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. Also F/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.
So, here we go. The chapter with which I struggled with for time immemorial. (That's what it feels like.) Ugh. So done. So done. In other news... Hiddles is doing some really surprising things these days - and the report from Rodney Crowell on Hiddles's massive prep done for "I Saw The Light" is a bit of an encouragement for those, like me, who were worried about this role. At least now we know that he has done his absolute best to prepare. HAAA~!
Also, GOG coming to theatres in China this Friday~! Yes~!
Thanks to... InsolentKatt, Chiharu-Angel, vonhinten, vincent1875, Guest (whoever you are~), Elizabeth, soupcan, wbss21, E-Dantes, zippy zanny! Thanks guys for being such encouragements when I've been a bum of a writer! Kisses!
HEADS UP: Massive author's notes on the bottom of the chapter to address some questions about Loki's sex/gender, magick-related questions and etc. You can also read my replies on TUMBLR (kakashidiot OR distortions-in-time).
OSTS: Assassin's Creed, Shutter Island, The Village.
If you are curious to know what I imagine the singing of the stars to be like, look up Howl's Moving Castle OST and listen to track "Suliman's Magick Square". The first minute and a half.
Remember if you're a Tumblr fan, be sure to add my distortions-in-time Tumblr to your follow list! I posted a side-story up there!
Onward!
Distortions In Time
Chapter 74
The Dark Road: On The Edge II
Somewhere, somewhere a tinny song crackled, stopped and started, creaking its way to the finish as brassy sounds and smoky-voiced girls crooned. It seemed… it seemed to last forever. Always playing, never ending. Perhaps, it was one of the guards' data-pads on loop. Perhaps, it was only in his head, as him mind struggled to focus on the memories which accompanied it. The sounds of girls calling and giggling and laughing and dancers' heels clattering across the plastic sheeted stage, managers shouting instructions, a faraway siren, the whoosh of some giant aircraft passing far overhead, rattling the bottles and tins and containers and fluted glasses. The scent of stale air tinged with hot plastic, sweat and the grey smoke curling upwards and around the crooks and crannies of the entertainment establishment. All of it closed in on him, borne on the wings of the song. The empty songs of the dancing girls and boys who kicked their heels to the stars, but whose eyes had been as Void as the darkness of space.
It was safe here, even here in these memories.
Somewhere, somewhere a tinny song crackled and the girls and boys crooned their vacuous lullabies.
Sometimes, he sang.
[…edging in…]
[…the stars whirl and time moves on…]
[…what time is there…]
[…this is no time…]
[…there is no…]
[…time is running out…]
It began innocuously enough. A small room. A metal table and two chairs seated across from each other. A quiet enough place. A place in which, Loki knew, he was meant to think and meditate and cogitate and contemplate his not so bright future. A place, judging by the scars, the scrapes, the dents and the grime left on the walls, meant to strike fear into the heart of its lone occupants.
Yet, Loki was no stranger to such tactics and so, when he woke seated on a black metal chair and slumped over a table, apparently unbound and more or less unrestricted, he did not react, knowing that there was no doubt cameras watching his every move. Instead, he leaned back, closed his eyes and kept himself still. Pressing down upon him, the air felt dense and heavy, yet it seemed lighter, quite unlike before. The captive of the Chitauri felt a little relieved, now out of the presence of the dark being. Thanos. Just thinking about it made his headache worsen a little.
The headache. It was still there. Still pushing, yet in some ways, retreating, easing. Allowing for him to just sit. To just… be.
When Commander Y'lrk entered, accompanied by a calm-looking pale humanoid with white hair and odd blue eyes, Loki watched them carefully. The Commander took a position behind Loki while the stranger took the seat opposite him, pulling a small datapad out of his dark uniform's inner coat pocket and enlarging it. Watching his interrogator – Loki could tell that right away thanks to the inscrutable expression, the careful, watchful eyes and the insignia on the one piece uniform-suit – the warrior-mage said nothing, instead opting to slowly fold his hands and scrutinize them.
His hands. Had they always been so pale blue and long? And small? They had done so much, achieved so much, inflicted so much…
-fire raining down on an icy wasteland-
Loki wrenched his mind away from the memory and raised his eyes, meeting the other's slightly amused eyes. He is laughing. Already. The captive's gut twisted.
"So, you are part of Commander Y'lrk's taskforce, is that right?
Loki said nothing.
"You have been working… for the Commander for the past five months, give or take a few days." More scrolling. "Hm…" Another long look. "Quite a few places and a fair bit of missions completed, I see. Quite diligent."
Holding his tongue from saying something sarcastic to the effect that his diligence could not be entirely laid at his door thanks to everlasting death threat hanging over his head, Loki waited for the pale man to ask a question.
"Quite a good soldier."
Soldier. Quite a good soldier. A soldier. A soldier who came and took what he wanted. Some of the planets had been empty and retrieval had been easily achieved. Not all of the planets had been uninhabited and not all of the habitants had been willing to give up their hard earned resources. They had killed, they had bombed and shot and cut and brought curses from the heavens down upon the, more often than not, unprepared, uncivilized folk who had stood in their way. His hands were covered in the blood of innocents – and the not so innocent –
-fire raining down on an icy wasteland-
Yes, you are a soldier, a soft voice whispered. A sibilant voice, a familiar one too. What have you done to survive – and what will you do?
"Well," here the data-pad tipped forward, drawing Loki's attention back up from his hands. "The Commander here believes that you are a man of reason, a being who can be reasoned with and knows well enough the position in which he is put. It is simple enough, Kol'la." The pale one smiled then, a quick darting smile with white eyebrows tilting upward in a comforting way. "I am Inquisitor Wen Hun'jyo. You can call me Wen, if you like."
Loki blinked and waited.
"I am certain that you are more than ready to return to your duties with your Commander," Inquisitor Wen continued smoothly.
Smooth. Smooth and quiet, dangerously quiet. He had met men like Wen Hun'jyo before – a client at Poison Paradise, kicked out for nearly strangling a girl, several of the fighters at the Battlehouse… the Dark Elves… even a few mages came to mind, one in particular, a brooding bent figure with calculating eyes, a bent, white-haired man, brooding like a hawk, dark eyes glittering as he stood alone half-cast into shadow. That had been long ago. So long ago. Not as long ago as the others.
Which one had come first? A whisper. A whisper which stirred his memories slowly. His memories slowly rose to the surface. He had thought of this before.
I had thought of this before…
Thought what?
Memories are like Eldar Esaf's stew. Or was it Elder Skyne's?
Eldar Esaf?
-an icy wasteland, a world of grey and blue and white and little other colour-
With a blink, Loki was back in the room, breathing a little quicker, mind awhirl. His red eyes darted around, but there was only Commander Y'lrk. Commander Y'lrk who had moved just a little to his right. And Inquisitor Wen. Not Wen, never just Wen. Inquisitor Wen still sat there, watching him. Always watching.
"We would just like to ascertain, to make doubly sure you are no spy," Inquisitor Wen continued on, without missing a beat. As though the conversation had never stopped, as though they were actually having a conversation. "To ensure that our Lord's plans will continue on smoothly. To ensure that you are, as Commander Y'lrk believes, not attempting to warn anyone of our current plans. If you can answer a few questions, particularly concerning your world of origin, which is not marked down, your species, which appears to be unknown, and your magickal signature, which is… well, rather odd, to say the least, then we will let you go back to your work," Inquisitor Wen smiled again. "We will be able to put this behind all of us, all will be well."
"How does-" Loki paused, closed his eyes as another wave of pain stabbed, unfurled through his head. Inhaling sharply and then exhaling slowly, Loki opened his eyes and met Inquisitor Wen's gaze. "How does knowing anything of this help you understand my allegiances?"
"'Allegiances'," Inquisitor Wen marked something down on his datapad. "Maybe nothing, maybe everything. Our Lord Thanos and our High Command, led by The Other, have little interest in you and your rather… irregular… abilities. It would be easy enough for me to execute you here in this little room as I have been unfortunately forced to do in the past on rare occasions. Still, the Commander likes your work ethic and we have need of mages."
"And if I were to tell you some information, how would you know I speak truly?" asked Loki, curiously.
Inquisitor Wen made another note on his datapad and then set it aside, it's screen going dark.
"We have… ways… of verifying it," he smiled and leaned forward, hands folded on the table between them. Grinning at Loki, Inquisitor Wen asked, "Where do you come from?"
Where do you come from?
You know where, Loki thought darkly.
-an icy wasteland, a world of grey and blue and white and little other colour-
-icy waterfalls falling into the Void-
-giant wolves racing across a vast icy shelf towards the edge of a black-watered lake-
Or maybe… maybe… maybe… maybemaybemaybe… Loki grimaced as the pain blossomed, unfurled, spread throughout his head. Grinding his palms into his eyes, he forced his focus away. Away, away, away, awayawayaway – his voice. Think on his voice. We have ways of verifying it. We have ways. Ways.
Ways.
Vegr.
The mind, the memories can never lie.
Minne kanaldrig lyve.
Hvem er thu?
A line. A rope. It had hung outside the entire night and was now wet with the dew of early morning. Pearlescent beads of water hung along its length, ready to fall at the slightest of movements. A line. A rope. A cobweb. Cobwebs in the mind. Cobwebs which stretched from one side… from one side to another.
Hvem er thu? Loki asked in his common tongue. No response. Gently, he twined around the connection and followed it back, back –
Back, back to its source. Its origins.
Suddenly he was there - in a small room with another table and two Chitauri guards standing at either end and seated in between, a thin, pale sallow being dressed in the standard black and grey baggy, full-body uniform of the army's mages. A thin, sickly-looking being with a familiar long, sloping skull and large dark eyes. Once, his skin had been a healthier bronze-gold colour. Once, they had fought together and ran together. Once, they had considered each other comrades.
Aeto. Half-Breed Aedian and mind-reader.
Aeto. Loki whispered, eyes falling closed, ek lita thu.
He laid a hand on the line, the invisible tethers – and pulled.
Vegr. Vegr vith thu.
[…we are bound together…]
[…we are made of stars…]
[…we come together and like swallows flying through, we leave…]
[…we are one…]
When Loki woke next, he was in a new room, a cell, this time. A cell consisting of familiar grey walls, familiar scrapes and gouges and dents, familiar sensations of cold, a familiar taunting small window allowing the barest glimpse of a black, star-filled sky and purple wisps of nebulae hanging like torn veils. At the sight of the barred window, Loki attempted to jerk to his feet and failed.
That was when he realized that he his hands had been bound above his head in thick metal cuffs, lined with blinking circuitry and magick dampeners. Feet slipping across the grimy floor, Loki tried and failed again to find his footing. For some reason, his legs no longer seemed to work. A spreading numbness.
"It'll hit soon," someone said, voice muffled. "We'll be watching."
Watching.
Loki, twisting about, saw that the wall to the left had a large square smooth section. A one way glass, no doubt impervious to any kind of weaponry or magickal attack. Behind it, Loki guessed, is Wen. Wen and Aeto and a dozen other scientists… waiting to see what their captive will do. What their captive will say. No one has entered in… which means…
He was finding it difficult to breath.
Which means that they wish to extract what they want easily. Which means… drugs. When I am ready, when I am ready, ready… Then he will come. The Inquisitor will come. Ahhh…
The numbness was receding now, yet his body seemed incapable of response to his commands. Pain now began to twist along Loki's nerves, contracting his muscles painfully. Consciousness came and went –
Blink.
What have I said? Have I said anything?
His throat was sore. Have I been screaming? Have I said –
Blink.
Seconds seemed to stretch into hours as odd sensations began to skitter along his body. Who he was, who he had been, who he would be – none of it seemed to matter now. He was nothing, he was alone, he was trapped in a cage, warped by pain and sensation.
Blink.
He was in a barrel of spacer-pedes. Their long hairy legs danced across his skin. No – no – nononono – NO. It was not – it wasn't – it was –
Blink.
Not real. It was not real. Nothing was real. He wasn't real. It was all a lie. All a lie. He just had to say something.
It will be so easy, the voice reassured him, just say a name. You know the name. It is there…
The voice disappeared, smothered by pain.
Blink.
There was no thought. There was only fire. The fire was real. The fire which now burst along his insides, burning up his skin. He was overheating. He was heat. Hanging from his restraints, unresponsive, Loki sweated and panted, red eyes wide and blank, staring down at the floor.
The floor was black and grey with streaks of white where nails had clawed against the metal. No doubt, if he touched it, it would feel like ice. Flames licked around the edges of his vision.
Blink.
Someone was screaming. Why wouldn't they stop?
Blink.
Dark.
-0-0-0-
Loki woke retching. Clutching at the arms suddenly about him, the captive warrior-mage coughed and spluttered as his mostly empty stomach rejected what little remained within and when that was gone, bile. Shaking and plagued with a steadily increasing headache, Loki was unable to pull away from the guards or the masked doctor who hovered over him with various needles and arcane-looking medical instruments.
They did not speak to their captive, nor did he attempt to reason with them, knowing that any objection to his treatment would be ignored anyways. Looking about the bare room, Loki saw no clock nor any window which could give a hint as to the time of day. Chained as he was to the bed, there was no apparent chance for escape and, judging by how badly his hands shook, Loki had a feeling he would not be able to walk more than a few paces.
More talking went on as Loki was forced back onto the hard cot and lumpy pillow offered him. Allowing his eyes to close for a moment, the captive mage listened to their mutterings. His heart was the subject of discussion. It was a close thing, the doctor said – and then stopped as he noticed Loki listening. Nothing more was said.
It was a close thing, Loki's stomach clenched again and he gritted his teeth, riding out another wave of pain as his abdomen cramped again. It was a close thing.
How close? Loki wondered. No… he thought. I do not really wish to know.
When he showed no signs of sleep, another drug was administered and Loki's cramps and headache faded away, as did the stench of vomit and the overwhelming agitation brought on (he had tried to tell himself again and again) by the chemicals of the previous interrogation drug.
It was a close thing.
Darkness edged in like a soft blanket being pulled down over his eyes, edging out the sickly yellow light of the medical room and the dark wavering shadows of his guards. They would still be there when he woke. They would ensure he would wake.
…a close thing…
-0-0-0-
When Loki woke next, he was back in the cell, this time lashed down to a chair with what seemed like an impossible amount of cuffs and loops and chains and straps. For a moment, he stared at them, dazedly, until the hilarity of it sank in. They are afraid of me? Loki smirked then and coughed a dry chuckle. They are afraid of me? Recovering from a near death experience, barely able to fight a kitten and they fear me? What –
The thought died as he raised his head and looked at his interlocutor. The white ghost of a man, a man no more. Inquisitor Wen.
"Sorry about that last round," Wen said conversationally, once again seemingly browsing some uninteresting data on his data-pad. He didn't appear to be very apologetic. "We had no idea the T'chata'ko drug would… wreck such havoc with a system like yours."
Yes, Loki identified the Inquisitor's tone right away. The interest, the curiosity of a scholar, piqued by an anomaly.
"That's what happens though when we continue on a path uninformed," Inquisitor Wen continued, faux regret lacing his voice. "If you had only shared with us your species, this would never have happened. Still, your kind, whatever it is, is quite physically resilient. You are not dead."
"Sorry to disappoint," Loki grinned.
"It speaks! Or should I say… He? She?" Inquisitor Wen smiled then. "You seem to be gifted with a rather different kind of biology compared to some. Although," here, the blue-eyed man's pale lips quirked upward, "not entirely uncommon in a natural state. Definitely more common among shape-shifters. The Skrull, some become interested in such… experimentation. Are you Skrull?"
Blink.
"Are you Skrull?"
Skrull. Green skin and red eyes. He had blue skin and red eyes. Wen had white skin and blue eyes. So much colour. The world blazed with it.
Loki shook his head and laughed.
Blink.
"…Skrull?"
Glo-Glo and the dancing girls. They had been female and soft and curvy and gentle. There were others. Others who had visited him in the dark room. He looked back bleakly at that cowering youngster attempting to hide beneath the tattered sheets allowed him. He had only been a child. He had only been a child.
From that time onward. From that time onward, he had vowed never to be weak. He had shifted. Yes, he had.
Blink.
"…Skrull?"
Mal. Mal had not laughed. Mal had been female – but she had not been soft or gentle. She was lean vigour and clear skies and herbs and heather. She had not laughed at Loki and who he really was. She had only loved.
Blink.
Loki smiled then, a bitter small smile.
"Skrull?" he echoed the Inquisitor mockingly. "No. I am from nowhere –"
Blink.
The world blazed bright, colours flaring. Red lights along the edges of the three machines to his left flickered, hypnotizing pinpoints of flame. Overhead, the humming yellow light blazed bright like the sun and the Inquisitor's flesh took on the aspect of glass.
Blink.
Such colours.
Blink.
"I am from nowhere," Loki said softly. "My name is lost. It is lost to Time. My home is lost to me…"
Blink.
"Where do you come from?" The interrogator's voice seemed to filter through thick glass, slow moving like brown sludge. "What is your home planet?"
Loki's head was filled with color and light and he could hear someone singing – someone singing inside his head. Black and blue lines twisted about his legs and Loki fancied he could see the golden swirls of the spell which held his magick in even now.
Even now. The rejection.
Blink.
The grey flooring of the room gave away and they were soaring through space, whizzing past the stars like meteorites. He could hear the chanting of children – high and clear and warped and so, so alien, yet so comforting. All of his life, he had heard this had he not? The dark voices and the light. Side by side.
"Who are you with? Where do you come from?"
The Inquisitor seemed unmoved by the worlds spiraling about him. Loki, lifting his head, met the pale blue eyes with serenity.
"I am alone, Inquisitor," he whispered. "Did I not just say?"
Red eyes met blue ones. Red eyes filled with the light of stars and unseen wonders reflected crazily back to the blank mirror before them. From the corners of the prisoner's eyes, purple-black tears of blood slowly ran down thin blue cheeks.
Loki was gone.
[…those who are blessed…]
[…those who are cursed…]
[…they, they…]
[…hear the song of the stars, the call of the Void…]
[…a blessing, a curse…]
"Let he who has ears, let him hear,
Let him understand, let him know,
Let him experience, let him live,
Let him see –"
Let he who has ears…
Let him hear,
Let him understand,
Let him know,
Let him experience,
Let him live –
Let him live –
Let him live –
There was a chanting inside his head, a chanting high and shrill like the songs of children twirling around and around and around and around. He could hear them calling to each other, laughing and shouting –
Let him live –
Below him, the music swirled about, forming the back of a mighty ethereal creature coloured in interconnected streams of blue and green and orange and red. In time with the melody and rhythm, it pulsed at times brightly, at other times, darkly. Running his hand along the two-dimensional edges of the music-creature, Loki felt a surge of power and magick. A foreign thing.
Let him live, let him see –
Far in the distance, he could hear the echoes of another time, a monotonous song in the rough voice of an ancient story-teller.
Now, let us hear _ the twice-told tale…
No. It is someone else, he thought, someone familiar. Someone…
…the skies are empty on Jotunheim
…that is what the tales say, yet they are so wrong…
…for there is life even here…
…and beyond…
Beyond. Beyond –
At the thought, Loki was carried off, careening past the stars of the Fen'chi Galaxy until he was teetering off the edge of the suddenly small plate of a galaxy and looking across the inky blackness of the Void. In the distance, he could see the smaller, as yet un-tamed galaxy so called the Mye'hyoi Peyt, the Milky Way according to the humans of Midgard. He looked down.
More galaxies drifted off into different directions – large and small, pinwheel, ellipses and other shapes. Some galaxies were dying, he knew, and some were young babes in comparison. Some were colliding with a neighbouring galaxy; others swanned through the dark of space alone.
And the light of each reached his eyes, spanning the Void, overcoming the vast darkness. Even here, he thought, there is hope… why did I not see it before?
Why did I not see it…
Without warning, the music leapt upward, leapt across and suddenly Loki was surrounded by the bright spheres of the youthful Milky Way.
Falling, falling, until he met the ground. Until he met the hard side of a vehicle and a bright-eyed young maid woke him –
…No. That is not your dream… a soft familiar voice whispered. How long had it been since he heard it – the Heimsrsal?
…That is the life span of another…
He stood on the craggy edge of a steep mountain surrounded by a desert plain, infinitely still with a silence broken only by the occasional rattle of a snake or buzz of a fly or cry of a hawk. The world was brown and yellow and red, hot and sweltering and alien to anything Loki had as yet encountered. Testing the ground, Loki blinked.
"What is this place?"
Loki turned and grimaced at the sight of his old comrade – his no-longer comrade – Aeto.
"You do not know?" He asked, bitterly. "You brought me here."
"Your mind brought us here," Aeto said coolly.
"Your drugs brought my mind here," Loki bit out. "So you work for them?"
"What other choice did I have?"
"Anything… anything but this…"
"That is not a realistic analysis," Aeto finally said. "You know it. What is this place?"
"I have no idea," Loki shrugged. "I have never been here before."
"Then how could you remember it?"
"I know not," Loki snapped. He glanced about and pointed down at a group of yelling, cursing men and barking dogs attempting to divide a large, dusty, foul-smelling, bawling herd of cattle.
"There must be a connection somewhere," Aeto insisted.
A muscular young man with long blond hair caught back in a ponytail, waving a brown, broad-brimmed hat. Blue eyes the colour of a clear sky and hair as light and golden as the sun. Virtually indistinguishable from the rest thanks to the odd tightly fitting blue pants and square-patterned red shirt he wore. Thor.
"Thor?" Aeto echoed Loki's thoughts.
No. There was nothing now between them. They were separated. They were – they were – there was nothing. No. No. No. No. The world shook and tilted as though they stood upon a tray and everything began to slide and shake and peel away until there was nothing but a white world. Skies fuzzed and blurred in black and white squares and static hissed long and low, overwhelming and looming until Aeto's form and voice disappeared, leaving only white.
A white unending world of cold and snow and a dark sky. He was there again, at the Eybjarg Rivers and the Hratath, the Place of a Thousand Falling Waters, facing the Void on the Outer Rim of the Utanheim.
Cold and slick beneath his feet, the rock chilled his bones – but nothing was as awesome as the sight before him. Inspiring, terrifying and profound. The sight of beyond a billion suns, he knew, burning through the Void. And he could hear them: voices calling to voices, spirits to spirits and before his eyes another world of colour opened as a scroll. It was the power of the Realms, the strength of the Heimsrsal chiming in unison. Birthing, growing, fading and dying in an endless cycle of magic and life. He could feel it. In his very bones, bursting outward.
He – the ulfrbarn – he – tried to keep it in, but the power of it could not help but pour out in song.
It was Elska's lullaby?
Sleep, little one,
Rest your eyes
The snow is falling,
The wind carries a song of stars.
Sleep, little one,
Rest.
No. No. It was his own, spun with the instinct of one naturally gifted. And so gifted, they said, and so gifted, they tie themselves ever closer to Yggdrasil's magickal stream of Life – and thereby tap into the dangerous knowledge that may one day tear the soul apart…
Flying now among the stars of white and blue and red and yellow and orange, dazzled by the vast array, the knowledge of all crammed into a short space of seconds, Loki understood. He understood. Whoever he was.
He was singing.
Laugh into the blackness
And sing,
For this is the day we pass onward
And join our hands.
Close your eyes, little one,
And rest.
We are always here, little one,
Sleep.
The soothing lullaby intertwined with another, a softer voice, humming along to the steady clack-clack of a loom. Loki, peering through the soft haze of a nebulae caught a glimpse of a golden wavy hair artistically styled and the smooth curve of a peach-tinted cheek above a high, simple collar. It was Frigga, working at her loom. Her eyes seemed faraway, as though she too had been transported to another world in a dream. Turning, she glanced back – her blue eyes met Loki's and her mouth opened –
"Mother-"
Yet, already she was becoming smaller and the outer wall of Palace blocked her from view as Asgard pulled away, shrinking in the distance – and Loki caught the barest glimpse of the Bifrost, undergoing repairs, at the end of which stood a tiny figure of grey-headed Odin and the darker, taller Heimdall.
Asgard. The land he thought home. His home. Home no more, perhaps. Lost to him…
-lines, draw us together-
-draw us together-
The patter of the lap, hide drums carrying the l'gon's gentle voice upward to the stars, drawing him away with them.
-lines draw us together-
-between past and future-
-between now and then-
-between dark and light-
-between birth and death-
-between, between, between-
"Yet, in all their glory, Innagard, Tower of the Cold Sun and Utangard, Citadel of the Pale Moon, could not compare to the intricate, yet organic beauty of Meerauk, which had been raised out of the very aura of Magick itself, by the First Sages who walked when Time was not counted."
A bird now, he soared across the open white plains of southern Jotunheim, crisscrossed with fields and roads and dotted with prosperous villages and quiet hamlets. Thicker and thicker they gathered until they met the gleaming walls of a pure white city, glowing with the light of the moon and the stars. Meerauk, the ancient city of the Kings.
Tales are many, yet truths are few – even fewer are those accurate tellings one can glean on Meerauk, the ancient city of Jotunheim. It had been a glorious place full of light and magick at a time when the worlds were young and life thrummed through the very particles of space, spawning What Is Seen from What Is Not – the very miracle of creation. Thus, the heart of Jotunheim was born, was carved within the ancient capital of gleaming black stone and ice and orbs of hanging light like Faerie globes and wide streets upon which paraded, upon which passed, Jotunn and many kinds of beasts of burden. The air, the Sages say, were filled with many winged creatures – dark-blue spirited ausa'songr fugl, darting flittermice and bumbling iss'hona'by. Above soared the rjothr'auga haukr and the broad-winged hjarr'veithr, which were fierce enough in their prime to blind a Jotunn – or so they say. Other beasts there were and upon their backs the Jotunn came to Meerauk – on the fabled snjarlang'hvartha and blar'iss hross, and there they lived on the Flat Plains with their glory and arrogance for all of Jotunheim to see.
As he circled overhead, he watched as the civilization slowly faded into the snow, receding into the mists of time until there was only a band of Lesser Kindred, raising great plinths within swirls of blue and silver magicks. Lining them with the stars and suns, they stood there, driven on by need and love and desire and praise of the earth upon which they had been born.
In reverence of the snow, they raised their voices and hands, lined palms upturned to the stars. His feet touched the ground – the calming snow rising up about his ankles. Here he stood now, within the softly glowing henge.
He could – He could…
"Let he who has ears, let him hear,
Let him understand, let him know,
Let him experience, let him live,
Let him see –"
He could hear the youthful voice of the Heimsrsal, clear and bright and unwavering, unhindered. He could catch the syllables of magick rising from the tongues of the ancient sages. He could taste the snow and the fresh winds of the First Times. He could see the colours of magick.
Blue and white and silver swirled now within the air and red eyes wide, Loki watched as the power drew closer, knit together, bound slowly until there was nought but an unassuming, metal-detailed, intricately woven artifact of ice and magick. Immeasurable power, containing the memories of those lost to time, of their magicks, of their love and the power of the Heimsrsal herself.
The Casket of Ancient Winters.
It is so beautiful. He was, he thought, he was crying.
The ancient highway has, for generations, been obscured by snows and the ways are no longer made plain. Yet, the Sages, those tied more deeply to this cold Realm's roots, speak of a broad road which curves to the southern reaches and then disappears in giant ruins and great crevices. These, are, so they tell, are ancient Meerauk. I know the words of witless Giants are rarely heeded, but the Voice of Heimsrsal is sacred and those who hear Her Voice are the Chosen and are held close to her bosom with other secrets. Let he who seeks knowledge, take heed, therefore, that he may sharpen his inner ear to the songs of the Celestial Spheres, that he may sing with the Souls of the Realms and, in so doing, bear the burden of responsibility which all true Mages will bear to the end of Time itself.
Hluti knew, Loki thought, somehow he knew. Knew without knowing, hearing the unheard, seeing the unseen. It is the gift of any close to the heart of the Heimsrsal, those who stand on the Void and see things for what they are… Hluti knew… and so did I. And yet…
And yet…
The scene faded within the moon glow and white sheets drew back and he found himself nestling back into a pile of newly laundered pillows in the small waystation upon which Mal and he had decided to stay. He looked down at the sound of a familiar voice.
"The snow that fell yesteryear has long since melted, Kol'la."
It was Mal. Lithe and lean and with far-seeing eyes belying her years. They had been discussing something more serious than usual, less suitable for the bed, Loki would have thought, yet as the days passed, Mal's frame of mind frequently became more pensive, no doubt matching his own.
"That definitely sounds Phylloxian," Loki had said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close, while pulling up the light sheets now bunched about them. "It reminds me of what my people would say."
"Well," Mal said softly, her fingers running down the side of his ribs absent-mindedly. "We are… Kol'la… perhaps, in the end, we are more connected than we thought, more supported than we hoped, less alone than we dreamed."
"I am less alone with you," Loki had agreed, accepting the kiss which had finalized her rather poetic remark. "And I must say, Mal, you have a silver-tongue of your own, I wager, however hidden it may be."
"Hush," Mal had smiled then, her soft lips meeting his. "Words waste space – and time."
He had said no more for a long time.
Night fell. Time lapsed forward and the shadows shifted upon the ceiling and the walls and moving through the window slats, drifted across the floor and crumpled sheets. He lay there in her arms and listened as he had always done – listened to the dark.
...SOON...
It was waiting. HE was waiting. All this time. He had been there. He had been there. Hehadbeentherehehadbeentherehehadbeenthere… Nononono….
...IT WILL BE MINE...
...YOU ALL SHALL BE MINE...
No.
...AND HERS...
...WE ARE WAITING...
...THE BEAUTIFUL END...
...WAITING...
No. His entire being screamed in denial, yet his words – his only weapons of power had been ripped away from him, swallowed by the darkness and the Void until there was nothing left – only who he was. Who he was.
Who was he…
A soft voice then broke the dark and a white face emerged from the shadows, dark hair one with the night as though it had been clothed in the Void itself. Black eyes as fathomless and empty as a Mithr'aGinnung. Dark lips formed words and a white hand rose. Her garments, as her hair and eyes and lips, were one with the dark, yet her pale skin was lovely beyond compare and Loki's breath caught as a finger rose slowly.
She leaned forward and her hand found his.
"Beloved, child mine, we meet at last," Her voice seemed to vibrate with dark power, a vast emptiness which threatened to overwhelm yet seemed to remain at bay, wrapping about him as though swaddling a child. "This is not your time." Another enigmatic smile. "All of our children have their own ascension and descent, brilliant stars as they are in the tapestry we all weave. Those closest to our hearts, we shelter as we may. Come, beloved mine."
Another pale hand rose to cup his chin, drawing him away. Away from what?
"You stray too far from the Land of Dreams, beloved."
A cold kiss upon his brow.
"Wake now…"
Wake now…
This is the new world laid before you – go forth and partake of those grand adventures that await for you. Yet, at journey's end, return to me.
Return...
We are waiting...
Few return to the Realm of the Cold Suns…
Rise above the Realms
and soar,
for this is the time to stretch your wings
and seek new lands.
Return home, little one,
and rest.
We are waiting here, little one,
come.
He was Loki. He was of Asgard. He was loved.
Many fall into the shadowed land of the Sunken City but few return to the Realm of the Cold Suns.
Loki woke.
[…those who are blessed…]
[…those who are cursed…]
[…they, they…]
[…hold the Cosmos within their hearts, their minds…]
[…hold the stars within their eyes…]
"We nearly lost him," Wen said with his usual understated, dry succinctness, back to the others as he stared through the one-way glass into the empty room before him. "The Fier-Korm was a brilliant failure."
The mostly empty room. There only remained a bed with the captive strapped down onto it yet again, wearing the thin grey-white papery suit of prisoners in sickbay. Watching the prisoner, so called Kol'la, twitch and pull at his restraints as he moved restlessly in his medically induced unconscious state, Aeto felt his face smooth and tighten.
"There is nothing more that you can do," Wen continued after a short moment. His voice, gentle as a bird's rustling wing, seemed more ominously intense than usual. "The question remains as to the next step: another attempt, a different dosage, or perhaps… other risks to consider."
Aeto said nothing.
"You did your best, Aeto," Wen turned then and offered Aeto a pale smile. "His chemistry and brain patterns, as you say, are too difficult to decipher. For now."
"For now," Aeto said. "Unless he is unable to carry the strain, unless he..."
"For now," Wen repeated. "All we need is time. Time is on our side."
"Time… are you not going to board the Primera Second within a few days?" Aeto asked, his bronzed brow wrinkling.
"Yes, and you will be on the Fourth, I hear. Congratulations."
Wen turned back to the window.
"I will take him with me."
Aeto did not ask how Wen was about to do that. He knew better than to ask. Knowledge meant liability. The bronze-skinned Half-Aedian held his tongue and watched Kol'la stir restlessly. Above and around the blue-skinned alien, tubes ran down to the unknown alien's right and left arms, feeding him and cleaning the purple-black blood as best as their technology could.
Kol'la was a strange being, Aeto had learned over the month he had watched his old comrade clawed his way to health, wracked with pain and disorientation, hunger and humiliation. As he had learned on Jela, Kol'la was strong. Kol'la was smart. Kol'la was different. Remembering the fascination and faint flare of interest in Wen's eyes as the Inquisitor had reviewed the full body scans taken during Kol'la's first hospital incarceration, Aeto's gut twisted. Wen had said nothing about the implications of Kol'la's strange physiology combined with the ability to shape-shift. Inter-sexed creatures were not as rare as some would believe, Aeto knew, yet neither were they common. Wen had said nothing. That made it worse.
-Watching Kol'la, Aeto felt his face smooth and tighten.-
He felt sick. No. Aeto reminded himself. You feel nothing. Nothing. He – it – is nothing.
"I will take him with me. There is much to learn from the creature. The bonds upon his magick loosen with time and his powers grow, untrammeled."
"To break the bond would kill him."
"Yes. Which is why I wait."
"The magickal bonds are Asgardian work," Aeto noted again for the tenth time. "Perhaps the Asgardians will come looking for him."
"Hardly," sniffed Wen. "Asgardian criminals are cast off and rarely are rescued by their kind."
Silence followed for a few more minutes. Behind them, various medics pattered to and fro, adding new information as the data updated every few minutes. Without stirring, Wen spoke again.
"He hardly looks Asgardian, does he. No, I fancy this is an creature whom even the Asgardian's hate. He will not be missed, I fancy."
Another pause. Then: "He is perfect. If our contact with the Asgardian traitor fails to go well, perhaps this one will do just as well."
Aeto caught Wen's reflection in the glass, a smile twitched at the edge of the pale Inquisitor's lips.
"He has, after all, nothing to lose. Or we could turn him."
"There is always Level Three," Aeto nodded.
"Yes," Wen smiled then. "There is always Level Three."
-0-0-0-
It was a dance.
Almost a dance, Loki thought, his thoughts wandering idly as the waves of calm and pleasure coursed through his body. He looked up at Wen and smiled as the Inquisitor entered the room for the sixth time – no, he corrected himself – eighth. There were those other two times… but you were laughing too hard to make sense.
Ruby eyes meeting pale blue, Loki allowed a flame of warmth to light his own as his ever-hated interrogator took a seat before him. The serum was coursing through his veins, loosening his tongue. That's what they hope. That's what they always hope. Day after day. Well, if there is day. If there is day on a ship.
He was on a ship. That was what he assumed from the gentle vibration of the deck below his feet. He could feel it. He could always feel it. The lullaby hum of the soothing machinery, softening the ever looming presence of the Void. Not as nice as the Tro'watal. No, not so nice. But almost just as good.
"Feeling better today, are we?" Wen allowed a smile.
Loki shrugged.
"You tell me. You are the man with all the data scans."
"Man?" Wen smiled.
"Ah, well. I assumed as much, judging by…your rather bland demeanor," Loki gestured expansively with one hand, chains clinking.
"You should never judge a datapad by its cover," Wen pointed out mildly. "Take a look at yourself."
"We were talking about you," smirked Loki.
"And now we are speaking of you," Wen continued without a beat. "Have you ever borne children, Kol'la?"
Like tattered rags in the wind, the warmth of the drug slipped through Loki's fingers and his face hardened at the question. Coldly smirking, Loki met Wen's blank expression. Red jewel stones meeting cold, grey wall.
"Look at your data."
-0-0-0-
"The last time didn't go so well now, did it?" Wen said, unperturbedly sitting down.
"When does it ever?" Loki replied evenly.
-0-0-0-
"You must know that this is far from an optimal situation," Wen pointed out mildly one day, watching as the technician administered another injection of the drug.
"For me or for you?"
"Why, for me, of course," Wen replied, his eyebrows rising in amusement. "I hardly wish to wile away my time in this dingy place."
"I am pleased to have that question cleared up," Loki replied sardonically.
-0-0-0-
"Violence is never the answer, you know."
Loki did not turn to look at Wen, he just laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed as his body ached with the pleasure and the enforced calm of the drug. He needed more these days, he thought. He tipped his head back, eyes falling close, his swollen, bruised profile set in stark relief against the white wall.
-0-0-0-
"Last session, you said you had a home."
"I did," Loki smiled amusedly as though remembering a fond memory.
"You did say that or you did have a home?"
"I did," Loki repeated infuriatingly. Then he shrugged, "Why would it matter?"
"Where you come from matters, Kol'la. We can help you."
"You can help me," Loki echoed in a deadpan voice. "Help me do what? You and your… lackeys will hardly set me free now, will they."
"Help you change your mind."
Loki laughed then again.
"My home… my home."
There was so much on the tip of his tongue, but he could not speak of it. Golden Asgard. So far away. So close. So far away. No. He could not speak of it, but he could speak of another home. A forgotten one. He needed to speak of it. It tugged at his lips wishing to be spoken.
He spoke then, led by wandering thoughts, saying everything and, in the end, he hoped, nothing.
-0-0-0-
"Your home is dying – an ice world crumbling away. Is it in a neighbouring galaxy or in Asgard's Realm?"
"You have numbered all the stars in this remote part of the universe?" Loki asked.
"Many." A pause. "Most."
"Your planet is close by?" Loki watched Wen's face. "Or perhaps it is gone as well and you are but one lone survivor of a remnant… No."
"X'ollos is alive and well, I am afraid," Wen smiled then at his captive's impudence. "There are many more of us – all of us devoted this wonderful cause."
"The cause you wish me to embrace," mused Loki thoughtfully. "The cause which seems to offer me no hope…"
"A better life than the one you have now."
"I've had worse," Loki shrugged. "Nothing changes… in the end."
-0-0-0-
"So your leader is a great mage," Loki sighed, rolling his eyes. He chuckled and shook his head, fighting the overwhelming urge to just… laugh. "You do realize that the Commander Y'lrk spoke of this to me before. A great worker of magick who aims to reinvent the universe. Whatever that may entail."
"He brings favour and great hope to the Chitauri and other races of similar opinion," Wen agreed. "Many planets subscribe to his cause."
"And Xollos, I suppose," Loki added.
"Indeed. Xollarians, after all, understand the truth of the matter – that in the end, Life is only able to find its balance in Death. There cannot be one without the other and unless we embrace Death, we cannot experience Life fully."
"This Thanos also embraces Death."
"He woos her."
"He sees Death as a woman?" Loki's dark eyebrow rose. "Interesting."
"You have heard of such beliefs before."
"Of course," Loki replied smoothly. "All self-respecting mages do."
"Even Asgardian cast offs," Wen's lips twitched upward as the jab found its mark and Loki winced.
"Even those."
-0-0-0-
"Sometimes, I can hear him in the night," Loki drawled slowly, head resting on the back of his chair, sharp cheekbone resting on his handcuffed wrist.
"Hear who?"
"Thanos," Loki said softly. "Can you hear it?" He trailed off. "The call..."
"His voice?" Wen added, regretfully. "No."
"You should be so lucky."
"Those who are gifted, hear his Voice," Wen said, his stylus tapping against his datapad's interface softly. "He is a Titan, an ancient spirit of old. You are blessed."
"Blessed," Loki's smile was wry as he pocketed away this new piece of information. "More like cursed."
-0-0-0-
"Your magickal recovery is slowing."
"You do not seem pleased," Loki noted with mild surprise.
"We had hoped you would aid us in reaching our target, our destination," Wen said with a short, put-upon sigh. "Perhaps you could have helped us retrieve the treasure we seek."
"I thought you already had a capable enough ally in Asgard."
"Asgard is never to be trusted," Wen shrugged. "And your potential, I think, is greater."
"Many thanks…" Loki replied sardonically.
A pause. Far away, someone's scream cut off and Wen looked up annoyed. A glance at his subject however showed the captive, Kol'la, to be rather unmoved, lying as he was, head and arms on the table in a rather relaxed state of mind.
"The target is Midgard," Loki finally said, red eyes lifted then catching the flash of surprise crossing Wen's face. "There is something on Midgard, you need."
"A device capable of bending space," Wen said carefully.
"You wished me to manipulate it for you?"
"Well, combined with the might of Thanos, you would harness its power and travel to the other side, activate it and allow us to travel through a rip in time to the other side."
"I see." Pause. "An Infinity Stone then. Only something of that size could achieve such a feat. The Space Stone… the Tesseract. You think it on Midgard. Hmmmm… The Tesseract. Some legends speak of a vast field of energy, others claim it was housed in a white cube. Others say it was an ephemeral ball of light which disappeared at the Dawn of Time and only remains in memory of the Olden Days when the Titans warred. Including your Mad Titan."
Loki turned then and a frown marred his lined forehead.
"A thought comes to me."
"Hmmmm…" Wen glanced over at Loki who sat up now in a half-slouched position, blue skin clashing with the ugly orange-brown suit given the prisoner.
"If your Thanos is so powerful," Loki wondered aloud, "why is he not harnessing the energy of the Tesseract for himself?"
Crack! The blow came out of nowhere, seemingly. Wen's open-handed palm rose and fell again, striking the blue-skinned alien full across the face as second time. For a moment, there was nothing but heavy breathing as the captive prisoner caught his breath, hand rising shakily to brush away the tiny trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his dark lips where his teeth must have cut the inside of his mouth. Wen did not care. Wiping his hand carefully against the side of his dark Inquisitor's uniform, he sat down, a picture of calm.
"Speak nothing of what you obviously do not know, ignorant creature," Wen's voice was colder than the cutting winds of the Utanheim. "Our Lord Thanos broke the ancient bonds which had held him for so long and only through his graciousness has allowed us to partake in his great work. Be grateful, wretch."
A pause. Loki did not meet Wen's hard gaze. The chain clinked softly as he turned back slowly, allowing Wen to see the marks of his handiwork. Tattered ribbons of pleasure, ribbons of peace tugged away from his mind as the pain counteracted the drugs.
"Soon our Lord will show his power. Soon, you will see him wreck his vengeance on his ancient enemies. Soon, you will witness the true might of his power."
Wen's pale hand snaked forward, digging into Loki's long black hair, twisting sharply at the roots, digging into his scalp and forcing him to meet Wen's chill stare. Loki inhaled the pain of it, feeling the fog of well-being ebb away, allowing for him to think clearly for once in a long time. An ugly laugh spilled out of him then.
"Ahhh…" He sighed then, closing his eyes and then slowly opening them with as though filled with ecstasy. "It is soon then, is it?"
Wen's blue eyes widened. He whispered harshly.
"Fool."
"A fool, yes. A witty fool, even more so. A sly one, perhaps…" Loki grin twisted painfully like barbed wire. "Now, Inquisitor Wen, how shall we end this dance?"
-0-0-0
It ended, as he had always guessed it would, in pain. Pain incandescent, glowing and shuddering in electric sparks. Pain exquisite, blazing and flaring in heated flames. Pain acuminous, stinging and spiking in blood-letting needles.
There was no respite, no chance for relief, no words now he could say which would alleviate his affliction. There was only silent hours spent alone, huddled in the cage-like cell, sweating from the intense heat pressing down upon his skin. His grey-white suit, now stained with sweat and blood and grime and other things, clung to him like a second skin. Somewhere, he knew dimly, remembered faintly, somewhere there was a world of comfort and there were friends waiting. He had thought, had clung to desperately.
Yet with each passing day, even the memories of dark, chill, desolate wastelands which had brought some spare comfort faded. There was only oppressive heat. There was only pain.
There was light too. Overpowering and blinding, bringing into painful clarity the dire predicament in which he now found himself and stripping away the comforting cloak of darkness. There was no sleep to be had and when he found short respite in the short turns of the clock allotted him, his dreams were filled with vague whisperings of threats and repetitious denigration stirred and brought to life from the depths of his long memory.
Vaetki. He was nothing, trapped in a fog, in a maze of light, in a blinding void – running. Always running. Always alone.
There was no one else, but him. And he who was nameless lived each second of agony as though each tiny increment of time were themselves a year, visited only by the occasional visitor.
There were visitors. Faceless beings – sometimes he glimpsed distorted grey-green faces with small yellow eyes, Chitauri, or a pale face, some unknown humanoid. Some unknown humanoid or the Xollarian. Inquisitor Wen. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he too had abandoned the nameless captive.
There were visitors and with them came new, renewed forms of pain or humiliation until he only hung limply from his restraints, unresisting. Battered and bruised, the captive barely responded to their blows, his skin already mottled with the patchy black bruising common to his kind. A mute picture of misery. His mind now drifted among the stars.
[…edging in…]
[…the stars whirl and time moves on…]
[…what time is there…]
There was nothing but pain. Nothing but the heat, the light, the dark, the stale air, the constant gnawing hunger and thirst.
There was, somewhere, a tinny song, crackling, stopping and starting as it creaked its way to the finish. Brassy sounds and smoky-voiced girls crooned over and over the same tired melodies, but now there was no voice, no spirit to join them.
There were only memories, the refuge from his hellish world. Memories crowding together, muddled and growing faint.
There was… there was… there was…
[…this is no time…]
[…there is no…]
[…time is running out…]
Then, one day that seemed as similar as the one before and promised nothing different from the one to come, there was…
There was the fresh scent of heather and scrub and clear skies and wet, autumn leaves. Then, there was a luminescent glow, a swirl of blue and silver as spirit recognized spirit. Then, there was the sound of a long drawn sigh, like the music of an arrow on a bow. Then, there was voice, soft yet strong, calling him, reminding him with aching sweetness who he was again.
"Kol'la, love."
[…time is running out…]
[…and yet…]
[…yet…]
[…perhaps, in the end…]
[…we are more connected than we thought…]
[…more supported than we hoped…]
[…less alone than we dreamed…]
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! We're here! I finished the chapter I had been looking forward to. I don't like it half as much as I hoped, but I hope you like it at least half as much as I hope you like it. LOL. AND THE ENDING! I'm interested in seeing what you guys thinking about the ending of this chapter. If anyone foresaw that... if anyone is yucked by it... if anyone is sitting on the edge of their seats...
OK... (tells self to breath)
I hope that I can write the next chapter much more smoothly. It'll be a shorter one. (sorry) But it'll be good. I hope.
AUTHOR REPLIES BELOW GLOSSARY
Let me know what you guys think. If there are any spelling errors or stuff, let me know. XD Concrit always appreciated.
-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
Janah – similar to dammit
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
kolm (sniffer) - a kind of drug like weed
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
Question: Loki is a skilled sorcerer, why doesn't he change his shape into a normal sized Frost Giant?
Answer: Good question. I think it was asked sometime before. The answer depends on what the question is really asking – and what time it is referring to. The basic answer is that Loki wouldn't change himself because…
As a child (when he couldn't shape-shift), he was badly mistreated to the point he began to hate his own race. So, later on, naturally, he wouldn't want to shape-shift into the people he intensely dislikes. (He is not a masochist.)
As an older slave, Loki knows (as we see from the conversation between the Mah'koh'nai slavers) that the Jotunn are difficult to procure and so are much wanted, since the Jotunn are seen a savages and perfect for fighting. To pretend to be a normal Frost Giant outside of Jotunheim is just asking for trouble (from slavers/fighters) or disrespect (neutral folk) or death (certain Elves and Asgardians etc).
As a freed being, Loki didn't return to Jotunheim and become a Frost Giant because the Jotunn community is small and static, which means everyone would figure out he's not who he says he is. (This explains why shape-shifting Skrull aren't able to get into Jotunheim either.) Since Loki was outed to Jotunheim as a magickal being, they'd be suspicious from the start about the strange Frost Giant who showed up one night. Frost Giants aren't nice folks, folks. They aren't the most hospitable, really, because life has taught them to never trust people. Also, another reason why freed!Loki didn't return to Jotunheim and hang out there as a Frost Giant (or even himself) is because life on Jotunheim sucks. You might think ice!Mowgli lifestyle is cool but it's harsh, lonely, depressing and deprived, wolves or no. Jotunheim is not a hospitable place and Loki doesn't wanna be stuck on a dying Realm. Who would? (Yet another reason why other shape-shifting creatures, like the Skrull, aren't trying to infiltrate Jotunheim. Everyone knows it's going down, it's just a matter of time. So sad.)
As a prince of Asgard, Loki's interest in pretending to be a Frost Giant or even admitting to being a runty Frost Giant hits sub-zero. His need for love and affirmation drives him to repudiate who he is. Since Asgard hates the Jotunn… well, simply put, Loki wouldn't wanna take on the form of the Jotunn because Asgard doesn't like it and Asgard is the closest thing he's got to a home. The place holds major attractions for Loki: freedom, education, power, and family (Thor and Frigga).
Question: What exactly motivated Loki to let the Jotunns into the Vault?
Answer: My good friend who also doubles as my super critical and helpful editor is reading DIT, despite not being a Loki fan, because she knows I want to make something of it. One thing she also criticized was that it wasn't super clear why he was doing what he was doing. That's something I'll fix for the fanfic later on (but won't be in the original story of course)… and that is, he's letting the Jotunn in for almost the same reason he let them in (in the Thor film). That is, in the Thor film he was behaving like a spoiled brat wanting to ruin Thor's big day – and he was also concerned about Thor's readiness. My Loki isn't a spoiled brat, necessarily, so I removed the first part and instead focused on the second part (worried about Thor's readiness for the throne). We can see why he set his plans in motions in Chapter 55. I obviously have to beef it up somehow. XD Sorry for it not being clear.
Question: Is Loki intersex here? If yes, it would be nice if you could a bit write about that?
Answer: Yes. Loki is intersexed. As to whether I'll go into it… I don't know. I'm not super keen about writing about genitalia in detail and my Loki, so far, although sexually active, doesn't make it the center of his being, which probably makes him unrealistic as a creature, but I think it's the one area where my own (less active) sexual inclinations kind of shine through. Perhaps something will come up to kind of glancingly discuss it, but I think that his sexuality and how it operates will be more important for the sequel (if I write it) since there will be issues revolving around the need to have offspring for political purposes. So, we'll see…
Question: Is Loki heterosexual? As far as we've seen, he's been attracted only to women, but, given the beautiful ambiguities of Jotunn gender, I'd guess that he might be open to loving men as well.
Answer: Loki is intersexed or something like that – and he's a shapeshifter – so he could go for many species and genders, for sure. However, as a child in the Gothahus and the Poison Paradise, he was raped by a variety of creatures (mostly male), so he's rather wary, I think of those kinds of liaisons. Also, in Asgard, where gender roles are much more defined (I'm not inclined to believe Asgard is as free-thinking as some would like to believe), Loki would only be seen taking women to bed because he is desperate to fit in. Whether he had liaisons with men on the sly isn't mentioned, but that doesn't mean that it didn't happen. I am a big believer in my readers adding stuff mentally to things I write, mainly because I am not interested in writing sex scenes (for practical and personal reasons)(the fact that I had the few encounters I wrote is amazing in and of itself). I'd like to think that this Loki so far has been in survival mode and hasn't had the time to really explore himself. In the sequel, I think he'd be more open about what he is and what he can do and there'll be issues of offspring and such-like, so it is coming. I just feel that it's not one of the themes or issues I wanted to tackle in this book since this book already has a host of obstacles for Loki to overcome.
If anyone wants to fanfic about this fanfic, feel free to write -side- chapters, but just let me know so I can link and double-check disclaimers are in place. Thx.
Question: Is Clint Barton deaf/hearing impaired? Can/Will he be?
Answer: I have nothing against making Clint Barton hearing impaired because I do agree that there's something in the canon of the comics, which I think is cool. However, I dislike Earth-616 a little more intensely each time I revisit the storyline, so I try not to touch too much on it. Also, Clint Barton isn't someone I'm super interested in developing too much as a character in this particular, but who knows? If I do decide to develop him, I'll try to remember to mention something to the effect that he is hearing impaired. If I forget to (it's a bit low on my list of priorities for this fic), let me know again and I'll slip it in appropriately.
I hope this helps~