – down the small forehead and across in sweeping curves and straight lines. Helblindi knew these. Knew these like the back of his hand. Literally. They curved on his hands and up his arms. And he had traced his father's lines enough times as a child at play.
"You are –" He dropped the runt and staggered back as if hit by a blow to the chest. "You are –" Helblindi choked out with revulsion. He felt ill. Felt betrayed. Flummoxed. Uncertain.
The vaetki watched him – terrified eyes in a stoney face.
"How..." Helblindi said and then stopped trying to process it. "When..."
Silence.
At some point in time, Father was with child... and since then he has been unable to bear one. Perhaps it happened during the War – or at the end of it. They never speak of those days but say that they paid a terrible cost. Which means... at some point, if my tutors are to be believed, if the mages' stories are true and if Mother is right... then... this, this... this thing is the product of – of Mother and Father and the spirits of this realm. Is it possible that the blessings of the Heimsrsal belong to THIS? Helblindi's thoughts followed the horrifying logical truth. This was to be the future King of Jotunheim – the future Other Soul to the Kero Fornvetr? The mightiest wielder of the Casket of Ancient Winters... They said - they said that if Jotunheim were to be blessed by the For-Eldra, a great king would come. The True Heir. Tutor Eeltha told me the King of Jotunheim would be bound to its treasure and the spirits therein... and if that is true. If that is true. Then... Then this... this thing had the potential to one day be the King to save Jotunheim and – and – it is a runt?
Helblindi shuddered.
This is my... brother. And he - it - IT is a runt. Why was it not slain at its birth? Obviously no one knows the truth of this matter... or perhaps Mage Opna did... Helblindi's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward again, watching with pleasure at how the vaetki flinched and edged back until the small back met the cold wall of the King's Great Hall. Father and Mother think it dead. And even should it be shown to be alive... what would be the reaction of the Court? The Realm? To see the open dishonour of my father's seed... and it would not gain a peaceful existence - it would die within the week at the hand of a malcontent. It would never gain the throne... would it? This puny thing has no right to take away the birthright my father bestowed, for which I labour so hard...
Of course it has no right – and it can't, he reassured himself, it will be killed by nightfall and this will be nothing but a bad dream. It will never be spoken of again. But he knew then, that this day would haunt him till he returned to the snows of the For-Eldra. Feeling more exhausted than usual, lifting the headband off the ground, Helblindi threw it back to the runt and watched as it bound its forehead, hiding the traitorous lines, the horrific truth.
Already learning to lie and steal and fight to live, Helblindi thought, such an existence cannot be allowed to live. Let it taste our mercy and end its sorrowful existence as it should have done so long ago. And let it's going be honourable and within the mandate of Heimsrsal herself. Stoning... it is potentially tricky because if the lines were to be discovered... well, they must not be. Furthermore, allowing the people to riot in the streets only encourages barbarism. And going so close to the Eybjarg to toss it in the Void is the act of fools and the desperate only – and I am neither. Hmmm...
"Mage Opna was a Jotun of some standing, did you know? I do not think you could comprehend what he was," Helblindi sighed, "considering your... upbringing. Still, you must have heard, if not seen what happened to him?"
The vaetki nodded.
"I thought as much." With that, Helblindi pulled the small one forward by its hair, ignoring its renewed scrabbling – and he raised his voice, pleased that at once everyone came pouring in. "Judgement has been decided upon," he smiled cruelly down at the now whimpering, shivering dwarf youngling. "We shall bind him and cast him into the ungentle arms of nature."
Everyone nodded and for a moment nothing was said until Mage Ikelo asked, "And what would that entail?"
"That it know the pain of the people upon whom it had inflicted his presence, it shall be thrown to the wolves and freed to the arms of Heimsrsal herself. Let Jotunheim care of its own. It will be forgotten - and never be spoken of again."
"We have that pack of thurblakulfr lingering to the north, may they rest in Helheim," spat one of the Council members.
Thyrstr smiled, "A sound plan to be sure, but it shall make a poor mouthful."
There was laughter then, laughter which increased as the abomination began to struggle again. In the end, they beat it until it stopped resisting and bound its arms to its sides. Thyrstr threw it over his shoulder and the group of men strode to the north gate, discussing on how soon the thurblakulfr would catch its scent.
[... so soon...]
[... they would be free...]
-0-0-0-
Three hours later, the expedition left the safety of Utgard's walls and wound their way to the barren wastes outside to the north. As was habit, the wolves were close by that night – the few scouts sent out earlier met them with the good news that the wild horde was on its way, following the scent they had laid down. Tossing their burden to the ground, the Jotunn looked about one last time before returning to the walls. They would watch.
The Great Traditions would be upheld and Utgard would be cleansed and the suffering of the creature would be eased.
[... Can you hear it? The voice of the wind...]
[... and the howling...]
[... they are coming...]
Well there you go, folks. Helblindi's decision. We'll see what happens to Loki next chapter.
BRING YOUR HANKIES!
But good times will happen soonish. Like Chap 14/15.
Authors Note: [This excerpt is taken from a review reply to wbss21's amazing review of the PREVIOUS chapter. I felt that I made a few important points here and if any of you are going... 'Noooooo! Helblindi! Whhhhhyyyyy?' This might help. Maybe.]
"I did write Helblindi this way for a reason. He is reasonable and, as you say, intelligent. He's level-headed and educated as well. So, Helblindi is in a curious position. Loki could be a threat to the thone... but as you say, as a runt, would Loki really be one? I guess, I don't want people to hate Helblindi too much, whatever he chooses to do because ultimately his motivations are right (the good of Jotunheim) - but he's forced to act within the strictures of his station and society. The fact that Laufey could kill his own child for his country sets a PRETTY high standard for Helblindi as well (and not a good one IMO - not that Helblindi necessarily KNOWS his father was pregnant... but Laufey's life-long commitment to Jotunheim is pretty much scary). But Helblindi may question this at some point. That's all I can say.
The interaction between Laufey and Farbauti was important to me, I think. Utgard, I will mention later, is in a state of spiritual desolation, being the Ground Zero, as it were, of a massive spiritual... slaughter or rape. Spiritually speaking. There's a sense that the residents of Utgard, living in the shadow of their greatness, are psychologically tense all the time... and while Laufey and the rest of Jotunheim are fixing themselves up, slowly... Utgard isn't. Which is why, of course, Helblindi trucks out there.
Poor Helblindi. Biting off more than he can chew.
And of course, as you point out, despite their intelligence and civility, Farbauti and Laufey have to live with the fact that they screwed over their kingdom (although they don't know how much yet) (that will come later) (before chapter 20, I think) by killing/abandoning the True Heir - and condemning their kingdom to spiritual/magical emptiness as well as physical decay.
On the other hand, despite living a life that is literally empty of anything good and surrounded by spiritual/moral/magical/physical decay, Loki thrives. As you point out, Loki has guts. Loki has abilities - and Hiemsrsal at his back (sort of). OMG! JUST REALIZED THIS IS THE OLIVER TWIST PARADIGM! (oi vey!)"
So, some of you might hate Helblindi now - but his part to play is far from over and he's just trying to do the write thing with devastating consequences for 1 individual. I know some countries who would consider that totally justifiable collateral damage. Which is so sad. Because ALL life is precious. EVERY ONE. But some people get the short end of the stick.
Next update will be Monday, or so. Soon.
Glossary:
Sithr Efingi – True Heir
For-Eldra – Ancestors
Gothahus – temple
dvegr – dwarf
grarulfr – grey wolves
thurblakulfr – giant black wolves
jarnvithr – iron wood
blakkrbjorr – black beer
Storrholl – Great Hall
manisilfr – moonsilver
Heimsrsal – Soul of the Realm
Kero Fornvetr – Casket of Ancient Winters