Recently I took up reading again, which also includes fanfiction. I was reading some well-written HG/SS Potter fic and was slightly shocked by the amount of smut therein. Gosh... I've reverted to my asexual dislike of gratuitous sex. Well, it wasn't gratuitous per se, but I realized something...
You guys are awesome. All of you. You guys have favourited, followed, and reviewed a story that has only offered you half-cocked love affairs and the death of the romantic partner. Not to mention the amount of depressing content, heavy descriptions, and slow build... to... character building and world building.
Thank you guys for supporting this fic with such patience! For waiting for so long for updates! For just being awesome!
Chapter 93
New Paths Carved Out
[…stars flare brightly…]
[…and flicker out…]
[…candles of the cosmos…]
[…and yet…]
Across the Realms and the galaxies found therein, the mystery of death is contemplated by many. On the planet known as Ploor, the indigenous tribes mark the sky with great care and note each star's passing. With each creature's death, they say, a star dies. The end of the universe, when all life is gone, is total darkness. The natives of Xandar similarly believe the universe will collapse upon itself, leaving nothing but remnants of matter unable to coalesce for eternity.
Yet not all embrace the dark; neither do all forsake hope. There is, the Asgardian mages tell, another World, an Endless Realm: the Halls of Valhalla, to which all are welcome who believe. It is a golden land flowing with mead, honey, and the endless riches of the gods. On the ice world of Jotunehim, upon death, one travels to the Eternal Realm of Starlight wherein the ones who have passed before wait with the For-Eldra [1]. A place of joy and hope for the endlessly burdened peoples of the Icy Realm, the Darkness is gentle beneath the embrace of Starlight.
[…for was we know…]
[…for each star's death…]
[…another is born…]
Laufey's words faded. His last syllables died, carried on the stirring wind. The great King's eyes closed as he took his last breath. Farbauti, bent over his life-long mate, wailed openly. Byleistr shed silent tears, and Helblindi half-turned away to quench his grief in private.
Loki did not turn away. There for all to see in his Jotunn form, the Prince of two Realms now stood at Thor's side, stayed by his Asgardian brother's firm grip. Thor could not know that Loki would not have moved anyways. Perhaps he knows, Loki thought disjointedly. Perhaps he understands somehow. The two stood there, frozen – Thor uncertain what to do and Loki uncertain what to feel.
There was only breath. Cold breath and ice and memories. Memories of nothing but darkness and disrespect and disdain. Memories of an abandoned temple. Memories of gossip whispered among the Jotunn of Utgard: tales of great King Laufey and the beloved Royal Family. Memories of Laufey's arrogance and aloofness. Memories of a battle – the holmganga, the Dauthr'ganga. Memories of a victory dimmed by a father's disgust. Memories of an abyss and a quiet revelation: those unreadable eyes suddenly understood.
Those hard red eyes now closed.
Closed forever, Loki thought in a daze. No longer will he rise to meet the dawn, to fight for his people, to scheme, to sneer. No longer will Laufey and I meet in this world. No longer does hope exist for some kind of peace to be found between us. No longer will I be able to ask that question I have always feared to ask: Is there to be eternal enmity between us? Did I imagine what I thought I saw within your eyes…?
A dark voice within him whispered. WHY SHOULD YOU EVEN CARE?
Because… He inhaled sharply. Because…
At the seemingly distant sound of Thor's voice, Loki turned, feeling stiff and numb as though he had been transformed into some metallic automaton.
"Father is making his way over here," Thor was saying. "He will know what to do."
"Yes, of course," Loki meant to say but although his mouth worked, no sound emerged.
"Thor," Odin's calm hard voice drew everyone's attention toward him. "The men are standing down and withdrawing. I need you to oversee the generals as the forces retreat."
To ensure no more conflict ensues, Loki guessed.
"Loki. I need you to remain. We just received word your mother-" Odin paused, his blue-eyed gaze shifted uncertainly to the close group of Jotunn now surrounding the fallen King. "The Queen will be-"
Drowning out his words, a massive fleygja-skip [2] from which streamed mages in a purposeful manner. It was clear they and already taken note of the change in orders – war was over, and rehabilitation must begin. Moving from fallen warrior to fallen Jotun, the mages began to search for the wounded among the ruins and the dead. As the uniform blue and white robes of the apprentices parted, the three men of the Asgardian royal family caught a glimpse of and recognized the golden-haired Queen of Asgard, finally disembarking from the dark vessel.
As she climbed carefully down the rope ladder hanging from the side of the hovering vessel, Frigga glanced about. Her confusion was only momentary as her gaze was drawn to the tableau spread before her. The grieving Jotunn family on top of rubble, surrounded by the dead. Then, as her blue eyes traveled around the market, she seemed to relax at the sight of her two sons and husband, all looking unmarked and well.
"Odin," her voice was lowered in respect as she drew near. "That is not-?"
"It is," Odin remarked briefly. "Unforeseen on my part-"
"On all our parts," Thor's voice was heavy. "I do not know what to think."
"We must act swiftly," the King noted. "Thor, get to the generals. Loki, you should remain with your mother. Frigga, perhaps you can oversee the Mages?"
"I will keep them on task," Frigga laid a hand on Loki's forearm. "Loki-"
Struggling with the desire to draw her into a needy embrace, Loki looked at his mother as if seeing her for the first time. He nodded wordlessly.
"The High Mage and I will handle the Jotunn directly," Odin then turned away abruptly and strode off, barking orders at his personal guard.
Frigga sighed. 'I have a feeling today will be a long one."
"Even the longest days end," Thor pointed out. His accompanying smile, if a bit tight, attempted to lighten the dull mood about them.
"A deep thought," Frigga smiled at her son fondly. Then she added somberly, "You could say that about one's life as well."
Loki shrugged, as he struggled to get a better grasp of the world about him. A world I never really imagined. A world destroyed by a war I had never hoped would come to pass. He frowned and ran his blue hand through his stiff black hair. Brushing off the dusting of light frost and ice which had caught on the long dark strands, his wild curls now freed sprang outward wildly. Loki sighed. I must look a fright. He glanced downward at his scuffed boots and stained clothing. And it will be some time before I will find the time to regain my usual standard of cleanliness. Ah well, he shook his head. It is not as if you have been exactly been at your best for a long time.
"Loki?"
It was Frigga who looked more concerned than Loki liked.
"Well," he said lightly, forcing a small smile, "this day will not end if we do not get to work."
"Good point," Thor agreed and strode off, waving his hammer high and calling any soldiers who lingered to him.
"Your father will ensure your… family will receive proper hospitality," Frigga reassured Loki as the two watched Laufey now being lifted (under the supervision of Mage Hrotha, six mages, and two Jotunn) onto a hastily made pallet. "King Laufey, your father, will receive the respect he is due as well."
"He is not my father," Loki said.
His red eyes glinted as the Jotunn royal family trailed after the body of the fallen King.
"Loki. Odin and I – we never expected you to feel the need to entirely repudiate your-"
"He was my mother," Loki offered Frigga a bitter smile. "That is the closest way to describe Laufey, I suppose. A mother. It is hard to imagine. A poor mother, by the least of standards. Now he is gone. It matters not."
"It matters quite a bit, I think," Frigga corrected her son gently as her hand rose to embrace her adoptive son's thin shoulders. 'And that is… quite all right."
"It really matters not," Loki repeated with a grimace. "A lot has happened today… I am not entirely certain that I have – that any of us has – come to terms with everything. Yet," the Jotun prince gave the area a quick look over, "that will come with time. With time. With thought. All will be well. Things will return to normal."
Frigga squeezed her son's shoulder. Loki's eyebrows rose at the sharp look of disbelief she gave him.
"Mother," he turned then to face her fully and drew her into a quick embrace. "I will be – I will be fine. I assure you."
"Know that I am always here for you, Loki," Frigga returned his hug. "If you need to talk, I am always ready to listen."
"I know," Loki nodded. "Now," he inhaled sharply, allowing his pale skin and green eyes to return. "Where do we start?"
-0-0-0-
The aftermath of a battle is never a simple matter. Warriors energized by the adrenaline of war return to their quarters slowly. War looms as a threat as small squirmishes continue in the slow disengagement of a battle that stretches over multiple fronts. The invaders, seeping back like a slow tide in retreat, find it difficult to turn their back on the victors. With a difficult road upon which to return home, they carry the burden of despair and loss. Much is lost in war on either side.
As the sun set on Asgard's capital city, the Battle of Fe-Kaupstefna (the Battle of the Cattle Market, marked within the 2,552nd year of Odin's reign) ended in a similar fashion.
The more boisterous warriors, chortling over the name they called it among themselves, 'Griss-Kaupstefna Hlokk [3]', finally were rounded up and brought within the first ring of city defenses for the night. Lured by their women and the promise of drink and hot food, many withdrew easily. The few who were more eager to put paid to the enemy were kept under strict surveillance at the behest of Thor.
Once the wounded, Jotunn and Asgardian, had been removed and taken to their respective infirmaries, the Mages (headed by an exhausted Loki and Frigga) were also forced to withdraw as the sky turned a deep gold with the setting of the sun. Most of the bodies had been sorted. In the morning, the Asgardian fallen would be carried in all state to the sea and cast adrift to sail to the stars and Valhalla waiting beyond. That would be after when night had fallen and when fires burned brightest.
The Jotunn were to be dealt with first. Once a peace treaty was swiftly signed (with Helblindi standing in as the unofficial leader of the Realm), guards and borders were set for the night for the mutual safety of both peoples. Odin offered the return of the Casket. The bone of contention between the Realms would finally return home, he promised. Other officials rushed to agree that the return of the Casket was tantamount, but the Jotunn royals merely looked at each other, obviously too tired to consider the matter at hand. With a short nod, Odin gave the High Mage Agaeti a satisfied look.
Upon the sun's rising the following day, a new contingent of better rested peasants, women, Healers, and mages departed to tend to the dead. The stasis and protection spells placed upon the bodies had kept overnight quite well and the work, although unfamiliar to many of them, was easily carried out.
Among the Jotunn and the Asgardians, quiet wailing and sobs rose as each of the dead were discovered and named. Side by side, their tears joined as one, the two peoples saw the pain now mined and shared between them.
This, Loki thought as he passed by the trains of mourning relatives, has brought new perspectives to both peoples. Perhaps… perhaps there is a chance that peace will be found. True peace borne of understanding.
Having managed a quick bath and a new set of clothes (delivered to the house in which he had been stationed for the night), Loki felt more like himself than he had in a long time. No longer was he wearing the baggy uniform of a miner, or the demeaning garb of prisoner, or the armour of a warrior-mage slave, or the simple Midgardian dress (comfortable though it had been). He was back in familiar leathers and cotton, no doubt rescued from his bedroom by his mother – and even better, the world before him promised signs of healing. Already the mages were beginning to aid the lower classes in repairing what could be repaired with simple workings. The warriors had set aside their axes and swords to pick up the shovel, the saw, and the chisel. Loki, heading up three meetings with Mage Hrotha right through lunch, felt rather accomplished. Judging by the work already commencing on the city, no one had remained idle that day.
Even now as he made his way down through the city to the Bifrost where Odin, Frigga, and Thor oversaw the return of the Jotunn to their homeland, he could see the long line of Jotunn bearing their dead within their arms or upon pallets roughly woven from wood and torn fabric. Other lower Jotunn servants and mercenaries, boarding the few remaining ships, made ready to carry the last of the Jotunn supplies to the skies and from thence to the Icy Realm.
As Loki had guessed, the entire process of returning the Jotunn to their land took some time. Not all of their ships were capable of flight thanks to Asgardian saboteurs and missiles – but the Bifrost would more than suffice. However, knowing its destructive power, Heimdall allowed only groups of thirty at a time to travel down to the Innaheim.
Knowing that Laufey would be the last to leave, Loki paused a moment to stop in at small inn and grabbed a few bites to eat. Now that his meetings were done, his stomach began to growl in protest. Taking a seat in a corner of the inn, Loki waited for the buxom maid to come round. Few approached him, he noticed. No doubt the rumours have spread, Loki's fingers curled into a tense fist. The stranger they never trusted has now shown his true colours. As a comely maid with loosely curled, dark brown hair set down a massive bowl of stew before him, Loki's dark eyebrows rose in astonishment. His green eyes, now filled with confusion, met her hazel ones.
"Ah-"
"The prince will have a long day ahead of him, I fancy." She offered him a big smile and a saucy wink. "We will all need as much nourishment as we can get."
"Thank you," Loki managed to get out.
"I will be getting your pint of mead as well in a moment," the maid curtseyed again and rustled off with a rather come-hither swish to her hips.
Loki, finding it rather difficult to focus on the stew at hand, broke the bread accompanying it and started upon his quick combination of breakfast and lunch. There is no way I can finish this all, he lamented. If only I had the stomach of Thor.
Nevertheless, after a pint of mead (he turned down ten offers within his half-hour meal) and most of the bowl of stew, Loki felt well satisfied. Perhaps I have not been eating as well as I ought, the warrior mage conceded. That is all that Thor has been mentioning lately. He glanced at his bony wrists. Being tortured and beaten for months on end and then traveling through space-time in a sarcophagi would of course have great negative impact on one's body. Time and proper rest and food will help. The stew is a good start. Loki, accidentally meeting the quite friendly gaze of the maid, fought down a rising heat to his pale cheekbones. And the barmaid as well.
But I should not be thinking of such matters, he castigated himself. Now is not the time, Loki. There are other matters at hand. Other matters, such as Laufey. Laufey and Jotunheim and the Casket of Ancient Winters.
Just thinking of the Casket filled him with a mixture of awe and unease. It whispered to the Prince, filling him with a kind of spiritual warmth he could not name.
Such power. He wondered what level he would be at. Eno'ko? Certainly. Yet holding the Casket... something greater flowed through me. Eno'ah, undoubtedly. Perhaps at its height... it would be greater? Loki recalled his moment in the Sarcophagi. He had screamed. He had become one with Light - something beyond Light.
…beloved…
…whose star shines…
…eternal…
It is time, Loki thought resolutely, tossing a few coins onto the table, nodding to the maid with a small smile, and exiting the establishment.
[…we say farewell…]
[…but do you not know…]
[…farewell is not forever…]
Laufey was the last on the most splendid bier that could be made overnight. His hands now folded over his breast. His wiry hair combed back to complement his strong jaw and straight line of a nose. His markings, artificially darkened with ink, bore silent witness to the lineage from which he descended.
Ice ghosted around and about the king in graceful spires. Tall, proud Jotunn bore him in silent file. Six Jotunn mages, three on either side, chanted in ancient tongue the lifeless rituals. The words, Loki caught and for a moment his heart stopped at a familiar refrain once spoken long ago.
…all fall into the Starlit Lands…
…but few return to the Realm of the Cold Suns...
No. He thought with a frown. That is not quite right. That was not how it went, I am certain of it. So much knowledge has been lost. So much in Jotunheim has fallen into shadow.
Loki glanced at Farbauti who paced by the head of the bier, gaze fixed on his mate. Behind Helblindi and Byleistr walked, surrounded by Jotunn nobles. There was a pause. Odin and Frigga stepped forward, now standing hand in hand and dressed in their most ceremonial mourning robes (dark velvets, somber cottons, black leathers, and only the barest hint of armour). After a short pause during which a variety of Asgardian bugles resounded round the head of the bridge, Odin gave a short speech.
Loki, turning his head ever so slightly, noticed with pride that almost all of the nobles, warriors, and mages had attempted to attend the ceremony. There was also a surprising amount of respectfully quiet peasants and merchants as well. Laufey would probably never have guessed what his death would achieve, Loki mused. Perhaps this is why he did not fight to the end. Perhaps he saw something of the future as well.
After a short word from Frigga as well, bows were exchanged, upon which the queen passed a sheaf of barley gently bound in leather cording from which dangled runes of immortality and prosperity. The bugles sounded forth again, the last group of Jotunn moved forward and the King began his long journey across the bridge to the Observatory.
As the nobles passed by, Helblindi and Byleistr spoke with one at the head - Lord Aldra, judging by the banner his servant bore. The old Jotunn nodded slowly and the two princes hung back, allowing the others to pass. Then they caught Loki's gaze and drew closer. Thor, catching a look from his father and mother, stepped back, allowing Loki to face the two he had once thought of as brothers. Loki, putting more distance between his Asgardian family and the two Jotunn coming to meet him, moved forward. They met and looked at each other measuringly.
"Smarbrothir," Byleistr began, attempting to look as official as possible. "As Officiator of the Realm of Jotunheim, I speak for my brother, the erstwhile Crown Prince of Jotunheim, on a matter of urgent business."
"Officiator?" Loki blinked. "I mean," he recovered, straightened his back, lifted his chin, and met his brothers' gazes with an imperious one of his own. "Of course. As promised."
His fingers moved gracefully in their familiar arc, pulling at will the Casket forth from its hiding place. Magick swirled about as he clasped it between his palms. Already his fingers were returning to their natural violet-blue. Raising the blue and grey relic upward, he smiled.
"The Casket of Ancient Winters."
"Keep it," Helblindi shook his head. "Bring it with you when you return."
"When I…" Loki's arms fell a little at his older brother's words.
Paying his now darkening complexion no heed, Loki glanced over at Byleistr. The firm look on the scholar's face did not bode well. Surely not…
"Surely not…" Loki fell silent, nonplussed. "You cannot mean…"
"Exactly," Byleistr smiled proudly then. "Your intuition and acuity shines through, even in this dark hour. You understand what we need, Prince Loki, what we request."
"But-"
"We formally request the return of the Casket of Ancient Winters in the hand of the True Heir, the Half-Soul of Jotunheim's Heimsrsal, the Voice of the Stars, and He Who Communes with the For-Eldra. Together with King we call Loki, Jotunheim will be renewed."
Loki's now red eyes were wide. Helblindi tipped his head.
"I fought to take your destiny, Smarbrothir," he said quietly. "With each step I took, I came better to understand the depth of my inadequacies-"
"I am not adequate," Loki interjected.
"-and the Heimsrsal demands it," Helblindi continued on firmly. "I am not my mother's son for nothing. I may not Hear – or See – as you do, but my heart tells me that this is the only way for our land to fully heal."
"Please," Loki turned his head a little to eye Frigga and Odin with a barely masked plea. "Take the Casket and be the king you always wished to be, Helblindi. This is something I cannot possibly succeed at, something I cannot do-"
Helblindi knelt then and placed a hand on Loki's fist which had tightened about the handle of the Casket.
"My ambitions were undermined long ago, and today they are a mere shell of what was." Helblindi replied gravely. "You are my brother and the True Heir. Jotunheim – and I – will bow to no other."
"I am – I am nothing," Loki bit out. "Tradition says – you have no idea what my kind did to Jotunheim long, long ago, and I assure you, it is not a story that ends well."
"We will make a new tradition," Byleistr replied firmly. "If we are to move forward, we must put our back to the past. Certainly there are dangers, but there are dangers to ignoring what is necessary as well. I will take my chances and stand behind you."
"You need not come with us now."
Helblindi gently pushed the Casket back to Loki's chest, resisting the urge to place a hand on Loki's long wiry hair which curled outward down the back of his neck. The younger Jotunn seemed almost paralyzed by the proposition.
"I know this decision is not easy, and the choice is yours."
"The throne of Jotunheim will await your return," added Byleistr.
"Jotunheim cannot afford to be leaderless," Loki pointed out acerbically. "Come to your sense and take the Casket."
"Loki," Helblindi finally withdrew his hand from the Casket and gazed at it sadly. "I am unable to wield it appropriately – and none of our Mages have any connection with the Realm's Spirit. It has been many a year and none have been born with any ability. In our hands, it would be nothing but a weapon. That is not what Jotunheim requires."
"Take your time," Byleistr nodded. "Helblindi will act as Steward and I as Officiator until your return."
Loki with a jerk sent the Casket back to his hiding place and glared up at his two brothers.
"I promise nothing," he said stiffly.
"We understand," Byleistr's soft voice held a note of sadness which caused Loki's eyes to burn and his mouth to form in a thin hard line.
"Will you think on it?" asked Helblindi, rising.
"I will," Loki conceded. "I will think on it. That I can promise."
"We look forward to your answer, Smarbrothir," Helblindi said. "Thank you for your aid."
"I have not done anything yet!"
"Yesterday." Helblindi reminded Loki. "For yesterday."
"I was useless yesterday," Loki muttered and looked away. "In the end… your – your Father died."
"You ended a war," Byleistr folded his hands. "Stop sulking and accept our thanks for that. It is no fault of yours that Helblindi's supporters took such drastic measures."
"You are welcome then," Loki sighed.
"We will be off," Helblindi turned away then. "We look to your coming, Loki."
"Farewell for now, Smarbrothir," Byleistr offered a smile.
With that, the two brothers strode down the Bifrost to the Observatory where the King was now prepared for his journey – tightly encased in ice to protect him during transportation. Loki, watching them leave, sighed. They are gone, he thought, but somehow it is as if they have not truly left.
It seemed to him that the Casket, within its hiding place, flared, called out, and burned. The relic wished to return home and heal its people. Loki mentally cursed his luck. Calling upon his Asgardian disguise, the young prince silently returned to Frigga's side. Frigga took his hand, smiled, drew him alongside her, and wisely said nothing.
"Well, that is over, thank the Norns," Odin smiled. "Better than I expected, if not as well as I had hoped."
"Jotunn politics seem to be rather complicated," Thor said soberly. "A tragedy we could not foresee has bound our Realms closer than ever."
"It is the nature of politics to be complicated," Loki rolled his eyes.
"You never have struggled with politics," Thor admitted. "You were born for complicated maneuverings."
"I am not always successful," Loki had to point out when he noticed a raised eyebrow from Odin.
"No indeed," Odin grunted.
"Everyone makes a mistake or two in their lifetime." Frigga put in, leading her boys back to a waiting fleygja-skip [2]. "Politics are as dangerous as a huntsman's trap. It is no wonder that mistakes in that arena are plenteous."
"That is one way of phrasing it." Odin mounted the small steps offered for easy embarking. "I am certain the Utanheim will disagree."
"Father," Thor winced at Loki's face which fell at the words.
"Loki needs to learn that as a King, his decisions when gone astray have graver impacts than most. As you learned while on Earth, Thor."
"Loki understands that as well-"
"I am not a King," Loki sighed, interrupting Thor's heated rejoinder.
"You were offered a throne today," Odin nodded. "As I guessed would happen eventually."
"As you planned, you mean," Loki bit out. "You knew all along who I was."
"We never intended to push you in any direction," Frigga gave her husband a hard glare.
"If I was not to be King, I was to be Thor's advisor," Loki deflated then. "I know you did not push me. In fact, it felt… it felt nice to be pursued, to be wanted. I felt as though it was not enough, but when you all," here, he gave an exasperated laugh, "adopted me, it was enough. To be an advisor, to be a mage… It was enough. It is enough. I do not need Jotunheim's throne to be Loki."
"No, you do not," Odin slowly said. "Yet, Loki, in my heart, I believe you were born to be King. Thor's intuition is right – you have natural abilities which you undoubtedly gained from your, ah, Sire… and you learn well from your mistakes. Most of the time."
"Whatever your choice, Loki," Frigga smiled, looping her arm around Loki's in a comforting manner, "you are the son of my heart – and gruff Odin is your father."
"And I, your brother," Thor laughed. "If you were king of Jotunheim – what adventures we would have."
"Adventures-" Loki looked at Thor as though the warrior had grown two heads. "You are supposed to be cured of adventures!"
"We can still go out on a quest now and then!"
"Thor-" Loki pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion.
The fleygja-skip now came to a halt in front of another set of stairs in the palace's main courtyard. Thor disembarked first, helped his mother down, waited for Odin to descend and then Loki. Loki, flapping a hand at his brother, stalked off to the garden.
"Loki! Where are you going?" Thor yelled after him, confused. "Hogun and Fandral are waiting at the gates for us!"
Loki yelled something back about needing to think.
"Thor," Odin laid a hand on his son's muscled bicep. "Let him be. He has a lot to consider."
"He needs to relax. He has been on the go since he landed on Midgard," protested Thor.
"On the go?" Frigga blinked at the odd expression.
"Ah," Thor scratched his head.
"Midgardian nonsense," Odin shook his head and made his way to the main hall.
"Have fun and take care," Frigga gave her son a kiss before following her husband inside.
-0-0-0-
The gardens were abandoned and quiet due to the fact that the entire palace staff had been sent out to exert the best of their efforts and expertise on rescuing and rehabilitating the trees and greenery of the city. Loki settled back with a sigh in his favourite thinking spot. It was here that he had mentally written his best treatises on magick. It was here that he found emotional and mental peace after particularly trying quests with Thor. It was here that he had come up with his insane plan to stop Thor's coronation.
Now bright and cheerful, not grey and dreary like the rainy day on which he had last visited it, flowers of blue and purple and red and orange and pink bunched together gaily beneath the spreading sheltering branches of the great oaks and elms. He sat with his back now against the rough bark of his favourite tree and glanced up at the remaining golden dappled sunlight. The sun had moved across the sky. Soon it would set.
Another day ended. So many more to go, Loki thought. So many paths to walk. So many journeys to make. So many decisions to ponder.
He could hear Byleistr's voice resounding in his mind over and over.
We formally request the return of the Casket of Ancient Winters in the hand of the True Heir, the Half-Soul of Jotunheim's Heimsrsal, the Voice of the Stars, and He Who Communes with the For-Eldra. Together with King we call Loki, Jotunheim will be renewed.
And Helbindi's bent knee and humble admission.
With each step I took, I came better to understand the depth of my inadequacies and the Heimsrsal demands it. I am not my mother's son for nothing. I may not Hear – or See – as you do, but my heart tells me that this is the only way for our land to fully heal. My ambitions were undermined long ago, and today they are a mere shell of what was. You are my brother and the True Heir. Jotunheim – and I – will bow to no other.
That brother who had stood with such pride and assurance was now gone. So much has changed, Loki's mind raced through all of the options which now lay before him. Each choice is laden with responsibility and sacrifices and opportunities… Frigga and Odin say they will support me regardless of what I decide. Thor…
He remembered Thor's words.
Altruism is rare thing even for heroes – and you are one, Loki. A different kind of hero, but one nonetheless. You are a good person, Loki.
And another voice. A soft voice with a hint of steel beneath: Mal's voice.
…from such travesty, there is salvation. There is hope.
Loki. That is a beautiful name, a promise of greatness, I think. A mighty worker of Fate.
Loki contemplated the thin pale hands before him. If they were in their Jotun form, they would carry the markings of a King. Yet, somehow I do not feel like one. Perhaps that will come in time too. If it is my Fate to shoulder such a burden, then may I not believe that I was created with the strength to carry it?
Mal saw hope. Thor sees hope. Frigga has carried such hope. Perhaps I may grasp hold of it as well and allow it to carry me forward.
Rising to his feet then, Loki dusted off his pants absently. He contemplated his choices. He could stay underneath the tree until nightfall, or he could join Thor and the others. Or neither, Loki decided. I have not been able to visit my room since my exile. Now would be the perfect time to get settled back in… perhaps have a look at what I was experimenting with last I was at home.
A third option, he mused, as he made his way up the stairs to his out of the way bedroom which overlooked the sea and the city slanting down to the shores and the Bifrost. That is perhaps what I am missing. Perhaps my question of whether to be king or not is limited by my vision of what it means to be King – of what my reign will consist. Perhaps to be king will mean something even more than I imagined.
…Other-Soul…
…so much more…
A third option, whatever that may be.
He opened the door to his room and found that his room was not in the state of abandonment he had imagined. The surfaces of his desk, his bookshelves, his tables and chairs gleamed with recent dusting. His bed was neatly made; his clothes carefully folded within their dressers and chests; his small herbal garden on the balcony still tended. Mother. He smiled fondly. Just as she promised, she waited for my return. How could I have doubted her welcome?
Because you are an idiot, said a voice within him that sounded a lot like Mal.
Loki shook his head, made his way to the balcony and contemplated the city-scape which slowly fell into shadow as the sun sank behind the palace. Before it fell completely into dusk, Loki lit the lamps in the room and a good fire on the hearth.
At a hearty knock on the door, Loki sighed. Thor. I hope he is not too drunk to handle. Opening the door reluctantly, Loki's eyebrows rose. Thor looked a little relaxed, but not overly tipsy. Hm. At the sight of a small metal box in his brother's hands, Loki tipped his head.
"I forgot I had a few things for you," Thor confessed and pushed his way past Loki into the room. "Coulson gave them to me. Here." He opened the box with a small key and retrieved a packet from within. "Your possessions such as they were when they found you in the van explosion on Midgard."
Loki unwrapped the parcel and paused at the sight of the torn, but scrupulously cleaned prison uniform he had worn on the day of his rescue. Wrapped carefully inside the uniform, a plastic bag sat, holding an odd piece of metalwork – a circle with spirals set within. A key. A small box the size of his thumb. When he took off the cap, a familiar slot emerged.
"Some kind of a USB. You would call it a data packet, I suppose." Thor explained. "That is what Coulson told me. They found it in your breast pocket."
"A data packet," Loki frowned. "Did they find what was on it?"
"Nothing but gibberish. That is what he said. Look at the paper."
"Paper…" Loki unfolded the last item – a small square of paper which opened up to reveal a line of flowing script and a set of numbers.
"Can you read it?"
"No. Can you?"
"No," Thor shook his head regretfully. "Those are numbers, are they not?"
"Yes," Loki said. "The Standard Units for counting in most galaxies."
"What do you think they are?"
"If they are what I think they are…" Loki blinked.
"What are they?"
"But why?"
"But why what?" Thor asked, his patience starting to slip away from him. "What is going on, Loki?"
"I think they are coordinates," Loki explained. "Using a very specific notation that I am familiar with – notations used on specifically piloted ships: Phylloxian ships."
"Coordinates for what location?"
"Thor," Loki rolled his eyes. "You can hardly expect me to know. It is not as if I am a star chart database. This will require research and some thought."
"Research." Thor's interest immediately died.
Loki chuckled. "I am glad," he said, "to see that some things have not changed."
"I am glad too," Thor beamed back at his brother. Then he mock frowned. "Hey now, Loki, I could say the same for you!"
"Well, thank you for remembering these," Loki smiled at Thor and set his new treasures aside carefully.
"Thank you for stepping up to the plate."
"Stepping up to the plate?" echoed Loki. "When did I step on a plate?! I saw a lot of rubble in the market place but no-"
"It is an expression," Thor laughed.
"Midgardian," Loki guessed.
"It is a reference to baseball."
"Baseball."
"Baseball," repeated Thor. "A game on Midgard that involves a bat hitting a ball and people running about in circles from plate to plate."
Loki's brow wrinkled as he imagined humans flinging about flying rodents to hit balls (somehow) and the kitchenware must be -
"Wait," he said incredulity rising. "You cannot tell me that the humans actually play these kinds of nonsensical games. I am not believing that, Thor."
"It is not nonsensical! It is a very serious game. As serious as football or basketball!"
"I do not – I do not want to know…" Loki paused. "Where do they put the kitchenware?"
"Kitchenware?" Thor asked, confused.
"The plates."
"Ohhh…" Thor snorted. "They do not use plates as in… Oh dear. Look, this is how it goes –"
With that, the two brothers sat before the fire, shared a bottle of Loki's hidden stash of Vanaheim ale, and entered a serious discussion about the mysteries of Midgardian culture.
Well, some humour and some talking - and more setting out for plot I might approach in a sequel. I hope you guys enjoyed~ If you did, let me know. Kisses!
p.s. I am posting Distortions in Time: Book 1 on Wattpad as well as Inkitt. These were substantively edited (not proofread). If anyone wants to become a proofreader (punctuation and grammar) for Distortions in Time, let me know.
[1] Ancestors
[2] Flying skiff
[3] Clash of the Pig Market