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.
Thanks a lot to those who reviewed! You were really encouraging to me and that really helps me a lot when I work on smoothing this piece of work out. Taming the beast, as it were, can be overwhelming, so knowing there are people out there enjoying it really encourages me to keep hacking on through what I've got planned!
To: DragonsFlame117 (good news: this is the arc in which Thor appears, bad news: he doesn't come for a while yet), wbss21 (there are some rays of light at some point), Immortal Sailor Cosmos (good luck with your projects!), Ica Leigh (welcome!).
So, now I have a week of exam-giving... 2 days, really. And then I am FREEEEEEEEEEE~~~
Sort of.
Warning! Warning! Slavery! Forced feeding... and Abuse. Warning! Warning!
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 21
Tied to the Stars
[... there are no skies here and no wind...]
[... only mechanized humming to hide the silence...]
So cramped. It was worse than the jarnvithr cupboard he had inhabited those long years when he had been so weak and ignorant as to believe he needed the aid of his betters to survive. When he had listened to those poisonous words and had taken them to heart. When he had considered himself Nothing, less than nothing. Never again, he had vowed to himself. Never again, he renewed that promise. This, this too I will overcome and if it means I meet my death, then Elska will greet me that much sooner.
The metal container they had slotted him into brought the old memories to the surface, as though his mind was the stew Elder Esaf loved to slowly simmer over the hot stones of his hearth. Hidden things rising to the surface as the ladle turned round and round and round... Thyrstr's iron hand wrapped around his thin wrists as his other rose to batter the young vaetki – ulfrbarn, he told himself, you belong with the Pack now. Reminded himself as the memory of Mage Opna swam to the surface – the band of heaviness which had weighed the young shoulders as his arm circled about the younger Jotun's shoulders or waist. No, panic rose then, no. It is not to happen again. No no no nonononono.
He thrashed and protested with a string of curses he had learned the hard way from the traders of Snjarhamr. The ulfrbarn twisted in the bonds which pinioned his arms tightly before him and bit at the broad hands which reached down to still his sharp movements. There was a stifled curse in response and he could hear some foreign language uttered over his head, but he could not make the words out. The new captive was less than pleased to learn that he would have to crane his head far back to catch the faces of the Slavers, which was impossible thanks to his confinement. All he could see was the lip of his metal cocoon and tall giant legs which rose out of his view.
I am in the flooring, he thought rather incoherently as he growled up at them. Shadows wavered and fell as others moved about, the conversation was coming to a close and without warning, the broad hand reappeared to yank him upwards and for a moment, the ulfrbarn was lifted halfway out of his new prison. A glimpse of a broad room with a grating over the floor – and underneath the grating, he saw a field of slots such as his: some filled, some empty. It brought to mind a picture in a book of a natural home made by small creatures in Asgard. Elska had it called a 'honeycomb' – and the Aesir were fond of the sweet substance secreted therein. Or so the Jotunn had said, lips curling with disgust. 'Sweet' that was something he could only guess at, but there was nothing 'sweet' about these honeycombs. An uncomfortable stench rose in the air and the sensitive youngling reared back – or rather, tried to. Callused hands held him firmly and another hand forced his jaw and mouth open.
Something metallic was worked in by a second set of hands – a round bit which his teeth clashed uncomfortable against. Red eyes widening, the ulfrbarn tossed his head and tried to pull away. No. What – Metal bands wrapped about his head and clipped on the back, keeping his tongue still and his mouth slightly parted. When a small tube appeared in the hand of the second set of hands, which he saw were attached to a smaller, slighter humanoid, the ulfrbarn's hands rose up – but the Slaver's now free hand easily stopped the ulfrbarn from harming the second being. Is it a Slaver too? What is it? Why is it doing this to us when it clearly – All thoughts were suspended as the tube slid past his suppressed tongue and gently poked against the back of his throat. The ulfrbarn began to gag a little, but increased pressure, a gentle command which the Slaver responded to by angling the ulfrbarn a little better – and the tube continued to slide downward.
He whimpered, even when the tube stopped. A pause. The ulfrbarn was slotted back in his containment square, wrists this time attached the wall. Rubbing his face and slightly open mouth against the back of his hands, the ulfrbarn attempted to drag the tubing out. No chance. It was secured to the side of his cheek by a rough strip of some sticky substance and drifted upward and then attached to another tube which dangled from the edge of his small prison.
Then the ulfrbarn was left there, grating lowering down over his head and the his small world was shadowed with lines and crosses and filled with nothing but the hum of a mechanical engine and the noise of others walking over him with no thought or care concerning his misery.
[... so time passed...]
[... in this world where night and day are meaningless...]
[... yet time passes...]
There was no routine to mark the days, to note the relentless march of time. Realization came slowly, as other prisoners, slaves, whatever they were, came and went. He stayed there, until bit by bit the fire within him died and flickered weakly. The reality of his helplessness sunk once again into his very bones – as old memories and nightmares revisited him. His whimpers and choked cries went unheard. Forced alive by the liquid which ran down the tube, down his throat to his unwilling stomach, the prisoner had no choice but to continue on his hated existence. His skin, thanks to his long-time imprisonment, was now an unhealthy shade of pale blue, untouched as it had been by Jotunheim's cool suns and fed with only the barest of nutrients. No longer did the stench of the slave ship bother him as his own stench surrounded him without relief.
One day, a broad hand opened the grating and stroked the long hair which hung in greasy tangles down his back. No violent response this time – merely the raising of dulled eyes revealing a fatigue of the soul. When the large fingers of the Slaver lingered on the thin cheek, the small creature leaned into the touch, starved for a reminder: it was alive.
It was alive.
The Slaver's large wide mouth gaped open and black stone-like teeth showed. It mumbled something incomprehensible and nudged the collar around the slave's neck.
"Du-juh-ah-lay-ko," said the Slaver slowly, his forefinger and thumb lingering over the prisoner's sharp cheekbone. Something formed in the smaller creature's mind – a prompting. Your name, little one... Then, it repeated the syllables quicker now, tapping the slave on the forehead gently to avoid bruising. "D'jah-lay-ko."
After a moment, the slave nodded tiredly.
The ulfrbarn was no longer.
He was dZh-Aleiko. Number 495 of the dZh-Run.
-0-0-0-
"Hey – hey – Alei! Alei! You hear?"
"Hear what?" groaned the pale, green-eyed boy, raising his head from the grimy square of sacking he called a pillow to eye one of his Shaft Pack mates.
"The Slavers are coming – and Master jZ-Mahyulsa says there are some contract exchanges!"
Alei groaned and fell back on his pillow, rubbing his dark-ringed eyes slowly as he considered the matter. This was never new. Slavers came and went on their own schedules bearing the news of labour division throughout its large empire of misbegotten and misused assets. Dzh-Aleiko, the formerly blue-skinned worker in the Jog'aln Mines, was just one among millions who were shuffled about from job to job. Mayultho, his Shaft Pack mate, was the optimistic type. Born into this life from a Shaft Pack elf-woman, Mayultho never knew the joys of the free-born. He merely dreams about leaving the rock, exploring beyond the horizon. Even as a slave. But... can you blame him? Aleiko grumbled to himself as his Pack mate blabbed on about 'cushy jobs waiting on rich people riding galaxy cruisers' and such like.
"Who knows?" Mayultho said. "Maybe you'll end up going somewhere else, Alei!"
"I would prefer to go home," Aleiko said mulishly, turning over to light a small red fire in his palm. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? You are home."
Awkward silence.
[... the silences of the blackened moon are empty...]
[... the spirits left this place a long time ago...]
[... such desolation...]
Looking up at the starlight of the universe, what do you see? And beyond, what lies? A large and wondrous place? A labyrinth of dangers? Nebulae and clouds of star dust mar the vision. Ancient light speaks of youthful days of worlds long past – and in between, nothing but grit and silence and unrelenting cold. This is space.
In a corner of the Nine Realms, on the edge of the nothingness which lies between galaxies, hangs a massive star system, of which Tarnax III is of middling size and of moderate population. Its third moon, an insignificant, gray thing which hangs motionless in the night sky, hovers pock-marked over the pale green planet. Presenting a flat, serene face to Tarnax III, the third moon belies the furious activity taking place on its other side – the massive mining enterprise of the Jog'aln Corporation, a Skrull outfit which enjoyed the close patronage of the Skrull Emperor himself.
Forever cast in the shadow, the far side of Tarnax III Third was a twilight world, a dim, dark place with only a minimal amount of air. Atmosphere generators provided enough for the enslaved miners to work in, the threat of extinction keeping the masses in line. Shuffling through stuffy, closed in passageways hewn carefully into the rock, the "employees" of the Jog'aln Corporation hauled rock and precious ores and metals to the surface for processing and then eventual export.
Aleiko of the dZh-Run, sold to the Shaft Pack One Hundred and Eighty-Three, learned how to work silently and efficiently. Jotunn hardihood and a slight build allowed Aleiko to carry his allotted burdens easily enough – as well as move swiftly. His red eyes, used to the dim world of Jotunheim, served him well here – but the darkness of his skin did not. Easily missed in the shadows, the young Jotun was forever dodging flying carts and other larger workers who bumped and crashed into him as they lumbered down the narrow shafts.
That was until Master jZ-Mahyulsa had the collar adjusted, allowing a little magic to seep out, giving the slave an added dimension of worth in thanks for his careful service. Aleiko's skin shifted to a pale colour which glimmered in the dark a little better. Now Aleiko's jobs extended beyond the servile running of errands, carrying rocks, chipping at trenches and pushing the bins. With the gift of his partially returned magic came great responsibility to heat or to cool appropriate objects – metal, food, fires and stone. Small injuries were healed by his scrawny hands and each day ended with deep-seated exhaustion settling further into his bones as his magic drew on resources he could barely sustain.
With the news of the Slavers, the entire mining colony was on edge, making life even more difficult for the masses of slaves who waited for the unknown. The Masters were easily irritated and everyone scurried at the sound of their raised voices.
"Aleiko!" A snarl followed by a crackle of the guards dreaded Electro-staves. "Where is the boy? Ha – there you are. Skulking about, I daresay. Where have you bin then?"
Aleiko knew better than to reply. Instead, he shuffled his feet and held out the small datacard which he had just returned with.
"Great-Master Nai'naifreima complaining again?" Master jZ-Mahyulsa snatched the datacard up. "The void-brain lump. Mind as empty as an asteroid that one – what he want now? Some of the kol-sava'atha? Or chi'iano? Probably doesn't even know what he wants, huh, that o'ma'auzha." He grumbled as the new datacard slotted into the machine which hung from his thick, rough-edged belt which hung, half-hidden, underneath his great, sagging belly. "Ha. Hm. As I thought. Word from on high... about those cursed Slavers, as usual, those o'ma'auzha, just popping in and popping out. Well, at least they're bringing some brawn with'em this time."
A pause as he scrolled through the data. Unlike other planets, the electrical surges brought on by solar flares often shorted the communication cables, leaving hand-carried datacard messages as the only reliable source of information on the small moon. Aleiko would be sent back with the Master's answer if the situation required. He waited patiently while Master jZ-Mahyulsa quickly typed up a short answer, acknowledging the message. The Master eyed the silent slave who stood by his side.
"Well, then, seems like it's your lucky day, Aleiko," he grunted. "You will pack your things and present yourself with this message at Great-Master Nai'naifreima's Outer Office with the others. The Slavers have picked your number. Times up here." These last words ended with an ominous laugh. "You may regret it – not that I know where you'll end up."
With that, the datacard was handed back to the slave, so called Number 495, and ever busy Master jZ-Mahyulsa promptly forgot the quiet creature known as dZh-Aleiko. The moon of Tarnax III moved on.
-0-0-0-
Far from the heart of the Nine Realms, from the cold wastes of Jotunheim and the golden halls of Asgard, deep within the heart of a star nebula, there lies a stellar crossroads of some sort – a busy, glittering, metallic planet which pulses with sound and smell and grime. It is the Meeting Place, the Market and the primary planet of the Shamarxes System. The original inhabitants long extinct, it is the home of no one and everyone – where creatures from far and wide meet to share coin and stories. Tawdry, gaudy – these are the first things one thinks of at the mention of Sharda'aa, the Planet of Pleasures, Den of Vice and Counterfeit Gold.
Here, the long-legged girls kick their heels toward the stars and whisper sweet nothings in the ears of those willing. The long-legged girls and boys and everything in-between. Underneath their songs, their musicals and wondrous magical shows, there pulses the ever yawning pit of need – and greed. Feathers, metal bits, sequins, bone-carved trinkets, plastic under-suits and sensuous graces entice, sway, drag you under… And the unwary succumb to the clouds of perfume and drugs – submerge – and forget their dreams and hopes until even the memory of starlight is faint beneath the smoggy atmosphere. The foolish end as beggars, losing their money to cards, to dice, to the gambling halls and fighting pits which beckon at every street corner. Until one day they wake to their own demise. This is Sharda'aa, the Planet-City of Illusions.
And it was here that dZh-Aleiko was deposited next by the Slavers. Shoved through the dented, scratched, metallic back door of the self-styled "Poison Paradise".
DZh-Aleiko, ever a quick study, already knew the basic language of the quadrant and blinked at the paradoxical name. He was not entirely certain what to think or feel. Worry? Horror? Amusement? Aleiko kept his face blank nonetheless. It is not my place, he thought bitterly, to offer my opinion. But that will change – one day, he ended with the usual promise to himself. Already, his bright green eyes wandered about the back room as the Slavers lined up the row of five young men and extolled each of their virtues.
As he suspected, Aleiko's abilities were much valued – his hard-earned ability to read, write and wield magic, which he had honed within the mines. Pulled out of the ranks, Aleiko was shoved toward a lithe Lizard-Woman. A Skrull, he corrected himself. They call themselves Skrull.
"Well, then, little magical one," the green-skinned woman smiled down at him, shifting her stance on precarious heels. "You are scrawny…" Here, she sighed as she squeezed his thin biceps and then raised an eyebrow at the flash of annoyance which crossed his face and at the clenching of his fist, his wiry muscles bunched. "… but not without your own strength, I suppose. Not my type," she added then with a small laugh, her tongue running along her lower lip.
Aleiko suppressed a shudder. You hold no attraction for me either, he wished to say, but bit down on his tongue. One day, he vowed, one day. You will show them.
Today is not the day.
So, slavery... SUCKS. This is not supposed to be exotic or anything. (ALTHOOOOOUUUGGGHHHH... things to heat up later on. X.X Somehow a sex scene slipped into my story!... Craziness.)
NEXT UP: The creation of Silvertongue.
Update coming on Thursday/Friday.
Aleiko/Ulfrbarn/Lagreinn is now around 15 or so.
Numbers (for this quadrant):
0 - nai
1 - sa
2 - tho
3 - frei
4 - ah
5 - ko
6 - yul
7 - vee
8 - mah
9 - lei
Alien Glossary:
kol-sava'atha – a titanium-rich ore
chi'iano – a radioactive piece of rock similar to uranium
oma'auzha – mother-effer
Jotunheim 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
heithrsker – crystal flowers
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
luthrblom – trumpet flower
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