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 to all the lovely people who are faving, following and, most of all, reviewing! I'm feeling really encouraged - which I need, since I've been hitting a few writer's blocks on a couple scenes... and I've got my plate full with most of my private tutoring starting up again and in a week or two, my oral English classes will start... . So yeah... things could potentially slow down as I get into the rhythm of school again.
A big shout out to my reviewers: BlackStarChan, Winter Cicada, Ireland Ranger, DragonsFlame117, wbss21 and ClaMiAl! And also to NX-Loveless-XN for reviewing stuff as she read through my fic. Bless you guys!
And stuffs happen in this chapter~! A bit longer! We start to see a rhythm of life, I hope! And... what is that ahead... a barrier of rocks that go straight down...
Also be sure to check out my profile for more important stuff - like a new map of Asgard to peer at... a Siroyaniu, etc. XD
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 35
Shadows At Noon
"I just..."
Don't know what to do, Kol'la finished Thor's unspoken admission in his head, knowing that between them such things could not be said, could not be voiced into the hot summer's air. Even after all our time together, Kol'la thought, even then – there is always this... this gap between us, this eternal damning inequality. And so, in the end, he will be alone – as all kings are, as is Tradition – this is the way of things...
Kol'la, for a moment, allowed himself to remember another great throne in an ancient hall, long disused and Elska's hints and mutterings from which he had gleaned the Truth. If Elska was right, Kol'la thought bitterly as he heaved a heavy load of hay from the cart in the corner over the edge of the stable door's high wall and into the manger of some courtier's mare, that burden could have fallen upon me... and I would have borne it well – if only to prove to...
He balked at the mental thought of the taboo word: father. The word Kol'la had never used – never would use – and the chance for acceptance which had long since died on white plains before the black gates of a desolate city.
I just don't know what to do.
Thor could not admit it and some dark part of Kol'la smirked at the increasingly frequent look of befuddlement on Thor's face during more recent days as the Crown Prince found himself moving from the role of 'watchful observer' to 'active participant' regarding Court matters.
A silence then descended between the two as Kol'la patiently waited for the Prince to speak his mind. Flies buzzed in the thick, warm sunlight of the mid-afternoon. Several birds chirped and at the door, a gaggle of geese honked abrasively as a small hound pup attempted to herd them. Horses stamped, shifted, nickered and whinnied in their respective, spacious stalls. Beyond the back door of the grand Royal Stables the sounds of a scolding cook clashed with the return derision of the grocer boy. Several stable-hands walked by, alone and in pairs with bits of harness, bridles or other riding gear in hand, every one of them busy. None stopped, for they knew better than to infringe on the conversations between the Crown Prince and his favoured friend.
Kol'la finished tending to his last horse while Thor leaned against a stack of hay, seated upon a pile of bales. His blue eyes glared up at the ceiling – and for a moment, Kol'la wondered if he would actually find out what was bothering the young Prince – but then Thor groaned, rubbed his eyes and sighed.
"I grow tired of Court these days," he began his usual complaint. "As usual, the bickering of aged witless men goes on apace – and Father allows all manner of foolishness to arise – particularly between the Court of Lords and the Court of the Mages. As if those who merely dabble in tricks should have a say in matters of state and war."
War? Kol'la snorted to himself. We are not at war. His green eyes flickered over the blonde warrior shrewdly. And that might be the problem... for young men raring to find a chance for honour and glory desire, above all things, a chance to prove themselves in battle.
"But Father says I must learn how to handle all manner of things – and that includes mediating such small matters." Thor eyed Kol'la as the green-eyed stable-hand folded his arms with a familiar disgusted look. "What now?" he sighed, then heaved himself onto his feet. "Come, Kol'la," Thor smiled quickly, banishing the dread subject, "the sun shines and I asked Commander Farfin and he told me you were free for the rest of the day until after supper – so I thought –"
"No."
"Kol'la!"
"I said 'no', Thor," Kol'la shook his head, divesting himself of his rough leather apron and smoothing out his course, green tunic.
"What are your plans – that you would say 'no' before hearing -"
"Thor," Kol'la replied smoothly, "how long have we known each other? No. Do not answer that. It is a rhetorical question to which we both know the answer. Furthermore, in all our time together, these many years, how often have I gotten in trouble thanks to some misbegotten plan of yours or the misadventure of fate when in your company? Compare the promise of accidents, maiming, punishment and injury to the promise of learning and bettering oneself. Now," Kol'la raised a finger, over-riding a sound of protest from Thor, "use what little sense you hold to divine what would better my lot for this free time given to me."
"Very well, I understand not wishing to come to harm," Thor sighed. "Although the Norns know that you have brought equal amounts of injury on your own head – and may I remind you, mine as well." Kol'la smiled quickly then – a sharp, cruel thing but full of amusement – and Thor grinned back, before shaking his head puzzled, "but... learning?" He asked with disgust, grimacing. "Again?"
"Again?" Kol'la returned with a short laugh. "Why do you show surprise? Every time, Thor, this is how it goes – since the beginning -"
"It is because it is madness, Kol'la. To spend so much time with one's head in one's books... Reading... writing all those arcane words of yours in those treasured notes... the tricks you learn to weave. I swear, one day, I'll return and find you wearing the blue and white livery of a Mage's apprentice!"
Kol'la turned away at Thor's familiar refrain, face stony, mouth set in a thin, hard line. Jerking his worn leather satchel off a nearby hook and pulling on a rather ugly, but practical, battered brown hat – the better to protect him against the hard light of the sun – he made his way around Thor and outside. Behind, Thor followed, voice raised in continuous protest. As was his wont, Kol'la ignored him – but unlike the usual (Thor giving up when they arrived at the Archives' doors), both halted at the sound of a familiar alarm.
With the dull clang-clang of the main watch tower's bell, the quiet large courtyard erupted into chaos. Courtiers, advisers, clerks and various Lords spilled out in bustling mass from the Great Hall. Stable-hands, stable boys, messengers and lower staff scurried about as various warriors and commanders began to bawl out orders. Someone arrived on a frothing, sweating horse and was ushered into the tight ring of commanders and generals now grouped on the top of the stairs around Odin All-Father.
Kol'la, ignoring the stray curses sent his way as various men blundered past him, jostling him roughly, enjoyed the chaotic jumble – the mad energies which swirled about stirred up by emotion and the maddening call of war. And in the middle, he couldn't help but marvel at it – in the middle, he stands ever so calmly – Odin All-Father, the eye of the storm.
"Kol'la!" It was Thor. Again. "Kol'la! You idiot! Whatever are you standing there all agape for?" It was Thor, miraculously enough, already astride his personal favourite – and in his hands the long slender reins to Kol'la usual hack. "Come now! They are not going to wait about all day!"
Wordlessly, Kol'la turned about and, catching Commander Farfin's annoyed gaze, noted the subtle nod. He could almost hear his superior's disgusted sigh, but Kol'la also knew Farfin would be slightly pleased and rather relieved that at least Kol'la was showing more desirable inclinations – hunting and battling rather than studying and experimenting. Not a day went by without a rather snide remark or mild aspersion was cast upon Kol'la's propensity for magicks and seithr.
Not today, Kol'la grinned bitterly, disappearing into the nearby stable to find his personal cubby-hole in the room where the stable-hand weaponry was often stashed. Returning to his waiting horse with his arms in hand and cheap armour quickly buckled on, Kol'la gracefully mounted, taking up the slack of the reins, and gently guided his horse, Snjar, with the usual quiet clicking of his tongue. Within moments, the first and second companies left, joined by Thor, Kol'la and a group of younger warriors and mages, including Sif and the Warriors Three.
All of whom, we could've done without, Kol'la though sourly, watching Fandral lean forward to unclasp an unwitting Mage's Apprentice's saddle girth strap. Less of these hot-blooded young fools and more experienced soldiers such as General Tyr. As they moved past the courtyard's main gate, the slender, black-haired stable-hand glanced back at the tight knit group of generals now waiting for their mounts. I am surprised General Tyr isn't leading these companies, Kol'la mused. What has the All-Father planned?
"What happened?" asked Sif. "Bandits? Slavers?"
"Bandits, apparently – who are using some strange creatures from another Realm – to devastate the area no doubt – but no man can besmirch the name of Asgard and live," boasted Thor, grinning at Kol'la who just quirked his eyebrow in amusement.
"And with that," Kol'la declared, "we are now condemned men. And women," Kol'la added with another quick, sharp smile. "I did not see you there, Sif."
"The sun blazing from your new halberd must have blinded the poor boy," Fandral laughed at Sif who tried to ignore them.
"Well, he can hardly expect me to save him from his sad handicap," Sif retorted dryly. "It is Volstagg's turn to carry him home this time after all."
"I hardly -"
"Come now, children," Volstagg said heartily. "I thought it was obvious that as token woman for this rag-tag bunch, Sif would be the comforting bosom -"
"Why me? I -"
"What bosom?" asked Kol'la acidly, interrupting Sif's protest. "I've seen more curves on a pine tree – and with less bristles -"
"Oho! The Silvertongue has emerged!" Fandral crowed, gloating at the glower on Sif's face.
"Unfortunately," Hogun sighed.
"Ha ha ha," laughed Thor breezily, his laughter wrapping around the group, smothering the sharp stings of hard words and submerging the everlasting tension with his usual oblivious serenity and good humour. "Come now, you two! It is a grand day – a sunny day – and it is promising us glorious battle with something other than bilgesnipe or wild boar. Smile, Kol'la! And do not look so heated, Sif!"
"If he remains silent," Sif replied sulkily, "then so will I."
Kol'la refused to reply to her and contented himself with planning her demise at the victory banquet to which she no doubt would be invited after the quest. It would serve her right, Kol'la thought coldly, and remind her of what I am capable.
[…onward they trod...]
[…in the face of danger...]
A clement wind blows from the upper ranges of the mountains, bringing with it the promise of rain some days or, on others, the hint of freshly fallen snow. Summer winds blow cool from the Storrfjall Mountain and in the warm winters, the breezes may shift, swirling round from the southern side of the Realm and bringing a warm touch – a promise of spring.
… they have come...
… arise and bring me my vengeance, Asgard...
… these interlopers will never see the sun set again...
Kol'la, as he rode forth on Snjar, shivered at the insidious wind which tugged on the red and gold pennants and at the gaily coloured rosettes and ornaments which hung from bridle and harnesses. The Spirit of Asgard was uneasy and impatiently pulled the warriors onward.
[…listen carefully to the wind of Asgard...]
[…it is not wild and desolate but it is fierce and strong...]
[…it calls for blood...]
[…it desires, above all things, glory and power...]
This was summer, when the fields lay thick and green and tantalizing. As the First and Second Company and Thor and his friends descended upon the bandits who had had the temerity to attack the Ageless Realm, the warm wind rustled through vegetable and fruit laden tree boughs and plant stalks. Thick fruity scents hung in the thick, humid air between the Valleys further inland and away from the refreshing tang of the sea air. Apparently the bandits had moved inland to the center of the Westfold, proving themselves to be rather mighty foes – and a perfect challenge for the Crown Prince.
Cursing fluently in All-Speak as he watched Thor disappear into the midst of the bandit group roaring with excitement and blood-lust, Kol'la began to summon a strong working best used for times like these. The bandits, a mixed lot of aliens from Skrull and Ugora, had brought with them two Si'ro'yaniu, stone-lava beasts better suited to Realms such as Muspelheim. Standing several heads taller than the tallest warrior there, the two usually docile animals now charged back and forth across the fields, sowing destruction every which way they went.
Si'ro'yaniu... Kol'la, letting the others dash forward, wondered at the rare sight before him. Si'ro'yaniu... the fire bulls of the planet Yujin. Watching a pair of careless warriors fall under the wide hooves of the great beasts which towered over their heads, Kol'la sighed. The Si'ro'yaniu were peaceful beasts usually – living in large herds, traversing great distances over the lava-striated ash-scapes of their home planet, Yujin (or other similar planets). Dwelling in the shadows of the ever active volcanoes, these stone-lava beasts used their great horns to scrape through the newly laid piles of snowy ash to find the hardy red hohwa, fire-flowers, and to split open the still soft piles of lava, which they ate and drank. Gentle creatures, very old and wise – and often domesticated by other volcanic planet-based communities, the Si'ro'yaniu were raised for tough supple-stone hides perfect for armour and nutritious lava-milk which was enjoyed by the Stone-people.
They should not be here, Kol'la's hands twisted again as his original intention changed with anger at what the bandits had done. He had seen this before in the Battlehouse – creatures brought for game fighting, angry and scared beyond all reason – and mad for freedom. They were not meant for this and, having tasted blood and battle and the unreasoning call for hate and vengeance, will never be able to go back home.
He understood. Understood too well.
"Thor!" Kol'la bellowed. "THOR!"
Turning, the Crown Prince absently grasped his hammer as it returned to him and he caught Kol'la's eye over the long distance between them. Kol'la nodded and let loose his magicks which snaked forward and sank into the earth, creating an instant soft ground which sank under one Si'ro'yaniu, trapping it easily as a marsh. At that, Thor's Mjolnir flew through the air, hit the front plate of the head right between the eyes – and the young bull toppled over, squashing several of its Skrull handlers.
Kol'la silently watched it fall.
He understood. A spear in a still chest. So much blood spilled in desperation on the sands of the arena. One day, Kol'la thought as his eyes traveled over the still, rough black hide of the slain Si'ro'yaniu. The now unmoving sleek vicious horns which had been honed to unnatural, lethally sharp edges. The usual patterns of red lava beneath the cracks of hide slowly dying as it cooled from the inside out. One day the Void will take me as well. One day...
The other Si'ro'yaniu was still off in the distance, it's deep voice raised in a bawl of terror and anger. Kol'la found himself distracted as several insect-humanoid Ugora with tattooed grey carapaces raced his way. Deftly twirling his spear, Kol'la skewered two before he found himself on the defensive. Hogun's throwing stars landed in the skull of one bandit who had gotten close enough to drench Kol'la with foul breath before dying. Thankfully. There were a few more breathless moments and when he found some time to look about him, Kol'la discovered that Thor had gotten himself pinned between a few too many bandits.
Beyond Sif was yelling something – several commanders were rallying the men in a vain attempt to bring down the last Si'ro'yaniu - Volstagg was down on the ground hollering about getting a medic this instant – a few courtiers were left, fighting back to back – Hogun and Fandral were attempting to battle their way to Thor's side unsuccessfully – the young Apprentices had... where were they? Kol'la knew that far too many Aesir lay dead for his liking. This is impossible, Kol'la thought, for these to be so strong – something dark must be at work here... but what?
The lean warrior-mage tore away from the last of his opponents – literally – for Kol'la had twisted off the Skrull's arm and thrown it away carelessly before gutting the rabid creature. Whipping about, Kol'la began to fight his way back to Thor's side, hoping he would make it in time. Thunder and lightning crackled again and again as storm clouds formed and bolts of lightning descended. And above it all, Thor's voice rang out – an unending roar of anger and power.
The fool, Kol'la thought incoherently, realizing that he wasn't going to make it in time. Pushing past others in his way, hair flopping irritatingly in his eyes, Kol'la's daggers appeared in his hands almost instinctively as he cut his way through anyone who tried to stop him.
"Thor!" he yelled, wishing he could move things with his mind. If he could banish Thor and push him – if he could move the idiot – if he could get his attention – if he could - "THOR! YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF THERE!"
The Si'ro'yaniu was careening, now frothing red streams of fire at the mouth, obviously crazed with the noise of battle and ear-shattering explosions and the pain no doubt radiating from the various swords and picks which had gashed and sunk into its dark hide now bleeding streams of fire. Kol'la knew that it could only see the crimson tide of war and battle, that it fought for the plains of rock and red petals upon which it would never roam again.
He knew. He understood – but he could not stop this anymore than he could stop the disintegration of Time or the hunger of the Void.
It barreled down the slopes of the gentle hills, crushing green and brown beneath its hooves and the ground rumbled. Sif was screaming something about the generals – Kol'la could barely take a word in – the air thrummed – the Si'ro'yaniu bellowed, its deep bass rattling the bones. Great spiked hooves moved forward inexorably, driven from behind by three Skrull bearing electrostaves.
Electrostaves. For a moment, all he could see were the Slavers coming again. The Slavers and their bright lights descending, the Jotunn scattering in every direction, babies crying. Time, he gasped to himself. I need time. What do I do? Then it came to him. A risk... but worth it. Kol'la lunged forward, hands finding the ground as he began the swift-acting working again, the soil shifted beneath his feet as the shock wave spread forward answering his call.
[… Asgard howled...]
[… who is this who dares call on the golden powers that be...]
[… who are you...]
How dare you, Other-Soul?
The ground rippled and the Si'ro'yaniu stumbled forward, missing Thor and the swaying Ugaro and Skrull, it barreled into the rock wall behind the Crown Prince. Thor fell forward onto his knees, stunned by a side blow as some scattered rocks fell from above. Kol'la began to run forward but at the sight of the Si'ro'yaniu's feet beginning to find footing once again, he fell to his knees, placing his hands on the ground, and called on the forces which lay within him. The dreaded power – the ability which he abhorred yet needed: ice.
Ice ran outward and Kol'la hoped that no one would see the tell-tale tinge of blue to his fingertips as he attempted to retain his Aesir coloration. Cold blue and white surged forward – foreign and surprising, washing upward in a great wave as his magicks and the spirits of the universe pressed inward and down. Waves like glass rushed upward and froze, killing Skrull and Ugaro where they stood and then, finding the feet of the Si'ro'yaniu, hardened, keeping it still in its tracks.
There was no world but his own – a world of wondrous colour. His eyes were filled with the spangles of red and gold, the fiery spirals of Asgard's soul, twining in some incredible, miraculous way with his own blue and green tendrils. Pain suddenly radiated from his lower back and stomach. The last tide of ice, which now reached up to the scarred withers of the beast, stopped suddenly as his arm snapped under the unexpected weight of an iron-clad foot.
A cry. His own voice – unrecognizably hoarse.
Kol'la turned – it was difficult to see underneath the shadow of the great beast which loomed up beside him. He turned – and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hogun and Sif managing to drag Thor away, leaving behind Mjolnir – and in front of him – Kol'la looked up. He looked up – and there loomed a bandit, swathed in dark leathers and stylish technological armour, raising a bloodied electrostave. Blood seeped outward from his own bent armour, spilling from his stomach about his knees in a large puddle. He had been stabbed. He had been stabbed? Kol'la had no time to consider the matter. Sweeping the end of the electrostave to the side and then down, the masked bandit dealt Kol'la such a blow that it sent him sprawling sideways and down onto the soft ground. It took the dark-haired young one a few moments to struggle to his elbows. As he managed to raise himself with one arm, Kol'la cursed the arrogance of his opponent who so calmly paced about him, no doubt rejoicing in the stable-hand's weakness.
I am not weak, Kol'la set his jaw in determination as he continued to attempt to pry himself up, disregarding the darkness which was now rapidly encroaching on his vision. He could feel blood coursing down the side of his face – his right arm - his fighting arm was horrifically numb - but Kol'la ignored it as he looked up. Up the long spear and met frightful blankness in reflective eyes. A soulless thing, he thought disjointedly. A walking Void. The young Jotun would have laughed at the unexpected appropriateness of his fate. I was destined for the Void – and it has come for me... as my dreams foretold.
Cracking filled the air as ice creaked ominously. The electostave rose, flickering with white fire, and Kol'la bit back a cry as he tried to shift back – but found his left leg had not only been broken, but had been shattered in several places - and his right ankle throbbed warningly, making movement almost impossible. Almost impossible. Almost. He swayed back - where could he turn?
One more step, beloved – just one more step -
Once more - backwards – trust me...
Kol'la managed to inch back – and then -
There was nothing but fire and a ripping, roaring sound which rent the air in a high-powered jet of flame and light. Over his shoulder and upward, it filled Kol'la's narrowing vision – moving away from his line of sight, tearing through the head of the electrostave bearing bandit, and onwards, unstoppable into the very heart of the still bellowing Si'ro'yaniu, neatly beheading it as well.
What – Kol'la thought, as darkness gathered in. As the ice gave way finally, as the Si'ro'yaniu toppled, as the shadows fell over him, what... was that... He could see nothing – no – he could see the light and fire ray disappearing and the blue-white wall now running with a thousand lines, fragile after all. There was black hide bursting through ice as the weight sagged – as fire red ran out – as the head tumbled forward – rocks rattled under the force of horns which dug into the wall, gouging scars into the very land to show what atrocity had happened there. Onward it fell, unstoppable in its momentum and Kol'la struggled – but his legs would not move.
Move, he thought, move move move! Impossible. It was impossible. He could see black and blue and white and a spear in Toh's chest and a closed great black gate and wolves blotting out the moonlight. There was weight on his back, forcing him down painfully onto his arm – and pain filled his lungs – Kol'la's hearing was filled with nothing but the jerky gasps of his own heaving lungs – and he thrashed – only to find his legs had been trapped. He twisted about and found himself eye to eye with the Si'ro'yaniu's head now crushing his legs into the soft soil. It's dark brown eye was close - still open, now glassy and still. And empty.
Like the Void, Kol'la thought, stomach twisting sharply – the darkness was pulling downwards over his eyes like the shroud of ceremonial sacking over Elska's body before he was returned to the snows. Perhaps, he thought, in the end, that is all there is. We all return to it. It is what binds us all together. Darkness was falling now - shadows wavering and turning - the sun setting - light fading - and his fingers quivered as his right hand rose to trail upward to the lightless eye. He wanted to say 'I am sorry', to say 'This is not your fault', to say something with meaning. To assure it, to assure himself that in the end, there was no blame to be laid at their doors. That it was understandable - His fingers stilled on the rough, black hide as unconsciousness finally claimed him.
I understand.
A CLIFFIE! BWAHAHAHA! (not really a cliffie really, but yeah...)
So sad. I hope some of you guys caught the metaphor that is the Si'ro'yaniu!
Let me know what you think!
What happens next?
DUN DUN DUN.
(not really, I think you can guess who comes on in the next scene... if you use logic)
-KI
Author's Note on Points of View:
I am always interested in certain scenes being shown from various points of view. Kind of like a director in a movie with how he shoots and uses the camera. You can tell the change of scene by breaks. The bold text in the parantheses may signal a change in point of view or the use of the "-0-0-0-". For example, the beginning of Chapter 34 began from Sif's point of view but shifted to others. We'll see the POVs of certain characters coming up (Odin, Frigga, Laufey, various Avengers, etc) - and we have seen others before. You can always double-check the point of view by whose thoughts are being voiced. I only voice one person's thoughts per scene. Hope this makes sense!
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