Title: A Life Inside Me
Fandom: Marvel (movie 'verse)
Author: Batsutousai
Beta: BriAndLoki
Rating: E/NC-17
Pairings: post-Avengers!Loki/pre-Thor!Loki
Warnings: selfcest, violence, minor gore, kidnapping, torture, angst, recovery from rape, Loki is one twisted fucker, Loki's a little shit, Odin's a good father, character death, sad ending
Summary: An accident connects future to past. Can Loki change his fate?
Disclaim Her: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Marvel. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: I'm blaming this mostly on @SimplyLoki & @kneel_before_me for their RP skills, which started this little bunny hopping. Also to blame is @Lozzien, who did the opposite of stopping me when I mentioned it. XD
Please note, the rape recovery warning refers to Svaðilfari's actions. This story takes place a little over a year after it, and pre-Thor!Loki has not quite moved past it. And I hadn't planned for Odin to be a good father when I set out, but he wormed his way into my good graces somehow. (It won't last, don't worry. XD)
-0-Loki scowled as he finished the preparations for the scrying galðr. Thor thought the future was so sacred, that the Norns would never let anyone – let alone someone as small and useless in battle as Loki – see what was to happen. As if Mother didn't have the gift for future-sight.
Really, Thor was probably just worried that Loki would see the outcome of tomorrow's tournament and ensure Thor would lose. Which, now that he thought of it... Loki smirked a bit to himself and settled back to observe the runes he'd scribbled out, hurried with anger. Some of them were a little rough around the edges, but Loki was sure it wouldn't matter; the runes were just guides, his seiðr was the truly important component.
He took a moment to centre himself, then closed his eyes and started the galðr, lips forming silent, hastily memorised words. Determination rose in him with his seiðr, and he smirked to himself at the feeling of absolute power before he let it go.
Everything exploded and Loki felt himself thrown back against his bookcase, shelves cutting painfully into his spine. He groaned and pushed himself away, reaching around to rub at the certain bruises even as he blinked through the after-glow of strong seiðr.
Too strong, he recognised, finally making out a hunched figure in the centre of his runes.
Broad shoulders shifted and rose, black hair falling wildly against the fine black jacket. Silver glinted in firelight where a mouth should be, and Loki didn't realise it was a mask meant to silence until he was already slammed back against his bookcase again, fever-bright green eyes glaring into his own.
Chains sounded against his chest as Loki stifled a terrified gasp. What had he done, bringing this monstrous apparition into his room, into the palace of his family and people? What horrors would be unleashed for his careless actions?
Perhaps Thor was right about not dipping my fingers in the designs of the Norns.Then, as suddenly as the figure had attacked, some of the violence drained from his eyes and he pulled back enough that Loki's back was no longer forming against the shelves at his back. Those fever-bright eyes trailed over Loki's face, catching on marks of time that Loki never would have thought existed.
And then the other moved back fully, jacket swinging with the clink of chains against his knees, brows furrowed with something between confusion and distrust.
Loki was used to not being trusted, but usually with reason. And that violent greeting... He rubbed his throat and demanded, "Who are you, to be attacking a prince of Asgard?"
A flare of anger in too-bright green eyes, then a glimmer of amusement. Loki could almost see the smirk hidden behind the mask, like he'd seen it a hundred times before. One chained hand reached up and tapped the mask, a reminder that there could be no answers while the other was incapable of speech.
Loki hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward to feel under the long hair for the release. It took him a long moment, fumbling with the unfamiliar technology, but the mask did eventually release, falling to the ground between them with a hollow thump.
Deep cuts marked the edges of the mask, the edges having been serrated to keep it firmly in place. Loki looked on in horrified fascination as the other worked his jaw, reaching up with one jangling hand to finger along the cuts as they began to seep blood tinged with something golden-green. He looked down at the liquid and grimaced, but didn't – Loki couldn't help but notice with a flare of disbelief – react to what was surely a great deal of pain. "That's unfortunate," the other said of the mixture in his blood.
"W-who are you?" Loki stuttered, his stomach rolling for reasons he didn't really want to consider.
The smirk that accompanied the glimmer in those too-bright eyes was exactly like Loki had known it would be, even with the golden-green and red blood dripping a slash through it, and he felt a chill up his spine. "I think you know," the other said and licked at the blood.
Loki shuddered, the certain truth a sickening presence in his gut, simultaneously climbing his throat like bile, and weighing him down. "I-I d–"
"Take care before you lie to me, little prince," the other said, and the words were like ice, edged with a bitterness that Loki couldn’t begin – didn't
want – to comprehend.
"H-how are you he-here?" he asked instead, refusing to face the truth – he had always been best at lying to himself.
The other's expression lightened, amusement and something truly
wicked in the turn of his bloody lips, the glint of his too-bright eyes. "I haven't the faintest. Though..." He turned in place, looking to the runes Loki had scrawled over the stone floor. "In a rush, were we?" he said, somehow both mocking and almost kind.
Loki tensed and he took two sharp steps forward, straightening to his full height – the other still had almost an inch on him – and snarled, "You dare to insul–"
Chains slammed against his chest just moments after a hand cut off his ability to breathe, and he was suddenly on height with the other, nearly nose-to-nose as those too-bright green eyes darkened with the promise of pain like nothing Loki had ever dreamt. "I shall do as I please, little prince, and you will learn to curb your tongue, lest I sew your lips together far ahead of schedule."
Loki barely had time to widen his eyes in disbelief and horror before he was slamming against the far wall and falling into a heap on the floor. The bed was between them and Loki gladly took the lack of direct sight as a chance to curl in on himself and gasp fear against his knees.
Chains clinked against the floor on the other side of the bed, uncaring and set to ignore Loki. Eventually, though, the clinking quieted, approaching on silent boots. They sounded loudly again as the owner knelt next to Loki, one hand soothing through his hair, unconcerned with the way the prince flinched away. "You really shouldn't anger me," the other stated absently. "I'm not sure what would happen if I killed you."
Loki whimpered and curled a little tighter.
The other hummed. "You're surprisingly pathetic. Tell me, little prince, what has occurred recently? What grand event might be most recent on your mind?"
Loki peered up at the other, eyes wide and not even attempting to hide his terror. "Th-Thor has a tourney tomorrow?"
The other sighed and rubbed sharply against the cuts on his face, unflinching when one tore. "Thor has tourneys at least a half dozen times a century. Something greater; something of
you."
Loki swallowed and turned his head just enough to hide behind his short hair, just enough to hide the pain and nausea that still rolled through him with the memories. "I returned home but three months hence," he whispered.
The other stilled. "
Sleipnir," he whispered, the name falling from his tongue like a benediction. And when Loki looked up, he found something truly gentle easing the too-bright gleam of his eyes.
And, for all that the name of his son still made Loki flinch from almost a year alone, broken and trapped in a situation he wouldn't have wished on anyone, he felt a sudden well of fondness for his colt, who had changed this other man – this far-too-broken future him – into a mirror that Loki could actually see himself in.
"Yes," he whispered, watching the elder and not bothering to hide his pain at the subject when he looked down at him.
The elder's expression tightened for a moment, then he reached down and cupped Loki's chin, again making no reaction to Loki's flinch from his touch. "You are so young," he murmured. "So naïve, my little prince." He sighed and leaned back, looking towards the shelf he'd had Loki pushed against not so long ago. "You won't know the spells needed to break these chains, then."
"I–" Loki flinched when those too-bright eyes turned back to him, intense even without the burning anger, but quickly continued, "We can go to Fa–" Loki cut himself off and curled back into a ball at the absolute
fury that changed those too-bright eyes into something to be feared.
The elder didn't hurt him again, but there was clear need for violence in his voice when he said, "That
man is
not your father, and he deserves no such title of respect. Call him that in my presence again and I will flay the word from your tongue." A hard hand tore at Loki's hair and pulled his head back until they met eyes, tears springing up in Loki's. "Am I understood, Loki?"
Loki swallowed, mouth dry as Múspellsheimr, and whispered, "Yes, sir."
Something odd flickered in the elder's eyes and he released Loki's hair. "I will not be some nameless master to a child," he stated.
"I am
not a–"
"Giving birth does not make you an adult," the elder snapped, and Loki hunched in on himself again, afraid. The elder snorted and stood with an easy grace that Loki was more than a little jealous of. "You will claim to have discovered me as a learned man, one willing to take you under his wing." He let out a sharp laugh, a sound more broken than amused. "Sigurðr, you shall call me."
Guardian of victory, Loki's mind translated for him as he peered back up at the elder. "You... You intend to...stay?"
The elder's – Sigurðr, now – lips curled at one side with a smile so bitter, Loki's heart ached. "And go back to this?" He pressed fingers along the cuts on his face, causing them to again seep that vile golden-green tinged blood.
Loki swallowed. "Wh-why is it doing...?"
"I'm bleeding seiðr," Sigurðr replied dryly, taking his hand from his face and raising it to show off the cuffs, chains jingling beneath them. "It is trapped by these, and must find a way to free itself, lest I explode from it." He lowered his hand, eyes tracking the cuff. "It was a poor-thought entrapment, though not all-together unexpected, given the general level of intelligence." And he laughed again, ice and sharp edges.
"Can I– Is there any way I might help?" Loki asked.
Sigurðr considered him for a long moment, too-bright eyes seeming to look far past his skin, into the very essence of his
soul. "Thor has mastered Mjölnir?"
Loki nodded. "Yes, he did so while I–" He looked away, pushing against the bitterness of returning with a colt, only to find everyone had moved on without him.
"While you carried and birthed Sleipnir," Sigurðr said, voice cool and unconcerned.
Loki flinched like a physical blow had been struck.
Sigurðr let out a sharp sound, somewhere between resignation and disgust, then ordered, "Collect Mjölnir. He always keeps it just to–" He paused. "Ah, no. No, it's too early. You'll find it near to his door, in a pile with his armour." He let out that cold laugh again. "Careless little fool."
"I don't–" Loki swallowed. "I can't lift it."
Sigurðr eyed him, too-bright eyes all the more disturbing for their lack of emotion. "You can lift it." The tone was bland, but there was power in the words, a sort of certainty that Loki had never had directed at himself.
It was that certainty that had Loki standing, wavering for a moment before he centred himself. "I'll be right back," he promised, and his voice sounded weak compared to the other.
Still, he hurried from the room and down the hall to Thor's room. There, he paused to catch his breath, then slowly pressed the door open, just enough to let him slip in.
As Sigurðr had said, Thor's armour and Mjölnir were in a pile not far from the door. Loki scowled at his brother's laziness – it was an oddly reassuring facial expression, given the last...it felt like
hours that Sigurðr had been in his room – then reached down and grasped Mjölnir's handle. He licked his lips, closed his eyes, then tugged with all his might.
He almost went flying backwards when Mjölnir moved easily, weighing little more than the sword Loki was required to practise with. He caught himself at the last minute, thankfully, and took a moment to stare down at the marvellous weapon, one he'd thought never to wield. For how would one known as Liesmith and Silvertongue ever be worthy of such glory?
Loki shook himself –
This is hardly the time! – and crept back out of Thor's rooms and back to his own, taking care to avoid servants and guards while carrying Thor's prized weapon.
Sigurðr had moved to Loki's bookcase while he was gone, and was looking through one of the younger's books. The young prince waited until he'd closed the door before asking, "Haven't you read all those?"
Sigurðr waved a careless hand and shoved his current book back into its place. "Not for nearly a millennium." He turned, eyes immediately catching on the hammer Loki held to his chest. A smile both fond and bitter turned the elder's mouth. "As I said."
"But,
why could I pick it up?" Loki asked, walking carefully over to where Sigurðr was settling on the floor.
"She recognises noble deeds and those in need. She has not yet been tied to Thor. Not truly."
Loki's brow furrowed. "Not truly?" he repeated.
Sigurðr's lip turned with a nasty smirk. "Perhaps," he said, tone most definitely mocking, "if you are
very good, I shall tell you. One day." He placed his right hand on the stone floor between them. "Break the cuff."
Loki's eyes widened. "But I'll hurt you!"
Sigurðr closed his eyes, expression tightening with something approaching violence. "If you do not break these cuffs with Mjölnir, I will chance the Norns and break your neck." His eyes snapped open, murder bright and terrifying in too-bright eyes. "Am I clear, little prince?"
Loki swallowed and nodded.
"Good. Break it."
Loki sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw at, even as he raised the hammer, took a moment to settle himself, then brought it down.
The metal of the cuff shattered. So, too, did the bones in Sigurðr's wrist and arm, and Loki's stomach turned with nausea. But the elder man didn't even flinch, just traded his right arm for the left, showing off the second cuff.
"Do it," Sigurðr ordered, somehow knowing that Loki needed the prompting.
Loki bit his lip hard, tasting blood, and hurriedly handled the second cuff.
Again, cuff and bone shattered. And, again, Sigurðr made no reaction to what must have been the absolute
worst pain.
After a beat, Sigurðr began to glow the same shade of golden-green that had leaked from his wounds. He closed his eyes and let out a careful breath, then brought up his damaged hands to show as they quickly reformed, as good as new. So, too, did the cuts from the mask heal, and a tenseness left his shoulders.
Then, as the light faded, Sigurðr collapsed to one side with a weak laugh, a sound more tired than violent. "Ah," he said as Loki hurried to his side, fearful for this older mirror of himself. "It seems as though I have overextended." He let out a quiet sound that lay somewhere between helpless and disgusted, then shoved at the floor. "I will sleep on a real bed," he snarled.
"Here," Loki insisted, and helped the elder into the bed.
Sigurðr grunted wordlessly, a noise that might have been gratitude, then motioned with a couple of fingers and most of his leathers vanished with a glimmer of golden-green.
Loki was so jealous, there were no words for it.
"Return Mjölnir, unless you wish Thor banging on your door in the morn," Sigurðr suggested before his breathing lengthened.
Loki took a couple deep breaths, then carefully reached around and drew the covers over the elder. Sigurðr didn't react, clearly exhausted beyond Loki's comprehension, and the prince nibbled at his wounded lip even as he turned and gathered Mjölnir to return the hammer to his brother's rooms.
Sigurðr had definitely been right about one thing: If he kept Mjölnir, Thor would suspect him first. Never mind that he'd never been able to lift the bloody thing before.
-0-Sigurðr slept for three days. Loki's natural refusal to allow anyone into his rooms helped hide the elder man's presence, and he began spending some hours out of the city, to lend credence to the story that Sigurðr was to be a personal tutor of his. (He knew how to form a lie, how to build truth around it so it could pass under even Father's all-knowing scrutiny. Assuming Heimdall wasn't watching him wandering the land without purpose for hours on end. Or was watching Loki's rooms. He shuddered at the thought.)
Sigurðr was awake when Loki returned from his wanderings on the third day, looking blankly around the room and dressed in a far less formal version of his leathers than what he'd been wearing upon his appearance. His eyes had darkened to a more normal shade of green, but it only seemed to make the restrained violence glinting in them that much more obvious.
Loki swallowed and stopped out of easy reach of the elder man, then said, "Good evening, Sigurðr."
The other's eyes narrowed for a moment on the young prince, then he relaxed, a cool smile turning his lips. "Good evening, Loki," he returned, voice a purr.
Loki suppressed a shudder.
"How long have I slept?"
"About three days," Loki replied, shifting from foot-to-foot a touch nervously. "No one is aware of your presence, so far as I've been informed."
No, it really didn't matter how much space Loki put between them, because Sigurðr was in front of him before Loki could even blink, brushing a hand down the curve of Loki's face as he stumbled backwards. The smile turning Sigurðr's lips was more cruel than comforting, but Loki took comfort in the lack of violence, all the same.
"Ah, my little prince, I am quite fond of you, for all your blind trust makes me want to wring your neck." One finger drew a line across Loki's throat, and Sigurðr laughed that laugh of ice when Loki gasped in terror and took two quick steps back, both hands going protectively to his throat. "No matter," Sigurðr continued, unconcerned, "I will soon cure you of that unfortunate habit."
Loki swallowed and slowly lowered his hands back to his sides before asking, "Do you require sustenance?"
Sigurðr considered him for a long moment before brushing past Loki and stopping before the bookcase, pulling down a book at what seemed to be random. "If you are capable of doing so without raising undo suspicion." He spun, the book knocking heavily against the golden decoration on his chest, something which appeared to be a personal symbol, considering it existed when the rest of his adornments had vanished. "Do not concern yourself with Heimdall; he will not know of my existence unless I wish him to."
That was seiðr Loki was interested in learning, and he itched with the need to ask after it. But he was learned enough to know his limits, and afraid enough of Sigurðr that he daren't bother him. "It's not...uncommon, of late, for me to take meals in my rooms," he said carefully as he moved towards the doors. "I'll see to it that enough is delivered for us both."
"Of course you will," Sigurðr agreed, mocking and amused.
Loki bit his tongue against the urge to reply with a snarled insult and hurried from his rooms.
Food wasn't hard to procure, even enough for two people, and so Loki returned feeling quite victorious. Sigurðr gave no thanks – Loki would have been surprised if he had, honestly – but went after the food with a vengeance.
Loki's usual appetite paled in comparison to the elder's, and he ended up dividing out about half of his own portion, half afraid Sigurðr would eat
him if he didn't. And then he asked, "When was the last time you
ate?"
Sigurðr slowed his gluttony and pinned Loki with a cold look. "I don't remember," he said, but it sounded more like a threat than an admission, and Loki shifted a little further away from him at the small table.
They didn't speak again until the last of the food had vanished. Then, eyes cast towards the runes still on the floor from when Sigurðr had appeared, Loki asked, "Why did you change those two runes?"
Sigurðr glanced up, confusion flickering in his eyes for a moment before he followed Loki's gaze to the circle. "You were attempting to scry, were you not?" And his voice was cool, almost calming, when placed against the tone he usually took when speaking to Loki.
The young prince nodded. "Yes. I had wanted to see if Thor would lose the tourney, or if I could..." He frowned.
"See to it that he lost?" Sigurðr suggested, a suggestion of amusement in his eyes as he turned back to Loki. "You would have been better served hiding Mjölnir, had your wish been that; I have never known him to lose while wielding that hammer." Something in his expression flattened suddenly, and there was bitterness under the anger as he snarled, "The golden son could
never lose, no matter the
consequences."
Loki shifted in his seat for an uncertain moment before asking, "But why
those changes? The scroll I found–"
"The scroll is wrong," Sigurðr interrupted, some anger still in his voice, but he appeared to be rapidly relaxing, leaning back in his chair and settling entwined fingers over his stomach. "Any further books or scrolls will be passed to me before you start reading them, and I will tell you whether they are worth your time. Are we clear?"
"Yes," Loki whispered, a little disbelievingly. "Does that mean... Are you actually going to
teach me?"
Sigurðr's eyes narrowed. "Did I not say I would?"
"You– But that was..."
Sigurðr snorted and turned his eyes to the unlit fireplace behind Loki. "A mere cover for my existence. It is that, yes, but it is also very much the truth; I am here, and I will not sit back and watch you fumble so pathetically through life while I am so capable of assisting you." His eyes flared too-bright for a second and warmth bloomed against Loki's back as the fireplace lit. "You will be prepared, or you will die at my hand."
Loki shuddered at that ultimatum. "Yes, sir," he whispered.
Sigurðr watched the flames for a long moment before focusing again on Loki. "Good. The runes."
-0-The day after Sigurðr had woken, he and Loki found him a place to say he'd been living. And then Loki stood back and stared on in awe as his new teacher created a small cottage from nothing.
"I think you must be a better seiðmaðr than F– the Allfather!" Loki exclaimed, remembering at the last minute Loki's hatred of Odin.
Sigurðr snorted. "Not as such."
Loki blinked, mind caught on another topic. "Why did you say he isn't my father?"
Sigurðr tensed and turned a gaze full of fury and ice on the younger, lips curling with a cold smile when Loki flinched and stumbled back a couple steps. "Have you truly a wish to know?" he wondered, tone mocking. "I would dearly love to see him fall so utterly in your eyes. To see
everything fall."
Loki hurriedly shook his head. "I don't–" He bit off the lie, because he
did want to know, wanted to know
everything. But he didn't want to face the consequences. (In that, he and Thor were quite alike.)
Sigurðr's eyes
gleamed with violence and cruel intent. And then, as Loki watched, they slowly faded from green to a bright, blood-red. The pale skin around those eyes shifted, turning blue and raising with lines written in a pattern Loki could hardly even consider with the way his mouth went dry and his stomach climbed his throat. And then Sigurðr was directly in front of him, holding Loki's wrist in one frozen hand.
There was no chill, and Loki looked down to find blue racing along his own skin, the patterns raising behind an exact mirror of the ones on Sigurðr's own hand and arm.
"
No!" Loki shouted, wrenching his wrist away.
Sigurðr grasped Loki's face between his blue hands, red eyes blazing with victory. "
Yes," he hissed, cruel as the unforgiving cold of Jötunheimr. "You are a
monster. A babe left to die in the world of ice, but for a soul of
kindness, who would dare to bring you back with him from war as a
trophy. You are
nothing."
"I am a
prince of Asgard!" Loki screamed back at him, pulling at Sigurðr's hands, trying to get him to
let go. "You're a
liar! Trying to poison me against my
Father because of some– some
vendetta! Some punishment for something he hasn't even
done yet!"
Sigurðr let him go and Loki fell backwards, landing hard and painful on the ground. "Ask him, then," he said, cold and quiet as the winds that played across Jötunheimr's surface. "Go. Ask your
precious father who birthed you. Ask what throne you have true claim to, for it is
certainly not this one."
Loki stared up at him, terrified and sick. "I'm not–" he started on a whisper.
"
GO!" Sigurðr roared.
And Loki scrambled to his feet and fled, tears streaming down his face and stomach heaving. He ran until he couldn't any more, then dropped to his knees and threw up, tears and snot mingling and dripping onto the pile of half-digested breakfast.
He stayed there, sobbing and dry heaving until he was too exhausted to do anything more than curl up on the ground and close his eyes.
-0-He woke to the warmth of a crackling fire, curled up under blankets and wearing only his loincloth. The bed was comfortable, but not his own, and he tensed and slowly cracked one eye to look around.
The room had only the barest amount of furniture, and nothing at all personal. It wasn't until Loki turned towards the door that he recognised the odd slant to it.
Sigurðr's cottage.So, the elder had come after him. He hadn't left Loki to the will of wild beasts. That was comforting.
The front door pushed open and Sigurðr stepped in, a bag slung over one shoulder, expression impassive. He gave a quick glance over the cottage, eyes stopping on Loki. "Awake, are you?" he asked, voice cold.
Loki turned away from him, not really wanting anything to do with the other at that particular moment, not after earlier.
Sigurðr made no further attempts at conversation, instead moving lightly around the cottage (preparing food, from the sound of things). At last, he called, "If you intend to eat, I suggest you get up."
Loki finally looked back at the elder man and found him setting bowls out at the table, a pot letting off a thin tendril of steam near the fireplace. "I'm lacking trousers."
Sigurðr glanced over at him and Loki suddenly found himself dressed in a comfortable green tunic and black trousers, the former of which was edged with gold. Awe warred with jealousy for a moment before Loki resolutely shoved both emotions aside and climbed out of the bed and settled in at one of the chairs.
Sigurðr served them both and they ate in silence. Loki had to admit that, again, the elder was proving himself to be ridiculously good at something, because the soup was actually pretty good. Much better than Loki could make, at least, and lifetimes ahead of anything Thor tried to cook up. (Thor had been forbidden from cooking, a unanimous decision by Loki, Sif, and the Warriors Three.)
They were just finishing up when, from outside, a familiar voice boomed, "COME OUT, KIDNAPPER!"
Loki turned towards the door in disbelief. "He
isn't."
Sigurðr snorted as he rose from his seat. "You left the wards blocking Heimdall's sight; Odin will have sent Thor after you when you did not return to the palace."
"It's hardly the first night I've spent away from home," Loki muttered, refusing to think about his most recent absences.
"I very much doubt Heimdall is used to seeing you purge your stomach while sobbing," Sigurðr returned, and Loki flushed and turned away. The door of the cottage was pulled open and Sigurðr stepped out, calling, "And who are you, then, to be calling me such?"
"I am Thor, son of Odin Allfather," Thor snapped back. "And you were seen carrying away my brother, Prince Loki. I demand you return him!"
Sigurðr let out a laugh, the one that sounded like ice and sharp edges, and Loki imagined Thor was readying Mjölnir, completely ignoring his fear, as well as his common sense. "Loki is free to leave whenever he so pleases, son of Odin. You may ask him yourself." Sigurðr turned to look back at where Loki was still seated, smile easy, but eyes violent in a way that Loki hadn't seen yet, and it sent a chill down his back. "If you do not intervene, and he swings that hammer at me, I will kill him," Sigurðr murmured, his voice sounding directly in Loki's ear.
Loki absolutely believed him, and he hurried out of his chair and to the door, pasting on his most honest fake smile for his brother. "Thor?" he said, going for just this side of confused. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be training in the yards?"
Thor had Mjölnir in hand, as Loki had expected, but the hard glint in his eyes was giving way to confusion. "L-Loki?"
"Thor?" Loki returned, carefully placing himself between his brother and his new teacher.
Mjölnir knocked against Thor's knee, grip loose, and he winced. "You're– Ah." He rubbed the back of his head and clipped Mjölnir to his belt. "Heimdall thought you to be in danger. Father sent us after you to check."
"
Us," Sigurðr repeated on a snarl.
Loki swallowed and looked back at the elder, taking in the rising violence in the brightening eyes with a sinking sensation. "Sigurðr," he called. "It's okay. It's just my friends. They mean no harm."
"For
now," Sigurðr replied, and there was bitterness under the violence, something so fresh it couldn't be hidden. Or, perhaps, Sigurðr simply didn't care to try.
"Thor," Loki offered over his shoulder, still watching his elder mirror for any signs that his brother and friends needed to leave
right then, "why don't we ask the Warriors Three and Lady Sif to come out, before Sigurðr feels any more threatened."
"Oh." Thor let out the sharp-sharp-long call for 'All clear'.
Leaves rustled as the other four stepped into the clearing, all slowly putting their weapons away.
The violence was still in Sigurðr's eyes, but he made a show of relaxing his body. And, while he didn't quite smile, there was a slightly more welcoming air to him. So Loki deemed it safe to turn his attention to the party that had come to see to his safety. "It wasn't necessary for you to come out here," he assured them. "I was...feeling unwell. I fear the galðr Sigurðr had been teaching me went a little awry, and I had to rest here until I was well."
Thor blinked and looked oddly at Sigurðr, but it was Fandral who asked, "He's a seiðmaðr?"
"An
excellent one," Loki agreed, uncaring that he was gushing a bit, for he truly believed Sigurðr to be a class of his own.
Volstagg boomed a laugh. "He doesn't seem like much a–" His words cut off with a rather womanly scream as he suddenly found himself held upside down in the air, a tree branch tight around his ankles.
The others all readied their weapons, but relaxed disbelievingly as Loki burst out laughing.
"Cathartic," Sigurðr murmured, considering the flailing warrior with a smirk that was just shy of nasty curling his lips.
"But you have no staff with which to cast!" Thor exclaimed, gazing in disbelief at the man that was leaning against the door frame of the cottage.
Sigurðr snorted and waved a hand towards Volstagg, sending him crashing to the ground. "For seiðr so simple? No, this is mere child's play, son of Odin."
Loki could already see the fight darkening in Thor's eyes, assisted by Volstagg's furious grunting as he climbed back to his feet, hand tense around his axe. "Perhaps," he interrupted, "it's time to return home? Mother is surely in a panic enough, Father having sent you after me."
"True enough," Thor agreed grudgingly.
Loki swallowed his relief and turned towards Sigurðr. "I'll return within a few days."
Sigurðr raised one eyebrow. "That would be wise, lest you wish me hunting you down in the castle."
Seeing Sigurðr interact with his brother and friends now, Loki was pretty sure they would all be better off if he kept the elder from anyone familiar.
Except maybe Sleipnir, a part of him considered, and he hid the flinch that accompanied the thought by turning back to his brother and friends with a wide smile. "Let me collect my boots and then we can return."
Boots appeared next to the bed as Loki re-entered the cottage, and he smiled a bit as he walked over to them and slipped them on. He offered a smile to Sigurðr as he moved past him on the way out, only for it to freeze on his face when the elder said, "Speak to Odin."
Loki swallowed against bile. "I will," he whispered, then hurried past the other man to where his brother and friends were waiting for him, and they all left the clearing together.
"He's disturbing," Fandral said cheerfully as the cottage faded into the trees behind them.
Loki choked out a laugh, thinking,
Fandral, you have no idea.-0-Mother worried over Loki for almost an hour before he was able to get away. Not that it lasted long, since Thor had apparently been ordered to shadow him.
"Will you be sleeping on my couch, as well?" Loki wondered dryly. "Or will I be forced to share my bed?"
"I'm just worried about you," Thor insisted, lengthening his steps just enough to catch up and walk at Loki's side, rather than dodging his heels. "And I don't like that man you've taken on as a teacher."
"The feeling is entirely mutual on his side, I assure you."
Thor huffed. "You aren't going back out to see him again."
Loki stopped walking and turned to burn a glare into Thor's back until he turned to look at him, brow furrowed. "You think,
Brother, to dictate my actions?" he asked, voice sharp and with just a touch of ice. As though the unveiling of his Jötunn heritage had changed the very quality of his words.
Thor frowned. "It's just, he's dangerous. And Father hasn't approved of him. You shouldn't be alone with someone–"
"I do not require your
protection!"
"Of course you do," Thor insisted, eyes wide. He held out a soothing hand to Loki.
Loki smacked it away. "The last time I needed your protection,
you weren't there," Loki snarled. "You were throwing a
party while I was alone and helpless. I managed fine then, I'll manage now." He shoved Thor back a couple steps, revelling in the broken regret in blue eyes. "I don't want, nor do I need, any
protection you have to offer." Then he pushed past Thor and stalked down the hall towards his room.
It was only when the door was locked securely behind him that Loki fell to his knees and curled around himself, shuddering with sobs and nausea from memories and a terrible weight on his shoulders;
I'm turning into Sigurðr already...-0-He waited a day before seeking out his father, shuffling after him on his way to the empty Council chambers. The Council wouldn't convene for another two hours – Father was always early, just in case he was needed – but Loki still looked uncertainly around at the empty hall before carefully stepping inside.
"Loki?" Father called, surprised.
Loki swallowed and nodded. "Could we speak, Father?"
"Of course." Father waved him towards the empty chair at his left. "Come. Sit."
Loki shook away the sinking feeling at the meaning of the seat offered – he could just as easily have suggested the chair on the right – and stepped over to the chair. He didn't sit, though, instead pressing his fingers along the relief carved into the back of the chair. "My new teacher–"
"Of whom I disapprove," Father informed him, reproach and resignation mingling in his tone.
Loki glanced up at him, then down to his fingers. "He told me I'm not your natural-born son."
Father was absolutely still for a long moment before allowing, "This is true."
Loki closed his eyes. "He said I'm Jötunn," he whispered, wanting Father to refuse, but knowing he wouldn't.
Father let out a stuttered breath. "Your blood parents are Laufey and Fárbauti, the rulers of Jötunheimr," he agreed.
Loki bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling like there was ice in his veins. "Why am I here?" he asked. "Why am I–?" He choked and turned his head to the side, as though to hide this pain from his fa– No. Odin wasn't his father.
"You're my son," Odin said, unwavering and calm. "You're here because this is where you belong, with your family."
Loki bowed his shoulders forward, uncertain they'd hold with all the shaking they were doing. "But you're not–"
"Loki." A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, and Loki looked up into that single eye, burning with an emotion so fierce and comforting that the hand on his shoulder seemed suddenly to be pulling him up, not weighing him down. "You are my
son. Blood has no meaning in this."
Loki swallowed and nodded.
"Sit," Od– His fa– The
Allfather insisted, waving away a Council member who had arrived early.
Loki did so, carefully straightening his posture, because he was still a prince and this was a public room. He'd shown enough weakness of late. There was no need for any more.
When the Allfather didn't immediately start speaking again, instead simply observing Loki, the prince asked, "Why did you take me? You were at war with the Jötnar, so why bring one into your own walls?"
The Allfather sighed. "The war was over and there had been enough dead. You were abandoned in their temple; I should never be so heartless as to ignore any baby's cries." He met Loki's gaze, then, expression tightening. "I had thought, perhaps, that if war was to again come to pass between our peoples, you might facilitate the return of peace. I still hope that is true."
I was to be a tool of peace, Loki thought, uncertain how to feel,
but I remained for love. That....wasn't anywhere near so bad as Sigurðr had led him to expect.
"Your new teacher, I take it he has no love for me."
Loki swallowed and nodded. There was no use in lying about Sigurðr's hatred of the Allfather, not when a single meeting between them would provide all the proof anyone could ever need. Perhaps, in speaking honestly, he could keep Father and Sigurðr far,
far apart.
"He, too, is Jötunn," Father said, pitched as more statement than question.
Loki tensed. Jötnar were forbidden in Asgard, but it was a ready excuse for Sigurðr's abhorrence for their ruler. And it was, again, the truth.
Father seemed to understand Loki's hesitation, for he soothed, "So long as he makes no war on this city, and no others discover the truth of him, I will not see him returned to Jötunheimr."
Loki nodded. "He is, yes."
Father sighed and Loki glanced up to find him rubbing a hand over his beard. "I do not approve," he commented, then held up a hand when Loki opened his mouth to respond. "I
do not. But I would see you trained in
all of your talents, not just those you might learn from the lips of an Áss."
"Thank you, Father," Loki breathed and began to rise, ready to run from the room immediately.
Father reached out and grabbed Loki's wrist, single blue eye sharp with a sense of concern. "Swear you will be careful, Loki."
Loki swallowed. "I trust him, Father," he insisted.
"Swear to me that you will be careful."
Loki blinked and took a shuddering breath. "I...swear," he agreed, uncertain whether or not he was lying. For how careful could he be with someone who knew his every thought before he'd had occasion to think it?
Father sighed and let him go. "Your life is worth more than peace with Jötunheimr," he said as Loki finished standing. "Your teacher may return with that to his king."
Loki swallowed against a block in his throat and inclined his head. "Thank you, Father," he whispered and hurried from the room.
-0-"Did you speak to him?" Sigurðr demanded as soon as Loki entered the cottage.
Loki didn't need to ask who 'he' was. "I did," he agreed carefully. "He admitted I am not his true child, but that doesn't make him any less my father."
Sigurðr narrowed his eyes. "You are clearly defective," he snarled before turning away.
"Why do you hate him so much?" Loki asked, watching the tense lines of the other's back.
Sigurðr spun, eyes blazing with violence, and Loki stumbled backwards a step. "That
man banished my children and forbade me from seeing them, from even
healing them before they were sent away. And when I fought for them, he had me silenced and shackled like some Midgardian slave. He
deserves no such title of honour as
father!"
Loki stared at the elder, unshed tears blurring his vision, finally beginning to understand some of the pain he had suffered that had turned him so violent and cruel.
Sigurðr spun away, growling, "You're worse than my wife while she was pregnant. Desist with those tears."
Loki swallowed and wiped at his eyes. "He hasn't done any of that," he pointed out.
"
Yet."
Something lay heavy in Loki's stomach. "Yet," he agreed quietly. Then he shook himself. "He
won't."
Sigurðr laughed, hollow and cruel.
"We won't
let him," Loki insisted. "I'll be stronger this time, right? You'll teach me?"
Sigurðr glanced over his shoulder, expression carefully wiped blank. "That is my intention."
"And you'll be here. He can't face
two of us down."
Sigurðr snorted. "Alone, perhaps not. But he will hardly be alone."
Loki took a deep breath and looked down at his hand, willing it to shift colour, to change into that bright, terrible blue. "We'll just have to master our element of surprise," he said, holding up one blue hand.
Sigurðr's eyes widened, then narrowed. "It seems," he murmured, quiet and cold as blue bled over his skin, "you are more like me after all."
Loki grinned, sharp and cold, and Sigurðr smiled back, ice and teeth, with blood in his eyes.
-0-When Loki prepared to leave for Sigurðr's cottage the next morning, he came upon one of the stable hands who was leading Sleipnir out for a walk. He immediately felt guilty, for he had spent little time with his son since returning to the palace, but also a little nauseous. He loved Sleipnir, and he hardly blamed him for the events of the past year, but he was still a very real reminder of that horrible time.
And, yet, there was someone who would appreciate some time with Sleipnir, Loki realised, and he hurried after the stable hand. As soon as Sleipnir smelled him, he turned and started over, big eyes wide and hopeful, and Loki felt his heart break a little.
"Hello, my little one," Loki murmured as he cupped his child's head, ignoring the stable hand's stumbling apology for Sleipnir head-butting him. "I'm sorry for not coming to visit you."
Sleipnir let out a quiet noise of acceptance and nudged closer to Loki, as though he was trying to share in Loki's warmth.
His heart broke a little more and he reached out a hand for the end of the rope the stable hand held. "I'll take him out."
"A-are you sure, my prince? It is my duty and I am ever proud to serve the House of–"
"I'm certain," Loki interrupted, staring the man down until the rope was in his hand. "Thank you. We'll likely return quite late, but I can see Sleipnir to rest. Ensure there is fresh hay and oats, and you may spend the rest of the day idle."
The stable hand gave a quick bow and stumbled away.
"There's someone I think will be most interested in seeing you, little one," Loki murmured as he took off the rope lead and dropped it into the bag he wore at his side, trusting his son to follow him.
Sleipnir nudged him, a clear question in his eyes.
Loki waited until they were out of the city before finally answering. "He is another me from far in the future. He's teaching me seiðr and how to best utilise other natural gifts. He has never specifically said so, but I believe he very much would wish to see you."
Sleipnir whinnied questioningly.
"He's been hurt," Loki whispered past the block in his throat, remembering Sigurðr's furious words from the day previous. "Oh, Sleipnir, he's lost
so much." He stopped and turned to hide his face in his son's mane, it only just hitting him how much he stood to lose himself. He could lose Sleipnir forever and he'd been
avoiding him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, clinging tightly to his son.
No more, he swore to himself, pulling back and smiling at the worried noise Sleipnir made. "Maybe," he offered, "if you and Sigurðr get on, you can start coming along. We can spend time together, all three of us. Like a real family."
Sleipnir's eyes lit up and he knocked his head into Loki's chest, clearly excited by the idea.
Loki laughed and hugged his son around the neck, then returned to leading the way to the cottage.
Sigurðr was waiting for him when Loki stepped into the clearing, snarling, "What took you so–" He stilled when Sleipnir stepped through the trees behind Loki, cautious and uncertain. Everything about Sigurðr softened, and he held up both of his hands in a show of peace. "Sleipnir?" he called, voice pitched low and soothing.
Sleipnir let out a careful noise of affirmation and stopped at Loki's side, just out of immediate reach of Sigurðr.
The elder man let out a soft noise and motioned with his hand. Four carrots appeared there and he smiled, bright and true, when Sleipnir perked up. "Go on," Loki murmured, nudging his son.
Sleipnir went, taking the first carrot with care and swallowing it down faster than Loki with a plate of his favourite sweets. The second and third went the same way, and when Sigurðr pulled the fourth away teasingly, the colt head butted him the same way he always did Loki. Sigurðr let out a delighted laugh and gave him the last one, running his hand up Sleipnir's nose and scratching between his ears in a manner than looked well-practised.
When Sigurðr looked up at Loki, his eyes were softer than Loki had seen them yet, and swimming with gratitude. Loki smiled back and stepped closer, commenting, "Sleipnir needed the exercise. I might start bringing him, get him out of the stable hands' hair for the day."
Sigurðr chuckled and tickled Sleipnir's nose, earning him a sneeze and a disgruntled noise. "Yes. I recall many a stable hand leaving because you were such a handful." His expression fell slightly and he leaned forward to touch his forehead to Sleipnir's. "I never spent enough time with my children."
Loki stepped closer, combing his fingers gently through Sleipnir's mane. "You can do better this time," he offered quietly.
We both can, he didn't say aloud, but it hung there, between them. That silent promise that Loki's life would be different, that he wouldn't share the regrets Sigurðr carried in his broken heart.
Sigurðr gave a brief nod and ran his hand up Sleipnir's nose again. "Can you communicate via mind, yet?" he asked.
"No," Loki said as his son shook his head in the negative. "Should he be able to?"
Sigurðr's lips thinned for a moment before he allowed, "Odin taught him, when he was old enough to serve as his war horse." He shook his head. "I think I can teach you a little sooner, however. And perhaps a few other tricks, besides; we can have fun while Mummy's pouring over boring texts."
Loki choked on a laugh while Sleipnir whinnied in amusement. "Hey!"
Sigurðr flashed him a smirk, bright and playful.
Bringing Sleipnir was probably the best choice Loki had ever made.
-0-Loki and Sigurðr fell into an easy pattern over the next couple years. For six days, Loki would travel out to the cottage – almost always with Sleipnir, much to everyone's pleasure – then he would take the seventh day to stay with his family. (He wouldn't have bothered, but Thor had complained about never seeing him and threatened to follow him out to the cottage, which Loki wanted to avoid at all costs.)
Sigurðr taught Loki anything that came to mind: Some days were spent learning knives and the short sword Loki still used in those rare occasions he was dragged out to the training grounds; other days involved practising seiðr until Loki was falling over, exhausted, and Sigurðr had to help him back to the city, or let Loki borrow his bed for the night; yet other days found the two learning to use their Jötunn heritage in tandem, for Sigurðr had never trained any of those skills.
Loki was heading home after training with knives all day, alone because Sleipnir had spent the day being fitted for riding equipment, and pleasantly sore with the remaining sense of victory in landing a cut on Sigurðr's cheek. (He'd promptly been smacked around directly after, his teacher always happy to remind him that one blow landed meant little in the grand scheme of things.)
He was just in view of the edges of the city when everything went oddly dark.
-0-Part Two
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batsutousai
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Date: 14/4/13 20:26 (UTC)*whimpers* I can't read part two today...I'm so tired I go sleep *pets part two* I'll be back to read you tomorrow...
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Date: 14/4/13 22:09 (UTC)♥♥