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.
Thank you guys for reading - and thanks to those few who were encouraging after the last chapter... Thanks to: zippy zany, acidburned, InsolentKatt.
So there was little response to the last chapter, so either a) it was too terrible for words, b) people haven't read it because... Thor, c) it was just... meh. Or folks are busy (like me). Or something... But yeah, I was encouraged to go for the Thor chapters... so I did... and... there you go. I hope it did work for folks in the end.
Anyways, we're on better turf now with our fav character demystifying a bunch of stuff hopefully, but not everything because otherwise, plot would just be dull.
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 69
Loki: The Low Road IV
[...ancient glory...]
[...rising from...]
"Meerauk." Loki repeated the word again as though saying it again would make sense of what rose up before his eyes, as though the words above the lintel would rearrange themselves into something more believable, as though all of his suspicions could so easily be laid to rest in the dark and dust along with the dead culture which he now explored. For several moments, he stood there, looking up, his red eyes tracing the familiar sigils of the ancient Jotunn tongue now before him.
I have seen this before, he thought. I have heard this before. In the halls of my... of the Jotunn, in the King's Archives and in Meerauk itself. Miot'vithr. The Voices of the Elder... the dream-vision of the l'gon...
"Meerauk."
The ancient name did not seem to fit the place, however. For this is not Meerauk, Loki reminded himself as he moved onward, now even more careful than ever as he peered through the shadows and the various shafts of light, attempting to gain a better grasp of what lay before him. Not as old, he noted, not as decayed. Not destroyed, nor sunken. No, Loki thought, remembering his dream-vision of a city built within the mountains of Vlozh'noi. Not as ancient, yet still old enough by most standards.
Crunching across bits of gravel and raising small clouds of dust beneath his boots, Loki continued down the long hall, taking note of the various doors which opened up to other hallways or narrow passages now steeped in darkness or other rooms. The doors were iron and wood and creaked open in protest as he peered into a few. His initial explorations revealed nothing, merely a long hall with ten doors on either side.
Yet, another more detailed analysis of the hall brought various facts to Loki's attention. The carvings and the stonework were intricate and well-balanced with symbols and patterns very similar to that of the Lesser Kindred's work in Meerauk. This is a homage to the past, he guessed, perhaps a picture of what they had lost. If this was not made during some ancient foray into other Realms long ago. No. His long blue fingers ran over a waist-height band of stone which twisted and angled about in a geometric serpentine kind of way. It ended with the head of a large, familiar carved water-dragon. Iormungand, no doubt. So, this was after Meerauk. After Meerauk's fall...
The Ghost Kingdom Below, Nesta called it. Ghost Kingdom indeed.
Even more odd was the size of the doors. They were built with the Lesser Kindred in mind – more fitted for Aesir and similarly tall races and less for the Giants usually associated with Jotunheim. In such a grand place with such soaring ceilings, Loki felt as though the doors ought to be bigger, and yet they had been cut for a different folk. A people I would hardly be able to imagine, he admitted to himself, if I was not of their kind myself.
He continued down the increasingly dark hall and, opening yet another door slowly, peered down and paused at a glimmer of golden yellow further down a narrow dark passage. A flickering light, neither blue-white nor still, which spoke of fire and warmth. Some being or creature had remained in the ruins?
Slipping around the door's edge, Loki loosened the small dagger which he had strapped to his belt for additional security and made his way forward, attempting to make as little sound as possible. Passing more arched doorways, Loki forged carefully onward until he drew close to the rectangular shaft of light which shone from the wood and iron door cracked open in a welcoming fashion. Edging it open further, Loki peered in and then froze at the sight. For a second, his heart skipped a beat with the shock of it – and then he frowned and mentally chastised himself for, considering his surroundings, the being within the room belonged in this version of Meerauk quite fittingly.
It was a Jotun. A Lesser Kindred, seated in a intricately carved iron and wood-worked chair before an equally ancient desk, scrawling careful runes into the thick tome which lay before him. A Lesser Kindred with skin as fair blue as Loki's own and with dark lines speaking of a different ancestry yet looking comfortably familiar. Dark hair was pulled back from the ridged forehead with small braids which held back longer tresses falling down the Jotun's back. Dressed in simple black and grey and blue, the Jotun wore a tunic with leather leggings which were tucked neatly into light leather boots. Familiar clothing as well. Loki wondered whether the larger Jotunn had considered the Lesser Kindred weaker because of their penchant for wearing layered clothing. Over the back of the chair, Loki noted that the Jotun also had laid down a grey and blackjacket.
An awkward pause ensued as Loki eyed the sight before him. The Jotun and the rows of bookshelves about him and the piles of paper and bristling stacks of quills and other writing implements as well as the grouped ink-pots and stained rags which littered various tables at the corners of the rooms. Only the faint crackle of the fire broke the silence of the scribe's room and even then, Loki wondered, if I drew near – would there be any heat to those flames? Or is this all but a phantom's dream?
The scribe looked up. Red eyes met and Loki found himself lifting his chin at the silent challenge in other Jotun's eyes.
"Well met, stranger," said the Jotun after a slight pause, his dark lips quirking upward and his eyes softened, releasing Loki from his unrelenting stare. "Many fall to the shadowed lands of Nyr-Meerauklag but few return to the Realm of the Cold Suns."
Loki stilled at the phrase.
Many fall into the shadowed land of the Sunken City but few return to the Realm of the Cold Suns. Miot'vithr had said the same thing in Meerauk. So this is but a ghost?
"I have heard this before," Loki said slowly, edging forward into the room even further.
"What place was that, friend?"
"Meerauk," Loki tilted his head. "An ancient city now lying in ruins."
"An ancient greeting from a time of darkness. The time of the Mal'a'Hlad and after. A greeting between those hunted for no fault but that of their abilities and their ancestral heritage."
"Miot'vithr spoke of such a time."
"The Miot'vithr?" The Jotun smiled. "You have spoken with the Head Sage of Meerauk, then? "Miot'vithr is the title of Sage?"
"Another long forgotten tradition, yes," the scribe nodded. "Indeed, I am surprised to hear you found one. So, the Sages still reside there?"
"If phantasms can be said to reside in any place," Loki replied bitterly remembering the conversation he had had with the not-Elska, "if it was truly the Head Sage himself and not another... thing... wearing his face, then, yes." He frowned again.
"Indeed. Yet I say to you," the scribe leaned back then, "what is life and what is death and what are the spaces between? Perhaps the delineation between such phases of existence are not as clear as you would believe. Perhaps there is truth to be had from such... phantasms."
"He spoke of much – of his ancestors' experiences, of tales passed down from Sage to Sage, of the twins so named Loki and Loka."
Loki moved forward to pull a chair out for himself, removing the ancient brittle scripts piled on top. Several crumbled at his touch and he hastily placed them on the table and watched a few more crackle and fall apart before his eyes. The damage had been done. It was unsettling to watch the disintegration, surrounded as it was by the warmth of the crackling fire, the familiar musty smell of books and the scribe's company. An unquiet juxtaposition, a sharp reminder, yet again, that this could all be yet another dream.
"Loki and Loka." A pause, then the scribe said slowly, "now those are names I have not heard in a long, long time." He glanced over at Loki sharply. "You sought those names? Why?"
"I was named Loki at the time of my adoption," the exiled prince replied evenly, deciding to leave Asgard out of the discussion. Things are complicated enough without Inter-Realm politics added. "My adopted, ah, parents, apparently knew of my... heritage."
"I see." Then: "Why have you then sought out Nyr-Meer?"
"This is Nyr-Meer?"
"Yes," nodded the scribe. "The Meerauk rebuilt after the destruction." A pause ensued and then he added, voice harsh. "And the Mal'a'Hlad, the Purge."
"The purges are barely mentioned in the Archives," Loki mused. "I assume during that time the Lesser Kindred of Jotunheim were cast out of the Realm?"
"Indeed. Many forcefully thrown off the Eybjarg itself and any 'runtlings' as they were called afterwards were also cast off until the development of such abilities for verifying one's children were adequate by the Greater Kindred's standards - while still in the womb."
"And if they did not meet the expectation of growth, then-"
"Yes, then they were removed. It was considered kinder and more merciful, as tales were forgotten and the reasons for such traditions were lost to time itself. Perhaps, in a way, they were right. Many of the Lesser Kindred struggled to survive the harsh world of early Jotunheim and many lacked the intelligence or physical abilities to achieve even the most basic functions necessary for independent living."
"Physical and mental disabilities," Loki mused.
"Yes. More of than not, that was the case. However, not all of the Lesser Kindred were so cursed. Some were blessed with superior intelligence and greater magickal abilities than most," the scribe nodded. "Loki and Loka were two such Jotun and lead their people to greatness – and doom. After their deaths, many fell to the Other Realms, to planets such as this, to the planet they so named Nyr'Fjor, for the new life they were promised. It was also called the Blue World, because of the brightness of the sky as compared to the dark ice world of Jotunheim. Phylloxia some called it, and so we were called the Phylloxians. Under this guise, many of our people travelled through the Realm, travelling to the distant galaxies in hopes of blazing a trail to our home world, in hopes of returning to Jotunheim, in hopes of the return of a king who would bring our homeless peoples back to where they truly belonged."
"But your people no longer live on this world – and now it belongs to the Noradians," Loki said slowly. "They hunted the Lesser Kind and enslaved them?"
"Indeed, until we had no recourse but to stand our ground or flee and hide. In the end, many fled and those who remained behind..." The scribe sighed then. "Their ghosts remain restless – trapped here in a world far from the Elder. They need their King to call them home."
"And the others who fled?"
"They have hidden, I suppose, even to this day," the scribe shrugged. "I do not know, but I can guess. The Miot'vithr was a Jotunn who remained at Meerauk to the end, I was a Jotunn who remained here until its end... and those who live, walk within the skin of others, I would guess. Hidden in plain sight. Everywhere, perhaps. Or, perhaps, nowhere."
Loki leaned forward to stare into the fire, sharp chin propped up on his knuckles and mused on the revelation so calmly declared by the stranger. Those who live... Those who live...
There are others.
"I notice your refer to our Kind as being not of your own."
The exiled Prince blinked and smiled then, sharply, showing his white teeth wolfishly, revealing the hard bitterness behind his eyes for a moment.
"I grew up amongst the hatred of our kind. I grew up as nothing, treated as nothing and expecting nothing from the Jotunn. I did not grow up as Jotunn – and with time came only an increasing realization that my heritage will only bring doom and ill-fortune to those whom I now call family. To the Realm in which I wish to gain most respect. How can I be expected to call such people – the ghosts of the past, the enemies of the present, and the anonymous people I only learned of today – as my kind?"
"And yet they are," was the infuriatingly calm reply.
"Miot'vithr and the one who called himself Elska said Jotunheim had need of a King who would heal its lands."
"They speak true. I, Sagora, the Chief Scribe of Nyr-Meer's Council, also bear witness to the prophecies which foretell of a King who will sit within Jotunheim's High Seat and, taking the office of King, will heal its land with the power of the Heimsrsal and the Elder and the Casket of Ancient Winters. The lines upon your brow and your hands speak to your position and the promise it holds."
"The lines lie," Loki said, forcing his hands to remain where they were. "There is no promise within these hands nor in this heart. There is only destruction for Jotunheim."
Finishing what my ancestors started... all those ages ago. I suppose, in the end, I am more like them than even Mother and Father know... the matter and dust disturbed by the energy field moved lazily in a circle. Soon, he thought, the Mouth of the Void, the Muthr'a'Ginnung, it will form. It will devour all, for it is always hungry...
For a second, he thought he could hear it – the shrieking wails of the Heimsrsal, the rumble of feet running away from the collapsing cliff faces of the Eybjarg, the cry of dying Jotunn – and Loki staggered back, gasping as he shut his eyes to the terror before him. Terror from which he could not turn away.
[...this is the land which sunk into darkness...]
[...this is the past which was forgotten...]
[...this is the truth now well-hidden...]
[...this is the power which flows unrestrained...]
[...this is the hope which waits for the taking...]
"There was only death for Jotunheim," Loki replied in a whisper. "I attempted to destroy it with my own hands. There was no feud between brothers, no kind of heroism – only a matter of... pragmatics, as it were. I wished to prove myself as an able protector of my home, my family. Yet, in the end, that was not the answer."
Loki glanced sharply over at the scribe who had set aside his quill and now sat, attention fully on Loki. He grinned again and glanced down at the floor, battling with the familiar, rising feelings of shame and self-hatred. Feelings I promised myself to never feel again... and yet here I am.
"How could I have thought it was the answer?"
"This is the cause of conflict, this is the burden of those gifted – to see the temptation of What Could Be and not to grasp so hastily, for such a path leads to darkness and in the grasping, they lose it all." Sagora smiled sadly and added, "Sometimes, young Loki, we see only what we wish to see. Perhaps the arm of destruction you aimed at Jotunheim was in truth aimed at your own self."
Setting his jaw and forcing his eyes wide, Loki glared into the fire, half turning away from the discerning eyes of the scribe, of Sagora. He would not cry. He would not cry. By the Norns, he would not shed a tear over his decisions which he had vowed he would never regret. Yet, here I am, Loki thought, regretting them, realizing...
"I was sent back to make things right," Loki said, finally. "Odin All-Father sent me back. It has not gone so well – I was tossed off the Eybjarg. Part of me hopes that that was effort enough, and yet part of me knows that it was not. Part of me wishes to let Jotunheim die in the dark, yet another part of me tells me my path must lead there. It seems as though all paths lead to Jotunheim."
"For the one so destined."
"My mother called - called me Loki," the prince's voice quavered a little. "I lived up to the name, would you not say?"
"Loki was not a name of one who walked in shadow," Sagora said softly. "It was a name of knowledge and peace and wisdom. A name that may be renewed, redeemed."
"Perhaps..." Loki said slowly, "perhaps there is a way to redeem my people and my name and my heritage."
"There is always a way," Sagora agreed. "There is always a way for one whose heart holds hope."
"Hope?" Loki smirked a little mockingly, red eyes glittering.
"What else do we have if not hope?" asked the scribe.
"Sense? Reason? Pragmatism?"
"Ahhh... Yes. In this way, you remind me of the tales about him. The Tales of Loki. He was more rational, they say, than his younger twin. And more cunning. A trickster, you know," chuckled the other Jotun. "Still, if it is your duty to return, return you must. Perhaps it will not be such a burden to you. Remember that your Kind wait for your return, not only for their own benefit, but also they wait in hopes of supporting you. If you stand above the others and shine brightly, you will be as the Nord-Stjarna and guide them home."
"I hardly think I am material for a King," grunted Loki, "but I will do my best to heal the scar I laid upon the land. At the very least, that is what I must do."
"Hmmmm..." Sagora pursed his lips but did not press on the matter any further. His clear red eyes met Loki's again and he smiled. "I have high hopes for you, young Loki. Jotunheim is in safe hands."
"Ha ha ha." Loki deadpanned. "Only a desperate Realm would think that – but I suppose Jotunheim is desperate enough..."
"Desperation?" Sagora mused. "It is true that Jotunheim withers, but there are other darker things stirring which bode ill for all the Realms if it is not stemmed. The Shadows hide a great evil and if all the Realms cannot find some kind of unity, they will fall one by one to the Void and those who inhabit it. Beware, young one, of the Void. Beware of the shadow which lurks within the dark. It seeks to devour all. It is ever hungry."
"I have heard it," Loki shivered, remembering the nightmares he had survived within the small closet in the Gothahus and the dark, sibilant whispers he had heard from that time onward. "I have heard it in Jotunheim – in the dark watches of the night. It calls out. It calls to me..."
"It calls to all who will hear," Sagora corrected the prince. "It calls to those burdened with ability, with destiny, with responsibility. Some may attempt to hide from it, to bury the silence and the shadow within noise and light, but it is there, ever lurking."
"Even more important then, I suppose, to at least have Jotunheim standing on two legs firmly if there is a war to come," Loki sighed grimly, recognizing that, yet again, Sagora had made another point.
"Indeed."
For a while, the two said nothing. At some point, the fire blurred and faded into dark as Loki's eyelids drooped and the lone explorer fell asleep. When he woke, the room was dim and pale light shone through three tall, thin windows on the far end of the room, showing that somewhere, the sun was up. Loki, checking his datapad, discovered it was already morning on the following day. Stretching he rose to his feet and looked about.
The grey and shadowed room was empty. There was no fire in the grate and, peering in, there was no sign of fire having been there recently. The piles of paper lay as they had before with the exception of the book which sat, closed, on the desk. Everything lay under a thick coat of dust which had not been in evidence the night before.
Loki shivered. More ghosts.
Still, as he carefully opened the large tome, his heart felt warmth. As he read the words, he recognized the Jotun whom he had met earlier. Sagora. The worn pages opened naturally to his fingers and carefully, touching only the fragile edges of leather and paper, he found himself perusing the careful notes and journals of the scribe, now long faded.
An entry somewhere in the middle gave him pause. It is, he realized, the same entry Sagora had been working on the night previous. Detailing a hard day's work mining some kind of metal in the northern edges of the mountains, Sagora seemed to be musing on local trading relationships and the effects the influx of Skrull might have on the Noradian empire. Then, there was a break in his train of thought.
Tonight, a visitor entered my offices. An odd Jotun, bearing the lines of the Kings. However, judging by his equipment, visage, speech and aura of magicks, I suspect this Jotun is neither a new arrival from Jotunheim, nor is he from the further colonies, nor is he from our planet. I do not recognize him – and since the movements of the King of Jotunheim is well documented by those who have remained within that Realm – I gather he is not from this time either. A Lesser Kin born of the King would be news worth mentioning.
No. This Jotun, this so named Loki, is from a time that is yet to come. He is young and bitter and knows not the way and I know those slight shoulders bear a great burden only a few can imagine. Still, I hold hope and will encourage my brothers to look out and search for and welcome He Who Bears the Lines of Loki's Kin. His destiny is great and his quest is honourable, despite the ambivalence of his heart. What encouragement I wished to give him. How I wished to take him into my arms as a mother would a beloved child. However, that is not my place. That place, I think, is for another.
So, he has fallen asleep. When he wakes, I believe I shall be gone. I consider my words. What could I have said else? What words would ease his way?
I do not know.
I do not know.
I can only hope.
[...this is the land which sunk into darkness...]
[...this is the past which was forgotten...]
[...this is the truth now well-hidden...]
In the end, Loki left everything behind him. The papers and the books and the journals and scrolls. He left it behind, knowing that he would return. It was an unspoken promise. He would return. It was a gamble. I will return.
I will return. One day.
After another day of exploration, Loki returned to his hover-craft and made his slow way back to the closest small town and then on the day after that, the exiled prince travelled back to Nesta's hometown. He now knew what he had to do – earn some money and find passage to the Fen'chi Galaxy, from which he could jump to the Jotunheim Realm if he was lucky. Once there, he would find his way to Jotunheim easily enough.
And once in Jotunheim, Loki sighed, I can but try again. And again.
With that dread thought, Loki felt unexpectedly relieved. There was something about knowing one was going to one's doom that felt releasing. Somehow, it feels right, he thought. It seems right – and it is, after all, what... Father wishes.
When Loki arrived at Nesta's farm, toting his baggage and feeling more bone-weary than ever, he stopped, paused at the sight of the welcoming golden light within and considered what had happened to him over the weeks past. It seemed unbelievable. He had interfered with his brother's coronation, he had been party to an accidental renewal of war, he had attempted to protect his new homeland – and failed, he had been exiled as a result of his misguided actions and now had a long road ahead of him. A long road which had resulted in the revelation of not only the truth about his kind – but also the truth about himself.
I regret.
-0-0-0-
Two months of farm work passed on V'slozh'noi for Loki. Two months of planting and watering passed. Two months of ploughing and fertilizing. Two months of weeding and trimming. Two months of uninterrupted peace. Two months of small town gossip and the usual communal conflicts revolving around land disputes and bad bargaining. Loki found himself enjoying Vlozh'noi in some ways, finding the positive along with the negative as he had learned how to do from an early age.
Every night, he looked up toward the clear night sky and counted the stars and wondered if Thor was still among them, wondered if Heimdall saw what he was up to, wondered if Odin and Frigga were worried at all (most certainly Frigga), wondered if Mal missed him.
Mal did not return. Word arrived that Mal had some business in the Fen'chi Galaxy which she had had to pursue and Loki could not help but remember her words on the unrest between the Skrull and the Chitauri. The Void, maybe? He could not help but wonder and worry over it. Or perhaps it is nothing and you are just jumping at shadows, Loki chastised himself.
Still, he kept his ears and eyes open for any rumours on the Shadow or the Void or any news of war or conflicts between the Chitauri and other beings. When a gruff, older Noradian captain, newly arrived from a nearby mining planet announced he was going onward to the Fen'chi galaxy by way of a few planets and star systems, Loki knew his time had come.
Bidding farewell to Nesta and his family was difficult, but in the end, Loki did not look back. His time had come. V'slozh'noi was behind, the road ahead and with it many lands and Realms – and Jotunheim.
[...Jotunheim is waiting...]
[...it is waiting...]
[...for hope...]
[...the hope which waits for the taking...]
Well, I'm working on the next chapter now. I hope I can get on it - at least one more chapter before "giving of exams" week. I really love writing the Loki chapters, so I'll write 2 more and then do the last Thor chapter. Yep, just to wrap up Thor and prep him for when Loki arrives... (but how does Loki arrive? dun dun dun) (it's not gonna be like Avengers, I promise you!)
Let me know what you guys thought!
-KI
Alien Glossary:
'auzha – fucker
bollen - boulders/monoliths
chi'iano – a radioactive piece of rock similar to uranium
cho'ai - lover
Dou'ma – idiot
Eno'Keshi'ko – the system of Eno, a type of magical level measurements
Fen'chi Galaxy – Andromeda Galaxy
gan'ga'war – steel balls
gan'ko – ganka'jya chon, a steel beetle
iz'kyr – a kind of frozen stone powder which is used as a narcotic for some species
Ka'autha'ndarna - Reality
kalo – a kind of purple-red fruit, similar to a pomegranate or dragonfruit
Kholathan – Safety Belt/Protected Zone
kol-sava'atha – a titanium-rich ore
kon'bi – short for konji'bifu, space bat
lasu – space rat
l'gon – storyteller
Morning-star - a mace
myech'myena - shape-shifting
Mye'hyoi Peyt – Milky Way
n'ch'nka – a kind of cow
Nord-Stjarna – north star
Nyr'Fjor - Jotunn's original name for V'slozh'noi
oma'auzha – mother-effer
oto'oa - big sister
pu'lotni – plutonium
pye'nee - a kind of bird
Ra'ska'yeh o Phyllo'xia – Tales of Phylloxia
roobyn – a red stone
r'senk'ne – a kind of deer/cow hybrid
Shen'grid – the Protected Zone, the zone in which habitable planets orbit around a sun
Shi'nuwu – Reality/Yggdrasil
sigan – short for yan'sigan, rock-worm
So'shah – Earth/Midgard
syem'fyerma – family/community farm
Tai'shu – The Void
tro'watal – perseverance
udji'oo – a drug, like opium
whota – wheat