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: DragonsFlame117, ClaMiAl, Winter Cicada, Extra-Loki, darkshadowarchfiend~! Welcome new readers! I'm so pleased to meet you! When I hit 300 reviews, I'll be sure to send you guys a preview of a side-story I'll be writing up. XD

I'll be posting the older side-story up as well. xD

So, everyone is feeling better. I've still got eczema (on my elbow now)... but I'm really feeling great b/c this week is a holiday... YAY! As a result, I wrote up to Chapter 48! (!)

AND THEN THERE WAS TUMBLR AND LOKI IN CUFFS AND CHAINS AND MY OVARIES MAY HAVE JUST EXPLODED! I lost ability to write - to make grammerz and spellingz. Lost my can.(X.X)
(I'm ded.)
(ded)

I promised a friend that I would try to keep all my chapters to a minimum of 3K... Well... that didn't work out so well... (sigh) But I'm sure none of you will be too upset about a super long chapter. (LOL) FIGHTING! VIOLENCE! MAGICKS! NEW VOCAB!

Also - a nod to Harry Potter in here~!

Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]

Chapter 42
Time to Shine

[...the warp and weft of Fate...]

[...the parts we must play...]

[...let us begin with the small discordant notes...]

There was an age old saying in Snjarhamr: a little mountain rainfall hails the village's doom. In Dagaheim, they said that many small flakes make a great storm and in Utgard they believed firmly in the adage many small fractures give way to the Void. And it is true, Kol'la thought as finished stowing away his supplies in his small travelling pack, alongside his spare set of clothes, whetstone, tinder box and safe box (for such important articles as travel passes, High-Mage Agaeti's official letters and maps). Small things can herald great matters and Lady Frigga once told me that every being and creature plays a part in the weaving of Fate – for good or ill – big and small.

It had been over half a year since his graduation from the Mage's Court, yet the memory of the Velspara-Speki still burned deep within his memory like embers of fire that would not die. When he closed his eyes at night... when he closed his eyes, he could see it – the Well, the clear waters and the threat of all he had feared and the hope of all he had come to love. Somehow, the ever busy Kol'la found time to consider the matter.

And Kol'la was busy! Nowadays, between questing with Thor and spending spare hours at Lady Frigga's side, Kol'la also ran more important errands concerning anything regarding Magick to the further parts of the Realm and beyond. Unlike the Healers and other Mages, Kol'la, always the more experienced in the ungentle arts of warfare, had never sought safety with numbers and therefore had proven himself useful for emergency cases when a Mage was needed to travel to the wilder regions of Asgard or unsafe areas in the other Nine Realms.

How Kol'la transported himself was not entirely certain – and he never shared his secrets – although the rumours spoke of the possibility that Kol'la could have discovered seven league boots or mastered the art of flauguna. Despite the fact that Kol'la made sure to use the Bifrost on official missions, the younger Acolytes, in awe and fascination at Kol'la's apparent expertise in trickery, magic and war, believed that somehow Kol'la had found the Dark Paths, the Other Ways, the Ofolr Leith which only the Elves and rare Dwarf used for travel. The fact that Mage Flarathir and Mage Hrotha had argued over Kol'la's final research – on the use of internal production and external radiation of heat as fuel for magickal work while crossing the Ginnung – could only feed the rumour mill.

Ignoring the whispers which had always sprung up about him since the first day he had come to Asgard, Kol'la focused instead on his personal research (which extended to a variety of things, mostly involving on how to fight with minimal injury to himself), official errands and duties to the King's Court (Thor, mainly). So deep was he in his own thoughts that when the young warrior-mage bumped against the shoulder of someone ascending the steep stairwell of the Seer's tower, Kol'la did not at first register who it was he had passed on his way down to the ground floor of the main atrium. Mumbling an apology, the busy young man half-turned, eyes rising to meet the other's and then paused at the sight of a familiar set of robes. It was Mage Flarathir. Kol'la winced internally – and then paused as Mage Flarathir turned and smiled indulgently at the younger mage. Standing two steps above the dark-haired, green-eyed young man, Mage Flarathir had a good head on Kol'la – and yet, Kol'la knew, judging from Mage Flarathir's subtle shifting on his feet to a wider stance, that the older Mage felt, as usual, a certain... lack.

"Well, if it isn't young Kol'la... rushing off on some grand adventure again? Slaying beasts, passing lazy hours with the Prince and giving no thought to wise counsel? Hm... I see that Initiation has as yet to imbue you with a sense of... decorum."
"Ah. Master Flarathir, I apologize – in my haste, I did not see you there-"
"Ha, my boy. Still clinging to poor jokes for consolation, I see," the shorter, older man huffed.
"Hardly. I am merely attempting to end this conversation before it passes its predetermined allotment of time, its natural... due date, as it were," Kol'la responded composedly, with no indication of the laughter which was rising within him. A pause. A brief smile, then: "I am busy."
"You always are. Then it is a quest?"
"No." Kol'la shook his head with a short laugh. "No. High-Mage Agaeti is sending me with two Apprentices to Sothaborg in order to reinforce the magical barriers erected last year by Master Hrotha. His charms against the migrating bilgesnipe herds apparently need reapplication every time during this season of the year – but good Master Hrotha's expertise is currently needed at Court, so those duties have fallen to me."
"Great man, Master Hrotha. A talented Mage and those spells were created by him alone, I would have you know. Such kind of workings demand a certain level of talent."
"I was aware," Kol'la stifled further words of defence which sat on the tip of his tongue.

Mage Flarathir, he thought, always could get the rise out of you, Kol'la – and today, you have no time for such infantile foolishness.

"Hm." Mage Flarathir nodded and then added after a short pause. "Well, be careful. Bilgesnipe are particularly active during this season and you know what happened last year – while on the self-same errand. Master Hrotha took several weeks recovering from that bilgesnipe attack – and he was quite saddened by the crippling of that apprentice of his."
"Apprentice Sotho."
"Yes, that one. So be on your guard, young Kol'la."
"I will keep that in mind," was Kol'la's even response.

The old, white-haired mage looked down on Kol'la... As if I were an insect, Kol'la mused. No doubt he thinks I am presumptuous – as do all the others. There was an awkward silence as Master Flarathir considered the determined pale face and blazing green eyes before him coolly.

"Is there anything else for us to say to each other, I wonder," Kol'la finally broke the silence again, lips turned up in a sarcastic smile. "Perhaps a 'good day' is in order."
However, instead of replying in kind, Mage Flarathir hesitated and shifted his feet again before saying, "The ceremony went well."

Is that a question? Kol'la wanted to ask. He held his tongue, nodded and said neutrally, "It went well."
"Moments alone with the Well often overwhelm those who seek its Voice. Yet, it is wise to heed its warnings, considering its inherent importance to Asgard – to all of us."
"Some may bend their backs to Fate," Kol'la replied quietly, his thoughts drifting to a flash of memory – a cold, empty Temple in a desolate city, a small altar surrounded with bodies and swirls of red and black – a child's forgotten cry heard by a mourning Caretaker. As if from faraway, he heard himself say: "But I wish to believe I can make my own Destiny, no matter what has happened before and what threatens to happen ahead."
"That sounds suspiciously like some wishy-washy Vanir nonsense to me," the ancient Mage sniffed.

Kol'la said nothing, which he knew would annoy Mage Flarathir even more.

"Well, regardless, I look forward to seeing great things from you, Kol'la. Anyone with half an eye can see you bear a great destiny."

Was that a smile? Kol'la wondered, disbelievingly. He had already begun to turn away, now bored of the conversation, but at those words, he paused, eyes narrowing in suspicion. What is he up to? An awkward silence ensued. Kol'la paused on the stairs and then turned back a little, nodding his head and inclining himself forward in an ever-so-slight bow.

"I must go. Farewell."

With that, Kol'la left, barely registering the senior mage's words of farewell. That was... strange, he mused. It was... almost civil. Most interesting indeed. Looking back quickly, Kol'la glimpsed the Aesir still on the second step watching him cross the large atrium. It remained with the warrior-mage for the rest of the day – the image of a bent, white-haired man, brooding like a hawk, dark eyes glittering as he stood alone half-cast into shadow.

As he rode off down the road with two lower level Apprentices, Kol'la mulled over the matter. Perhaps... perhaps... perhaps Mage Flarathir is also aware... that Odin had chosen Master Agaeti as his Mage Advisor and so much time has passed, it is conceivable that Odin will not choose, nor be able to choose, another. For one so aware of the Court and its foibles, Master Flarathir may be wanting to draw closer to Prince Thor... through me... considering that Thor will be King one day – and most definitely in need of an adviser. Cursing softly to himself, Kol'la kicked his horse into a gallop, ignoring the muted protests from the ever-fearful Apprentices behind me. Politicking, he bit back a laugh, suddenly recognizing his feelings on the matter – excitement – as he had felt standing on the Svelshelf, the ice shelf of the Utanheim. Dancing on the edge, taunting the Void in the eternal game of Fate.

So it had already started.

-0-0-0-

Just a few Asgardian years later, a good decade after Kol'la's graduation from the Mage's Court, the capital city of Asgard was once again thrown into a massive kerfuffle with the bicentennial inter-Realm tournaments. Vivacious and defiant as ever, the Spirit of Asgard stirred at the news of battle. The wind, rushing down the mountainsides into the city and beyond to the Asgarthaharr Sea and the stars, promised victorious battle and deeds that would be remembered throughout the Annals of Time. Asgard responded.

In a frenzy of productivity, the great city assessed its stores and goods, mended walls, fences and the poorer-looking tenements, painted signs and walls anew and hung everywhere fresh flags and pennants bearing the Royal colours. Uniforms were spruced up, tailors pressed into providing new fashions and peddlers, travelling the Realms, found their special items in high demand.

Youths from the Court – both King's and Mage's – practised their battle skills daily. Swords, spears, maces, knives and hammers clashed night and day, the butts were constantly in use for the archers and knife handlers, and the stables were kept busy providing fresh horses for cavalry practice and other riding demonstrations.

When news came from the Royal Court that Svartalfheim representatives would be attending and also taking part in combat, agitation and excitement increased even more. Both the "Dark" Dwarves of Niflheim and the "Dark" Elves of Svartalfheim were renown for their dislike of the other Realms – and as a result, usually declined Asgard's invitation.

Not so this year, Kol'la thought as he watched Frigga conference yet again with the housekeepers, head butlers and chief cooks on various matters including the menu, the hospitality arrangements, the Palace's decorations, and correct banner placement for the visiting Realms' flags – really it all seems endless... but this year, he mused over the matter of his own upcoming engagement, apparently with two Dark Elves, it is different. I wonder what has changed.

Then he noticed, yet again, how the colours of his own people would never be raised in honour and deference at the All-Father's celebratory banquet. Some things, Kol'la thought sadly, never change. It was an unhappy thought and if considered too long, soured his stomach, for it reminded him yet again how fragile his standing in Asgard actually was. If they were ever to find out... Kol'la closed his eyes briefly, pained. If they found out...

Thor's confident voice rose in his memory, then, speaking of the Jotunn race: Ah, pay no thought to those beasts. They are all better off dead – and should they attempt again to besmirch the honour of Asgard and break our peace, I will slay them all.

No. Imagining Frigga's look of horror, or worse, disappointment, Kol'la vowed to himself: he could never speak of it – and Jotunheim remained safe, ostracized as it was. Better to think on happier things and better days – spent fighting at Thor's side, celebrating afterwards (sometimes with a comely wench) and then returning home to Frigga's side.

Home. Kol'la's green eyes rose in surprise at the insidious thought he had just found planted in his mind. Home. For a moment, the young Jotun-in-disguise considered uprooting the unwelcome emotion, unfamiliar word. Uprooting it as heartlessly as one would a scratching, scraggly weed from amongst the roses surrounding it.

Home. A weed of a word – or no? Kol'la's gaze drifted over the now quiet suite which belonged to the Queen. He had found a spot in a corner of the room – by a low table now bearing several bolts of red and gold cloth and a chest – far from the bustle of the servants. An unending swirl of motion always seemed to surround the Queen like a storm about the calm of its eye... and the Queen did remain calm, blue eyes intent as she managed the large household and provided support for her ever-busy husband. Now, they had left, allowing Lady Frigga to return to her tea and some relaxing needlework.

At the end of the day, Kol'la knew, we shall look at the spectacle and feel its effortlessness – perhaps never perceive the frantic motion beneath its calm surface. Like the Lake of Vithrivatn's thriving waters, hidden by ice. An Asgardian equivalent rose to his mind then: a duck in a fast-flowing river yet never drifting... That is Lady Frigga. The thought brought a smile to his face and Kol'la's green eyes sparkled with mischief at the analogy.

Lady Frigga. Home. It nagged him, that word – home, and reminded him of something that had only happened a week before. Lady Frigga had stopped him from throwing a limp redwort onto the compost heap. Taking it in her hands, she had clucked sharply and Kol'la could hear her gentle voice in response to his respectful question as to why she did not dispose of the weed – as if it were just yesterday:

"Well, you are right, Kol'la – to many this small plant is the dreaded poisonous weed.. but see, we shall put it over... here... and it will flourish safely, doing no harm to any – and when all the summer flowers have given up their last strength, this hardy redwort will offer some colour in the bite of late autumn. With proper Vanir crystals, the dread sap may be alchemized to form an effective – if bitter – tincture for colds and such ailments." A pause as Frigga eyed the replanted weed. "See now, it will grow beautifully in this corner... it just needed a place of its own."

A place of its own. A home. Kol'la knew he would always wonder where he truly belonged – but if he were to wonder anywhere, what better place than here?

-0-0-0-

Soon enough, the august guests and their accompanying delegations and servants and gifts arrived safely and after two days of refreshment, the first day of the three-day long tournament began.

Early in the morning, peasantry and merchants and servants and lower City and Court officials began to gather in the lower stalls. Soon, the rest of the Court and various Guildmasters and counsellors and the guests of honour arrived to watch the skills of the peasantry and lower gentry. The entire day was spent on all forms of competitive sports and battles and duels: fist-fighting, wrestling, armed and unarmed melees, spear and knife-throwing, archery, one-on-one armed and unarmed combat and other less bloody challenges – such as weight-lifting, eating competitions and the like. Interspersed were also boisterous entertainments, women dancing, jesters telling jokes and playing tricks as the warriors rested and took various meals throughout the day.

Then, the next day followed with similar activities for the merchants, lower Gentry and other less-known lords from the far reaches of Asgard, Vanaheim and Alfheim. During the melee, the Warriors Three and Sif participated as a team, successfully subduing any who crossed their path. Later on that day, Hogun gave an able demonstration of multiple weaponry use alongside the more versatile, limber Sif. Fandral got himself roundly beaten by an Alfheim fencer, while Volstagg dominated the pie-eating contest later on in the day. Throughout it all, Thor and Kol'la cheered on their friends; however, the two young men were more excited and anxious for their own turns.

Day Three began fair and clear as the others had – and after watching various Lords battle each other (at one point, General Tyr battled two very experienced Dwarf chiefs named Val and Orin), Thor entered the ring to tremendous applause and roars of approval. He was, after all, the favourite of many and his obvious excitement was contagious. Before him stood the silent but equally excited Fire Giants, Sartr and Trisso. Sartr, a kinsman of the King of Fire Giants, Lord Surtr himself, would be the real challenge.

Sure enough, the combat, regulated by the Kveykva-herklaethi style, gave the combatants a single blade, small round shields and the option to use fists or wrestling techniques. Without Mjolnir at his side, Thor found the Fire Giants a real challenge – and yet, Kol'la thought with a sigh fifteen minutes later, he still leaves the arena victorious – and laughing despite the singeing and blow to his head...

Finally, it was Kol'la's turn. Walking into the ring from the south entrance, spear in hand, the warrior-mage felt an eerie sense of deja-vu. It is as if I have been in this place before, he thought, surveying the packed stands, the lower gallery of spectators who were standing and the previous combatants, watching with an air of interest from the entrances to the arena and the specially designated fighter's box (in which Thor was now holding court). It smells familiar too, Kol'la wrinkled his nose as his feet shifted through the newly sprinkled sand which barely hid previously spilt blood from the particularly brutal battle between the two young lords – Vanir Lord Haevoth and Aesir Master Gareth Sveninsson. Blood, sand, dirt, sweat... the unhappy realities of combat...

Something I have learned well, yet something I abhor. Far better to show one's worthy by achieving victory, achieving greatness with sound strategies, with no blood spilt, little effort made... with the least amount of force shown. Thor has never understood this – never understands... maybe never will see the worth of such logic... but... Kol'la's green flashed upward at the All-Father who leaned forward, clearly attentive. ...but some do...

The roars increased at the other two contestants strolled into the wide ring – two Dark Elves named Malo and Cathor, whose grins, full of teeth, spoke of confidence in their abilities. Malo, Kol'la mused, is a kinsmen of Malekith... and Cathor, second brother to Ulketh... all of them great warrior-mages in their own right, following the grand traditions of all Elvish folk... this could be a long battle...

As the officiator of the games, Heimdall's booming, warm voice quieted the crowds. He announced the combatants by name as well as the rules for Kaesia-Seithr combat – magick would be allowed within reason – and to suit his words, several barriers rose courtesy of four very nervous-looking Mages. Kol'la recognized two as his fellow graduates and allowed himself a grin.

This will be fun, he thought.

[...here it is proven...]

[...as it had been before...]

[...destinies already carved in stone...]

[...or not...]

[...revealed...]

Physical altercations cost strength of body, the famous master of the great-sword tradition, Heimtharr, great-grandsire of Heimdall, once wrote, yet magickal forays will exact its toll from the mind. In the former, power is key; in the latter, endurance. In the former, much is made of movement and force and the clashing of the blade; in the latter, apparent lack of motion means nothing and often the battle is over before a word is spoken.

Thus spake Heimtharr, and while few read his treatise during recent times, Asgard's golden years, Heimdall never forgot. In a time when warrior-mages were plenteous, the Gatekeeper thought, battle was less predictable. In those days, the sight of a spear invoked fear – its reach, its flexibility and the powers it enhanced with stones and engravings... and Kol'la is a promise of a return to those days... a more dangerous age... but equally glorious... Is Asgard ready?

-0-0-0-

Kol'la knew that Kaesia-Seithr battling, while often useful thanks to its speed, use of strategy and deadliness, also tended to bore those uninitiated in the art of seithrmancy. As the two Dark Elves and he slowly circled about the Ring, ignoring the increasing frenzy of their impatient audience, Kol'la knew that his victory could definitely cost him showmanship – and most likely, sportsmanship as well. There was no honour amongst warrior-mages, as Thor often liked to complain.

Honour... over-rated, really, Kol'la smirked – and then paused. Well, not showmanship. It is important to look well in what one does...

Without warning, Cathor darted forward, brandishing a wickedly curved spear which held a sharp blade on one end and a well-carved tip on the other which was embellished with the usual Svartalfheim villieldr and ofolr crystals and, as a result, told Kol'la much about what to expect from him. Kol'la's own hand-crafted metal met Cathor's in a brief clash and the slender Asgardian allowed his spear to slide downward before hooking down and then up in a graceful upswing parry. Ducking instinctively backward, he just missed the whirl of Malo's slender similarly-bladed spear and then twisted to the side, firing off a few daggers which sank into Cathor's less armoured, leather sides. Both Elves stepped back then, Cathor removing the knives quickly, cursing fluently in Elvish.

"So, this is a conundrum, skreyppa," Malo laughed softly, "like your brawny cousins, you enjoy brute strength... although it does not fit a slender gargani such as you."

Twirling his staff and hooking it within his arm, every ready, Kol'la did not respond. Merely smiled and allowed himself to appear a little smug, the better to annoy the obviously more hot-tempered Cathor. It worked grandly – but this time as the Dark Elf came in swinging, Kol'la slid left around the stocky Dark Elf, as Malo's epithets had suggested, and kicked him a little disrespectfully on the backside with a short laugh, which sent Cathor sprawling in the sand. Then, Kol'la briefly parried Malo, slipping behind him as well – only to disappear from sight with a quick twist of his hand in a hidden sigil and a short murmur.

Silence.

Cathor – now on his feet – and Malo shifted uneasily, bodies tense – shoulders hunched, feet braced and weapons at the ready. There was nothing now but quiet murmurs from the stand. The audience, now captive, understood this was a whole other level of fighting – and at that, Kol'la smiled in amusement, hidden within the spaces of concealment.

Let the games begin...

-0-0-0-

"Where did he go?" Mage Hrotha wondered aloud, "is this some new working-"
"Skokkr-a-Mir," Flarathir replied shortly. "That is what we would call it anyway. Very old and few know the spell to work it... it is complicated, requires much power, concentration and an affinity for Elvish tricks. Hm. What was the name..."
"Col'ca-cenedril," High-Mage Agaeti coughed sharply, looking to the silent All-Father seated on his left. "I had no idea the boy could manipulate such an ancient form of seithrmancy... let alone that of the Elvish variety."
"Not many can understand the power of the child," Odin replied calmly, "least of all himself, I should imagine. It is so easy to underestimate the intelligence of the boy."
"Why do you-" Then, the ancient mage paused and stilled the words which rose to his lips, the as yet unspoken question he found he could not ask. Why do you not call him by name?

As always, the All-Father seemed so mysterious. Even now, sitting by him, standing at his side all these years, the old Aesir thought, I can only guess at what he plans. Obviously, young Kol'la has the potential for greatness... but of what sort... and what for?

"Ah, there he is," Flarathir shook his head, pointing out the obvious as Kol'la winked back into sight, holding his favourite spear. Once again, the two elves merged on their opponent – only to find that they had run their spears right through him – with no mass or matter to stop their blades... and right behind an unsuspecting Cothar, Kol'la reappeared.

Without warning, Kol'la whirled the long, engraved crystal-bearing staff – and as the rush of air and the sound of metal moving, Cothar turned – turned in time to meet the full blow of the spear which crashed his teeth together, nearly shattering his jaw, giving him such a knock that darkness came upon him instantaneously. As he fell, he could hear Kol'la laughing, glimpsed a wide smile full of neat white teeth and the murmur of a stunning spell. Then, darkness.

"Ah," laughed Hrotha then, clapping loudly. "What a strategy. Well played, well played."
"Interesting," Odin agreed mildly.
"It was a tveir spell... or tveir-andlit working. Double Face Illusion," Agaeti found himself explaining to the All-Father and his ever attentive wife, unnecessarily – but excitedly. "Holding onto Skokka-a-Mir at the same time! Unprecedented!"
"He struck the elf from behind!" another mage spluttered angrily.
"No honour among warrior-mages," grumbled another Lordling below.
"But he won," a cool voice said from behind them – and Agaeti found himself hard put to remain calm at the icy calm voice of Malekith, the menacing elf-lord of Svartalfheim. "That is all that matters in the end, is it not?"
"That may be true," agreed Odin mildly, "but when the dust has settled, we must also be able to live with ourselves. More easily done with cleaner consciences, I think."
"Hm. You would be surprised by how easily one can live with oneself regardless of such decisions."
"Then you are a far luckier man than I."

Agaeti, suppressing a shiver, kept his eyes fixed on the combat before him. Malo was now clearly upset and Kol'la allowed his triumphant gaze to grow a little, unsettling his opponent who circled opposite around the ring once again. More cautiously, Agaeti thought, but not enough. Too little, too late.

"Cathor was too gentle," Malo spat. "You are no seithrmaster, fintalenir. A cheap magician with many petty tricks to rely on to save his own sorry hide – a boyish trickster."
"And pleased to meet you," bowed Kol'la theatrically, drawing a laugh from the audience. "A trickster I may be, and a prankster to boot-"
"That he was!" Hrotha chuckled loudly.
"-but not so easily defeated as Cathor. Not a..." Pause for effect. "Vanwa."

A round of "oooh"s and raucous laughter rose from the Light and Dark Elves alike and even Malekith chuckled behind Agaeti's ear at the Kol'la's perfectly intoned slight.

"His Elvish is well-spoken," Odin finally said as Malo roared and charged forward, invoking several spells in rapid Elvish. "As good as his seithrmancy."
"Well, tveir-andlit in and of itself, being a working of illusions is fairly simple. Apprentices achieve that within their first decade..." Agaeti shrugged. "Still..."
"Yes... Still... The timing was perfect and there is thrift in Kol'la's movement," Flarathir said, obviously finding it a bit difficult to either believe or admit. "He is a natural at fighting with magic – and brings honour to the Mage's Court. Such power... we have not seen in many years."

Odin nodded slowly – and then everyone stopped talking as Malo's seithr flared with brilliant flame, bursting outward in a wave of fire which pressed up hotly against the Mage's barricade. The barrier remained firm, particularly with the added presence of the Mage's council who had placed their own sigils of protection on the Ring's inner walls, but Kol'la would not be so lucky. However, although the flames swept around as if carried on an invisible wind, as if guided by the strings of a master puppeteer, they could not seem to get close enough to Kol'la. From within the young warrior-mage slender figure a green surge burst outward and then, twirling his staff, sweeping his left arm up, down and then from left to right, Kol'la spoke three terse words and the fire increased by tenfold and widened its thickness to something more similar to a wall.

"What is the fool-"
"Kol'la! You idiot-"
"Malo – turn it now-"
"Hit him now!"
"Get it over and done with-"
"Crush him, Malo!"

Suggestions, roars of approval and excitement rose as the flames surged upward, burning hotter than ever as the seithrmasters fought for control of the flames. Then, with a tremendous roar, the flames began to turn darker. The barricade began to flicker from the force of Kol'la's magical power and several of the standing-room crowd eased back. Being mainly Aesir, they had heard rumours, if not seen for themselves the vicious strength of Kol'la's workings - and fire, being the most volatile element, was no laughing matter in a seithrmaster duel.

Stabbing his spear's blade into the ground at his side, Kol'la raised both hands and then with a twisting motion of his hands and arms, brought the fire down on Malo's head. Now, they could all see it – the fire had changed. No longer was its heart a yellow-red – now it burned a blue and green in its hottest core. Fire wings spread outward as a long neck and head formed.

"The fool has summoned Fiendfyre!" Hrotha was jumping up from his seat, beard bristling with anxiety and pride. "There is no way-"
"Fiendfyre born out of a Wall of Flame... impressive," Agaeti could barely keep his seat in his excitement. "Few can turn the workings of Skjald-borhyrr into Fiendfyre. Especially since the bridging spell he used was Hiti-mothr. I recognized the Wall of Flame right away. Surprising, but smart, seeing as High-Mage Hiti - whom the spell was named after - was Half-Elvish himself and often utilized a measure of both magicks in his workings."

Malo was already backing up against the barrier as the fire dived in closer – and then, with a surge of inspiration, he darted forward, grabbing his spear, summoned a thin veil of water and a cloud of dark – which cloaked him for a moment. Kol'la's Fiendfyre threw itself through the water-veil easily and swallowed the dark, burning away the cloud, revealing no sign of Malo. Malo had, beneath his cover, made his way closer to the left of Kol'la – bringing him into closer range with the Asgardian warrior-mage. There was no way Kol'la would wish to bring the Fiendfyre so close.

Kol'la winked out of sight and reappeared far on the other side of the ring, bringing another cry of surprise from the crowd.

"Flauguna," Agaeti said. "A form of moving from one place to another – a kind of travelling, similar to using the Ways... Flaugun'esporna is the full term. Flying feet, as it were. Incredible. Malo will never get close now. Surely he must see that... and look-"

The Fiendfyre was now circling the Dark Elf, forming an impenetrable wall of flame – and leaping upward, Kol'la pitched himself easily through the open centre, downwards, bearing Malo to the ground, forcing the Elf to his knees with Kol'la's dagger blade at his opponent's throat. The two combatants disappeared from view as the flames rose again. Everyone held their breath - even Thor was leaning forward anxiously.

-0-0-0-

Within the circle of fire, there was nothing but the soft panting of Malo and Kol'la as they froze for a few minutes - Kol'la standing behind Malo, his dagger at the Dark Elf's throat.

"You win, curunar," Malo breathed softly. "It is your triumph... for now..."
"Did you not give me your all?" Kol'la's green eyes skewered the Dark Elf sharply. "Tell me you did not stay your hand for diplomacy's sake – and I will let you go with honour."
"'Let me go with honour'," laughed Malo. "What a strange Aesir, you are! Asgard holds a shadow over many folk, but Svartalfheim will not bow for such niceties, skreyppa. I do not need your honour or your empty words, caitahto-"
"And I do not need yours," Kol'la replied coldly, jerked away, stunning Malo with a mild binding spell - and immediately the Fiendfyre began to disappate around them, revealing Malo's surrender easily. A surrender with no apparent cost to himself. Kol'la smiled as he glanced over at Thor, while he reclaimed his spear.

Thor looked proudly down at Kol'la – as did the Mages, the All-Father, the generals – and from far away he could hear someone yelling, "That's my boy!" Commander Farfin, perhaps. Yet, Kol'la's eyes searched only for Frigga's and seeing her pride and joy – and relief – he allowed himself to smile, to raise his spear and fists and to accept the acclaim showered upon him. Uneasy praise, he thought, there will be some who doubt the veracity of such a victory, but for now, this is enough for me... and those who matter know... those who matter, Kol'la glanced at Frigga and Odin and the Court about him, those who matter, understand. He looked over at Thor who was climbing over the barricade for some unknown reason. Well, all most all who are important understand, he sighed and his eyes suddenly landed on the rest of the Dark Elf delegation behind the All-Father and to the All-Father's left.

Behind High-Mage Agaeti (who was talking with excitement to Master Hrotha and Master Flarathir), a pale face with deep-set glittering eyes stood out among the warm colours and rosy coloration of the Aesir. Malekith, smooth-faced and calm – an odd smile on his face. Kol'la shivered. Then, the crowds cheers rose even higher and louder (if possible) as Thor joined him in the ring, clapping him on the shoulder and shaking him in a congratulatory fashion and calling him dull-witted and a dishonourable bastard for the unheralded blow and saying he must smile and accept the posy wench Ethelyn had thrown at him and that in all, it was very well done of him and mead was in order.

Kol'la smiled and noticed Ethelyn, but his mind was far from the ring. And his victory.

[...this is the time...]

[...when one comes into his own...]

[...when one stands tall...]

[...stands proud...]

[...takes victory in the arena of Life...]

[...and Fate...]

It always surprised Thor how swiftly hours flew in the heat of passionate moments. Moments such as when one found delight in the arms of a generous woman – or in the fleeting minutes of combat when one faced one's foe on the field or in tournament. Why were hours of delight so transitory, Thor wondered, and the minutes of boredom so eternal?

In the cool of the early morning, when dew glistened like diamonds on the blades of grass, they had begun. His time for glory had come and gone soon enough – although, during Kol'la's bout, time had seemed to crawl. Only Hogun silently standing at his side seemed to understand. He had said something about such duels entwined with magic lasting longer since the endurance of either opponent was often similar... Small comfort, but comfort all the same, Thor thought, remembering his friend's rough hand which had wordlessly stayed when him when the Prince subconsciously tensed and leaned forward as if to jump in and rescue the one he considered as shield-mate.

Or something closer, Thor frowned. Something different, something I cannot name. Sif would say I am a lummox. Kol'la would agree... Both so perceptive... and not here... At any rate, Hogun saved my life, since Kol'la dislikes being treated as though he were a damsel in distress.

Thor smiled then, imagining Kol'la as a sharp-tongued maid. Ha! A maid? It seemed improbable. Impossible. More like a fisherman's wife! Kol'la took care of himself, and that, deep down, both comforted and distressed Thor. He passed down the hall of the Palace, wandering aimlessly, deep in thought. In the end, Kol'la acquitted himself well, proving his worth in battle, however dishonourable it may seem to the others – however vicious he is. And Kol'la is vicious. The rough and tumble Prince grinned widely then and shook his head. Mother thinks him soft, perhaps treats him too gently... does she know... does she understand... how the layer of civility lies thin upon him?

And Father, Thor thought of Odin's sharp looks often cast upon his friend, his shield-mate, his closer than a shield-mate... whatever he is, Father also sees what lies beneath. Hmmm... Thor shrugged to himself. It matters not in the end, really, he chuckled, making up his mind to see what his mother had planned for that evening's entertainment at the celebratory Feast. He is at my side and that is all that matters.

On knocking at the great doors of his mother's suite, Thor was permitted entrance – but the maid who had opened the door told him the Queen was not in, but was resting in her garden. Taking tea, the maid said with a bow and graceful tilt of her head and Thor nodded, knowing his gentle mother's habits well and brushed past, ignoring the girl's startled 'oh!'.

It was a familiar path for Thor – the same path he had trod since he could walk, wending past his mother's soft couches, low tables and rich, rust red and blue patterned rugs. Bars of sunlight moved in long stripes across the quiet room in the late afternoon, shining through the lattice of shutters which had been partially closed to protect the more sensitive flowers in his mother's personal window garden.

The next room was her weaving room, a large spacious area where the Queen and her maidens sat working on various projects. Eyeing the loom's current cloth – a deep green, Thor skirted around the wooden frames, careful not to touch anything. The last time he had attempted to help her seemed eons ago... and I tangled the spindle and broke her favourite dark-wood shuttle, Thor shook his head and found his way out the small back door into the mudroom. It was cool and dim in the mudroom, which was filled with various shoes and coats and other gardening equipment. Just beyond the second small door, outside, was a small grey path of carefully carved stones which fit each other in a whimsical way, half set in grass and wood shavings, leading in a circular manner around the Queen's private garden.

As he passed the small pond, filled with lily pads and solemnly croaking toads, which he had used to enjoy catching and tormenting as a child, Thor looked about for any sign of his mother – and then paused at the sound of low-cast voices. His eyes, following his keen ears, moved off the path into his mother's favourite small clearing under her blue and peach-pink pavilion. Underneath, standing by the usual intricately carved table complete with tea-set, stood his father and mother – and Kol'la, obviously just rising from afternoon tea.

Yet there was something about their demeanour that gave Thor pause. For the first time, Thor did not blunder forward in his usual manner. Odin looked more serious than usual, his face holding the look more suited to Court and those (not so few) times Thor had gotten injured or in serious trouble abroad. Frigga looked... Mother looks... Thor tilted his head and blinked, puzzled. Is she going to cry? Or laugh?

And Kol'la... Kol'la's face was what halted Thor's feet. Kol'la looked so strange. It is as if he is frightened, worried and triumphantly excited all at the same time... From his position, Thor found himself looking his shield-mate over again – noting the somber dark clothing which Kol'la now favoured, how it still remained stylish and rather fashionable. The way the dark hair had already been washed and combed back carefully in preparation for the feast – with no sign of the hard battle he had endured earlier that morning. The short, dark hair, pale, thin face and cool, green eyes... He looks like Hogun, in a way – but not... Thor scratched his chin thoughtfully. Kol'la always did look different... and acted differently too... I hope he isn't in trouble.

Kol'la was nodding now as Frigga said something. Frigga added something more and Kol'la looked down at his feet and then nodded again, but this time even more subdued. Thor's eyes widened as the blonde-haired woman leaned forward, drawing Kol'la into a tight embrace. Noting how Kol'la took a few minutes to relax and return the hug, Thor found it difficult to stifle a laugh. Kol'la was even more surprised than he!

And yet, he responded to her, Thor realized. I guess Kol'la and my mother have much in common... and Father...

Odin clasped Kol'la's shoulder, said something which Kol'la responded to quickly – and Odin then slapped Kol'la on the back and gripped the slender, young man's shoulder in a fierce sideways embrace. Frigga looked so happy – her face seemed to glow like the sun and Thor was just about to open his mouth and greet them, when Odin poked Kol'la familiarly in the chest and said something, ending his words with a loud burst of chuckles. Kol'la eased away, blushing – but he did smile, while Frigga laughed.

"Mother! Father! Kol'la!" Thor suddenly couldn't bear it anymore. What is happening? His chest tightened with worry as he remembered how Kol'la had been mentioning a desire to go travelling on his own. Was Kol'la leaving? Thor found he couldn't get to their circle soon enough to find out. However, before he could say anything, Kol'la glanced at him uncertainly and then slipped away.

Thor opened his mouth in protest, about to chide his friend for the impoliteness of leaving him in the company of his parents so soon, when Odin said in that serious tone of voice rarely used before:

"Thor, we need to talk."

[...takes victory in the arena of Life...]

[...and Fate...]

[...become what was meant to be...]

Music from the side gallery, where the Royal musicians sat playing, filtered down, filling the gaps between raucous hurrahs, shifting conversations, story-telling of battles long since fought and won (or lost) and various toasts. Servants bustled about, bearing large platters of roast boar, deer, duck and other meats and vegetables. Wine spilled out endlessly from casket after casket which was rolled out from Odin's plenteous cellars. Of course, all of them were carefully watched over by the ever watchful Volstagg, who was more than ready to ensure all had their fair share. Guests, seated and standing on the lower floor, spoke with much animation, recounting the days events and boasting of future conquests.

Meanwhile, on the broad dais at the front of the room, the Royal Family hosted a variety of important guests, carefully seated so as to ease any lingering political tensions between the various races. On one side sat the ever gracious Vanir lord, Frey, with Lord Rhumathil, brother to the King Dain of Alfheim. Frey's wife, Gerd, was more than happy to chat with Lady Aislinn, Rhumathil's wife. The conversation meandered from flower gardens and inter-Realm fashion to what the men really wanted to discuss – court gossip and smithy techniques. Here, Thor sat as well, better suited to the less difficult intrigues of the Light Elves and Vanir – if he remained in his seat. For Thor was ever fond of roving the large feasting hall, finding his friends and an adoring audience in the lower-seated crowds. Tonight was no exception and Thor seemed to have been infused with some kind of manic energy, his blue eyes filled with a mischievous twinkle - and no Aesir nor visitor could gainsay him.

Even the Fire Giants Thor defeated joined him in a boisterous toast. The ever neutral folk of Muspelheim, like Thor, enjoyed moving about - and followed Thor's lead. The few sitting on the head table spoke a little with a few of the Mages and Lords sitting on either side of them, no doubt feeling uncomfortable restraining their natural fire-infused forms, yet trying to find some common ground with their Asgardian warrior hosts and the other guests. Frigga approved.

On the other end of the table, however, matters were not so simple. Frigga sat there, the better to soothe troubled waters by smiling graciously at the ever brusque dwarven folk, led by the dwarf chieftain Lord Dvalin and the perpetually uneasy, currently leaderless Dark Elves. As Odin had warned Thor and Frigga (and his Court and Kol'la and anybody else who would listen), the Dark Elves felt more defensive thanks to their political disunity – and the five representatives at Odin's long table were even less thankful that the dark-haired warrior-mage known as Kol'la was to be their host for the evening.

Odin, watching the young man navigate the dangerous waters of Elvish politics and the courtesies demanded by conflicting cultures, found himself rather impressed by Kol'la's smooth words and careful replies. Toross and Vaeril, two powerful Dark Elf lords, dark eyes glittering and pale faces blank, seemed to be enjoying themselves regardless of their environment. The boy is a natural, as I had guessed, Odin smiled. Even Malekith is impressed by his abilities... and Malekith is a difficult Elf to please, for certain. Particularly after such a decisive battle as we had seen earlier today. Dark Elves dislike losing, but if one loses to one such as he, the loss seems less... humiliating.

Yes, this is as it should be – as it should have been – he will become a mighty player in the Fate of our Realms... a worthy son of Odin... and with that thought, the white-haired King turned to another guest and began a topic on the delights of Autumnal Feasts.

After some time had passed, the ancient King rose to his feet, blue eyes stern and serious. Gugnir, which had sat propped by his throne-like dining chair was now clasped in his right hand and the end, descending on the marble floor, resounded throughout the hall commanding everyone's attention. Watching his son slip in from a side door leading off the dais into a private hallway beyond and take his seat, Odin smiled, raised a hand to gesture at the table and then began -

"Today, we gather to celebrate the unity of the Realms... Unity, such as it is – fragile and new – must be guided as a young colt is trained, must be strengthened as a warrior's page learns to hold his weapon... and, here I think of my gracious wife, tended... as a beautiful flower which will bear fruit in its season. This day, we met in glorious combat, our swords and spears clashed, our steel was tested and our fortitude borne out in the trials of battle. In these moments, in these days, let us then cherish in the making of a new kind of peace, a new kind of relationship between our Realms... and in doing so, secure a future for our children. This brings to mind how we are all connected, through the Norn's work, through Fate – how we are all bound invisibly together. In a way, we can look at our neighbours and no matter what they may seem, they must be considered as family. And with that in mind, I wish to make an important announcement concerning this matter-"

Here, Thor, who had been away somewhere, slipped into his paid even more attention to his father's speech than was usual, glanced upward at his father, a smile pasted on his face and his eyes suddenly serious. His gaze darted down the table. The seats where Frigga and Kol'la had been sitting were still vacant and soon they would be filled – but this time with something entirely new and yet, familiar. Odin's younger brother, Frest, and several high-ranking courtiers as well as other members of the extended Royal Family sat up straighter as well. If possible, the hall got even more quiet as even the servants stilled and the music petered off.

"This day will mark for us an important celebration of unity," Odin said solemnly. "My lady wife, Frigga, and I have held this desire for too long in secret and today, our dreams and hopes will be made reality – as we bring into our family one who should have been with us since the beginning. I wish to announce to Asgard and our neighbours and friends of the Nine Realms the adoption of our second son: Loki."

Wow. Well, that took about 3 days to write... longer than usual since I had teaching going on and I had to do some super planning for each bit of this chapter... Craziness~

Let me know what you think~
Be sure to ask questions and stuff if something confuses you. xD
Update in 5 days or so!
-KI

P.S. Visit my tumblr (kakashidiot) to read some responses to -new- reviewers!
P.P.S. Will update in a five days or so. XD

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

Asgardian Glossary:

bikkja – bitch
Brenna-Fir – the Immolation
ergi - womanly, weak, "gay"
Fiendfyre – a phoenix-firebird
Flauguna – flying feet/teleportation
Ginnung – the Void
Hiti-mothr – Flame Fury (also known as Lachruth)
Kaesia-Seithr – Spirit-Spear style
Koma a Aldr – Coming of Age
Kveykva-herklaethi – Light Armoured style
Laegja – the Immersion
Ofolr Leith – Dark Paths, Other Ways (crossing the Void)
Ominni-tith - the Forgotten Times
Rikr-Hringraevi – Grand Cycles of Time
Runa a Fyrsta – Rites of Initiation
Runa a Kelda – Rites of Spring
Runa'a'vetr – Winter Solstice
Saga-Vefr – Story-weavers
seithr - magic
seithrmaster - mage, sorceror
Skjald-borhyrr – Wall of Flame
Skipa – the Infusion
Skokkr-a-Mir – concealment skills, Box of Mirrors (also known as Col'ca-cenedril)
stormerki – mysteria
Tveir-Andlit – illusionary skills, Double Face
Velspara-Speki – the Well (of Wisdom)

Elvish Glossary:

skreyppa – slippery one
gargani – snake
fintalenir – trickster
vanwa – defeated one, impolite term for "loser"
caitahto – liar
curunar – fiery one
Lachruth – Flame Fury
Col'ca-cenedril – Box of Mirrors