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.
WOW! Thanks guys! I'm glad you guys are still hanging in there... dark times ahead but also a promise of better times! We're so close to what you guys have been waiting for! SO CLOSE!
And um, thanks to all those who reviewed! To: Ica Leigh (GOOD CALL! you know me well...), DragonsFlame117 (keep cheering! he's gonna need it!), Double-Gemini (hmm... when IS he going to get all his powers back? can't say~ I'm such a tease!), perfidiouspink (he'll do it - in a way!), Immortal Sailor Cosmos (congrats! and thanks! and enjoy!), wbss21 (perceptive as always! I think this life holds a lot of good and bad in extremes...)
Guest: Welcome! Why aren't there more reviews? I dunno... (tear) I guess it's not a very accessible fic. Or there isn't any slash or sex... or... hm. Maybe my summary is too understated. LOL. But I'm glad you are enjoying it! Thanks so much for the encouragement. I'll see you round... I hope~
The beginning of this chapter wasn't originally there - but I wrote it as a teaser-gift for Immortal Sailor Cosmos (for being reviewer 100) and added it here. If it feels odd... SORRY!
Warning! Warning! Slavery! Rape! Sexual assault of a (sort of) minor! Warning! Warning!
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 23
Moon Setting
[... our fates are intertwined - did you know?]
[... and the worlds are connected...]
[... they are calling to each other -]
[... do you hear them calling?
Muspelheim is a land of red. Red and orange and yellow and heat. It is the land with the heart of a thousand suns. It is light.
From its warmth came power and combined with the ice of Niflheim, the rest of the Nine Realms had been birthed and so it and its fire-eating residents became, like other things in this cosmos, the stuff of legends.
To some, a dangerous land best left to the dragons, the drakes, the fire serpents, the Sons of Fire and the other exotic beasts which crawled its volcanic, cracked, red-veined surfaces.
Muspelheim. To some, a dangerous land. To others, the ultimate adventure. To Thor, all that and more: a chance for honour and glorious combat and something rejuvenating after the long, mind-numbing hours spent in court at his father's side.
And why not? The young warrior thought, pleased with himself as he reached the edge of the cliff face they had been aiming for. This is a worthy prize – the treasure of Hyrrfastr the Fire-Drake. The fabled Blarmenegg. A mighty conquest for Thor and Sif and the Warriors Three.
Looking down from his height, Thor took stock of his surroundings - the craggy, stark mountains which rose on his left from the cliff face upon which he stood, the ungentle slope which descended on his right to the valley before him. The valley which had been cut by ungentle rivers of fire (if the tales of witless aged men were to be believed) however was not as empty as he would have liked.
Already someone has come to lay claim – Thor's anger rose and his battle spirit rose at the sight of the Fire-Drake shrieking and swaying and roaring amongst a small group of alien warriors. Heat rose in waves, shimmering as though it could be seen with the naked eye and the lines of the far mountains swayed. Fire licked the walls of the valley – and the dark, promising door of Hyrrfastr's lair.
And on the far cliff opposite him, Thor eyed the unfamiliar metal vehicle from which poured even more of the strange warriors – a tall, block-like race wearing strange gear and hefting long pikes from which poured lightning. Mjolnir called. Thor smiled.
This was a good day.
His day.
[... the vagaries of Fate...]
Kol'la danced beneath the hidden stars. The world narrowed to the curves of the woman's skin beneath his fingertips and the beat of the music resounding from the sides of the wide stage. His slim hips dipped and swayed as he pulled in and then out, twirling the diminutive dancing girl who partnered with him during the opening sequence of that evening's entertainment set. Using her tall, pale-blue-skinned, shape-shifting partner more as a pole than as a fellow dancer, the more experienced female Thoran showed off her sizable assets and sexy tail for the appreciative male audience.
Then Kol'la was out front, arms swooping and feet moving with swift grace to the increasingly quickening rhythm. Red eyes glittered underneath the pulsing spotlights as the narrow waist and long legs displayed the entertainer's natural agility and flexibility. Long dark hair, neatly combed and perfumed swung across his face as his head turned swiftly to the well-learned choreography.
Then Hro'ti was back in his arms again and with strength belied by his slender frame, Kol'la lifted her and set her down, allowing her to twine about his spread legs and come out to the front again from between them.
Below, in the pit, eyes were fixed on the two stars of the evening – the ever lovely Cor'ra and Cha'veli. But some noticed and admired the exotic nature of the small, would-be Jotunn. One in particular, a hefty-sized Freszan. Black beady eyes fixed on the inviting low-riding leather pants which clung to the adolescent's neat hips.
Master Rara is right, the Freszan thought. This is a rare jewel of great price - even dressed in the skin of a savage. It should be mine.
It would be his.
[... the wheel turns slowly...]
[... it turns slowly...]
It was one of those nights when Kol'la Silvertongue was on the floor serving drinks and food that a regular patron of Poison Paradise, eyeing the lithe figure and the remote look, laid hand on Kol'la's leather clad thigh invitingly. A common enough sight in such a world – an unspoken invitation to add to Kol'la's personal fund. Ordinarily, there would be a slight shake of the head in dismissal or an alluring smile and a return nod which would signal an invitation. Then, the entertainer would slip out with said customer and gain a few more cred pieces in hopes that one day, their stock pile would be large enough to free them.
Kol'la had himself dismissed many such advantages before and this occasion was like any other – a firm shake of the head and with that he turned away, carrying his empty tray tucked neatly up underneath his arm. A large hand from behind jerked him back suddenly, forcing him onto a broad lap and for a moment, his legs flew out as his rump bumped up against a hard muscular thigh of the Freszan.
This evening, Kol'la had been forced to don low-riding soft-leather pants with an open, sleeveless vest top – and the Freszan's large, four-fingered hand ran down the youth's chest easily as warm breath ghosted over his neck and a chuckle resounded through his back and into his ear.
The young Jotunn understood immediately as the stench of risen-ale wafted past him. A drunk customer. A Freszan. Easily belligerent. Saying no will not be so simple, he gritted his teeth. Up until now... Breathing through his nose while attempting to keep his calm, Kol'la attempted to twist up and away from the heavy fingers which ghosted over his neck, collarbone and then back down to his chest. The Freszan – what was his name? Kol'la tried to remember. Something unpronounceable. Lovey had nicknamed him Flighty Fingers. Irony. Sarcasm. Kol'la had learned those things within the first moon cycle of his stay on Poison Paradise.
"I will make it worth your while, Silvertongue," said Flighty Fingers, his rock-like voice rumbled underneath the loud flashes of song and dance emanating from the first stage. No one paid attention to Kol'la's abortive movements. "Play along."
"I do not play," huffed Kol'la, trying to get some space between himself and the massive chest pressed up against him. "And truthfully, I do not know the rules enough to – it would suit you better, sir, to ask Ta'ko or Shin'yi."
"But none have such lovely changeable skin or such fine hands, Kol'la. And that silver tongue of yours... Come now –"
Kol'la's shoulders were twisted painfully round about and his cry of annoyance and protest were muffled by a suffocating weight of lips on his own. The youth bit down hard, drawing blood and his fingers twirled in an intricate sigil as he whispered a small illusion – snakes which crawled out of the half empty cups of ale on the table beside them. At the sight of the twisting dark things, several female patrons leaped up shrieking. Flighty Fingers jerked back instinctively and Kol'la took the slight shift as an opportunity to ram the tray he had held onto (as a possible shield or weapon) into the Freszan's throat. As Flighty Fingers choked, Kol'la pulled away – and bumped into the intimidating personage of the Boss-Man himself.
"Kol'la," he grabbed the youth by the back of his collar and hauled him off the lap of the choking Freszan. "My apologies, kind sir – Ta'ko! Attend to this patron immediately!" The ever obsequious Ta'ko scurried over. "Bring this gentleman to the medic and see to his injuries. Have Master Ako-a'nai present him some vouchers and if he begs your company, you know what to do." The Boss-man's grip on Kol'la's neck tightened ominously. "I have some training to do."
With that, Kol'la was jerked past the other tables as a few of the clients, understanding what had happened and what was to follow, whistled appreciatively. Kol'la knew better than to raise a hand against his master - but a part of him, the suicidal part, the wild child would not let him bend so easily to the wishes of others. And so he fought silently, mulishly, and dragged his feet as he was forced into a secluded room in the far back of the building. Kol'la knew. He knew what this would lead to...
[... this is the way of the world...]
[... this dark path upon which one is set...]
Training took all night long and the next week. It began with the Boss-man and Masters Ako-a'nai and L'iku. Others, equally courageous or fond of rough sport, came as well to the dark room and the uncomfortable, grimy bed that Kol'la found himself tethered to. As if he were a goat or a mare or some such animal – as if they could tame him as Mage Opna had attempted to so many years ago. Kol'la knew better and yet...
[... and yet...]
The harsh lesson he learned underneath the flooring of the Slavers' ship and on the dark side of a barren moon was only too fresh within his mind. Bitter disappointment and hate seethed, but without light, without company, without food and water, Kol'la found it difficult to continue the fight. He lived alone. He lived alone in the dark, with his magic removed entirely. Kol'la's skin was now as pale as a gorm-flo worms which crawled in the unseen dirt of the planet (or so they said) and marked with bruising prints of hands on his ribs and hips and thighs. The dark-haired, green-eyed youth did not weep. He fought. He fought tooth and nail – and when he showed no sign of breaking, with a sigh Boss-man lectured him on what waited for Kol'la.
[... only a darker road...]
[... but even darkness ends...]
Kol'la responded with nothing but a hiss and a growl and a few well-chosen words. That night, the Boss-man's touch made no attempt at gentleness and pleasure was ripped unwillingly from his slender throat and sensitive skin. Alien blood welled underneath Kol'la's clawing nails and his tongue tasted iron before the night was over.
"He is a feral thing," the Boss-man told his tall friend two days later – the proprietor of The Battle House franchise down the road. "More suited to your place, I think, Shax. You can deal with the Slavers when they come round next. Good lot, I think, and will compensate you well."
"Feral?" Shax rubbed his pointy chin and raised a busy eyebrow at the Boss-man. "A feral child?"
"Jotunn, I believe. That's what they told me – and he can fake the markings, thanks to his shape-shifting abilities. But who really knows, eh? He's small for one. Never heard of a runt Jotunn like that before." He snorted then. "But he has magic. The magic collar can be adjusted. If you want a blue warrior –"
"The child has no muscle –"
"It is strong," the Boss-man grinned then. "A wiry kind of strength. Don't let his looks fool you – and besides – I think he would do well for showmanship and magical duelling. With the proper incentive..." He paused.
"Uh-huh?"
"He is a whirlwind of chaos is Silvertongue –"
"Just because he won't make a good whore doesn't mean he'll make a better warrior –" Shax shook his head and bent down from his greater height to eye the quivering slave who looked back at him with fiery green eyes. "He seems rather biddable –"
The thin lips tightened and as Shax's hand descended, a slender hand rose and within its palm a small dagger of ice formed and stabbed into the black alien's tough skin. Ice splintered everywhere against Shax's iron skin, but Shax drew back and grunted to himself.
"Yes, I see."
"Told you."
"He commands ice?"
"And fire and other things as well. You'd need a magician to set the adjustments properly – or no doubt you'd lose a slave."
"Well," Shax rose then and nodded, hands on his non-existent hips. "If you are certain –"
"I am. I've tried this whole moon cycle. You can tell with these kinds. It's in the eyes."
"Yes, you always say that, hmph. Well."
"I was right last time with Roc'co."
"You were," Shax agreed a shake of his head. "Very well. I will take him off your hands. Standard regulations apply."
"As always."
"My pleasure."
"No, no," Boss-man smiled, relaxing for the first time in a long while. A wide smile crossed his crooked lizard's face. "It is mine – come, I've got a nice stash of risen-ale for you to sample. And you can send a man round tonight to fetch the creature."
"Risen-ale? Well. That sounds grand," Shax bent down to pass through the door into an equally low-ceilinged hall (for him). "A toast to another bargain well-struck does not sound amiss."
"What you think you'll do with him anyways?"
"Hm. I'll have him serving at first. See what he can do in the ring. Don't want him to die on the first day." A harsh laugh. "Remember O'tho?"
"Do I remember!" Boss-man was chuckling now as well. Their voices faded leaving the slave still chained to the bed. "Purple blood, right – getting it out of the sand was such a –" The far door closed.
Kol'la pulled himself up to the headboard of the large bed and huddled there, shivering at the prospect of The Battle-House. He remembered Mayultha's dreams. If I had kept my tongue in my head – if I – if I could – He squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly. I would be free so easily. But I cannot. Why can I not?
Biting his lip, Kol'la gulped, trying to keep the small meal they had fed him several hours earlier down. Mage Opna's hands... the weight of the Boss-man on his back... the laughter of the dancing girls who had teased him... cries of pain and something else they called passion in the small cubicles... what he saw in passing as he walked down the halls at night... He had always turned his eyes away, but Kol'la had learned exactly what Mage Opna had done those many years ago.
The hard pit in his stomach tightened and roiled unpleasantly as he remembered their eyes – Mage Opna's eyes, Boss-man's eyes... and the others. The many, many others who had talked above him, hands stripping away the privacy and respect he had attempted to hoard. That which he had lost so easily. Commenting on the strangeness of his biology and praising his beauty and other attributes – as if he were nothing more than an animal or rare stone.
And now he was fodder. Fodder for the play of war.
Kol'la did not cry. But he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to.
[... and many more larger sun cycles passed...]
[... such is relentless nature of time...]
[... and what it brings...]
[... what does it bring?]
"Kol'la," Shax beckoned the now wirey serving boy over. The young slave was a fighter-in-training, not having been blooded yet in the proper way. However, Shax was a patient man and knew that Kol'la, while lacking experience, did have potential. This seemed like a good opportunity to Shax - to test Kol'la and develop some rare opportunities. "Slavers are coming round tomorrow – the, uh, usual thing. Your contract is renewed – but they'll be bringing us fresh ones – so you'll need to report into Master Klo'a'aa. He'll need help airing out the east wing, second floor dormitories. If it works out well, I want you to try your hand as a Handler. You hear?"
"Yes," Kol'la replied obediently, face blank, and made his way immediately for the staff entrance behind the long bar and disappeared into the kitchens and beyond.
Shax nodded and smiled as he looked over the Slavers' manifests. This was going to be interesting.
New slaves. Youths. He grinned as he eyed the races and home worlds from which they had been torn. Elves, Chitauri, Kree, mortals... cannon fodder mosta them... His eyes lit on a few others. Asgardians.
He grinned. A rare opportunity - but worth the investment, worth the pain. Now there's a fight worth seeing.
Now, when I say 'youth', I use it in the sense that Kol'la is more or less a teen - around 15 years old. So... biologically, totes capable of having and enjoying sex. Historically (I mean Earth history), rich young boys (between 12 - 14) would be introduced to the arts of sex with the help of their father's favoured courtesan. Also, considering the place he's working in, this shouldn't be a shocking thing for you, the reader. It isn't to Kol'la! But he's obviously got some hang ups - which we will explore later... poor guy. And of course, things just got worse and worse... (until he got to Shax's Battle-House).
Thanks again for reading! Please comment! It is like how coffee is to our beloved Hiddleston - the gas in my engine!
Update is coming round on Friday, or thereabouts!
-KI
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:
Dou'ma – idiot
r'senk'ne – a kind of deer/cow hybrid
n'ch'nka – a kind of cow
chi'iano – a radioactive piece of rock similar to uranium
kol-sava'atha – a titanium-rich ore
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