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 - this shoutout is to all those who have favourited or started following this fic! Thanks for reading - and always feel free to chat - even if it's just ranting about Loki and/or Tom Hiddleston hotness (long-haired or not). :)
Also a big thank you to those who did review! LOL. To DragonsFlame117 (huggles), TheObsessor11294 (all shall be revealed...), wbss21 (good luck with the feels!), princessofd (hope you can keep smiling!), Immortal Sailor Cosmos (so glad you're still here!), tinyBrocks (read MOAH now!). :D
Onward!
Oh.
Before you start reading.
You may want the map on hand.
http: SLASH SLASH i1354 DOT photobucket DOT com SLASH albums SLASH q695 SLASH scarecrowslady SLASH Fanfiction%20Fanart SLASH labelled-JotunheimmapFINAL_zps04751133 DOT jpg
Be sure to check it out and refresh your memory. You can zoom in on it too - so go ahead and enjoy~! (Also, right-click to download and keep for yourself. Ha.)
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 15
Healing Paths
The fields of Dagaheim lie fallow in the winter under a permanent layer of ice and several meters of snow. The small, northern capitol looks across them nervously at the narrow chasm and the lake and beyond their sight, the distant Eybjarga Skogr – a forest which hangs on the edge of forever. It is a forest which had lasted eons of winter... before succumbing to the legendary Rift – falling into the slowly growing Eybjarg, losing three-quarters of its might to mark the beginning of the destruction of Jotunheim.
[... When did it first start? No one seems to truly know...]
That will all change.
They say, one day, a King will be born to Jotunheim – a being of great power, the Sithr Efingi, the True Heir, who will stand as the Bastion Against The Void and heal the land once again. So they say.
If one believes the tales of witless giants.
If one has hope.
[... even without the Casket, there is still hope...]
[... there is still... hope...]
And so the Jotunn of Dagaheim till the ground in the last moon cycles of the winter season – but with half an eye on the horizon. It is, after all, across these plains, during the late winter, that the thurblakulfr come running – from the east to the west and then beyond to the Utanheim, the Outer Realm. For the Eybjarga Skogr calls all wild things – and it is said that those who disappear into its pathless ways are never seen again. Yes, Utanheim is a wild place where no Jotunn cities lie and is only traversed by the most hardy (foolhardy, some would say) Jotunn hunter-trader.
The only other way to Utanheim is by the ever winding East Road which leads from Thrymheim and ends in the Offaer Skogr. Beyond stretches the wastes, the lakes, the mountains, the fjords and all manner of empty lands filled with wild creatures and starlight. Here, Heimsrsal's voice rings out purest –
[... for they are silent who would listen...]
[... Are you listening?...]
Journey-hardened paws ran over the frozen waters of the Myrkyregvatn – the long, thin lake north of Mykyr Skogr with its accompanying, smaller lakes to its west, hard by over Utgard's North Road which ran upwards to Dagaheim. Without rest, they moved through the night, raising their voices in a clarion call – for they had gone hunting and had found their prey. The small creature, still hanging limply in the pack leader's mouth, had long since fallen silent, but with the intuition of all living creatures close to Heimsrsal's heart, they knew that it breathed still and its pulse beat strong.
Thundering along, the pack of fifty wolves or more moved through the night without rest until they had passed under the eaves of the Eybjarga Skogr. The pace slowed then, but none came to a halt – and small snaerharra, sneaky melrakki, and restless herds of villrkyr watched with trepidation as the pack approached, scampered out of its way and then returned as the thurblakulfr rumbled by. The Eybjarga Skogr was not dead, after all. Besides many creatures, Jotunheim's hardy plant life grew. Blakkrgras, jarnvithr, tunglblom and the more rare hota-eik and silvralmr thrived, yet the danger of becoming prey to thurblakulfr deterred many Jotunn from venturing too far within.
Here, the vaetki would be safe.
-0-0-0-
Hluti was as old as the hills, the traders in Utgard and Gastropnir said. As old as the hills and as crazy as an old she-goat. The ancient hunter with skin as tough as wild ox hide and a skull as thick as a jarnkottr travelled the Utanheim, bringing to the capitols unbelievable tales of majestic mountains and plunging depths and fairytale creatures. Nonsense, of course. Anything Hluti said was utter babble... Hluti heard voices.
"Don't look at him," the townspeople of Dagaheim whispered to their younglings. "And don't speak with him... Who knows where you'll end up then?"
With each fair season, Hluti returned to Innaheim, pack full of furs and rare elm and white oak saplings – the promise of rebuilding the Eybjarga Forest in a fairer place. The north-eastern city of Snjarhamr, slumbering before the foothills of the Offaerdalr close by the Jathar Skogr, had committed to planting new jarnvithr and silver elm and white oak in an effort to raise the forest anew. And each year, Hluti bore ten roots and tender branches swaying atop his massive sack of fur and bone and claw securely strapped to his broad, scarred back.
"Don't look him in the eye," the townspeople of Snjarhamr whispered to their younglings. "That one looked into the Eybjarg one too many time... Don't you remember – the Eybjarg is by the cursed city of Utgard – the chasms of forever. Fall in them, and your spirit will never find its way home to the For-Eldra."
Such tales were not entirely true, however. Long years of loneliness in the wilderness, gazing up at the starlight with nothing but the wind of Jotenheim to keep him company, Hluti had stared into the expanses and, upon returning to the small villages and large capitols he no longer called home, the quiet hunter had discovered that the glittering world of Innaheim had gained a superficial gleam, a smattering of tarnish. For things once sacred were now profane and the gestures of the Mages and the Rites of the King and the Great Traditions were now meaningless. Hunter-Trader Old Man Hluti made the city folk uneasy, for his clear eyes saw far and deep.
The Casket was gone and the world of Jotunheim languished at its core.
And it was that time of the year again. As the massive pack of thurblakulfr moved its surefooted way through the forest, Hluti sat in the shelter of a small hill by the north side of the Grjotvatn Lake, contemplating his upcoming treacherous trek to Dagaheim through the Eybjarga Forest now at his back. The boughs of the elms and oaks creaked ominously and broken boughs cracked as the smaller woodland creatures scurried through the snow and ice and fallen leaves and bracken. Wind rustled through the luminous tunglbloms which cast a strange glitter on the reflective leaves of the silver elms. Hluti cocked his head.
"Eh?" He mumbled to himself – no, he thought, not to myself. To her. She's always listening. "You must speak louder if you wish me to hear," Hluti poked at the small pit of fire he had built, upon which he was currently boiling some black broth of tunglbloms and white oak sap. A putrid concoction, but incredibly invigorating for the long road ahead.
Wait... he is coming...
"Who?"
He is coming...
Hluti grumbled. Things can never be simple, can they?
-0-0-0-
As the cool suns rose over the edge of the world, Hluti rose and stretched and listened once again. There was a stillness in the air – a watchfulness. A silence. At the edge of the lake, he caught fourteen holkimurtr, deciding to break his fast with fish.
"Your guest will be hungry, Hluti, depend upon it," he told himself as his hands busily sliced the silver fish open and gutted them deftly. "You watch – in a matter of moments, there will be company and what do you think they will be asking for but some kind of tea and broth and fish and whatnot. Perhaps they will have been lost for days on end and on the brink of starvation – and what then? You will have their deaths at your door because you could not catch a few fish?"
As he was laying his catch in the icebox of the small hut he had built into the side of the hill so many years ago, Hluti heard a distant rumble. At first, the ancient woodsman wondered if he had read the signs wrong (again) and rain was coming.
"That would be odd, Hluti," he shook his head, scolding himself. "At this time of year? What are you thinking?"
But the sound did not abate. It was not his imagination. The Jotunn scrambled out of the low hut which had been built into the hill and downwards into the ground – and peering past the smoke now rising from the hillock, where the small carved hole allowed it to escape his home, he recognized large furry shapes bursting out of the forest without warning. Grabbing his spear which stood ready in a mound of snow by his door and clenching the haft in his firm grasp, Hluti tensed – and then blinked as the pack began to part, some running east, some west – none approaching him.
"Now, then," he sighed. "If it was to be wolves, beloved mine, could you not have sent me some Jotunn first to prepare for them?" Hluti shook his head and then stilled as a large, black and silver furred thurblakulfr approached and slowed to come before him. "You are the Pack-Father?" The trader-hunter asked, trying to keep his voice calm and firm, but not aggressive. "I wish you no – oh..."
The giant head lowered and it's jaws opened releasing a bundle of blue skin and bones, judging by the awkward angle of the left foot and right arm, broken bones. A starved thing. A starved youngling? Yes. Yes. Hluti thought. A starved youngling. But a small one. Too small... He forced down the horror that rose in his gut at the sight of the bruising, the swollen face, the bound hands and shackles. A runt. A lagreinn. Vaetki. A nothing belonging to no one.
No, the wind whispered. Mine...
"Well," Hluti lowered his spear and edged forward, glad to see that the leader of the pack was likewise stepping back. "I guess those fish will come in handy then."
-0-0-0-
It was a simple matter to bind the bones, wipe away the blood and tend to the cuts and bruises with the ointments which he always carried with him for such emergencies. The irons were easily unlocked with two metal pins more often used for skewering and the thick rope around its hands and scrawny neck – a reminder of a time when it had been owned by someone – was cut away gently.
"Someone loved you enough to keep you alive for a little while," Hluti sighed. "Unkind – unkind – but, even more so, to toss you away when your usefulness ended. Such beasts live in those cities, beloved mine. Such beasts."
At some point in the night, young red eyes fluttered open and the wolf by the door yipped in warning, at which Hluti bolted upright and to attention in enough time to stop his young charge from attempting to scrabble out the front door. Despite the fact that it had broken its arm and leg, the puny creature seemed rather agile – thrashing, scratching, biting, until Hluti pinned it with one arm against his chest, while his other reached about for some elm branches to raise the fire with. After a few moments, the flickering light grew and he was able to look down at the small black head resting against his own strong sternum.
Cutting fingernails scrapped along the backs of his hands and before he could say anything – anything to calm the creature down – a tiny ice dagger grew in its palm and it was stabbing downward at his forearm, while simultaneously growling as its puny teeth bit into his hand. Hluti's chest shook like an earthquake as laughter rose from his belly – and at the sound, the runtling's struggles ceased and it cocked its head in silent query.
"Come now, lagreinn," he said. "Let us have none of that now. Beloved mine would be angry at us both, I think, if we quarrelled over long. Look, bite this fish instead, for it is less leathery than this old cow." Here, he placed a short strip of fish temptingly by the fire. It was raw – but that was the traditional manner of things, before the elves and Aesir had come with their fire and their mannerisms and styles of cooking. The shrunken belly of the lagreinn grumbled loudly and Hluti smiled then, knowing he had won this argument.
"See, you cannot hide it now, come and eat and let us talk."
He doubted it would speak – but that was fine. Hluti could talk for the both of them – and Heimsrsal herself could fill in the rest. Letting go carefully, he lay the lagreinn on the stone paved floor of his tiny home and watched it with pity as its trembling hands snatched up and held close the strip of fish flesh with wonderment and disbelief. Hluti clucked his tongue and shook his head. Does the little one not know what a fish is? Or is it a matter of not understanding such a simple act of charity? Either way... The hunter-trader sighed and put the thoughts away to consider another time.
"It's a fish, now," Hluti said, adopting the scolding tone of an Elder he had loved to hate in Dagaheim. When he was young. "You should know what a fish is – and you'd best eat it slow. Come. Eat –"
Suspicious eyes rose to meet his and then glanced down - Hluti reached forward, thinking to cut the hefty chunk of meat into small pieces, but the long piece of white-pink fish-flesh was suddenly hugged to a bony chest protectively and angry growling-hisses emerged from the young one. Hluti leaned back and laughed then.
"Have it your way then, lagreinn. And when you are finished that, drink this nasty brew," here, he set down his smallest bowl full of the tunglblom and white oak concoction. "'Twill invigorate you like nothing else, little runtling."
Without a word, the lagreinn wolfed the fish down, trying to obey Hluti's command and eat smaller bites – and totally failing. Eyeing the small one's now rounded belly, Hluti gave it some of his draught and watched with something akin to amusement as the lagreinn fell asleep again mid-way through his second bit of fish, small cheek pillowed on the fish clutched possessively in his hand. A protective measure. No longer necessary, Hluti told sleeping one. No longer necessary. Carefully lifting the weightless child up, Hluti laid the lagreinn in his robe-cloak of furs, uncertain if it felt comfortable in the usual cold bed of snow.
"Let us see how you feel after some more sleep," he said. "And there is that matter of what in Jotunheim she wants with you." Hluti shook his head. No one was going to believe this.
No one did.
-0-0-0-
After a week of steady eating, the small one, on a morning rose to his feet, leg and arm apparently as good as new. Hluti said nothing, for he had seen enough – the way the black wolves lingered close by, yet peaceful still, the whisperings of the wind and the telltale sparkle of green which wafted from black fingernails when the lagreinn thought he wasn't watching.
He is bursting with magic, Hluti thought. And that is why... that is why he belongs to her...
[... all belong to her, but some more than others...]
Three days passed afterwards. One night, Hluti brought out a rough pick and managed to bring the wild mane of the lagreinn back to some kind of semblance of neatness. Lagreinn. That isn't his name anymore, Hluti smiled. Not really. He is her child – and he is free as he ought to have been from the start.
"Well, probably you were meant for greater things, ulfrbarn," he mumbled to himself as he smoothed the black hair down and then, displaying his small knife carefully so as not to frighten the nervy youngling, Hluti began to cut the ragged ends. Each cut jerked awkwardly at his head, but the ulfrbarn did not cry or complain.
He is used to deeper pain than this, the old hunter thought. And he remembered the night before last when he had pulled the ulfrbarn onto his lap and had discovered to his shock that behind those empty red eyes, there was no hidden innocence. Hluti had stilled the wandering hands then and shook his head, pressed the child to his side and mourned for his people. To let a lagreinn live was cruelty, but to take advantage of his life in such a way... It made him ill. How low have we fallen, beloved mine, he whispered then, aloud, and smiled down at the ulfrbarn, trying to comfort the confused red eyes which met his. Hluti had smiled. Somehow.
"You are free now," he whispered to the youngling as if it was a secret. "And even if I spoke of you, they would not believe this..." He traced the small hands which could heal and summon fire and change their hue at will. "You belong to her... she wants you to go. And I must also leave..." A pause. "We may never meet again, ulfrbarn – but perhaps, one day, we will meet again... in the company of the For-Eldra."
The lagreinn's eyes rose sharply then, as comprehension set in. A small hand rose hesitatingly to Hluti's chest and magic flowed into the old Jotunn's skin probing gently.
"Elska..." whispered a small voice, just slightly lisping.
"Elska? Is that your father?" No answer. "Well, it matters not." The hand did not move, until Hluti gently took it in his own larger one. "I am not ill, little one," Hluti reassured the wolf's child. "But time is shorter for me than it is for you – and you will travel far... It is what she wants. Beloved mine has plans for all of us, you understand. You just need to learn to listen to her." Hluti gave the small one a secretive smile – and that was the end of it.
The next day, he packed his bag – his furs, his well-pressed blossoms, his bone and claw and rare animal skull and a small portion of fish and six bottles of his draught and the swaying saplings over all. Large eyes in a too thin face watched him silently and he bent down to kiss the ulfrbarn on the brow, presenting it with a small dagger (small to him, but a hefty sized weapon for a youngling of its stature) and half of a gray wolf's pelt with an awkwardly attached rope which had been threaded through a small hole at the top corners to fasten the square fur firmly under the youngling's chin. And there were five fish left by the fire.
Hluti sighed. His work here was done. It wasn't enough. It had to be enough.
Thank you...
"You are much welcome," he smiled down at the ulfrbarn. "The both of you." The hunter paused at the sight of the pack still dotted about the edge of Grjotvatn. "All of you," he grinned widely then, red eyes empty with nothing but starlight and ice and wind. "I won't forget any of you. Old Hluti won't. No, he won't."
And he went off, mumbling.
Behind him, there was only silence.
[... but not really...]
[... the silence of Jotunheim is broken by a wolf's cry...]
Hluti is an accidental character... but he was awesome to write. What do you think?
Let me know~!
So, uh, for those who don't mind RPF stuff - I'm writing a fantastically humorous/angsty fic called 'The Mortal, the Jotun and the Wardrobe'. LOLZ. You can read it on my Tumblr if you like (kakashidiot DOT tumblr DOT com). Other sites too (pm me for details). Good times. Basically: "Tom Hiddleston can't sleep one night - and finds a door in his wardrobe to another world. And it isn't Narnia." LOL.
Also!
Am toying with the idea of inserting a chapter after this one that is just about details of a day living with the wolves. Um. Yeah. So. If I do decide to go ahead and insert a previously unplanned chapter, one which I haven't written yet, and allow us to have a bit of emotional down time, I may be a bit latish with the next update. Maybe Sunday. X.X
Glossary:
Aldinn Stathr – Ancient Place
Atfirth – energies
blakkrbjorr – black beer
Blakkrbjorn – black bear
blakkrgras – black grass
blargras – blue grass
Dagaheim
dvegr – dwarf
dyrspeki – zoologist
Eybjarg (Chasms of Forever)
fauld – a part of armour around the lower midsection
Flara River – Treacherous River
For-Eldra – Ancestors
Forn Vegr – Old Ways
Gastropnir
Gnottvatn (Lake of Abundance)
Gothahus – temple
Grarfjall – Grey Mountains
grarulfr – grey wolves
Griotunagardar
hafnathr – sea serpents
heillgrjot – healing stones
Heimsrsal – Soul of the Realm
Holdra River – Hero's River
holkimurtr – small flat fish
Holkn Vollr – Flat Plains
holmganga – a method of ending feuds/disagreements
hota-eik – white oak
hvaeta – wheat
Innaheim – Inner Realm
jarnkottr – iron cat (beast which Laufey released in Thor)
jarnvithr – iron wood
Kaldrfjall (Cold Mountains)
Kero Fornvetr – Casket of Ancient Winters
kostrboth – a method of proving virility for the purpose of marriage
lagreinn – small one (epithet)
Lengi Ofrithr – Long War
manisilfr – moonsilver
melrakki – white fox
Myrkr Skogr – shadow forest
Nattura – spirits
Northri Stjarna – North Star
silvralmr – silver elm
silvrfiskr – silver fish
Sithr Efingi – True Heir
Skalldi
skordyr – Jotunheim goat
snaerharra – snow rabbit
Storrholl – Great Hall
thurblakulfr – giant black wolves
tunglbom (moonflower)
Utanheim – Outer Realm
Utgard
vaetki – nothing
ventrmellin – winter melon
villrkyr – wild ox
Virtha Aevi – Coming of Age
Vollrvatn – Lake of the Plains