A/N: A few things to clear up any confusion that my integration of Norse myth may have caused. (I am very new to the myths and still learning as I go =P)
Sleipnir is indeed Loki's son. If this seems bizarre, then plug Svadilfari into a search engine. It won't make it any less bizarre but at least it'll make sense in context. ;)
Secondly, I've started referring to the major city of Asgard by its actual name, Gladsheim, rather than just Asgard. That is consistent with the myths.
Lastly, I took major creative liberties with the appearance of Hel and of Helheim's architecture. Hel's characteristics are taken from a variety of sources: Azula from Avatar (for her voice), Monster High (for her attire), and Rasputin (for her darker ambitions). Helheim is inspired by the Court of Miracles, only covered by a deep freeze.
Okay, enough of that. On with the chapter, in which Loki has finally met his match.
Physical pain was nothing new to Loki. The many colorful experiences of his life had made him grow accustomed to it. He had no choice, really, when growing up beside a pair of very expressive fists that reacted mercilessly to each and every trick played upon their wielder, or when defending himself against onslaughts of foes on countless battlefields. Being a prisoner of a barbaric alien race would also build one's pain threshold, as would a one-on-one encounter with Midgard's Hulk. And let's not forget what giving birth to an eight-legged horse can do to a body.
Yes, physical stresses and throbbing aches typically came hand-in-hand with the Trickster Prince's plots, such as the kinks and bruises he was feeling now as he peeled his body from the iced-caulked cobblestone and rose to stand on wobbly legs. He took it all in stride like he always did. What Loki couldn't stomach, however, was the gelatinous bile clinging to his body from head to toe, permeating his fine leathers with an ungodly odor and slicking his hair even more than normal to the back of his neck. He refused to believe such a foul substance could have come from the digestive track of something born of his own body. Jormungand must have received the heaviest dose of dark magic during his conception in order to have mutated Loki's genes so extremely.
Loki shook some slime from his hands, resigning himself to accept the price one must pay for a free, living passage into Helheim, and hoped the realm had the courtesy to offer him a bath.
He cast his glance around the frozen courtyard which the monstrous serpent had deposited him in. The architecture was reminiscent of French Baroque, masterful craftsmanship (for mortals at least) rich with carved embellishments and roof peaks that reached heavenly heights. A false symbol of hope perhaps for a realm populated by the damned? It was quite an impressive setting, especially since the eaves were weighted with deadly-sharp icicles, and the mortar holding all the masonry together was also ice. The interwoven translucency of the design was a rather brilliant choice. The integration of ice allowed what little light the realm received to bleed into the nooks and crannies through warped refraction. Hel always had a flare for style, something she no-doubt inherited from her father.
The façade of Helheim changed frequently, based on its Queen's ever-changing interests and moods, but there were always elements that remained static, or so Loki had read about. In all his travels, he had never actually been here before, solely because an Aesir's trip here was typically one-way.
Fortunately he wasn't a typical Aesir.
The unchanging elements of this cursed realm were laid out above and all around the misty court. Bordering the cobblestone streets were a couple of steaming rivers, the heat from their boiling waters in perpetual combat with the neighboring ice, therefore creating the permanent layer of fog that hovered just off the ground. The both flowed from one source, the central spring, which pulled its heat from the unforgiving lava core of Muspelheim.
Loki knew if he followed the rivers to their source, he would find his daughter's throne. However, he would follow the rivers a safe distance away from their flesh-searing steam. Just because he had a high tolerance for pain, didn't mean he intentionally sought it out.
Another familiar landmark was one of primordial and eternal nature: the very roots of Yggdrasil which snaked along the cave-like ceiling of this peculiar realm. Helheim knew not the expanse of sky and the heavens the way other realms did. It only knew enclosure, darkness, and subzero temperatures. It was lit dimly by the flickering of flame, borrowed from Muspelhiem to offer the bare minimum of visibility without melting the ice. The Great Tree's roots were the only sign that the realm even existed beyond the tortuous memories of those life-starved souls who resided here.
The entire realm had always been widely open to speculation. It was the final resting place of all Aesir, Vanir, and a few select humans, who died of natural causes rather than valiantly at the hand of another's blade, martyrdom the ultimate act of nobility. But one had to wonder why illness and old age were undeserving of a rewarded afterlife. Was it truly a mark of poor character if one stricken by disease or lameness abstained from the front lines? Loki had always felt the system of judging the afterlife was highly biased and flawed, and once he was crowned King, that would be something to change.
He may even dare to open the gates of Valhalla to deserving giants and elves, not only for the sake of himself but for anyone worthy of an afterlife rich in culture and expansion of the mind. Segregation would only ever breed ignorance. Why not grant a broader variety of humans passage as well? Loki had met a few deserving ones recently. That archer he enchanted, Hawkeye, was a indeed a worthy soul. There was also that Stark character, a foe Loki was still trying to wrap his mind around. That man alone could provide years of entertainment in the afterlife.
Loki refocused his thoughts as he passed under an archway, entering a tunnel that led to the royal court. His mind needed to be on his daughter. He could see the colors in the distance, of what looked like liberally draped tapestries and gold-embroidered banners. Hel was really taking full advantage of her title of Queen as far as decorating went. He would expect no less of her.
She was the least cursed of his offspring with Angrboda: the only one to maintain a bipedal form despite her fetal exposure to dark magic, and the only one Odin actually bestowed some mercy on. Granted, an eternity in the realm of the dead is still exile but at least she was able to succeed its former monarch. Odin had always claimed that was his intent for her, as if Loki should have been grateful or something. Never mind that she was only a toddler when torn away from her home with her mother in the Asgardian wilds, to be subjected to this place! And why? Because that one-eyed, short-sighted tyrant took one look at her diseased, skeletal legs and assumed the worst, warning she was compromised by dark magic and her disease would spread to the Aesir if she was left in their realm.
She was only a little girl.
Loki bristled as he continued down the tunnel, picking up his pace. The sooner he could strike this deal, the closer he would be to taking what was rightfully his from that slumbering, wash-up of a king, and undoing all of his blunders. It was an insult to Asgard to keep him on the throne after Mother's death. She was the only reason Asgard wasn't a war-torn wasteland like Svartaflheim. She had been the ever-present calm to his tempest of bloodlust, cruelty, and prideful decrees.
Even Thor would make a better king than a widowed old fool.
Loki's boiling thoughts carried him to the final archway, and he hesitated before stepping into the court. He had to collect himself. He hadn't seen Hel since she was barely taller than his knees, gazing up at him with curious and suspicious eyes. It had been her crowing day and Odin allowed her a day away from her exile to celebrate and visit her father. There were no feasts held in her honor, though, no long list of invited nobles to pay homage to their outcast princess. It had only been a party of four who were present when Loki placed the delicate silver crown upon her raven hair and pressed a bittersweet kiss upon her forehead. The other two attendees were Mother, of course, and Thor, surprisingly. That was one action Loki could always credit Thor for.
It has been over a decade since that crowning day. Hel would be a young woman now, just slightly older than Ollerus. Loki had watched her grow over the years, his magic creating temporary windows to her world. She had flare for ruling, or at least no shame in bossing around her underlings. Her slaves were the Nybling dwarves, the only living beings in Helheim beside its Queen. But alive did not mean free. It was their duty to serve Hel, a punishment for letting their gold lust overtake their common senses.
Speaking of the little wretches, there were some of them now, emerging from the shadows of Hel's royal court. Loki's presence must have alerted them and about of dozen of their pale hairless bodies were now upon him, circling around his legs, sniffing and poking at him. The were pathetic beings, standing no taller than Loki's waist, garbed in threadbare loincloths and stripped of their prided beards. Loki would have mistaken them for goblins if he didn't know any better. If their very existence didn't discourage regular dwarves from falling into the addiction of gold lust, then Loki didn't know what could. These were the lowliest of lowly creatures.
And they kept touching him! Yanking at his clothing, pulling and shoving him toward the center of the court. Loki couldn't see through the dense mist where they were leading him, but he knew what was going on. They were guiding him to his daughter. He did not fight them.
"What in the me are you doing here?" came a silky and impish alto through the thinning mist.
Finally the throne came into view. It was constructed of ornately woven ice and bones, and perched upon a platform that sat just in front of the great spring which parented the two rivers. Steam rose in great billows from behind the throne, strangely not melting its ice. The Nyblings forced Loki to kneel, for upon the throne sat their queen.
Loki studied her appearance curiously as she beheld him with a narrowing eye. Her skin was as white as ever, which always baffled him since she should, by the laws of nature, wear the blue of the Jotnar. Loki could only assume Odin's masking spell upon his own skin had an effect on her genes. She wore the color very beautifully though. It was the perfect contrast to their shared raven hair, which she had styled in a 'punk rock' fashion. It was long in the front, covering half of her face, but cut short in the back. She certainly did favor Midgard as a style reference.
"Why did you interrupt Jojo from sailor-haunting duty?" she asked with a hint of whining.
'Jojo.' She must mean Jormungand, her brother. The two had stayed close over the years, which was fortunate for Loki. Otherwise he would've had to devise another, probably more difficult (albeit cleaner), means of passage here.
"That's my favorite thing to watch these days," Hel mused, tilting her head to glance upward. Hanging just above the throne were several viewing screens, constructed of magic and very reminiscent of the command consoles in Stark Tower and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s helicarrier. Their function was the same as simple windows to other worlds yet she designed them to look like tech from Midgard. Quite the creative one she was.
"You look well," Loki offered, rising to his feet now that the Nyblings had scattered. "Happy even."
Hel gave him the elevator eye, her expression unreadable. Upon her head was the crown he had placed there years ago, but it had grown, embellished with the skeletons of animals carved and assembled to look like giant snowflakes, the original silver woven in artfully. It was brilliant in beauty and design, and a far cry in style from what she was trying to play off as a royal gown. It looked like someone had raided Queen Victoria's closet with India ink and scissors. 'Gothic Lolita', Loki recalled, was the name given to the look. Humans did love to bastardize perfectly good art forms and redefine them with silly postmodern labels.
"You look gross." Hel crinkled her nose. "And you reek horridly." She then fanned the air around. "By Surtr, Jojo should see a healer about that."
"Tell me about it." Loki lifted his arms to put the extent of his grossness on display.
Hel cringed, tearing her gaze away. She then snapped her bony fingers and a small heard of her underlings came crawling out of the shadows. "Clean him up," she ordered.
The Nyblings surrounded Loki again, this time climbing onto each others shoulders in order to give their stubby little hands access to more of him. They started undoing the buckles of his jerkin and yanked off his cloak. Loki was going along with it, knowing it was ultimately leading to a cleaner state of being, until one of them went for the buckles on his breeches.
"Do you mind!" he protested, twisting his hips away from their reach.
"They really don't," Hel countered with an entertained smile. She snapped again and gestured something to a couple of the Nyblings. They hobbled off and returned quickly with a purple and gold tapestry, which they held up to shield Hel's eyes from her soon-to-be-indecent father.
The Nyblings made short work of Loki's breeches, then boots, then socks, then undergarments. The air of Helheim was cold, even on his skin, which he could feel was bluing from exposure. This was so humiliating, not at all what he had intended when wishing for a bath. He could only close his eyes an suffer through it though, hoping Hel had some cleaning spell that would make the process go quicker.
She didn't, for all of a sudden, Loki's body was blasted by an onslaught of river water. Steaming, boiling river water, transported by Hel's magic. He hollered and clenched his fists, the blue of his skin scalded away and replaced with a rare pink. He hadn't seen it that way since he was a child, when Mother's air-headed handmaidens would draw his bath too hot. Fortunately, the burn was only superficial, something his body could quickly repair. He was just going to assume Hel knew that about him rather than suspect she intended to cleanse him with third degree burns. He glanced at her over the top of the shielding tapestry, noticing that she had shifted to sit sideways on the throne, seeming entertained by all of this, her cursed legs dangling over the arm rest.
Hel's legs were the stark evidence of her curse. A horrific sight by Asgardian standards. The last time he had seen her, they were merely discolored and skinnier than normal, as if frost bitten. She had worn a long gown to hide them from the Aesir on her crowing day. But now they were worse. The skin had completely rotted off in spots, exposing fully the bones beneath. What remained of her skin was a nightmarish texture, haggard, blotchy browns and deep reds with bulging purple veins. Oddly she made no effort to cover them besides a couple pieces of fishnet stockings. She wasn't even wearing shoes, although he really couldn't blame her for that. Only one foot still had flesh on it. The other was fully skeletal. He imagined the feel of raw bone on leather would be an unpleasant one. Still, the option of a longer, more concealing skirt was always viable.
"Isn't your skirt a little on the short side?" Loki said as the Nyblings wiped the last of the water from his body.
Hel didn't answer, just tilted her head to look upon her skirt with pride, running her hands over its ruffles. Her legs dangled freely down the side of the throne. Loki had to admit that despite his distaste for this particular fad of hers, he was pleased to see her so carefree, so comfortable in herself.
The Nyblings began wrapping the tapestry around him, much to his indignation. They created a toga of sorts then scampered off to avoid a very deserved wrath. Loki must have looked utterly ridiculous. He would almost rather be back in the slimed-caked stink of his leathers then be dressed like a primitive Greek.
Hel burst into laughter. "You look like you're going to a frat party!"
Loki sneered and turned his back to her, re-tying the tapestry into a simple, long wrap skirt. It was the least offensive style he could come up with. Frost Giants wore armored skirts into battle. He would just sport the look of a Jotunn...vacationing in the islands.
Hel's voice slide down from its cackling into something conversational. "You still haven't told me why you're here."
Loki turned to face her again, ringing his hair out before it froze, and attempting to reclaim his dignity. "I need your help."
Hel scoffed out a giggle. "So much faith you put in the loyalty of your neglected children."
Loki took a deep, calming breath. He had a feeling this was going to be a battle. "It was not neglect on my part that separated us."
"Right," Hel drew the word out. "One more thing to blame Daddy Odin for."
"He is not my father!" Loki blurted, instantly regretting it. He couldn't let her get to him so quickly.
Hel crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. "And you are not mine."
Ouch. That was a first. Loki felt a genuine hurt in those words, an emotion he could always use to his advantage. "You've let yourself become poisoned by your mother's bitterness."
Hel rolled her eyes. "Oh, you mean the truth? How you used her for her mastery of magic? How you fucked her and seeded her with your corruption."
"My corruption?" Loki was aghast. "She was steeped in dark magic. Chained to it like an addict. It was her mishandling that laid the curse upon you and your siblings."
"Wrong, wrong, wrong!" Hel balled her firsts and thumped her feet in alternation against the throne. "You are so deluded and dumb."
Loki blinked in surprise. He had been called many things in his life, deluded one of them for sure, but never did anyone dare call him dumb.
"It wasn't Mother's magic alone that cursed us," Hel continued. "It was yours. Or Odin's, or...whatever it is that conceals your true nature. Don't you see?" Her voice took on a pleading tone. "Between the cocktail of magic, and your own staunch belief that you were an Aesir, our poor little embryos didn't stand a chance of normalcy with all those...twisted illusions infused into us."
Loki felt something turn in his gut. He had often wondered if his mistaken identity had played a role in the cursed conceptions, but he never wanted to analyze it thoroughly. Probably out of fear he'd learn something he didn't want to know; something else that could be tacked on the long list of how Odin's deception destroyed his legacy.
"You cannot solely blame me for the misfortune upon our family," Loki said, his tone lingering between pride and pity. "Your mother played a part. Not all of my children are cursed."
"You don't think an eight-legged horse is unusual?" Hel raised her brow.
"I'm not talking about Sleipnir." Loki held his ground. "And I would hardly call him cursed. The speed of his doubled legs made him fit for a king."
A veil of sadness fell over Hel's features. "Yes. We all know how wonderful our half-brothers are."
Loki winced. "That's not what I meant."
"No please," said Hel, "tell me all about your pretty little Valkyrie boy with his blond hair and perfect life. He came out smelling like a rose didn't he, despite being convinced he was a bastard." She began laughing. "Boy, that's some honorable dame you ditched Mother for. She doesn't even know how to tell a proper lie."
"Hela." Loki closed his eyes, calling upon his patience. "I will not play these games. Are you going to help me or not?"
"Why should I help you?" she snapped. "I am the last person besides Mother that you should ever expect to help you win back the heart of that, barbarian woman."
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. "That is not why I am here."
"Then spit it out already," Hel ordered. "Let's hear your infamous silver tongue in action."
Loki collected himself, working the kink out of his neck. He had forgotten how difficult Hel could be. "I would like your assistance in staging my...heroic return to the living world." The silver speech came in the form of truth this time, often a reliable tactic in furthering his plans. "I need Asgard to believe I went to the underworld by mistake. That I should've gone to Valhalla since I was slain by Malekith's henchman in the midst of saving my brother. And that is why I was given life again, because you, my loving daughter, took pity on me."
Hel's single eyelid fluttered, probably in disbelief. She then exploded with the most irritating assault of shrill cackling that Loki had ever heard. He cringed at her in response.
"I haven't seen," Hel managed between gut-grabbing laughs, "or heard from you in years and you come to me asking for a resurrection? Like its no big deal to break the number one rule of my queendom."
"It is not a resurrection," Loki stated. "I am not dead."
"You don't know that." Hel's face was split by a wide, cockeyed smile.
Loki made to argue but was silenced by an encroaching fear. The implication of her words muted him with a regrettable oversight. He lifted his arms into view, noting his skin was as naturally blue as it could be. Death would indeed break Odin's spell. He brought his hands to face, feeling for anything unusual, then worked his way down to his chest and arms.
"How do you know you survived the journey through Jojo's bowels?" Hel added playfully. "No one else ever survives it."
"He said he wouldn't hurt me," Loki whispered, in shock, feeling an unwelcome chill course through his veins. He sank to his knees, defeated, dropping his head. How could let himself get killed? That was never part of the plan.
"I can't believe you took him at his word. Or hiss, or whatever." Hel prattled on gleefully. "You. The God of Lies, trusted a snake born of your very own insincere flesh and blood."
Loki could only sit, hunched over, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched tight enough to puncture his palms. When he spoke, each word was a hurdle. "I hadn't realized Jormungand despised me as much as you do."
There was a pause. For once, Hel didn't have some witty comeback in a holster. Loki was grateful. He needed the silence to figure out how he was going to get himself out of this mess. He only ever faked death, and avoided it. He's never had to combat it.
"I can't," Hel finally spoke. She was laughing again. "I can't do it anymore." Loki knitted his brow and lifted a baffled gaze to her. "Get off your knees you sad sack of gullible, I was only joking. Jojo idolizes you. He has ever since you terrorized Midgard. He would never kill you."
Loki beheld her with disbelief, his body overcome with a contrary mix of heated rage and cooling relief. Of humiliating embarrassment and redemptive joy. Emotions he had never felt in conjunction before, and why? Because he just got Loki'd. In way that made his anger and his pride join together in a beautiful waltz. If it were anyone else that pulled this on him, they would be struck dead in an instant, but because it was his very own cunning daughter, he nearly found himself laughing along with her.
"So," Hel spoke with a promising 'let's make a deal' tone. "You think if I eject you from here, in a spectacular way that only I can do, your people will be tickled by my performance and thrilled to see their martyred prince returned to them?"
Loki nodded as he rose to his feet, approving very much of the images conjured in his mind.
"And then what?" Hel continued. "They'll throw you big parties with balloons and karaoke?"
Loki smiled. "Something along those lines, yes."
Hel drummed her fingertips on the armrest while her mind worked. "What's in it for me?"
That was the inevitable question, which Loki absolutely had an answer for. "With my people no longer my enemy, and with Asgard's throne within my reach, I will be in a position to access three of the six infinity stones." Again, he offered her nothing but the truth. "With that power, I can spare you this fate. Give you a normal life."
Hel blinked, unimpressed. "What is a normal life? Feasting? Fucking? Whiling the days away in boredom while awaiting the inevitable. I'll only end up right back in here. Although, going out with a bang in battle doesn't sound so bad. I always wondered what Valhalla was like. Do you know if it has a cable?"
Loki frowned. That was the second time she used vulgar Midgardian speech. Had she no class? "Watch your mouth, young lady."
"Spare me." Hel rolled her eyes. "Of both your lectures and your pity. I don't want your help, nor do I need it."
"You must want something." Loki's voice found an edge. "Everyone always does."
Hel smiled, in a conniving way that told Loki she knew exactly what she wanted. "You're right," she said darkly. "Only what I want is not for myself." Now she had Loki's undivided attention. "I want Mother's dignity restored. And I want it in the form of revenge. Her revenge."
Loki chewed the proposition over in his mind. It was one he hadn't expected but certainly one he could work with. "You wish her to slay me?" He'd like to see her try.
"Hardly." Hel chirped. "As if you deserve admittance to Valhalla."
"Then what?" Loki was at a loss.
"I want Mother to have the honor of delivering to me your shield maiden. Conquered by the tip of a poisoned dart."
Sif. Of course, they wanted Sif. What was the saying? Hell hath no fury like woman scorned? Or in this case, Hel hath no fury like her jealous mother.
"Very well," Loki responded with no trace of emotion. This wasn't the first time he bartered the life of someone close to him. And it's not like he bound himself to his deals anyway. "Angrboda can have her petty squabble if it wins me my redemption."
Hel shook her head in pity. "Well, at least you consistently betray the mothers of your children for the sake of your ambitions. I would hate to see you break character."
Loki winced. "Enough already. Let's get on with this."
Hel was only half right. This time around he wouldn't bring suffering upon his lover. Sif would pose a formidable challenge to however Angrboda chose to come at her, and Loki would like to see her even try to take on Sif's sharp senses and deadly swordplay. He could only hope the witch wouldn't get herself killed in the process, for the sake of their children. Yes, Angrboda was demented by dark magic and apparently riddled with jealousy, but she was still mother to his offspring, and he did not wish for her to die by Sif's blade, regardless of how honorable a death that would be.
Hel swung her legs off the armrest and rose from her throne with a satisfied air. "Prepare yourself, Loki of ASSgard, for to escape the bonds of my realm you must suffer the tortures of death and the unnatural strain of resurrection." There was a glint in Hel's eye that bothered Loki. "Your body will be stripped, beaten and burned. If want your people to believe you died, you must look the part."
Loki should have expected this much. "I will do whatever is necessary," he said with a lifted chin and feigned calm.
Hel stepped down from her throne's platform and closed the distance between them. "You had better hope you have friends in Asgard," she poked his bare chest with a sharp finger, "for when I release your body back to that realm, it will only stay alive for a matter of hours if not given the proper care." She then circled behind him, tracing his Jotunn markings with that same finger. Her touch produced a very unwelcome chill. "And if your beloved Aesir do not come through for you," she continued, "then I will take you back and we can have a good ol' family reunion." She circled back around to face him. "For all of eternity."
"How sentimental of you." Loki smiled. The little imp would never have him. Family or not, he was no one's prisoner. "One question before we begin." Hel lifted her brow in intrigue while Loki steeled himself. This wasn't an easy question. "If I had truly died on the barrens of Svartaflheim, slain as the martyr they say I am, would I have been claimed by the Valkyries?"
Hel broke out in that awful cackling again, only this time she really made a show of it, throwing her head back then doubling over on herself, arms wrapped around her stomach.
Loki took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "Okay. I get it. The answer is no."
He didn't have time to get upset about it before Hel flipped herself upright again, totally composed. "I actually have no clue if they would or not. I'm Queen of Helheim, remember? Not Valkyrieheim or Valhallaheim..."
Loki held his hand up to silence her, his patience at an all time low. He couldn't remember anyone he had ever met that tested him to this extreme.
"Valhalla is for the Aesir and Vanir anyway." Hel didn't stay quiet for long. "You're a frost giant. When you die, you'll either end up here or go to...Jotun-halla. Most likely here."
Loki shook his head, regretting he ever brought up the subject of his afterlife with her. She was still a mere child. "Will you stop making up ridiculous place names? You sound like an idiot when you do that."
"So," Hel scratched her head, easily riding along with his change of subject, and sparing no sarcasm. "You're implying I'm not an idiot, yet you chose to convey that message by calling me one." She then plastered her face with a fake smile. "Thanks for the compliment, Dad. You always make me feel so special."
"Hela," Loki pleaded, placing his hands on her shoulders. He was at his wits end. "Enough with the games. Can we please get on with the plan?"
Hel frowned, beholding her father's very intent gaze with one of disappointment, even sadness. "Fine," was her clipped response. "I understand. You're in a hurry to leave, just when I was starting to have some fun with you. You come to me only because you need my help. You have no interest in spending time with me."
Loki felt his heart pang at that. She had truly mastered the guilt trip. "That is not true." And neither was what he just said. He had only come here for her help. Spending quality time with Hel was never an option he considered, not while she resided in the afterlife. There was only so much he could do for his family.
Hel pulled herself from his touch, one shoulder at a time. She saw straight through the lie. "You do realize that in order to fool your precious Aesir in believing you died, you need to look the part?"
Loki nodded, hesitantly, wondering why she was repeating herself.
"Good," she said, mood lightening. She then snapped her fingers in the air and immediately the padding of several pairs of dwarven feet could be heard around them.
Loki looked over his shoulder to see what they were up to, catching in his peripheral vision the moment just before several Nyblings thrust a spear-sized icicle into his back and out through his chest. He made a choked sound, the shock of their action seizing his body more than the actual pain did. He fell to one knee, reaching a shaking hand to the glassy barb sticking out of his chest.
Hel stepped up to him, lifting his chin with a single digit so their eyes met. "By your brother's account, you should have a pretty severe scar on your chest and back." She then winked.
"You wretched little bitch!" Loki spat, fighting each wave of pain with gritted teeth and angry growls.
"Ha! Now who's being vulgar?" Hel spun gleefully away from him, gesturing more commands to her subordinates. Loki's eyes widened at that, realizing this was only the start of the process. She wasn't joking when she said she'd bring him near death. He breathed deeply, knowing he had to be prepared for the next round. Using all the strength he could muster, he began conjuring a heating spell, his intent to melt the icicle spear and cauterize his wound.
But he wasn't quick enough. The Nyblings came at him with buckets of scalding water, searing his arms and chest and making short work of melting away the impaling spear. The combination of boiling and freezing water on his wound was mind numbing. He fell to other knee, then down to his hands.
Blood drained onto the cobblestones, his blood, spilling from his chest. He knew the wound was not lethal to his body, but it was still debilitating. He couldn't move, couldn't conjure, couldn't even plot a defensive action. All he could do was endure the next round of attack. Then the next, and the one after. It all blurred together after a while, to the point where he couldn't even tell what kind of weapons they were using to slash and sear his flesh. The only constant throughout the entire barrage was that Hel hadn't lifted a single finger against him. She merely stood back and conducted it all.
Loki finally let himself fall completely into a bloodied heap, but he didn't allow his consciousness to leave him. He wanted to remain aware of the entire process, in case Hel tried to pull anything. He could barely make out her cadaverous feet moving toward him. He then heard the rustle of her ruffles as she knelt down.
"Now," she offered in the most civil tone yet, "you look like a martyr."
It was over, by the grace of Yggdrasil, the torture was completed. The pain came in waves still, most of which he weathered but some of which induced tears. Loki had to admit he was impressed. The wrath his daughter had orchestrated could rival even what the Chitauri had subjected him too. That was information he would stow away for future use indeed.
He pushed a smile across his scalded cheeks and peeked up at her from behind a splay of wet, bloodied hair. "I suppose a thank you is in order?"
"Nah, don't bother." She made a dismissal gesture, as if he was actually going to thank her. "You won't be feeling so grateful when I take back my tapestry."
Loki laughed, despite how it wrenched his gut to do so. "I actually will be grateful for that."
"Why?" Hel crinkled her brow. "Don't you like my fashion sense?"
"Your taste in textiles has something to be desired," he rasped out, sparing no sarcasm even with such a weakened voice. "I'd sooner wear the skin of a Nybling then this gaudy purple monstrosity."
Hel shook her head, insulted. "You are such a snob. Now I'm glad I didn't grow up in Gladsheim. I'd sooner off myself then be like you."
"Well then," Loki reasoned, laughter bleeding into his speech. "If that is the case, you are exactly where you want to be."
Hel nodded acceptingly, then shrugged. "It could be worse. I could be in your shoes." She then stood and barked orders to her servants. "Fetch me my spell book. The big, dusty one."
Loki closed eyes and tried to remain collected. He knew what was coming. The torture had only been the first phase. A magical charade of resurrection now lay before him, and he imagined it wasn't something a living, conscious body was meant to endure. He breathed deeply. This was all new territory in the realm of physical pain.
But it was too late to turn back now.
Musical accompaniment: Only Makes Me Laugh by Danny Elfman