Prince of Darkness, Part III

philosopherking1887:

My 666-follower giveaway fic for @shine-of-asgard, which I originally intended to be between 1000 and 2000 words, is now more than 7000 words… and I still have one part left. This is even worse than the time my 2500-word giveaway fic for @darklittlestories came out at 5200. Length limits are seriously not my thing.

Part I, Part II

————————————

Thor was beginning to think he
might be happy in Midgard. Not yet, of course; not while the news of his
father’s death and his mother’s rejection was still so fresh, not while he
could still feel the ache in his muscles from straining to lift Mjölnir, in
vain. But someday. He would court Jane slowly, as befit a lady of her standing
and education. Selvig, who seemed to stand in place of a father for her (he
called himself her “advisor,” which seemed odd considering that she held no
political power) had given his implicit permission.

So it came as a complete surprise
when Lady Darcy called from the front room of the Midgardians’ strange abode,
“Thor? There’s someone here for you… she says she’s your mother?”

Thor’s hesitant spark of hope was
instantly smothered. What could she be here for, but to let him feel the full
measure of her fury and disappointment?

He emerged from the room where he
had been reading one of Jane’s texts of Midgardian physics (a wondrously
bizarre way of viewing the world) with his head bowed, bracing himself against
the onslaught. But when he dared to raise his eyes, Frigga’s expression seemed
wrong; it was worry, not anger, that creased her brow and tightened her lips.

Keep reading

I’m reblogging this from myself because I think the “Keep reading” link doesn’t show up on the phone app or sometimes even on computer browsers unless it’s reblogged, and this post is just too long for Tumblr’s bullshit (which is why I put in the link in the first place).

Also tagging some people I think might have been reading: @acebakes, @angrymadsygin, @foundlingmother, @illwynd, @kingloptr, @nursejoh53, @wouldyouknowmore, @writernotwaiting

Prince of Darkness, Part III

My 666-follower giveaway fic for @shine-of-asgard, which I originally intended to be between 1000 and 2000 words, is now more than 7000 words… and I still have one part left. This is even worse than the time my 2500-word giveaway fic for @darklittlestories came out at 5200. Length limits are seriously not my thing.

Part I, Part II

————————————

Thor was beginning to think he
might be happy in Midgard. Not yet, of course; not while the news of his
father’s death and his mother’s rejection was still so fresh, not while he
could still feel the ache in his muscles from straining to lift Mjölnir, in
vain. But someday. He would court Jane slowly, as befit a lady of her standing
and education. Selvig, who seemed to stand in place of a father for her (he
called himself her “advisor,” which seemed odd considering that she held no
political power) had given his implicit permission.

So it came as a complete surprise
when Lady Darcy called from the front room of the Midgardians’ strange abode,
“Thor? There’s someone here for you… she says she’s your mother?”

Thor’s hesitant spark of hope was
instantly smothered. What could she be here for, but to let him feel the full
measure of her fury and disappointment?

He emerged from the room where he
had been reading one of Jane’s texts of Midgardian physics (a wondrously
bizarre way of viewing the world) with his head bowed, bracing himself against
the onslaught. But when he dared to raise his eyes, Frigga’s expression seemed
wrong; it was worry, not anger, that creased her brow and tightened her lips.

“Mother, I did not expect to see
you,” he said cautiously.

“Thor, my son,” she said, her
voice thick, and rushed forward to embrace him.

“Mother, I don’t understand… I
thought you blamed me for Father’s death, had forbidden me to return…”

Frigga drew back with a look of
consternation. “Who told you that?”

“Loki. He came here to see me,
two days ago now.”

Frigga shook her head frantically,
a hand straying toward her mouth. “No, Thor, your father is still alive, though
he did succumb to the Odinsleep after putting it off for so long. But Eir and I
have had to wake him before his strength was fully restored.”

“What? Why? Why would Loki lie to
me? Mother, what has happened at home?”

Frigga closed her eyes and took a
deep breath before she answered, and how had Thor not noticed the redness
around her eyes? “Loki is… missing. No one has seen him for two days. Which
might not be a cause for alarm, except that…”

“…he was King while Father was
Sleeping. And Heimdall has seen nothing?”

“Nothing of Loki, no. He has
known for some time that Loki can conceal himself when he wishes, but we
assumed it was only some foolish love-affair he wanted to keep secret… But what
he has seen is even more troubling.
Jötunheim is awake again, showing an energy and rebuilding at a pace that can
only mean…”

“…the Casket,” Thor filled in.
“Where is it?”

“Not in the Vault. We looked,
General Tyr and I, and it seemed to be there. But on a hunch, I shielded my
hand and tried to touch it, and it vanished. An illusion.”

Thor’s mind insisted there was
only one way to put together the information he was receiving, but his heart
refused its verdict. “They must have captured Loki, forced him to call off the
Destroyer…”

“Oh, Thor…” Frigga’s voice
cracked. “You must speak with your father. Call Mjölnir and we shall go at
once.”

“Mjölnir? But I could not lift her…”

“Your father has lifted the
banishment. This is too important, and we need you.”

Thor raised his hand and reached
out for his weapon… and she answered. After a few moments he realized that he
needed to go outside so that the hammer would not come crashing through the
glass doors.

Having Mjölnir back in his hand
comforted him… but the worry he felt for Loki was too sharp and pressing for
even her presence to offer much relief. He bade his Midgardian friends a
hurried farewell, thanked them for their help and hospitality, promised to come
visit them when he could. Then, with Mjölnir’s aid, he and Frigga flew back to
the Bifröst site, she called to Heimdall, and in scarcely an instant they were
back in the Observatory… in the place where, barely four days ago, his world
had fallen apart.

Horses were waiting for them on
the bridge. Thor was still wearing the Midgardian clothing Jane had lent him;
after fumbling a bit, he tied Mjölnir to the belt loop of his jeans so that he
could mount.

The time they spent traveling
passed at once too swiftly to recall and too slowly to bear. At last Frigga led
him into the chamber where Odin had Slept. He was still reclining in the great
golden bed cushioned with furs, drinking some revitalizing potion from a silver
goblet at his bedside.

Thor knelt by his father’s bed
and took his hand, feeling the dormant strength beneath the fragile papery
skin. “I am sorry, Father. Sorry for my defiance, my arrogance… tell me how I
can help my brother.”

There was pity in Odin’s gaze
when he said, “I don’t need you to help him. I need you to stop him.”

The words chilled Thor to the
spine like the wind in Jötunheim. He carefully withdrew his hands from his
father’s, stood and backed away a few steps. “I don’t understand.”

“Thor, we should have told you,
we should have told you both,” Frigga said; if his mother were not usually so
dignified and composed, he might have called it an outburst.

“Should have told me what.” His
fear settled like a block of ice in his stomach, radiating cold through all his
limbs.

“Loki is not our son by birth,”
Odin said, his voice too calm, too neutral. “I found him as a baby in
Jötunheim, at the end of the war. He was born too small, so Laufey—his
father—left him to die.”

Thor could not believe what he
was hearing. “That’s impossible. Loki is not a Frost Giant. He looks no
different than any of us…” He stopped. But Loki did look different from
everyone in his family; Thor had even teased him about it—the dark hair, the
long nose, the lean build—and jokingly called him an Elven changeling.

“He’s a shapeshifter; it’s a rare
trait among Jötnar, but not unheard of. He shifted to an Aesir form as soon as
I picked him up, sensing a possible provider. And he stayed that way until…
something happened during your idiotic excursion to Jötunheim. He went down to
the Vault to try holding the Casket; I saw what he was doing and went to stop
him, and he confronted me.” Odin’s eye clouded for a moment, as he drifted into
troubling memory. “That was when I fell into the Sleep. He was angry,
irrational…”

“How
could he not be angry?” Thor interjected.

“He would be dead
if not for me!” Odin snapped, and lying there in his nightgown wrapped in furs
he seemed more like a querulous old man than he ever had before. “But how
did he repay me? He stole the Casket and took it right back to Laufey.”

“Laufey is dead,”
Frigga put in, her voice brittle. “Heimdall has seen that too. There was some
sort of power struggle with his sons…”

“Maybe Loki
betrayed that father, too. Better to have the viper in someone else’s nest…”

“Loki isn’t a
viper,” Thor said through gritted teeth.

“Blood will out,”
Odin said as if he hadn’t heard, his eye burning into Thor’s. “I should have
known. The boy was always a liar and a sneak…”

“Odin!” Frigga
cried, anguished. “He’s our son!”

“Not anymore.” Odin’s
pronouncement carried the weight of a disowning.

“He’s still my brother,”
Thor said with quiet vehemence.

“You can believe
that all you want, but you’ll still fight him when he comes with a Jötun army
to assail Asgard.”

“He won’t,” Thor
insisted.

“You think
returning their greatest weapon to them will be the end of it? No, Thor; he has
chosen a side and it isn’t ours.”

Odin was half
right. When the Jötun army came to Agard, Loki wasn’t with them. But it was
plain that they had an insider’s knowledge of the palace, the city, the land.
They destroyed hidden stores of food so that the city would not be able to
withstand a siege; they blockaded the entrances to a secret fortress in the
mountains so that the people could not take refuge there and raided caches of
weapons so that the populace could not take up arms. To their credit, Thor
thought, it seemed that they tried to minimize civilian casualties: the aim was
to humiliate Agard’s rulers, not to make enemies of its people.

Odin sent an emissary under a
white flag to the camp the Jötnar had established in the mountains, bearing a
missive that read, “Odin All-Father
demands that you turn over the traitor Loki Laufeyson.” The emissary
returned, frightened but unharmed, with a reply, written in large letters on
his white flag: “Odin Father of Lies does
not seem to be in a position to demand much of anything. The traitor Loki
Laufeyson conveys his warmest regards to Frigga All-Mother and invites her to
send a message when she wishes to discuss terms of surrender. She has the word
of King Helblindi that she shall not come to harm. Jötunheim has no quarrel
with Vanaheim, but remembers ancient alliances before the Realms submitted to
Asgard’s tyranny.”

Odin was furious; Frigga said
nothing. He did not even ask whether she planned to take Loki up on his offer.
Thor thought that might be a mistake. Once his parents might have thought and
acted as one… but Frigga had been quiet and distant since Odin had disowned
Loki. Thor realized that it would not surprise him if she acted on her own
contrary to Odin’s wishes—not only as Queen of Asgard, jointly responsible for
the Realm’s well-being, but as All-Mother of the Nine Realms and a princess of
Vanaheim.

As Thor led skirmishes against
the Jötnar, he wondered always if he would encounter Loki: he looked for a
shorter, slighter figure among the hulking giants; he half expected at every
moment to come face to face with his brother, to confront that face he knew
better even than his own… but would it be icy blue, now, the crystal-green eyes
turned to red? Would he know his brother in such a guise, by anything else but
his stature?

He asked Heimdall at every
opportunity for news of Loki. He was no longer concealing himself; he was in
Jötunheim, contributing his magical skill to its rebuilding with the aid of the
Casket. Meanwhile, the Jötun army laid siege to Asgard, and Thor knew that
Asgard could not long hold out. Odin stubbornly insisted that he would not
yield; Frigga grew ever more quiet and distant. Thor wondered how long it would
be before she accepted the invitation to negotiate a surrender.

Four months after the invasion of
Asgard, the stalemate was disrupted when Heimdall brought news to the royal
family: a Jötun force had invaded the northern reaches of Midgard, near the
site of their incursion more than a thousand years before. Loki was at its
head.

“I must go,” Thor told his
parents, and neither of them disputed it.

He assembled a cadre of his
most trusted warriors: Hogun, Volstagg, Fandral, and the Lady Sif, along with a
handful of the Einherjar he knew best. He asked Heimdall to locate an Agent
Philip, son of Coul, who might be able to rally Midgard’s own forces to her
defense; Heimdall told him that Coulson and a contingent of Midgardian warriors
were already in the region where Loki and his soldiers had arrived.

So Heimdall sent Thor and his
chosen companions to the far north of Midgard. In many ways, Thor thought, it
was like the desert where he had first landed: barren of vegetation as far
as he could see, with only the stark beauty of mountain crags rising from the
empty expanse, the harsh dry air cut through by winds that roared and shrieked
like berserkers that scented blood.

The Jötnar were at the edge of
the land, where the ice met the sea. Coulson was there with his Midgardian
agents, clad in their strange black cloth armor over the bulky layers that
protected them from the cold. Two strange warriors were with them, one in a
suit of red and gold metal armor that wholly enclosed his body, another in
lighter red and blue armor with a silver star on his chest and on his
blue-and-red shield.

“Nice to see you again, Dr.
Blake… or is it Thor?” Coulson greeted him.

Thor skipped over the
pleasantries. “We are here to aid you in defeating the Frost Giants. Tell us
what we must do.”

“I think you might have come to
the wrong party,” said a muffled voice from the red and gold armor.

“I don’t understand.”

“Thor, allow me to present Mr.
Tony Stark,” Coulson said, gesturing to the man in the metal armor. “And Captain
Steven Rogers.” The blue-and-red warrior nodded. “And your friends are…?”

“Lady Sif and the Warriors Three:
Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet
you all, but it’s actually looking like defeating won’t be necessary,” Coulson
explained with his usual understated equanimity. “Director Fury is waiting for
confirmation from the World Security Council and the UN, but it appears we’re
going to be able to come to an arrangement.”

“An arrangement with those—” Monsters, he had been about to say. But
Loki was one of them; he always had been. “With those invaders?” he finished
lamely.

“They describe themselves as immigrants
seeking a better life,” said the warrior with the shield, Captain Rogers. His
voice was stern, almost accusing.

“Is that what they are?” Volstagg
scoffed, and Fandral laughed. Thor held up a hand to silence them.

“They said their homeworld was
devastated by war a thousand years ago and deprived of the resources to rebuild.
By your world, interestingly enough,” Coulson added mildly. “They’re just now
starting to restore their own planet, but it will take some time for their
society and economy to recover. Some of them think they’d fare better here.”

“And so they might,” Thor
acknowledged. “But what of the Midgardians… the humans who live here now?”

Stark made an exaggerated show of
looking around, swiveling his helmeted head while its expression remained
frozen. “Are there some I didn’t know about?”

“Not right here,” Sif interjected impatiently. “In your Realm.”

“The government of Norway seems
quite amenable to the arrangement,” Coulson said. “As are the governments of
Greenland and Denmark. They’ll have to put it to a vote in their respective
parliaments, of course, and maybe even a referendum, but a military response
doesn’t seem to be on the horizon.”

“What is the nature of this ‘arrangement’?”
Hogun asked, matching Coulson’s imperturbable neutrality.

“As you may be aware, Earth’s
climate has been dangerously warming due to unfortunate energy-capture practices…”

“That’s a really euphemistic way
of saying ‘human stupidity,’” Stark put in.

“…and the
Jötnar have offered us a way to protect the Earth from some of the effects of
that warming. Or maybe even reverse it entirely.”

“They want to settle
on the glaciers and ice sheets of the Arctic and Antarctic,” Captain Rogers explained,
seeming annoyed by Coulson’s vagueness. “No one lives there anyway.”

“That is blatant
penguin erasure,” said Stark, puzzlingly.

“Don’t forget
polar bears,” Coulson added, deadpan as ever.

“No people live on the glaciers and ice
sheets. They’ve assured us that they have only peaceful intentions toward the
surrounding populations. They’ll trade, of course, but respect human territorial
sovereignty.”

The Asgardians
exchanged skeptical glances; Volstagg even snorted aloud, and Thor glared at
him.

“And in return
they’ll use their magic Casket prevent the ice from melting,” Rogers finished,
with a glare of his own.

“It’s not magic,
it’s energy transfer,” Stark muttered.

“It’s really a
win-win solution for everyone,” Coulson said. “They’ll get an environment that
works for them, protect the local ecosystems, and stop sea level rise. Hunting
and fishing rights will have to be worked out, but in light of the benefits…”

“I
must warn you that the promises of Jötnar cannot be trusted,” Thor said.

“Funny,
that’s exactly what they said about you Asgardians,” Coulson replied, neutral
as ever.

Sif growled
low in her throat; Thor wasn’t sure it was voluntary. “Was there a man among
them who was smaller than the rest—about my height?”

“Yes,
the one who spoke to us on their behalf was just the size of a tall human. The
others seemed not to speak any human languages. I wondered if they choose their
ambassadors to avoid intimidating the locals.”

“No,”
Thor said sharply. “He is the only one of his size, or one of very few; the
Jötnar kill the rest at birth. He grew up in Asgard, so he is the only one who has
knowledge of the All-Tongue. That is why he was their spokesman.”

“That
and the ‘silver tongue,’” Fandral contributed. “He can be very persuasive.”

“You
seem to know this guy pretty well,” said Rogers, sounding suspicious.

“He
was raised as my brother.” A knot seemed to form in Thor’s throat even as he
said it, and he half-choked on the last word.

“Wow,
this is some real George R. R. Martin shit,” Stark commented. He muttered
something to himself; Thor thought he made out the word “fucking,” but he
couldn’t be sure. Coulson gave Stark a reproving look.

“If
you have a way to send him a message… would you tell him that his brother
wishes to speak with him? That I have no desire to fight him, only to talk.”

“Of
course, we can do that,” Coulson replied graciously.

“And I thought I’d been to some awkward family
reunions,” said Stark.

————————————

Note: Yeah, I thought the conversation between Thor and Loki deserved its own part. I hope it won’t get too much longer…

iamhisgloriouspurpose:

malicemanaged:

toomanylokifeels:

Loki looked upon Laufey’s cheekbones and honestly had no idea he was his son SMH. That “it all makes sense now!” line when Loki confronts Odin includes the dawning realization that he shares deadly sharp cheekbones with his Jotun dad, whilst Odin’s cheekbones are about as dangerous as a Dodge ball. Like??? Sure??? It would probably hurt if he head butt you, but it would only result in minor abrasions. If it were Laufey or Loki? Say goodbye to your whole face because they’d cleave it off if they so much as rub their frosty jagged face on you that’s how dangerous them bones are.

I just KNOW I laughed too damn hard 😂

Colm Fiore, who plays Laufey, and Tom Hiddleston:

I’m almost certain they did that on purpose.

Prince of Darkness, Part II

philosopherking1887:

This is the second of three (I think/hope) parts of my Lightbringer-themed giveaway fic for @shine-of-asgard. Part I is here.

Sorry this one is shorter… and sorry I keep getting bogged down in weird negotiations. I think I’m going to switch to Thor’s POV for the third part; gotta get things moving. And since the horizontal line doesn’t show up on mobile, I’m just using a bunch of hyphens.

————————————

All at once the world snapped back into vivid reality. Laufey’s
eyes widened and he made a wet choking sound before he slumped back into his
chair. Byleistr rose so quickly his chair fell with a clatter onto the floor
and started to lunge at Loki; Hvedra was only a little slower to do the same.
Loki was debating whether to slide off the chair and shelter under it or try to
climb onto it to hold them off, but the sound of Helblindi’s palm landing
heavily on the table froze them all.

“Be still,” Helblindi said, unnecessarily.

“He murdered our father!”

“I have eyes,” Helblindi said. His flat tone never changed.
He trained his eyes on Loki; there was no anger in them. “Speak well,
Asgardian, and you may yet leave this room alive.”

“I alone can give you the Casket,” Loki began. He still felt
too unreal to feel fear. His mind seemed clear and sharp as the blades of ice
that still gleamed around Byleistr’s and Hvedra’s hands; a plan had taken shape
as swiftly and easily as those blades.

Keep reading

Prince of Darkness, Part II

philosopherking1887:

This is the second of three (I think/hope) parts of my Lightbringer-themed giveaway fic for @shine-of-asgard. Part I is here.

Sorry this one is shorter… and sorry I keep getting bogged down in weird negotiations. I think I’m going to switch to Thor’s POV for the third part; gotta get things moving. And since the horizontal line doesn’t show up on mobile, I’m just using a bunch of hyphens.

————————————

All at once the world snapped back into vivid reality. Laufey’s
eyes widened and he made a wet choking sound before he slumped back into his
chair. Byleistr rose so quickly his chair fell with a clatter onto the floor
and started to lunge at Loki; Hvedra was only a little slower to do the same.
Loki was debating whether to slide off the chair and shelter under it or try to
climb onto it to hold them off, but the sound of Helblindi’s palm landing
heavily on the table froze them all.

“Be still,” Helblindi said, unnecessarily.

“He murdered our father!”

“I have eyes,” Helblindi said. His flat tone never changed.
He trained his eyes on Loki; there was no anger in them. “Speak well,
Asgardian, and you may yet leave this room alive.”

“I alone can give you the Casket,” Loki began. He still felt
too unreal to feel fear. His mind seemed clear and sharp as the blades of ice
that still gleamed around Byleistr’s and Hvedra’s hands; a plan had taken shape
as swiftly and easily as those blades.

Keep reading

I’m not sure if this will do any good, considering the problems Tumblr has been having with notifications, but I’m tagging some people who liked or reblogged Part I and might be interested in the continuation: @acebakes, @angrymadsygin, @illwynd, @kingloptr, @nursejoh53, @rynfinity, @writernotwaiting

Prince of Darkness, Part II

This is the second of three (I think/hope) parts of my Lightbringer-themed giveaway fic for @shine-of-asgard. Part I is here.

Sorry this one is shorter… and sorry I keep getting bogged down in weird negotiations. I think I’m going to switch to Thor’s POV for the third part; gotta get things moving. And since the horizontal line doesn’t show up on mobile, I’m just using a bunch of hyphens.

————————————

All at once the world snapped back into vivid reality. Laufey’s
eyes widened and he made a wet choking sound before he slumped back into his
chair. Byleistr rose so quickly his chair fell with a clatter onto the floor
and started to lunge at Loki; Hvedra was only a little slower to do the same.
Loki was debating whether to slide off the chair and shelter under it or try to
climb onto it to hold them off, but the sound of Helblindi’s palm landing
heavily on the table froze them all.

“Be still,” Helblindi said, unnecessarily.

“He murdered our father!”

“I have eyes,” Helblindi said. His flat tone never changed.
He trained his eyes on Loki; there was no anger in them. “Speak well,
Asgardian, and you may yet leave this room alive.”

“I alone can give you the Casket,” Loki began. He still felt
too unreal to feel fear. His mind seemed clear and sharp as the blades of ice
that still gleamed around Byleistr’s and Hvedra’s hands; a plan had taken shape
as swiftly and easily as those blades.

“What stops us from invading Asgard in force and taking it?”
Helblindi asked.

“You would not find it. I told you: I alone can give it to
you.”

“And if we put you to slow torture, would you not hand it
over?”

Loki laughed. “I am a magician matched by none but Queen
Frigga herself. I can stop my own heart if I wish.” (He was lying, but he would
bet they could not know that.) “And if I die, the Casket is out of your reach
forever.”

“He’s bluffing,” Byleistr hissed.
Loki was nervous until he added, “Asgardians love their lives too much.”

Helblindi’s eyes bored into Loki’s; Loki gazed back coolly.
“I think perhaps this one does not,” Helblindi said. “Very well. Why should we
not kill you after you give us the
Casket?”

“Because I know things about Asgard’s defenses that none but
a member of the royal family could know. I will not only return the Casket to
you; I will help you wage war on Asgard to avenge the honor of your Realm.”

“Why?” Helblindi, like his father, did not mince words. “Why
attack your own kingdom? What do you want out of this?”

“Asgard is not my kingdom,” Loki said sharply.

“You are its king.”

“Temporarily.” Loki knew now that he was never meant to be
more than that; he was still keeping the throne warm for Thor. And much joy may he have of it.

“Do you think to buy the throne of Jötunheim with the Casket?”
Byleistr demanded. “Or seize it?” He raised his bladed hand threateningly.
Helblindi’s level gaze never left Loki’s face.

“Odin thought to install me as a puppet king,” Loki said,
almost spitting out his so-called father’s name. That was what he had meant
when he said that both Thor and Loki were born to be kings; that was the only
way he could have united their kingdoms or brought about a permanent peace,
given Laufey’s feelings about his third son. “This is not my kingdom either.”

“Then what do you want, Prince Loki?” Helblindi asked again,
calm and inexorable.

“Midgard,” said Loki, almost on a whim.

“Midgard?” Byleistr repeated incredulously, and even Hvedra,
who had been silent while the royals discussed bloodlines and high politics, blurted
out, “What? Why?”

Loki barely spared them a glance before turning back to
Helblindi; he knew which of them had been trained for rule and diplomacy. “That
was what started the last war, was it not? Jötunheim attempted to conquer
Midgard, using the Casket of Ancient Winters to make it hospitable for Jötun
settlers. Restore your kingdom, weaken Asgard, then let me lead a force to conquer
Midgard. I will rule it in your name and pay tribute to Jötunheim; I ask only
that you allow me the independence to govern it as I see fit.”

Byleistr was still incredulous. “And take no vengeance for
our murdered father? Our murdered king?”

Loki cast a prayer down to the Norns at the root of Yggdrasil
to strengthen the silver tongue they had gifted him, not to let its eloquence
tarnish now… but unexpectedly, Helblindi came to his aid.

“We heard the words that passed between them before Prince
Loki threw his blade. He avenged himself.”

“He should never have existed in the first place!”

“But he does, and he lived to return the Casket to us. The
gods give nothing without exacting a price. Our father should have died before
he let the Casket be taken; the gods have demanded that he die in order that it
be returned.”

“Is that what we’ll tell our people? That the gods killed their king? And just
when he happened to be in a room with an Asgardian and the next in line!”

“You’ll tell them the truth,” Loki cut in. “That the king’s cast-off
runt returned from Asgard to bring the Casket home and to punish the father who
tried to kill him—and who led Jötunheim to defeat. You’ll say it’s a sign from
the gods that the ‘children of air and snow’ are no longer to be sacrificed,
but will live among you… or in Midgard, as they choose.”

“That’s the truth, is it?” Byleistr scoffed.

“Yes,” Helblindi said calmly. “We have been given the chance
to restore Jötunheim to greatness. Would you throw that away for a misplaced sentimentality?
Or are you a patriot?”

‘Misplaced sentimentality’?
I take it their relationship with their father was about as good as mine.

Byleistr made a disgusted noise and slammed his hand against
the wall—which shattered the ice blade he had formed around his arm. He was unhappy,
but he had disarmed himself. Hvedra did not follow his lead; instead, she
seemed to warm her hand and arm from within, melting a layer of the ice and
allowing the blade to slide off and break on the ground. They both resumed
their seats; Byleistr had to right his first, and kept glancing significantly
at Laufey’s glassy-eyed corpse, near-black blood still oozing sluggishly from
its throat.

Helblindi turned back toward Loki. “If we are to present you
to our people as Laufey’s son—and if you are to lead a force of Jötun warriors—you
will need to appear Jötun. But we have only seen partial transformations, when
a part of your body is burned with cold.”

“We could have someone follow him around and burn him with cold constantly,” Byleistr growled. Loki wasn’t sure how much was sarcasm
and how much genuine malice.

“When I held the Casket, my whole body shifted,” Loki said. “I’ve
never tried shifting on my own…” He looked down at his hand and tried to reach
inward for whatever the Casket had found in him, the spring of that
all-encompassing warmth… but his hand remained stubbornly pink.

“See if you can hold the Casket and not shift back when you
let go,” Helblindi suggested.

Loki gave him a sharp look. “I will not turn it over to you
until we have addressed your people as agreed. I will present it to you only at
an assembly of your people—” He caught himself, paused. “Of our people,” he amended, testing out the
sound. “After you tell them that I have come to provide information that will
ensure Asgard’s defeat, and to conquer Midgard for Jötunheim.”

Byleistr rolled his eyes and made another disgusted noise;
Helblindi only nodded. Loki slid off the chair, less gracefully than he might
have hoped; Hvredra made a small sound of alarm and leaned forward, but
Helblindi put up a cautioning hand. Loki backed up to the far wall of the room,
putting as much distance as possible—little though it was—between himself and
the Frost Giants; he had other defenses, but every inch and every second might
count. Then he pulled the Casket out of the pocket dimension where he had
stored it.

As soon as he grasped its handles, he felt the warmth begin
to spread from his hands. Even more remarkable, his vision changed: the ice
around him seemed to glow, the dimness of the room to lighten, the features on
the Jötnar’s faces to become both softer and more distinct. All three of them gasped;
Hvedra glanced around in amazement, Byleistr swore softly, Helblindi closed his
eyes as if struggling to keep his composure. None of them moved to take the
Casket, but Loki, taking no chances, still dismissed it back to its pocket
dimension as soon as he felt the warmth reach every part of his body, from ears
to toes.

Some of the glow in the room dimmed again, but Loki found
that he could hold onto the warmth in his body; after a few moments of standing
very still and counting his breaths, it seemed to settle in. He looked down at
his hands: they were still blue. He dared to look up again at the Jötnar; they all
seemed shaken and a little forlorn. Loki thought that before his
transformation, he would not have been able to identify the brightness in Helblindi’s scarlet eyes as unshed tears.

“The Casket should never have been taken from you,” Loki
said. He had had a sense of it when standing before it in the Vault, but he had
not really felt it until now, had not known
it.

“You should not have been taken from us, either,” Helblindi
said, to Loki’s great surprise. “Welcome home, brother.”

“Yes, yes,” Byleistr said briskly; he was still
impatient, but not nearly as hostile as before. “Now we need to arrange a
funeral, an assembly, and a couple of invasions.”

Prince of Darkness, Part I

shine-of-asgard:

philosopherking1887:

I still haven’t finished writing @shine-of-asgard‘s fic for my Satan-themed 666-follower giveaway… I shouldn’t even do fic giveaways, I can’t keep myself to a schedule or a word limit. Oy. I have written what I think is the majority of it, though, and I got to a good cliffhanger-y chapter break (and a little past), so I’m going to post it in two parts so that you don’t have to keep waiting.

Here was the prompt: “Loki/Lucifer and Odin/God. Variation of the ‘Lightbringer’ theme where Loki rebels against Odin and tries to steal the Casket of Winters to give it back to the Jotnar. It can follow the ‘biblical’ version with Odin striking Loki down and Loki falling from Asgard or you can spin it any other the way you want. Bonus points for the appearance of Thor as a conflicted good archangel who loves his brother but won’t go against God for him.”

I did it as a fairly straightfoward canon-divergent AU… well, you’ll see.

After Odin fell into the Sleep, Loki kept going back to the
Vault every few hours to stand before the plinth where the Casket of Ancient
Winters lay. Like a guilty man returning
to the scene of the crime. But what was the crime, he wondered, and whose?
Loki’s driving his father past the brink of exhaustion by confronting him with
the truth? Or Odin’s abandoning his son when he most needed his father’s
guidance? Or was it earlier: the lie he had told Loki for his whole life only
to reveal the truth in the wrong way, at the wrong moment, and then escape
taking responsibility for the aftermath? Couldn’t
he have thought of another lie? Any story, any explanation other than the
truth that Loki had already guessed?

The Casket wasn’t the
only thing you took from Jötunheim that day.

Loki felt a strange kinship with the Casket—like it was a
long-lost brother. Perhaps that was what kept drawing him back to it. We don’t belong here, either of us. Perhaps
that had been the true crime: those twin thefts more than a thousand years ago.

He saved my life, Loki
reminded himself; I would have died if he
hadn’t taken me. But was that even true? Could he believe Odin’s word about
anything, now? Was he a rescued castoff or a hostage? I hoped we could unite our kingdoms one day—bring about an alliance,
bring about a permanent peace—through you. How would that have worked, if
Laufey had never wanted him? And how could Odin know he was Laufey’s son, if he
had been left alone to die?

Loki was starved for knowledge, and he knew he would not get
it from Odin. Nor could he expect truth from his mother, from Frigga: Odin
might well have told her the same lies. No, there was only one person he could
ask: Laufey himself. As a king to another king, Laufey owed him the courtesy of
truth.

Seguir leyendo

Love it, love it, love it! But how cruel are you, to give Loki not one but two asshole, uncaring sires? Maybe he can off Laufey, fool Odin and reign on Jotunheim with the help of the Casquet… He’d make a good job of it. One can dream…

Glad you’re enjoying so far! Yeah, I know, I’m terribly mean to Loki… but so many fic writers have already done the “he wasn’t really abandoned” thing, I’ve decided it’s my job to write a version of Jotunheim where they do expose the small infants and it’s not a good thing but it doesn’t necessarily make them monsters (it’s not an uncommon practice, historically). As for where Loki’s going to end up… you’ll see 😉

Prince of Darkness, Part I

foundlingmother:

philosopherking1887:

I still haven’t finished writing @shine-of-asgard‘s fic for my Satan-themed 666-follower giveaway… I shouldn’t even do fic giveaways, I can’t keep myself to a schedule or a word limit. Oy. I have written what I think is the majority of it, though, and I got to a good cliffhanger-y chapter break (and a little past), so I’m going to post it in two parts so that you don’t have to keep waiting.

Here was the prompt: “Loki/Lucifer and Odin/God. Variation of the ‘Lightbringer’ theme where Loki rebels against Odin and tries to steal the Casket of Winters to give it back to the Jotnar. It can follow the ‘biblical’ version with Odin striking Loki down and Loki falling from Asgard or you can spin it any other the way you want. Bonus points for the appearance of Thor as a conflicted good archangel who loves his brother but won’t go against God for him.”

I did it as a fairly straightfoward canon-divergent AU… well, you’ll see.

After Odin fell into the Sleep, Loki kept going back to the
Vault every few hours to stand before the plinth where the Casket of Ancient
Winters lay. Like a guilty man returning
to the scene of the crime. But what was the crime, he wondered, and whose?
Loki’s driving his father past the brink of exhaustion by confronting him with
the truth? Or Odin’s abandoning his son when he most needed his father’s
guidance? Or was it earlier: the lie he had told Loki for his whole life only
to reveal the truth in the wrong way, at the wrong moment, and then escape
taking responsibility for the aftermath? Couldn’t
he have thought of another lie? Any story, any explanation other than the
truth that Loki had already guessed?

The Casket wasn’t the
only thing you took from Jötunheim that day.

Loki felt a strange kinship with the Casket—like it was a
long-lost brother. Perhaps that was what kept drawing him back to it. We don’t belong here, either of us. Perhaps
that had been the true crime: those twin thefts more than a thousand years ago.

He saved my life, Loki
reminded himself; I would have died if he
hadn’t taken me. But was that even true? Could he believe Odin’s word about
anything, now? Was he a rescued castoff or a hostage? I hoped we could unite our kingdoms one day—bring about an alliance,
bring about a permanent peace—through you. How would that have worked, if
Laufey had never wanted him? And how could Odin know he was Laufey’s son, if he
had been left alone to die?

Loki was starved for knowledge, and he knew he would not get
it from Odin. Nor could he expect truth from his mother, from Frigga: Odin
might well have told her the same lies. No, there was only one person he could
ask: Laufey himself. As a king to another king, Laufey owed him the courtesy of
truth.

Keep reading

I adore that you’ve included Loki’s brothers. I’m always sad when they’re not included (and it seems they really don’t exist in the MCU…). The entire confrontation is excellently done! Poor Loki 😦 Yeah, I’d stab Laufey, too. He could have at least worded it a little nicer. Then again, flowery language doesn’t really seem like Laufey’s style. Not who Loki inherited his silver tongue from.

Thanks! It’s pretty standard fanfiction practice to include Loki’s brothers, even in human AUs where Thor and Loki come from different families, but the MCU seems to have decided (oddly) that Laufey doesn’t have any other kids. Careless of him not to secure the succession. And if Loki is the “rightful king of Jotunheim” (per those dimwitted hacks Markus & McFeely), who’s been in charge there for the past 7 years? Do they have a Gondor-style Steward who keeps things running while waiting for the king to return?

If Loki inherited his eloquence from anyone, it was Farbauti; more likely he learned it from Frigga.

Prince of Darkness, Part I

I still haven’t finished writing @shine-of-asgard‘s fic for my Satan-themed 666-follower giveaway… I shouldn’t even do fic giveaways, I can’t keep myself to a schedule or a word limit. Oy. I have written what I think is the majority of it, though, and I got to a good cliffhanger-y chapter break (and a little past), so I’m going to post it in two* parts so that you don’t have to keep waiting. [ETA after posting Part III: guess that didn’t happen, either.]

Here was the prompt: “Loki/Lucifer and Odin/God. Variation of the ‘Lightbringer’ theme where Loki rebels against Odin and tries to steal the Casket of Winters to give it back to the Jotnar. It can follow the ‘biblical’ version with Odin striking Loki down and Loki falling from Asgard or you can spin it any other the way you want. Bonus points for the appearance of Thor as a conflicted good archangel who loves his brother but won’t go against God for him.”

I did it as a fairly straightfoward canon-divergent AU… well, you’ll see.

————————————

After Odin fell into the Sleep, Loki kept going back to the
Vault every few hours to stand before the plinth where the Casket of Ancient
Winters lay. Like a guilty man returning
to the scene of the crime. But what was the crime, he wondered, and whose?
Loki’s driving his father past the brink of exhaustion by confronting him with
the truth? Or Odin’s abandoning his son when he most needed his father’s
guidance? Or was it earlier: the lie he had told Loki for his whole life only
to reveal the truth in the wrong way, at the wrong moment, and then escape
taking responsibility for the aftermath? Couldn’t
he have thought of another lie? Any story, any explanation other than the
truth that Loki had already guessed?

The Casket wasn’t the
only thing you took from Jötunheim that day.

Loki felt a strange kinship with the Casket—like it was a
long-lost brother. Perhaps that was what kept drawing him back to it. We don’t belong here, either of us. Perhaps
that had been the true crime: those twin thefts more than a thousand years ago.

He saved my life, Loki
reminded himself; I would have died if he
hadn’t taken me. But was that even true? Could he believe Odin’s word about
anything, now? Was he a rescued castoff or a hostage? I hoped we could unite our kingdoms one day—bring about an alliance,
bring about a permanent peace—through you. How would that have worked, if
Laufey had never wanted him? And how could Odin know he was Laufey’s son, if he
had been left alone to die?

Loki was starved for knowledge, and he knew he would not get
it from Odin. Nor could he expect truth from his mother, from Frigga: Odin
might well have told her the same lies. No, there was only one person he could
ask: Laufey himself. As a king to another king, Laufey owed him the courtesy of
truth.

Loki went through the secret path he had found deep beneath
the palace; he did not want Heimdall to know of this trip. He emerged from a
cave in the ice not far from the ruined palace where Laufey’s throne still
stood, but had to trek some distance around to make sure that he approached
openly: he did not wish to be apprehended as a spy or saboteur.

Laufey’s welcome was still far from warm: “Kill him,” he
ordered his guards, sounding almost bored, as Loki walked toward the dais
between the rows of towering ice pillars.

“After all I’ve done for you?” Loki said lightly; he was
determined to show no fear, though his stomach twisted with it.

“So you’re the one who showed us the way into Asgard.”

“That was just a bit of fun, really,” Loki said, adopting a
cocky air, half-consciously deepening his voice to match the Frost Giant’s. “To
ruin my brother’s big day. And to protect the Realm from his idiotic rule for a
while longer.”

“I will hear you,” Laufey said slowly, grudgingly.

“What I have to say is… of a sensitive nature.”

“Only a fool would dismiss his guards in the presence of an
enemy. Do you think me a fool?” Laufey’s tone was even, but his low growl held
more than a hint of warning.

“I think you a king, in the presence of a fellow king.”

Laufey scoffed. “What, is Odin dead, along with his elder
son?”

“Odin Sleeps and Thor is banished for his assault upon your
Realm.”

“In which you were an accomplice.”

Loki bowed his head. “I tried to dissuade my brother from
his bloody course, but you are right; I should not have assisted him. I hope to
make amends for the damage we have done.”

“How?” Laufey asked bluntly.

“By returning the Casket of Ancient Winters.”

An excited murmur arose among the guards and attendants who
lined what used to be the great hall. Laufey held up an impatient hand to
silence them.

“You would pay us weregild with stolen coin?”

“With lawfully taken spoils of war,” Loki corrected.
“Indeed, it would more than pay for the lives of a hundred men; with it you
could restore Jötunheim to its former glory.” He struggled to say the word
without irony.

“And what do you expect in return for this… excess of
generosity?” Laufey asked, allowing irony to drip from every word.

“Only the answer to a question, which I would ask in
private… or in the presence of only your most discreet, trusted men.”

“All of my men are discreet and trusted. Ask your question.”

Loki sighed; he hadn’t expected to be asking about his
parentage in the presence of twenty hostile Frost Giants. He would have to go
about this indirectly.

“If you will dismiss none of your men, then I ask that you
answer three questions.”

“One or three, it matters not. But ask quickly; the dinner
hour draws on.”

“And who knows what may happen when you let Jötnar get
hungry enough,” said one especially hulking guard behind the throne, baring his
teeth. The assembled giants laughed; it seemed that they knew of the stories
Aesir parents told their children to make them behave, or at least suspected.

“Peace, Byleistr,” Laufey said without heat. “Ask, Asgardian.”

“Did Odin take anything from you at the end of the war,
other than the Casket?”

“Aside from the lives, freedom, and honor of my people?”

“Yes, aside from that. And something taken from you
specifically.”

Laufey’s face darkened. “You dare to speak to me of my
beloved Queen?”

Loki cursed himself silently; he had known that Queen
Farbauti was killed in the fighting at the very end of the war. “No. Of…
something she may have left behind.”

Laufey’s eyes narrowed. “It seems this ignorant Asgardian is
of little threat to me,” he announced. “I will speak with him in my private
chambers. My sons, Helblindi and Byleistr, will join me, and as guard I shall
have only my esteemed warrioress Hvedra.”

Laufey stood abruptly from the throne and the two giants who
had flanked it—his sons, apparently—followed him down the steps from the dais.
The one who had not spoken, Helblindi, had a scar across his forehead and held
one arm stiffly at his side. One of the giants who had been standing in the
hall peeled away from her fellows, looking somewhat bewildered. Loki would not
have identified her as a female had Laufey not called her “warrioress”; she
looked much like her male companions, down to the bare chest, flat and
muscular.

Loki followed the giants through a passageway behind the
throne into another ice-cave, larger than the one he had come through and
furnished with a long table and six chairs, all carved of ice. Other openings
in the walls of the cave no doubt led to other chambers deeper in the glacier.
Laufey sat at the head of the table and his sons took their places to either
side. Hvedra remained standing, looking uncertain what to do, and so did Loki:
all of the chairs were too large and slick for him to climb into unaided.

“Hvedra, would you assist our honored guest?” Laufey asked,
noting Loki’s embarrassment.

Loki feared that the giantess would lift him by his armpits
as if he were a child, but instead she knelt and made a bridge of her hands as
if she were an Asgardian gallant helping a lady mount a horse. “Thank you, my
lady,” Loki said once he was seated on the chair opposite Laufey’s. His legs
dangled awkwardly and he could not make use of the backrest without reclining,
so instead he held himself stiffly upright. The ice of the chair chilled him
even through his cloak and thick leather trousers.

Once Hvedra had seated herself beside Byleistr, on Laufey’s
left, Laufey spoke—but instead of addressing Loki, he turned to the giantess
and said, “Hvedra, you saw when Alsvart was killed, did you not?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, looking only slightly less
puzzled than before.

“And you told me that something strange happened before his
death.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. The Asgardian who killed him”—her eyes
flickered briefly toward Loki before she turned back to her king—“Alsvart
grabbed his wrist and tried to burn him with cold” (Loki could tell that the
phrase in the All-Tongue translated a single Jötun word) “but he did not burn.
Instead, his hand and arm turned blue and marked, like a Jötun’s.”

This Alsvart had not been able to burn Loki with cold, but it
seemed Hvedra’s words could. He felt an echo of the same prickling numbness,
the same disoriented nausea, that he had felt—could it have been only the day
before?

“Is this the man who killed Alsvart?” Laufey asked, nodding
toward Loki.

Hvedra turned and scrutinized his face. “It is hard to say
for sure, they all look so similar… but he did have dark hair of about that
length and wore a dark green coat. And he killed Alsvart with a dagger he
pulled from the air.”

“Thank you, Hvedra.” Laufey turned burning eyes on Loki. “I
would be mad to ask you to pull a dagger from the air… but can you summon
something else?”

Loki was not sure it was wise to admit to having killed this
Alsvart… but they already knew he had slain many of their brethren, and Laufey
wanted him to prove that he was the one with the blue hand. So instead of a
dagger he pulled a book from one of his pocket dimensions and tossed it onto
the table.

Laufey nodded. Now he turned to Helblindi. “Burn his face
with cold,” he commanded.

Stone-faced, Helblindi rose, still holding his arm stiff,
and approached Loki, closing the distance swiftly with his long strides. Loki
did not move; he only flinched a little when Helblindi grasped his jaw in one
massive hand. He felt cold radiating from Helblindi’s fingers, but then warmth
suffused his face, the same warmth that had washed over him when he had held
the Casket.

Hvedra hissed in a sudden breath; “Well, fuck me,” muttered
Byleistr. Laufey shot his son a reproving look. Helblindi withdrew his hand and
Loki’s face could feel once more the chill of the frozen realm.

“You ask if my wife left anything behind at the end of the
war,” Laufey began. “She did bear a child, the day before she was killed. I
begged her not to rejoin the fighting so soon after, but… she was a warrior to
the last.” Grief was written starkly in the haggard lines of his face.

“And the child?” Loki asked. He could hear his voice
trembling, shameful as it was, and his tongue felt thick and heavy.

“It was one of the small ones,” Laufey said. His voice
sounded strangely flat. “She wanted to keep it, but the priests said it was
sacrilege, and would call down the wrath of the gods. That we must keep to the
old ways, especially in our hour of trial.”

“The small ones,”
Loki repeated. His own voice seemed to him to come from very far away.

“The old tales call them the children of the air and snow,
who must be returned to air and snow. But I do not credit such superstition.
Our people began leaving them to die as infants because otherwise they would
have died as children; it saved them and their parents a few years of
suffering. Perhaps we know enough now to allow them to survive to adulthood;
apparently Asgard does. But ancient customs are slow to fade, even when they
have lost their original purpose.”

Loki’s nausea seemed to have doubled. He abruptly realized
how much he had been hoping that Odin had lied, that he had parents who loved
and wanted him but were forced to give him up for the sake of peace…

“The priests fled the temple as the Asgardian army
approached. Those that survived returned to find that the baby was gone: its
body could not be burned, returned to the air as the gods demand. I killed the priests for their negligence and cowardice, and let the people think the Asgardians had
slain them in the temple they served. I thought the Asgardians must have found
the baby’s frozen corpse and disposed of it… but it seems I was wrong.”

“Odin told me I was your son,” Loki whispered hoarsely. “How
did he know?”

“Your heritage lines. Odin doesn’t let it be widely known,
but his mother was a Jötun: Bestla, my father’s sister. She was a shapeshifter,
like you, so she spent most of her life in Aesir form… which made it easier,
when relations between the realms turned hostile, to conceal the king’s kinship
with the enemy. But Bestla must have taught her son to read the markings of her
house, the royal house. He saw them on your face and he knew.”

Heritage lines? Loki
had never known that the marks on the Jötnar’s skin had any more meaning than a
tiger’s stripes. And he had known his grandmother’s name and even her face,
from the murals on the walls of the throne room, but knew nothing of her true
origin.

“Do you regret it?” Loki asked. His voice came out almost
strangled.

Laufey gave a sharp derisive sigh. “You want me to say how
remorseful I am for abandoning you. Sorry to disappoint you, boy. What would I
have done with a sickly motherless runt? The realm was suffering; my people
would have resented me for it, said the resources should be spent on worthier
lives.” He paused. “I do regret that Odin got his hands on you.” His mouth
twisted. “He styles himself ‘All-Father,’ father of all the Realms. ‘Father of
Lies’ is a truer name for him. And he has turned you into a liar like himself. I
should have slit your throat rather than let him take you.”

He has turned you into
a liar like himself. But how did Laufey know that? “So you’re the one who showed us the way into Asgard.” Of course.
But in deceiving Odin (to show him the truth about Thor!), he had only been
following Odin’s tutelage. Father of
Lies. I should have slit your throat.

Loki hardly felt attached to his own body: the
sensations of stiffness, cold, and even nausea seemed to belong to someone else;
the sound of Laufey’s voice seemed distant and hollow. All he could hear was
his own heartbeat in his ears and he felt as though he was watching himself
from within when he grasped a knife from its pocket dimension and threw it
without aiming into Laufey’s throat.