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.
Some sketches by moi. Um. Yeah. Not very good. At all. If you want real art for this fic... Uh... we'll have to hire some fanartists for that LOL. :P
Link: i1354 DOT photobucket DOT com SLASH albums SLASH q695 SLASH scarecrowslady SLASH Fanfiction%20Fanart SLASH Vaetki-Ulfrbarn_zps2620c1cd DOT jpg
Hope it works!
THANK YOU TO ALL THE KIND REVIEWERS! To everyone hanging in there! You guys! Are the BEST!
Thanks to... The Soul Soldier (welcome to my dark world~), SpaceHead3 (thanks!), wbss21 (huggles), Double-Gemini (MOAH WHUMP? yes), Raven's Dusk (good thoughts as always), DragonsFlame117 (hands a hankie).
Just saw Star Trek Into Darkness! Wow. It was... AMAZING! I liked it more than Iron Man 3. Well, both are 2 very different stories - but there are more men to ogle in STID than in IM3. Yep. And Benedict Cumberbatch's role was amazing. And the ending was amazing. And Spock's rage was amazing. And the role reversals as compared to the first movie was amazing. And well... Just.
That's all I can get out. (still processing)
(suddenly want to write a fic about Loki waking up John Harrison for the heck of it)
And speaking of John Harrison - points to anyone who can see the correlation between Harrison and Helblindi. Just saying.
OK. Onto the story. TAKE OUT THOSE HANKIES! I got a few moist eyes writing this... so... yeah. And um, listen to The Village OST while reading to get full emotional devastation. Or not.
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 14
Arms of Grace
He woke to dark. Dark which slowly lightened – the white spots little by little sharpening to pinpricks of starlight and the great moons which rose over Jotunheim. Sound and smell clashed just seconds before – fresh wind, clean snow and a wolf's howl carried on the whistling wind of open spaces. The wastelands. Red eyes widened as comprehension set in.
The smell of tanning leather, treated jarnvithr wood, hot loaves, bitter oil and smelting iron was absent – as was the sight of tall, crumbling towers and walls. He was outside.
Shifting his badly bruised limbs, the young Jotunn whimpered as sharp gouging pains lanced up his right arm to his shoulder and through his torso. His arm – the fingers weren't moving as well as he would like. It was confusing. Disorienting. Then, the vaetki remembered the day Elo had broken his arm in the lower foothills of Grarfjall Mountains. For a month, it was bound until the bones knit inside (so said Healer Lind) and the arm was straight. Healer Lind had said that in the old days, magic worked through heillgrjot could have healed it in a matter of moments. Then the healer had sighed at the blank expression on the vaetki's thin face and sent it off, grumbling about witless fools, little knowing that the youngling had read of such magicks before and had only just practised the most basic spell less than a fortnight ago on a set of broken ribs he had acquired thanks to a drunk Thyrstr.
So, he thought, forcing down the panic which rose and curled about in his belly like a sleeping dragon. A broken arm. A broken arm – tied tightly to his other. And his legs... The vaetki shifted, rolled onto its stomach and discovered that the shackles around his legs had remained. Another stabbing pain up his left leg. Close to his foot. No doubt injured as well.
Whimpering quietly, the small Jotun curled his knees underneath him, gaining enough leverage to force himself painfully upward onto his knees and from there to his feet. Wind at his back – nearly knocking him down again – the vaetki began to shuffle back to the walls of Utgard, swaying from side to side. Tall and dark, the ramparts stood in the distance – they looked so far away – but that was more than likely due to his poor vision. One eye had swollen shut and the other had trouble focusing. The world blurred, sharpened, blurred and then sharpened as it's left foot stepped forward a little too forcefully. He bit back the loud cry which threatened to burst from his throat.
He was strong. He would not cry. He would not cry. Crying helped nothing.
Nonetheless, tears rolled down his cheeks silently and from split lips spilled heartfelt promises in his broken grasp of the Jotun tongue. Barely intelligible with a hoarse voice so long disused. So long unheard.
Unheard even now – for the wind whipped the words away and broke them as breadcrumbs along the wasteland so not even the keenest ear of the Jotunn could hear him beg.
[... but Heimsrsal heard...]
[... she hears all...]
"I will be good."
I promise. I will be whatever you wish me to be and never complain. I will do whatever you wish me to do and not fail. Father... Brother...
The vaetki shuddered as another gust nearly knocked it down on its face and for a moment, he lost his footing on a rough patch of ice, nearly pitching down the hill – but long years had honed his reflexes and he managed to gain his balance. At the cost of leaning to hard on his left foot. A definite cracking sound then. Gasping in pain, nearly bent double, the vaetki shuddered to a stop.
Please...
[... she will always hear...]
[... for this is her heart...]
-0-0-0-
"One feels rather sorry for the poor little thing," sighed Kelda.
Illska glanced over at the metalworker and raised an eyebrow. Kelda was with child, and that sometimes meant a kind of protectiveness was aroused in preparation for the long care of his child. He grunted as he turned to watch the small figure stagger forward.
"Hm."
"It should have been put down a long time ago," Kelda went on with a frown. "Quietly and quickly. Then these barbaric measures would not have to be taken."
"A shame, indeed," Mage Orfr nodded. "The parents should have been found and punished for their neglect. Letting a thing like that live shows poor care for the souls of their children. I am surprised it did not die earlier as most do."
"I dislike how cavalier we take this kind of thing," Illska finally said. "In Dagaheim, these kinds of things are dealt with in a more efficient manner, often before they are even born."
"To regain the city, however," Kelda sighed, "the Prince must show his ability to deal with such problems and to stand firm in the Old Ways. The Forn Vegr demands much from its people and often at the cost of our hearts. But in truth I do not know if I like it..."
"Now, that is the babe talking," Mage Orfr chuckled. "I got that way when I had Aklo..."
"Hm," Kelda said, not amused.
"Still," Illska had to point out. "I am impressed by its endurance – a surprising will to live – and even now, it is attempting to escape its fate. An attitude that has long since become rare in this Realm, since the Lengi Orfrithr and the loss of the Casket."
"It is surprising to see it in something so young and forsaken," Mage Orfr agreed and then started at a familiar face standing suddenly beside him. "Ah, my Prince, I did not see you there."
It was the Crown Prince still looking stern and august despite his young age, his red eyes trained sharply on the small figure trudging back to the wall.
"You were saying?"
"Ah," Mage Orfr smiled. "Just noting the perseverance of the vaetki. A testimony in a strange way to Jotunheim and more specifically, this city, Utgard."
"Yes," Helblindi nodded slowly. "Dvegrs, I hear tell, do not live past their first hour of life or their first year. Witless and disabled, gifted or no, there is no strength within them... This one however..."
A pause. Then, softly: "His parents may find pride in his strength and courage – and the nattura look on all of us, large and small, with love. They will take him as they should have long ago before he shouldered the burden of this life." Helblindi smiled at Kelda. "Weep not, for this is a kindness."
He clasped the shorter Jotun briefly on the shoulder before moving on down the rampart.
The rest had nothing to say. They watched. They listened to the wind and shivered as the howling grew louder.
-0-0-0-
Long ago, before the Casket had been taken from its remote tower, the Aldinn Stathr, for its more bloody and violent use in the Long War, it had provided the life blood of the ancient kingdom of Jotunheim – the source of all life and, more importantly, magic. It was at that time that Jotunheim was filled with so much variety as to be a thing of legend now. In those days, they say, the hills were filled with the hardy skordyr, Jotunheim's version of goat, grarulfr, thurblakulfr and many other creatures both large and small. Many survived even to most recent times on the far side of the Realm known as Utanheim, but in the lands and the wastelands lying between and surrounding the cities of Utgard, Griotunagardar, Gastropnir, Thrymheim and Dagaheim, all that remained were bear, wolf and the occasional jarnkottr, iron-cats, which were captured immediately and partially domesticated.
Of the wild animals, the jarnkottr was the most dangerous, although with time some kind of an understanding between slave and master could be reached. With the thurblakulfr, there was only distrust and animosity. Dominating the lands north of Dagaheim, the thurblakulfr never attempted to breach the Jotunn city walls – but neither were they afraid to wreck waste on the countryside and the unfortunate farmer too isolated to receive aid in time.
A keen-minded creature, the thurblakulfr appeared to have systems within their clans – and a distinct awareness... some kind of sentience within the packs, which Jotunn dyrspeki had studied for centuries. Despite their careful watching and cautious note-taking, no real understanding had formed between the Jotunn academics and the great black wolves. The thurblakulfr seemed to answer to no one but themselves...
[... and they understood who owned the winds of Jotunheim...]
Jotunn feared them – and the Northern Gates were closed this evening as a large bulk of Utgard's inhabitants came out to watch the end of the curse which had lived among them.
It was time.
[... they were coming...]
-0-0-0-
No matter how loud the howling grew, the vaetki struggled on, teeth clenched and body vibrating with pain. It knew now that there was no hope – the gate was locked shut, the shackles on its feet and the binding on its wrists precluded any use of magic. Neither could he run, nor dig deep enough into the snow – for the ground was too close to the surface here and would provide no real protection.
His words had dried up – and his tears. There was only a deep exhaustion left – a heavy ache, which he could not name.
[... Elska would have told him...]
[... it is called grief – a breaking heart...]
Exhaustion and a quiet determination. He would not die like a squealing wild boar. Like Mage Opna.
Elska – he thought –
He could feel the earth shake a little under his bared feet and the ice sheets cracked.
Elska – he thought –
A keening call which spoke of bright moons and wild days underneath the stars and the sweep of empty land and nothingness and death. The wind flew past him, whipping long black hair in a dark curtain forward. Hot breath on his neck. Hard teeth clamping down on his shoulders, forcing him to the ground.
Elska – he thought – I will see you soon.
Dark blood oozed out onto the pale snow as he was tossed across the ice to land by a particularly large black paw. Pain engulfed his senses, but the vaetki bit down on his tongue silencing sounds of pain. The taste of iron filled his mouth. He would not cry. Bright eyes, which glinted in the dim light of the setting cold suns, and a wide, black-furred head blotted out the starry sky. The vaetki gasped as the gaping maw leaned forward, opened and then closed around his pinioned arms and torso. Underneath the fur, he could see nothing now but dark –
Sound returned as he was hefted up and there was a flurry and surging of claw and fang and fur and then...
He was gone.
-0-0-0-
Watching from the city wall, Prince Helblindi said nothing. Said nothing as he gazed at the patch of dark blood which stained the snow. There was no sign of the vaetki. To the people, that was good enough – the curse which had inflicted itself on their lives was gone, but the Prince was nonplussed. Was it dead? Or no?
What do I tell Father? He thought. There is nothing to say...
So say nothing, another part of him pointed out.
Still, he stood there for quite some time – long after everyone else had trickled back to their early evening duties and business. He stood there, alone, on the ramparts and remembered sharp, red eyes and a wilful spirit.
It... It seemed wrong to refer to such a brave soul so callously. And do we not all have souls? Helblindi wondered. No, he earned his place with the For-Eldra - he faced his doom with courage and pride. Helblindi paused and listened to the wind. He is one of our blood - and blessed by Heimsrsal herself. And perhaps his story is not over... If there was anyone who would survive the thurblakulfr, he would.
So, Helblindi gazed across the snow and watched a new snow flurry cover the dark stains of a cursed... brother's... blood.
"Little Brother," he whispered. "Be free."
[... stood in silence...]
[... Jotunheim fell into...]
-0-0-0-
In the morning, news came from the village of Myrkr Skogr, long cut off from Utgard and glad to bear the city good news. Sometime in the evening, they said, the pack of thurblakulfr had thundered past and disappeared into the north. Why, they did not know, but there was no sign of them – and even better evidence showed in the hesitant return of the grarulfr into the foothills of the Grarfjall Mountains. A cry of joy rose up in the great city. Hope had returned.
It was a good day for Utgard.
Well... he's gone~ Thank goodness. They so do not deserve him.
Let me know what you think! Update will be around Wednesday, I think.
Author's Note: A few things to clear up. Laufey has only birthed Loki in this fic. This is (or may not be) NOT PURE NORSE MYTHOLOGY. AT ALL. This is all me and my silliness and doing what I want a la Loki - because I think Marvel MCU-verse is very much its own beast and we should respect that. In this story, Farbauti is the Mother of Helblindi and Byleistr, making them Princes - but NOT Crown Princes (traditionally speaking) Of course, we all know what has happened to tradition on Jotunheim. (aka DED in most ways)
And as for the TRUE HEIR. There are a bunch of requirements that I will elaborate on LATER (this is a slowly unwrapping story and I'm the type of author who withholds info sometimes)... but we already got a few hints, if you read VERY CAREFULLY. I have stated that a True Heir needs to be born of the King himself/herself (in this situation, Laufey). Which Loki has been. Age relation to other siblings does not matter. Parentage does. That's the basic Jotunn standard for True Heir. Which Laufey had been at one point.
But to be a really really great True Heir there a few other (forgotten) requirements... such as the conception is blessed by Heimsrsal, the Casket power seeps into the growing cells, and the child has natural innate magical abilities. Loki meets all requirements. Now... the fact he is a runt... well, there's a mystery there, which will... unfold... in time.
Glossary:
heillgrjot – healing stones
Forn Vegr – Old Ways
Lengi Ofrithr – Long War
Aldinn Stathr – Ancient Place
grarulfr – grey wolves
thurblakulfr – giant black wolves
skordyr – Jotunheim goat
jarnkottr – iron cat (beast which Laufey released in Thor)
dyrspeki – zoologist