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! People seem to be enjoying this! I'm so glad!

Thanks to all my reviewers who commented and chatted and brought up some good points! Be sure to check the author's note at the end of this chapter!

To: Winter Cicada, Ireland Ranger, ClaMiAl, Hrosanna, DragonsFlame117, wbss21, Immortal Sailor Cosmos, NX-Loveless-XN, Guest and Ellie!

Ellie: Thor and Kol'la are so fun to write together! I'm glad that's showing!
Guest: Check the author's note below... but perhaps the answer to your question is... yes. Haha. XD

Here we go adventuring~!

Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]

Chapter 34
Rise To Meet The Sun

"Well," said Kol'la in a deadpan voice, staring at the brown rafters overhead, "I told you so."
"You always say that," Sif's disgusted voice sounded out through the dim light which pierced through thick iron bars of their underground cell which also hummed with a strong magical barrier.
"It is always true."
"This is not helping," Hogun finally said, shutting up his two comrades in distress.

The usually taciturn warrior's words could only silence the two other restless captives for a short while before Kol'la began complaining again. It is as though he is unable to leave his wounds alone, Hogun mused. Always, he must pick and poke and prod until it runs with blood afresh. Until the scar lays thick and eternally unremoveable.

"And this always happens -"
"It does not always happen," Sif rebutted. "Just sometimes."
"More times than I would like. Why Thor -"
"This is not Thor's fault!"
"Well, he -"
"This is not. Thor's. Fault," repeated Sif slowly and mutinously. "And you know it."

A small smile crossed the warrior's usually stoic face as Kol'la's sigh issued forth into the falling evening air.

"I guess not," he admitted slowly.
"She is right," Hogun finally had to support his friend. "Kol'la, this was not Thor's fault..." A pause. "However, challenging a group of farmers to single combat is not the best way to endear oneself to one's opponents." As Kol'la tested the strength of the wards again, Hogun added, "Thor will come."

Yet, he wondered if those words held any true consolation for the young ex-slave. The Kol'la of Sharda'aa could not believe... and is the Kol'la of Asgard any different?

Sif stirred and then shifting a little to her left, laid a hand on Kol'la's shoulder comfortingly as he sat down beside her heavily on the small cot. They sat there in the falling dark. In silence.

[... these happy golden hours...]

[... pass swiftly...]

[... and fade...]

The herb-gathering 'quest' to Vanaheim began well – all things considering. Armed with the name of the plant in question, Kol'la spent his dinner hour researching the topic – and gathered as much information as he could. Thanks to his careful reading and clear instructions, Sif and Hogun were able to help him cut the tender stalks without crushing the sweet nectar within.

It was not his fault that illegal activities were happening in the forest Thor had chosen. Nor the fact that the elven locals, now irate and suspicious, had not listened to Thor's protestations and proceeded to imprison the three herb-gatherers. Of course, Thor remained free.

Of course, Kol'la fumed as he paced the small cell he shared with the other two. I hope the idiot has the sense to send Fandral home with the plants before they wilt.

By the time Thor managed to reach his uncle, Lord Frey, negotiate his friends' release, brag about his own valiant combat against the thieves, the flowers had begun to die, losing the precious nectar they needed in the first place. Cutting off Thor's excuses, Kol'la scolded the taller warrior until Thor got annoyed and wrestled Kol'la into silence with a hearty 'ha-ha'. Lord Frey was not amused. However, before Lord Frey could send word to his sister, several guards arrived through the Bifrost with the intent of escorting the entire party home. The promise of punishment hung in the air and Thor sighed as Kol'la's glares became more menacing by the minute.

Then they arrived on the Bridge. Then they arrived at the castle. Then they were hustled into the throne room. Then, alone with a stern-looking Odin and a worried Frigga, the three Warriors, Sif, Thor and Kol'la, on single knee, endured a long scolding. A tedious reprimand lengthened by unnecessary and increasingly annoying interruptions on the part of Thor.

Behind the four warriors who ranged on either side of Thor and behind the Prince himself, Kol'la kept his head down, mouth shut, eyes trained on the glorious marble paving upon which he knelt and ears wide open for anything concerning his as yet uncertain fate. In the end, the Warriors Three and Sif disappeared down various halls to return to their families, who would no doubt sigh and assign them some tedious tasks as punishment.

For a moment, there was silence.

[... but not true silence...]

[... Asgard is a land of light and sound...]

"You are the stable boy, Kol'la, are you not?" Odin paused at the remaining lackey who, according to rumours, had inveigled himself into Thor's company. Ever since that day – when Thor had argued for Kol'la's invitation to Asgard – the two had gone through various stages of friendship. Oft times, during those rare moments when their small family could take their supper privately, the conversation between the three Royals would inevitably revolve around Thor's recent misdemeanours and Kol'la's name would crop up with alarming regularity.

According to General Tyr, Kol'la was outwardly biddable, quiet and respectful towards his betters and quick to obey Commander Farfin's orders. A lover of books and gifted with natural affinity for the magical arts and seithr, the boy did not usually opt to battle other warriors, nor did he attempt to further his capabilities on the field or in the ring. Any sign of the vicious warrior Thor had boasted of seemed to have disappeared, revealing instead a natural bent toward strategy and politicking.

Intriguing, Odin thought, eyeing the slender figure before him, that this uneducated child should hold all the natural mental capabilities of a king... and Thor, as future king, would do well to heed his advice. Odin glanced at his wife. Frigga had remained silent this time around, obviously torn with pride and love – for Thor had done this for her sake... and also disappointment. What she thought of Kol'la was not apparent. I do not think we have met him properly, Odin frowned. This must be rectified.

"Yes, Lord King All-Father," Kol'la was saying, eyes still trained on the floor.
"Hm." An ominous pause. "Rise, Kol'la. Thor."

The two young men smoothly rose to their feet. Thor, as usual, looked only mildly apprehensive and mostly proud of he had achieved. What Kol'la felt could not be read from a studiously blank face – and still body. Yet, Odin felt mild tension vibrating from the dark-haired young man's shoulders – and those vibrant green eyes glinted.

"You came to this Realm, thanks to my son's intercession," Odin nodded. "I recall that day – and I remember saying to my son something of not wishing to regret such a decision some may consider foolhardy -"
"Father – in this matter, Kol'la is innocent -" Thor interjected, hand cutting down sharply through the air, at which Kol'la's chin jerked a little
"Thor -"
"He was obeying my orders!"
"That is interesting and something to consider - the issue of the level of responsibility you appear to take for this misadventure on Kol'la's part," Odin agreed. "For although you are my son and will rule this land, you do not yet directly rule Kol'la... who should be answering to Commander Farfin alone."
"But Father -"
"What do you say for yourself, Kol'la?"
"It is as the All-Father says," Kol'la meekly replied, and yet there was a note of resigned disappointment in his tone of voice.
"Hm." Odin waited for a few seconds, but Kol'la showed no signs of stirring from his stiff stance and the bright green eyes were more trained on the back of Odin's throne than the King himself. "However, Thor called on you, Kol'la, and no one, I know, can gainsay him. Therefore, I shall leave your reprimand to Farfin who is a good man and understands the full weight of Kol'la's actions in relation to his responsibilities." Odin caught Frigga's eyes and she nodded, blue eyes showing a little relief at her husband's leniency. "With that, Kol'la, you are dismissed."

Kol'la bowed again, turned on his heel smartly and marched out, slim figure straight, back firm and with nary a look behind at his comrade. Steps even and unhurried, the stable work-hand walked down the broad, pillared, resplendent and yet imposing Hall of Odin's Court. It was a place he had only entered once before and the riches, the luxury of gold and brocade – the glittering jewels and beautifully carved marble seemed like another foreign, alien world to him. Kol'la belonged in the dark, the dim places, the corners of rock and stark wastelands. He smelled of horse and straw and dung and sweat. Kol'la did not belong here.

The great doors opened before him seamlessly, allowing him to pass out and down lovingly carved stairs to the great doors and then three foyers and the Great Courtyard and onward and downward to his own place where he belonged.

[... where is home...]

[... at journey's ending...]

[... to what place do you return?]

Farfin was waiting, legs akimbo, arms folded, face creased in a deep frown – and at the sight of his errant underling, his iron grey moustache rose as his lips parted and a cross between a bellow and a shout issued forth. Kol'la did not stop walking forward but his fingers tightened at the signs of Farfin's displeasure. The King did not punish me, Kol'la thought, and did not lay the blame on me – but the commander is within his rights. I was a day late, after all.

Once again, Kol'la found himself cursing Thor and his carelessness as he strode forward to stand before his superior. Farfin wasted no time. Damning Kol'la and his forebears and his lack of wit and commonsense and rebellious nature and no sense of duty, Farfin raised his voice knowing that the other stable-hands were listening – and also learning their place. Knowing one's place, after all, Kol'la mused inwardly as he allowed Farfin's invective to stream over him, is what one really must understand. Know your place, Kol'la.

"- and you understand the root of all of this, do you know, Kol'la?"

Kol'la knew better than to answer that question. Just as with Boss-man and Shax, Farfin was given to rhetorical questions and so the dark-haired, green-eyed young man held his tongue.

"This is all due to your need for attention and belief that your betters are your equals and your place here has no meaning at all for you as you raise your eyes to the Royals and their kind and imagine your place among them. Your absurd belief that you might stand and fight at the side of one such as our Crown Prince will cost you much if you continue on in this matter, Kol'la – and your extra duties for the following week will enable you to reflect on such things. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Report to Arfol tomorrow. Until then, return to your quarters."
"Yes, sir."

The next morning, after his usual duties, Kol'la went to Arfol, the stables' head caretaker, and received his extra duties assignment – scrubbing the stable yard cobblestones. By hand. It was gruelling, back-breaking work and entirely a waste of time, usually allotted to poorer workers looking to earn an extra coin and perfect in this instance to teach a high-reaching, invidious would-be lackey to the Prince.

Several hours later, Kol'la heard the familiar voices of Thor and the All-Father and, glancing upward swiftly, the young man now on his hands and knees scrubbing the paving caught sight of a group of courtiers and ambassadors from Alfheim obviously readying themselves for a hunt. Hunting was, after all, a favoured past-time for many who lived within the Nine Realms and a perfect way to show hospitality during diplomatic functions. As the horses trotted past (dragging straw and muck back onto the paving), Kol'la found himself hard-pressed to suppress a sigh – but he kept his head down and his hands moving with the scrub brush.

There was an uncomfortable pricking at the back of his neck as he continued his work, feeling more unkempt and unwashed than ever under the scrutiny of the elves and the courtiers. It brought to mind old memory he had long hoped to be dead: Helblindi, standing in a great hall of black stone and blue and looking imperial with his silver and Royal lines. His only consolation was that, considering the fact that the Crown Prince would be confined to what the restless warrior felt to be incredibly tedious diplomatic functions, Thor would be as bored as he was humiliated. With that, he returned to work and forced himself to forget the Prince and his own aspirations.

-0-0-0-

This is the cosmos. The worlds of What Is, filled with wondrous things, can not be considered as fair as the Nine Realms which hang in their prescribed places since the dawn of Time. They revolve in their turn, born of more than matter and heat and light, and thus stand as signposts of What Is Not. Among millions of glorious stars, broad vistas of nebulae and rock and everything that exists in the galaxy called home, there flows, they say, a current of magic, curling and flowing and eddying around the nine focal points: The Nine Realms, of which Asgard, Jotunheim, Muspelheim, Alfheim and Vanaheim are the five most powerful, shimmering on the edges of What Is and What Is Not.

Like Asgard, Vanaheim is a fair, golden place – a sheltered place, now a peaceful haven, if you believed the stories of travelling merchants and would-be space pirates. Long ago, it was said, before Jotunheim had raised its head, the Realm of Vanaheim had battled Asgard in a desperate attempt for Allpower – and failed. Now it lay in the bosom of Asgard, under its watchful eye, being closest to that golden Realm.

Not so far off – yet further away, Alfheim lies – the Realm of the Light Elves, the Fair Ones, it is a green and living place, full of the fantastic, the mythic mixed with the mundane. Under the great boughs of trees, Alfheim's inhabitants, the Elves, dwell, eternally sheltered by the evergreen leaves of their last forests. Chattering rivers run down from the mountains and meeting together spill out into larger rivers and lakes and the Sea. Thus surrounded by nature, the ambassadors of Alfheim most enjoyed the hunts on Asgard – which led the King's party away from the bustling, over-crowded capital of Asgard and toward the lowering eaves of Asgard's own great forest, Storrmirk, which wound its way around the foothills and nether reaches of the Storrfjall Mountain and its range which spread outward from the centre of Asgard. Within the Storrmirk, wildlife teemed, carefully farmed and hunted during the appropriate seasons that the symbiotic relationship between man and beast may remain balanced as it has after thousands of years.

Hunting was one of Thor's favourite things to do – particularly during the cooler months of the year when boar, deer and bear roamed in the nearer reaches of the forest. On ordinary days, Thor would have his horse saddled, and, if his friends were not already with him, would call for the Warriors Three and Sif to join him. Sometimes Apprentice Kyrr and a few others from the King's Court and the Mages' Council would join them – and on occasion under the guise of caring for the horses or without permission, Kol'la would be given permission to join.

However, hunting with the delegation of Alfheim was another matter entirely. There was no tussling or coarse jokes, no horsing about nor room for error – for this was the time to show Asgard's pride and glory, wisdom and strength, past and future achievements. And when evening fell, when Asgard's guests had bedded down in the King's sumptuous hunting lodge far up the mountain above the capital, Odin found himself alone with Thor at his side in the main hall. Evening fell and shadows extended through the room from the walls, leaving only a square light to stretch through the large, open spaces. Without a word, Odin rose and paced to the grand door facing to the north. He turned and observed Thor who sat slouched on a barely padded wood bench.

"Follow me," he said.
"Father?" Thor looked up, confused and jumped up, striding over easily to his father's side.
"Come..." A silence ensued as the two left the lodge and walked to the edge of the mountainside which the King's hunting cabin was set securely against.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of whistling wind and rustling branches and the sound of scurrying in the forest which sheltered them on either side. Before them stretched the city – golden still, glinting under the pale moon, and silent. Far away, Thor's home still seemed as awe inspiring as ever and his heart swelled with pride... And yet, he mused, it's odd to see it so, for at this distance, there is none of the life that I am used to.

"What do you see, Thor?"
"The capital... Asgard..." Thor said slowly.
"Hm," was Odin's short response.
"There is something else to see?" Thor asked carefully. A pause and then a deprecating short laugh. "Kol'la says there are always two views to a single thing and things rarely are what they appear."
"He is wise."
"Yes..." Thor sighed. "He is. His intelligence is keener than mind," he ended regretfully.
"That may be true – but knowledge and intelligence are not wisdom. When I look down... I see people, Thor, my people. Our people. The reason for what we do. These past few years, I have watched you grow – but you must grow and mature even more if you are to take the throne."
Thor groaned, "I want it, Father. I do! But..."
"What is a king, Thor?"
"Well... he is Lord of the land, protects the Nine Realms, rages war on beasts, creatures and beings, such as the Jotunn, who would do it harm."
"A king never seeks out war," Odin warned Thor.
"Certainly," Thor agreed, "but neither must we show weakness!"

Odin shook his head and sighed. "What I say does not appear to remain with you. You have much to learn yet, my son."

"You always say that."

Thor's words sounded sulky in the dark and Odin could not read his young child's face thanks to the falling shadows.

"Sadly, I must repeat myself since you refuse to listen. Stubborn as a mule, you are – and ever ready to break your mother's heart. From now on, from this day forth, I expect you, Thor, to put all your energy into your studies – and to givefull attention while you attend to matters of the Court. Your mother spoke to me of the need to revisit lessons on the small courtesies expected..."

Odin's quiet voice drifted off into the quiet night of Asgard, drifting off in the light breeze. There was nothing in the Realm to hear but the wind and the soul of all which binds life together on golden Asgard. It drifted through the forests and mountains where the shadows shifted down to the edges of the great city. A world filtered in the ghostly moonlight of ragged night clouds.

[... this is how kings are made...]

[... some through lessons...]

[... some through trials...]

[... some through revolt...]

[... like iron and gold forged in the blacksmith's fire, great kings of legend are born through adversity...]

In the mists of time, when the world was young, the Sages once told of two great Jotunn warriors who clashed their horns and met in battle on the eternally flat, black and pale green Holkn Vollr. The plain, as legends say, was the great stage for a meeting of might which would change the face of Jotunheim itself. Was glorious combat sought for a mate? For a throne? For honour? None can say – but out of the battle of magic and strength, the Holdra River was carved where it streamed across the plains from the Vollrvatn.

To the south of that great River, the ancient city of Meerauk rose – splendid and fair on the plains of the Holkn Vollr. Since the ages of old, the ancient capital has remained desolate – yet sacred, for it is the wellspring of the Jotunn and holds the origin of the Rites of the Court. Mysterious inscriptions lined its high crumbling lines in ancient, forgotten tongue – speaking of what? No one knew for certain.

As his Father and his Ancestors had done before him, Crown Prince Helblindi, head down, trudged in the face of the massive storm born on the cruel winds which swept across the Holkn Vollr. He followed in silence behind his Father on the long trek to Meerauk, left alone, as was tradition, with his own thoughts.

These were the beginning of the Rites which would one day prepare him for the Throne and give his Father freedom to return to the For-Eldra, to the snows, to the Ancestors. The Rites Of The Throne began in Silence and ended with Attainment. It was a lonely time, a lonely place, a lonely existence.

I guess, Helblindi sighed, that is what Kingship is... It is power, but it is responsibility. It is being united to all – and yet... Helblindi's eyes rose to inspect his Father's strong, unyielding back. It is loneliness. It is being the Mother of everyone... and of no one. The Crown Prince shivered at the memory of the brother he had almost long forgotten. The brother who was lost. The brother of whom no one spoke. The brother who should have been walking across the Plains behind Laufey-King. Helblindi stared ahead into the solid wall of white snow and saw nothing but a field of grey and white and red, a block of ice with spirals of magic from a set of absurdly small hands. When Meerauk eventually loomed – its grand black walls, stark and clean against the gloomy skies – Helblindi knew that it was now or never. He stepped forward. Goodbye, little brother, he thought as he passed through the ever-open gates. Now this is my burden, Helblindi straightened into the wind, chin set in determination. The Throne is mine – as it should be – and I will carry our glory onward.

Meerauk was silence, but Helblindi would be strong. It was his time.

[... like iron and gold forged in the blacksmith's fire...]

There you go - awesomeness in a box. Or something like that. I hope.

Thor is around 20-22, Loki around 19-21. XD

Author's Note on Sif and the Warriors Three: Some folks have been voicing some worry/interest/concern about why Sif and the Warriors Three aren't getting along with Kol'la. I have a few things I feel I should point out.

#1 - remember what I said about unreliable narrators... Kol'la's point of view is biased. Do not trust him! It's like believing what Harry thought about Snape all through books 1-6.

#2 - think up your own reasons why they would dislike Kol'la - and use the movie as a springboard. Why don't they like Loki from the very start of the Thor movie? Well, he was a trickster and young and different and a bit of a douche and not very trustworthy as a whole and had a history of being jealous of Thor. In this fic, it's probably for similar reasons and add to the fact that he's still "new" and an "immigrant" and has no apparent respect for Thor and appears to have his own agenda. I'd also like to point out that Thor (who does many things but isn't a liar) says that Kol'la has gotten them all in trouble before... so Kol'la is also a bit of a douche.

#3 - just because people don't like the main character of the story doesn't make them evil or bad. I actually don't see the previous chapter as being a sign necessarily of hate or intense dislike... they are young people - teens - who have emotions that come and go and they say dumb things and don't mean what they say all the time. Loki is hypersensitive, the others are the total opposite... so we just have a lot of fuel for arguing. It's like what happened between my sisters and brothers and I. We blackmailed each other intensely as kids/teens, ratted each other out, broke each other's things and did lots of crap - but if there was a common enemy, we banded together pretty quick.

#4 - I also think that because Thor treats Kol'la with less respect, the others take their cue as well. My main beef in the movies is that they are groupies and are all about Thor - with no real apparent care for Loki himself. (They get up to all sorts of nonsense in the movie which annoys me no end. They are NOT good friends for Loki, much less Thor, IMO.) The fact that Loki initially hides his blue arm from his friends, his sibling and his parents, speaks to me of vast broken relationships - and of course, in this fic, that is even easier to imagine because this Loki knows better than to believe that they'll accept him.

I hope this makes sense! In order to help everyone, I added a small scene to the front of this chapter and I hope that it creates a bit of something else... another picture of another facet of Kol'la's relationships.

Update in 5 or 6 days or so... and I hope you guys like this!
Let me know! Be sure to comment!
-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:

'auzha – fucker
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
cho'ai - lover
kol-sava'atha – a titanium-rich ore
Morning-star - a mace.
oma'auzha – mother-effer
oto'oa - big sister
udji'oo – a drug, like opium