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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 4 years

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Aaand now it’s time for episode 6 of The Witcher! Rare Species is the title and it’s intriguing, are we going to learn more about witchers?

Anyway, let’s do this. F.lux off, luminosity on, earbuds, clean glasses, and we’re ready. Nobody cares about that but whatever.

We start directly with Jaskier which is always welcome.

Geralt’s employers for the case think he’s dead by now and take Geralt’s stuff... but some strangers just show up and help out. Stranger dude introduces himself and I immediately forget his name and don’t try to learn it. Now he’s Suspiciously Helpful Guy, for short Beard Guy. The ladies with him are gorgeous.

This is about a dragon!!! That’s super exciting. Hope the dragon looks cool.

Jaskier also thinks the ladies are gorgeous. He probably thinks everyone is gorgeous but still, mood.

The reward for killing the dragon is huge, because it’s about the reputation of a king. Makes sense. Suspiciously Helpful Guy isn’t suspicious after all, he just wants the lord title and whatnot and wants Geralt on his team because Geralt is like the Cristiano Ronaldo of monster hunters, and that makes sense.

Beard Guy doesn’t want the reward for itself, but wants a last adventure before he gets too old to do anything exciting, apparently. He tries to appeal to Geralt emotionally, but Geralt is still unconvinced. Aaaand now we get what convinces him to join. The world is small :)

So welcome to Deadly Gishwhes.

Yennefer is there as a fancy escort to Pompous Knight. I think they haven’t started yet and she is already Done with him.

Meanwhile-not-meanwhile Ciri is walking right into Fake Mousesack’s trap...

Deadly Gishwhes for now is a camping trip. Isn’t this fun! Geralt is convinced that the most dangerous thing on the mountain isn’t the dragon, but Yennefer... we’ll see. I mean, definitely.

Dinner is an awkward affair until it gets a more intimate affair, then it’s cute. I’m afraid these nice people won’t survive this.

Dara suspects Fake Mousesack, but Ciri doesn’t...

Meanwhile Yennefer has been sleeping and has lost her escort. Oops.

Oh, he’s been found. Double oops.

The dwarves suggest a shortcut, our team accepts, but we’re gonna have some Yennefer-Geralt drama first.

And of course Yennefer is meaning to use the dragon to get her uterus back.

Geralt says she’d definitely made a bad mother and, well, is he wrong. Apparently it’s customary to make witches and witchers sterile, and he acknowledges that their lifestyle isn’t suited for children. Which I can’t really disagree with... if you really want a child, you can adopt one after deliberation, and not risk to produce a child accidentally that will be thrown into a very unstable environment. I get where Yennefer is coming from, though--it’s not really about a child, it’s about reclaiming the possibility of a choice that was taken from her. I think it’s more about having a part of herself taken away, and maybe she’s been rationalizing her feelings as wanting to be able to have a child, but I think it’s about the integrity and wholeness of her body, of getting back something of herself she got robbed of (even if she chose it at the moment--but it was a choice dictated by the desperation of fixing what had caused her a lifetime of abuse, suffering and self-loathing).

I love how this thing is all leading to Geralt becoming a mama duck.

(Yeah, I don’t know how this story will progress exactly, but I am assuming the plot is going to be about Geralt becoming a mama duck until proven otherwise. I mean, this episode is yelling at us that Ciri is going to become his adopted daughter, we just got hammered with a reminder that she’s tied to him by destiny and Geralt is now babbling about the fact that it’s not a good idea for him to have a child. But for some reason I expect Geralt to go through the story being imprinted on by every orphan or lost soul he meets, like baby ducklings with mama duck.)

(I can’t really think of Geralt as a father but I can only think of him as a mother, does that make sense? I’ve watched too much Supernatural.)

AAAAAAH he’s “thought about this--often”. He’s thought about children and parenthood. Excuse me, I needed that heart, who gave you the right.

Oh my god, he’s been avoiding the surprise because he knows he’s supposed to parent the child, and does not want to subject the child to the life he leads!! I am having feelings!! He does not want a child to go through what he goes through!! He’s literally been tormented by the idea that destiny wants to give him a child but he doesn’t want the child to suffer through the horror and pain of his life!! Wasn’t one (1) show with these themes enough, did I have to add another??

Well, now Yennefer is going to be bitter that she’s been trying to get a child for decades and this dude stumbled into magical adoption just like that.

Also love how Geralt is like “why do I start babbling like an idiot when I’m near you”. It’s called being neurodivergent Geralt. I know this isn’t the take I was supposed to get from the scene but I’ll go with it. It makes sense okay?

Ciri catches Fake Mousesack, and They(TM) get fed up with the whole thing... Ciri is savage af.

The shortcut is terrifying and Jaskier is being perfectly reasonable thank you very much.

Nooo Beard Guy!!! Goergous Ladies!!!! I mean, I expected it, but still. :’(

Oh bby he’s trying to console Geralt and also working out his own pain.

The directors have a favorite angle to shoot Geralt, uh.

Yennefer has made a Tardis Tent. And they have an emotional (emotionally mature, at least for they standards?) moments. They suffer a bit from a-man-and-a-woman-share-a-pencil-syndrome, but that’s just how the show has been working so far, it’s a lot about negative space, so I’m giving them a pass.

Me the other day, as a joke: the horse is the fantasyland equivalent of the Impala. This episode: if he wasn’t a hunter witcher he’d work with cars horses. *deep inhale* Okay.

Ah. Her dream is to be important to someone, yes. A child of her own would be a sure way of achieving that.

Alright, this scene was sweet. They lil stupid faces when they wake up together. They’re dumbasses but cute.

And Ciri is caught. This guy is either feeding her some fat lies or not, let’s see. He speaks destiny stuff so he probably believes what he’s saying. The camping party was talking about the religious zealotry of Nifgaard peeps. He’s probably the religious righteous type, which is the most dangerous type.

OH! Now this is intriguing! It’s Them(TM). And yes, he believes the prophecy stuff, and the shapeshifter thinks he’s insane. Yep.

Yennefer cheats at track and field.

I have a theory about the dragon, let’s see.

Ho ho ho! This is great, the ladies are alive, Suspicious Guy was not what he appeared uh.

I was right, the dragon was a she and had a baby. That was my theory. Yennefer was after it for motherhood reasons... but the real motherhood was the dragon she was after all along.

Suspicious Guy was indeed a gold dragon, the rarest, the ones with the very peculiar mutation... of course. I should have expected it. He hired the only person who’d empathize with dragons and could protect the baby dragon.

Mama Duck Geralt Foreshadowing Abounds!!

Sorry guys, Team Protect Baby Dragon are the most badass people around.

Dracarys.

Ah, I’m so happy about how this episode went. Sorry for poor dragon mama, but the rest was 👌🏼

Dara is done with white people bullshit, which we can’t blame him for.

And now it’s time for draa~ama! They break up. I mean, I knew I’d happen because they’re dumbasses and just at the beginning of their character development arc. I want them to be each other’s weird ex that somehow is always involved accidentally in everything the other does.

Dragon Dude is like, forget heterosexuality, embrace your true nature as a Mama Duck.

Well, dumping your frustrations on Jaskier doesn’t seem fair. Aw, that’s so sad. Yennefer and Geralt speak the same emotional language, but Jaskier is a lil dumpling.

Fringilla boosts Creepy Religious Dude’s self-esteem. They have a Mission!

And we’ll see how it goes in the next installment...

This episode was really good. Yep.

#the witcher #blabbering me

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inexchangeforyoursoul · 5 years

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I’ve had a chat with ~someone~ and guessed it was The Time to publish this rant... SO. Speaking for both Jasper and Hendrik: what the FUCK was that (also beware of post game spoilers I guess)

I may not have continued to watch streams and LPs after the first Mordegon fight, but from what I’ve gathered from various posts and sources, Act 3 gives everyone a more-or-less happy ending, and then there’s that. Not to mention this ‘everyone’ almost definitely includes not only totally innocent people like Michelle, but also the mother who sacrificed fucking people to her ex-son, and Mia, who was literally in the exact same fucking boat as Jasper. (Speaking of which: out of everyone monsterified in any way or form, only Jade seems to remember what has happened to her to a degree- and she’s the only one who was not under the direct influence of Mordegon, SO... similarly to Mia and Carnelian, Jasper also must have little to no recollection from the past 15 to 25 years, but that’s a rant for another day. Someone really hates Heliodor’s top knights... one is fucked in every way, and the other cannot live a single decade without encountering something gravely traumatizing smh.) Time travel shit is hard to write, but DAMN, is this a fucking mess, especially considering everything else.

Like, okay, let’s start with the basic problem regarding these two dumbasses: Jasper has always been a little shit. We know that. But while mischievous, he’s also perfectly fine giving love and attention to people he likes, even if he's rather roundabout in expressing it. Seeing how diligent and eager he was to better himself while clutching that pendant, I’d say he’s one of those people who care a little too much about the people who count--- and feeling un- or underappreciated is the thing that can twist him into an attention hungry beast. tl;dr: he does expect the important people in his life to return the attention and care in due time, otherwise he becomes a ticking bomb and things will spiral out of control eventually. Now, what makes this complicated is that he’s too subtle in expressing himself in the first place, and will never be the one to walk up to someone with a “we need to talk”; thus, his needs or disdain go unnoticed by people like... well, Hendrik. I love that man as much as anyone else, and he��s super, if not comically heroic, but damn is he an absolute idiot when it comes to personal relations, not to mention his almost robotic hulk-smash tunnel vision when it comes to Carnelian. Chivalrous to a fault, indeed. (I actually like that this is treated as a problem, because it damn straight is. Hell, prioritizing work over everything else is a fairly important catalyst in things ending up the way they are. It is the reason he blindly trusts the king even after finally realizing something’s really wrong with Jasper, and why latter had drifted away until the distance became an unsurmountable chasm. (I kind of see the husband&wife sidequest for the coral to be a good parallel to this situation ngl))

Let’s not even complicate things by raking the king into the equation as a likely father figure to both of them who had apparent favoritism going on, and what effects Mordegon taking over him had on Jasper, shall we? (I personally prefer the option of him approaching Jasper soon after the fall of Dundrasil. With Jasper being one of the smartest people in the game, (if not THE smartest motherflunker around,) maybe he even noticed something was off. Which, may I add, makes him the only one who could notice once Jade was gone. Get those two out of the picture, and you’re SET, man.)

To summarize, one’s too roundabout, the other’s too dumb, and this is why these two will keep talking past each other fiveever. Not even a mermaid’s whole, entire lifetime would be enough for these two to sort things out on their own, which is why they’d need an outsider to nudge them in the right direction. The only two who are in the active position to do so are the Hero and Mordegon. We’ve seen how latter plays out- the Lord of Shadows is much more invested in manipulating people’s weaknesses into killing their friends and family (see also: Mia). So it would be on us to kick them in the shin, right? Except we get no fucking options to do so.

The worst part of it is how easily they could have gone with more insteresting shit. I’ve seen some PC mods already regarding costumes, and you know what? Dubbing problems be damned, I’d give my lunch money tenfold for a mod that gets you a mentally unstable monster tamer Jasper for Act 3 into the team instead of Hendrik who’s forcibly mordegonized instead, even though I don’t have the game, and likely never will. Just this one change is a good enough setup to easily throw a decent storyline together, no??? I bet it wouldn’t be hard to keep the ultimate uberboss for after this shit as a nice bonus, either.

Let’s not even get started on the party dynamics. He’d be suspicious of the Luminary and expect to be used and thrown away as soon as he’s outlived his usefulness, bacause apparently that’s all he’s good for... but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Cat fights with the other Black Mage material Veronica? Yes. Chatting with Sylvia about Hendrik being as thick as a brick wall both physically and mentally?? Hell Yes. Hitting it hilariously well off with Serena and bonding over shit like being lowkey savage and cakes??? HELL FUCKING YES. Him and Erik not even remembering who this other motherfucker is so they can start on decent terms? They are basically the dog and cat type of the same person so it would be a fucking treat to watch that mess unfold. (in case it wasn’t clear thus far: I’d rather take an altered Act 2 with an Act 3 on top; still post-apocalyptic and somber, but with better outlooks, and healing time for wounds. Just... striking a better balance of hope and despair, you feel? Not everything has to be 90% perfect or 90% depressing.) And JADE, guys, JADE. She could just be the missing link to break Jaspers LVL 99 Mistrust Barrier and make all those other things possible. Apart from maybe Rab, she’s the only one around who knows him to an extent; it would give her some of that much needed active character development, AND be a display of her diplomatic skills as a soon-to-be-ruler. Two birds with one fucking stone, I tell ya. Just thinking about this makes me feel robbed.

Also, party members mean pep powers. Some sly shit with Erik. An ultimate Charm Nuke feat. Jade&Sylv. A Double Re-Vamp where he beats up shit with former while everyone watches in horror. One last power exclusive for the last boss where Hendrik joins the two of them that’s referencing Heliodor’s two headed eagle.

Ah, and there’s the obligatory face-off with Hendrik... and Carnelian, I suppose. Might keep the old dude around to make sure mr knightiest knight no-brains orders... anyway. That shit. That shit would be 100% psychological warfare directed at Jade and Jasper. And actually Evil™ Greg (aka Hendrik, sorry, I love that nickname from a JP playthrough) could totally bring out the receipts on both of them. It wouldn’t even be OOC because A: he spent time with baby Jade, and B: Mordegon knows like 99% of Jasper’s emotional baggage anyway. That shittalk would work like a charm, and dig under the lad’s skin, I tell ye. And past the humiliation and hurt, Jasper would also get fucking pissed and just tackle Hendrik to the ground before punching the fuck outta him, because feeling betrayed or not, even he knows that Hendrik would never, ever say something like that to his, save Jade’s face. It would be to no avail as our Wall of Meat could kill p much anyone by just flexing on their neck... But that’s also a perfect moment to pull an “if only there was someone who loved you” that would rattle everyone’s jimmies in- and outside of the game.

Man.

(I seriously don’t expect anyone to program this shit on the spot, but I may or may not be halfway done with some more-or-less episodic fic chapters that I also may or may not finish sometime, and y’all are free to contribute yourselves, too)

#dq11 #dqxi #dragon quest 11 #dragon quest xi #dragon quest #rereading this reminded me how pissed I was when writing it lmao #wall of text

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lotornomiko · 5 years

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Triumph’s Tribulations Chapter Two (worksafe)

It’s an almost all Alicia chapter, except for a brief Lenneth interlude....but I enjoyed myself.

There was something inside her, a wicked and wild energy that tingled through her every nerve, that restless power fighting against the cage of her bones, the trap of her flesh. It rippled with awareness, with hunger, that odd play of power needing an outlet of some kind. That inexplicable need is what had led to her current predicament, Alicia finding herself surrounded by no less than five monsters. Great, brawny beasts, with mud brown fur that was streaked with dried blood, with saliva soaked fangs, and dirt and bits of fleshy grime caught on their claws. Crimson eyes gleamed malevolent with intent, low, excited growls escaping the feral beasts, the circle around her narrowing, as the monsters each closed in.

Sword drawn and at the ready, Alicia stood absolutely still, her blue eyes on that of the leader, the largest of these five brutes. It seemed to lick its chops in response, then abruptly it lunged at the second most boldest of the group, the message clear. This puny little human was HIS. The other beasts growled and whined, and one of the half starved creatures looked as though it would challenge it’s alpha on this. That wouldn’t do, not for the ruler of this pack, and not for Alicia either, the young woman wanting the challenge, wanting to fight them all.

With that intent in mind, she let out a low scream, a harsh, defiant sound, her body coming alive with movement. She ran towards the largest, and the others broke the circle, for one all too brief second the pack having been made alarmed by their prey’s boldness. It wouldn’t last, the monsters too desperate, too hungry to hold back for caution, the smaller ones all charging her. Alicia screamed again, a vicious expression on her face, that twist of lips shaping a grim smirk as her swung sword clashed with fangs. That beast tried to snap her blade in two and got a taste of the divine power in the metal, a pained scream erupting out of the monster.

Her boot then kicked it, Alicia then flipping over backwards, freed sword in hand as the space she had occupied just seconds ago was cut through with claws. The monster almost stumbled as it’s attack missed, Alicia landing hard on the ground, so that her one of her knees almost touched upon the dusty dirt surface. Her other hand moved automatically, the divine energy gathered in the palm of it, the shot then erupting forward, to strike at the leader, crystallizing flesh in a bid for time.

The monster screamed but was frozen in place, most of it’s body encased by that crystal. Big, brawny arms tried to batter it’s way free, but Alicia was already bounding forward to fight the smallest of the pack. There was no hesitation, even though the creature’s small stature was still nearly double Alicia’s size. She dodged and weaved in close, aware of the other monsters nipping at her heels, the woman swinging and stabbing her sword about, an explosion of guts and gore causing an upheaval amid her quarry. They turned on it, lured by it’s injury, by the blood and the weakness exposed, savage maws tearing into skin. There was the sickening squelch of fat flesh being ripped apart, and then the crystal shattered, the incensed alpha immediately going for Alicia.

The other three distracted with their meal left the young princess devoting her full energy to fighting the giant. Leaping over it’s swipes, rolling through the space between it’s legs, to then thrust the tip of her sword into it’s belly, this fight had never been a life and death situation, not for her anyway, the monsters finally having realized that this weak prey that they had hunted, was in fact the real threat to them all.

Her victory leaked into the cold expression of her eyes, Alicia doing bloody battle, wild and vicious in a way that she had never before been, something inside her screaming for this. For this violence, an excitement inside her, one that grew with every body that fell, her sword coated red with the grime and gore of her kills.

It was not enough. That thing inside her wasn’t satisfied, that restless energy demanding more. She wanted to scream then, awash with a cruel hunger that Alicia was in no way capable of understanding. A need that was getting worse instead of better, driving her from the camp, from the relative safety of the fire, from her friends, her partners, from RUFUS.

The nights were always the hardest. Whatever was inside her, came alive then, as though the darkness itself lent it power. Tortured by it, Alicia hadn’t had a good night’s rest in weeks. WEEKS! She could count the days to the exact moment it had started, something in Lezard’s twisted world tree having boosted her curse, so that the ghoul powder bit by bit was rampaging further out of control inside her. Not even the ring that she wore, that powerful relic of the elves, could hold it back in it’s entirety, Alicia scared. Frightened of what she was becoming, of what she might do, and of who she might one day hurt.

It left her all the more desperate, Alicia determined to save this world, to see it set down a path of the just, of peace and enlightenment, and with the freedom of choice. It was a dream shared by many, a dream that had started in Dipan, her father and their people, all determined to free themselves from the whims and the rule of the Gods. They hadn’t lived long enough to see it, and Alicia might not either, but she was determined to set the wheels in to motion.

Rufus and the others would carry out the rest, Alicia positive they would hold Lenneth accountable should the Goddess herself break from it. From that promise of a better world, that benevolent future of a people who were free.

“Free...” Alicia whispered, that thing inside her thirsting for it’s own freedom. She couldn’t let it, not in its entirety, battle the one and only time where she let the wildness take her over. While the others slept, Alicia prowled the surrounding areas, spoiling for a fight. The monsters were always quick to oblige her, confused by her looks, that of a frail human at odds with the viciousness inside her. Even now, that cruel energy had her hacking at a body, again and again, the dying squeals of the beast exciting that thing inside her. She couldn’t stop it, couldn’t keep her sword arm from it’s movements, flesh and blood flying, some of it getting on her clothes, and still she persisted, almost mesmerized by the gore.

Blood held a fascination for her now. Had ever since that first night in Lezard’s world. The answer whispered through her, but Alicia was so scared. Of it and the blood, of the unnatural, unholy desires that crimson fluid stirred within her. With a wild scream of pure panic, she flung her sword away, and leaped back, ready to bolt from the sight of it.

She tried, Alicia honestly did, but when she spun on her heel to turn away from the hacked up body, she ran right into the large and beefy torso of another. The princess couldn’t help herself then, so caught up in her wild panic, that she screamed. Her arms flailed about, hands not so much fists but claws, and woefully inadequate for the form she now faced. The apex predator that had seized hold of both of her fore arms, Alicia shrieking as her name was then roared out at her.

“Alicia!’ She was physically shook with that snarl, the woman startled to hear her own name given voice. It got through to SOME of her panic, her wild eyes focusing, allowing her to see, the monster, the man in front of her.

“Brahms!” She gasped, and couldn’t quite keep her mouth from gaping open with her shock. He gave her a look that said she knew better, the young woman coloring as though she had just painted a target on the man’s back. “Dylan...”

Brahms gave a gruff nod of his head, eyeing her steadily as he let go of only one of her arms. She colored even more, embarrassed to have been caught, to have been seen so wild and out of control. By him, by anyone, Alicia’s inner struggle one that she had kept private.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

Her eyes widened at that, and then she sagged all weak and exhausted in his grip. “Figure that I can’t hide it from YOU.”

The Lord of all the Undead smiled down at her, but it was a sad sort of sympathy expressed. “At the rate you are declining, you won’t be able to keep this from the others for much longer either.”

She had already suspected that, but still it was alarming to have HIM of all people confirm it. “How long would you say I have?”

“Little more than a month at best….”

“A month...” Alicia whispered it. “Is that enough time to….to set the world back on it’s correct course?”

“The bigger question is does this world even have a month left to it.” Brahms solemnly answered. “The decay is spreading, the ruins of Yggdrasil poisoning these lands and the people at a rapid pace...”

“We have to hurry then!” Alicia exclaimed, trying to pull free of his grip on her arm.

“We do indeed, but we must PACE ourselves.” Brahms advised her. “To push too hard is to the detriment of us all. You especially.”

“Me?”

“The change you are going through will be helped, not hindered if you continue to recklessly take the actions you did tonight.” She flinched as though struck, a shameful color spouting to her cheeks. “I am not without empathy.” He told her. “I remember too well what it is like to be on the verge of the transformation...long though the years have been.”

“Come, collect your weapon.” Her arm was abruptly released, an embarrassed Alicia almost meek as she went to find and pick up her thoughtlessly discarded sword. It was in the midst of a patch of tall grass, hidden and found only by her nose scenting all the blood on the blade. That raised her hackles, made her alarmed, the blood this seductive but repugnant smell to her.

She removed a cloth from her pocket to quickly wipe off the gore from her weapon, then sheathed the blade in it’s scabbard. Brahms shadow fell over her, the man wanting to talk a bit more.

“The fire alone won’t be enough to keep all the monsters at bay.” She reminded him, concerned for the sleeping Rufus and Arngrim’s safety.

“Which is why I commandeered a sentry.” Teeth flashed, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “It will keep watch over the camp….long enough for what I have to say to you.”

“What else could there be?” Wondered Alicia, more than a little uncomfortable at the thought. This was the first time she had ever been truly alone with Brahms, and for all that Alicia knew OF him, the woman couldn’t begin to claim to know it all. She called him a friend, but was that what they really were to each other? Or were they just convenient allies, working towards a similar goal together. Was it even the same goal that they had, beyond finding Hrist and Silmeria, and stopping this decaying world’s imminent destruction? Alicia simply didn’t know, Brahms a true mystery as to what kind of motive drove him.

She had none of the prejudice against him that other humans might, Alicia having spent her whole life under the tutelage of Silmeria. The Valkyrie Goddess had schooled her well to the truth, that woman having trusted in Brahms enough to not only save him, but to rebel with him. But even she had kept some secrets from her, the princess having spent all eighteen of her years unaware that the vampire lord had hibernated inside her, hidden away in the soul of one of the many einherjar that was Silmeria’s to call upon.

Those einherjar were all gone now, freed and lost to battle. It left her empty inside, all lonely and without the support of their voices and encouragements, Alicia having to do everything on her own. Even trust her own sometimes misguided instincts. That gut feeling inside her said to trust in Brahms, to believe in him, even though such things were now difficult, the princess thrice shy after being burned by both Lezard and the woman she had known as Leone.

She had yet to reconcile the anger she felt with Hrist over that betrayal, over her ruse as Leone. Over all the hurt and despair the black haired Valkyrie had caused in adhering to Odin’s decrees. The friendship lost paled in comparison to the family and kingdom that had been destroyed.

Alicia hoped she wasn’t setting herself up for even more heart break and betrayal, but there really was no other option left to her. They needed Brahms, SHE needed him, Silmeria out there somewhere, lost and waiting to be found.

With these thoughts in her head, with the restless energy inside her, Alicia was almost impatient for Brahms to speak. He was taking his time in answering her, walking a slow, sedate pace back towards their camp. She had questions, but knew that it was useless to try and rush him. Brahms would give her no answers until he was ready, the vampire keeping his own thoughts and feelings closely guarded.

Five more minutes must have passed in silence before he finally spoke. “There is a way.”

Alicia did a rapid, repeated blink of her eyes, not sure what he was getting at. “A way?” She echoed, and the vampire didn’t quite hesitate, giving her a solemn nod of his head.

“A way to cure the ghoul powder.”

She couldn’t help it, Alicia gasped, staggering back a step and nearly falling, if not for Brahms quick move to catch her. His hand behind her back helped steady her, Alicia almost grabbing at the open remnants of his vest.

“A way! Why didn’t you speak of this sooner!?”

He seemed to struggle with the answer. “We needed to find Silmeria…”

“We still DO!”

“And to that, we need strength...more strength than an entirely human girl can give.” His face didn’t turn to the side, not even at her sudden slap, Alicia absolutely furious.

“So you what, think to sacrifice me into becoming a MONSTER to better aide you!?”

“I can’t make amends for it. I can’t even apologize.” Brahms was stoic. “I can however, realize that I have been going about this wrong.” He caught hold of her wrists this time, Alicia wild and trying to slap him again and again. “Listen to me...this world doesn’t have a lot of time….but neither do YOU! It was wrong of me to try to take the choice from you, but it is a choice that YOU have to make.”

“What choice!?” Alicia cried out, still struggling against his brute strength, a power he wasn’t even exerting in an effort to control her. “I WANT to be fully human again!”

“Even if it means the world might end?”

“What are you talking about?! How could restoring my humanity lead this world any further down the path of destruction!?” She was absolutely flabbergasted at the thought, but more than that, she was so, so angry, and giving in to the power inside her.

“It might...it might not. But to go after the cure means you’d have to abandon your quest for Silmeria.” That stopped her up short, and at Alicia’s gasp, Brahms gave a grim nod. “I have not yet pinpointed her exact location, but the disbursement of energy sensed, leads me to believe Silmeria lies far from where you’ll find your cure...”

She was torn, all her fight dying inside her, even that wild buzz of energy was silenced, as Alicia gaped open mouthed at him. “Wh…what?” She shook her head in denial, then crumpled to the forest floor, Brahms looming over her in concern.

“There is no choice for it then...” She moaned. “Silmeria...no the world, NEEDS...”

“Do not be so quick to make a decision either way.” His voice rasped out the advice. “It would be difficult alone, but I can and would press on to find her. To find THEM. Just as there is no guarantee that with or without you, the world would be saved...”

“Then WHY are you EVEN telling me all this!?” Alicia cried out in an anguished tone of voice. “Why!?”

“Because she would want you to have that choice...that chance.” Brahms answered. “And if the world cannot be saved, then Silmeria would want you to live out the last of your days, happy and at peace...” He sighed. “Or as at peace as this world gone mad can possibly allow…”

“I...”

“Rest on it.” Brahms advised. “Think and talk this way through...with the others, with that man of yours...”

“He’s not mine...” It was almost automatic, the response and the blush, Alicia trying to deny the feelings that were there between her and Rufus. There simply was no place for it, Alicia having no real time and no real right to nurture the growing affection into something more. It would be selfish otherwise, selfish to the world, and hurtful to Rufus, given the fact of her condition.

“Talk with him all the same.” insisted Brahms. “You might find the clarity you need, to make the decision that is best for YOU.”

She ignored the hand held out to her, Alicia slowly pushing up off her knees with her own power. She found herself nodding though, her heart needing to unburden at least some of it’s concerns to someone. To Rufus, Alicia resuming their trek through the woods, as Brahms began telling her everything else that she had need to know. It was maddening how much he had held back, and for how long, and yet Alicia couldn’t help but to understand his reasons as to why. With the world and Silmeria at stake, with all the help needed, the chance of salvation as slim as it was, she would have done no different. She still couldn’t, Alicia answer almost already solidified in her heart.

This world was in a constant state of flux, constantly evolving, changing with the whims of it’s creator. It was the very reason why escape was proving near impossible, this twisted creation a cage designed with one person in mind. Lenneth, everything that she did, every tactic that she thought to try, rousing a response, the very land and it’s monsters reacting. Working together to corral and contain her, Lenneth exhausted from the endless battles she waged near constant.

She hadn’t rested in weeks. She hadn’t dared tried, this land too quick too prove violent, deceptive in it’s warped attempt at beauty. The very trees could and had come alive, their branches like the tentacles of a kraken, reaching for her. Without her sword, the Goddess had had no choice but to outrun those monstrosities, feeling the dirt beneath her feet start to crumble apart, and suddenly Lenneth had been falling, tumbling through a twilight colored sky, the roar of the wind rushing past in her ears, the feel of a storm cloud dispersing as she fell into one.

It left her wet, Lenneth now able to add it and cold to the list of her current miseries. The shock of that unpleasant sensation didn’t hold the strength to combat her overwhelming exhaustion, so that upon impact with the downy soft feel of a grass that carpeted around a lake, she almost didn’t get up. The Goddess actually just lay there, sleep nearly pulling her under, the temptation there to just take five minutes to herself.

Her tired eyes actually started to droop close, a hot surge of anger at herself suddenly experienced when the Goddess realized just what she had begun to do. That fury inside her, it’s burst of energy wouldn’t be enough for long, Lenneth struggling to sit up. A strangled gasp caught in her throat, her surroundings again changing, the trickle of the lake’s surface becoming that of a roar. That violent sound cascaded liquid down over the entrance to the cave she now found herself in, the dark and dank cavern a hidden alcove built into the cliff side of an immense water fall.

She hadn’t yet stood, Lenneth just contemplating the view through the blurred curtain of the falling water. That of the world beyond, that sight taunting her with the sheer enormity of her impossible task. It was GROWING. Piece by piece, and by leaps and by bound, Lenneth could see the far edge that should have been the end of this world, instead taking on new additions, confirming her fear. It really was expanding, it’s borders endless. She’d never be able to outrun it, never be able to move fast enough to get ahead, this world malicious in it’s determination to keep her.

This world was a never ending nightmare, HERS, Lenneth tasting despair. It was more potent than that of the only other times that she had previously felt such a feeling, the Goddess having cried for her world, and cried for the love that had been slaughtered. A love she might never return to, trapped as she was by Lezard’s creation.

She couldn’t even draw comfort from their memories, from the strength and support of those people. Their voices were too far away and fading faster yet, this warped timeline settling more into place. Every second wasted here, meant the future was more lost, the ripples of the paradox that Lezard had caused eroding away everything, even that of Yggsdrasil. She wondered then what effect it was having on this present era, if the destruction had yet started in the world outside Lezard’s direct sphere of influence. Was anyone safe? Past, present, and future, would anything survive?

She no longer knew. Lenneth lacked the answers to that, to those questions and to her doubts, the woman plagued with them. By her own worries and insecurities, by the fear that perhaps her own stubbornness and bad judgment had led them all to this destruction. A dozen what ifs and even more questions, swirled in her head, Lenneth wondering why she had ever let Lezard live long enough to get a chance to run this wild!

It had been her own foolishness, her own pride and belief, the Goddess having assumed that everyone deserved a chance. A choice, Lenneth as Creator, gifting her people with the freedom of their own will. For good and for bad, the destiny before them, theirs to then mold, it had been her own arrogance that had let Lenneth think that none would aspire to something more lofty than they had deserved. She had never anticipated Lezard, had never thought that madness inside him that powerful a force, his ambition not that of greed, but of lust.

She had been a fool, so blinded by her own confidence, her ability to handle anything that Lezard might have thrown at her. She had LET him live, even with that lengthy list of sins and blasphemies already staining his soul black. He shouldn’t have been suffered to so much as exist, his ambition towards her too great an insult, the mad man having outlined quite clear what he had wished of her, from that first time they had ever met.

Love. Her lip curled at that, the Goddess knowing it wasn’t that. It was obsession, it was lust, and it was control, Lezard having always sought a way to subdue her. She had been in a form he hadn’t a hope of overtaking, those mad schemes of making her a human, having been abandoned for the impossible. That of becoming a God himself, and still she hadn’t been able to believe it, not even at Mystina’s insistence to be wary. Lenneth wondered if she would ever get the chance to tell Mystina that her instincts had been RIGHT, Lezard having found the way as had been feared. She owed her more than that, an apology being needed, Lenneth knowing Mystina had been right about so much, About this situation, about Lezard, and about the fact that Lenneth could not do it all alone.

Her own stubborn ego at play, Lenneth had not brought even one of the einherjar with her. Now she had no one, cut off from both the world and that of the time line, the Goddess left to flounder, unable to do much of anything except wallow in her regrets, and determinedly press on.

At first he wasn’t sure as to the reason why of his abruptly snapping awake, the camp and the surrounding forest, quiet but only to a point. Night owls hooted, while things crawled through the bushes, but it wasn’t anything atypical of what one could expect when camping out in the woods. The animals were about, both prey and predator continuing their cycle of life, their survival dependent on each other. On their deaths, flesh the priciest coin these creatures had, and always there was something bigger, meaner, hungrier than the last.

It was a sound that was not only expected, but one he was used to, given the years that he had spent living on the road. Alone or with companions, and it hadn’t made much difference to the animals and monsters prowling about. Rufus would have been more worried to find a sudden silence, only the most fiercest of creatures able to frighten so thoroughly an entire forest of wildlife.

The sounds were still there, the noisy buzz of insects, the bird calls through the trees, the scurrying sound of padded feet running about outside the camp area. So then what was the reason for his sudden uneasiness? What could possibly be causing such a reaction inside him, Rufus checking to make sure his bow and his quiver of arrows were still in reach like he had left them.

Slim arms suddenly eased around his torso, a slight weight snuggling into his back. With it came the awareness, of a young woman’s body, and that of her clean scent, the princess of Dipan never one for the thickly cloying perfumes that would have otherwise overwhelmed the half elf’s senses.

“Alicia?” It was a soft murmur, Rufus confused by her actions, by her sudden nearness. It had been weeks since their last true moment of closeness, the princess having become distant and aloof ever since they had left Lezard’s mad world.

“Pl...please...” Came the whispered plea, her voice sounded distorted with desperation. “Please, just let me be selfish this one time...”

He understood that even less, Alicia the least selfish person the half elf had ever met, and he told her so. A sound came out of her at that, a kind of choked out sob, that left the man trying to turn, Rufus alarmed.

“Don’t…!” pleaded Alicia, and to his surprise, those slender arms of hers, had real strength to them, squeezing him tight in an effort to keep him from moving. Whatever was the matter, Alicia didn’t want him to look at her, at least not yet.

“All right.” Came the easy agreement, though his heart beat a protest. Relief didn’t outright pour off of her, Alicia then touching her forehead to his back, to the part that lay between his two shoulder blades, and he couldn’t stop it, the elf reacting. A heat to rival that of that time on Yggdrasil had colored his cheeks, Rufus blushing and feeling awkward.

He couldn’t help it. This was Alicia pressed against him, the fit and firm feel of her curves being made known to him, that clean smell sweeter than ambrosia to an elf that was all man. He could have died then and there, a happy man, Rufus caught in the enclosure of her arms. It was more than he had ever dared ask for, this quiet warmth finding a home within him. It was dazzling and real, this feeling capable of only being stirred to life by one other, by Alicia, the first, the only love of his life.

It was a love that he had started to think was unrequited, Alicia having pulled back from the closeness they had once shared. He hadn’t minded it much when in Lezard’s world, their quest too urgent, too desperate for a true romance to bloom, but afterwards? Rufus could admit to feeling hurt. By the rejection he had perceived, Alicia becoming damn near unreachable, and he had never understood WHY.

He had tried to make excuses, had tried to reason it out as Alicia needing time to grieve, to accept the betrayals and the comrades lost. The elf had even wondered if that distance was born out of the young woman’s own brand of shyness, the princess suddenly finding herself the only female in a group of rough men. He’d still be trying to puzzle it out, but then the sniffling had started. His eyes widened, Rufus feeling a new kind of alarm. Alicia was CRYING, and he didn’t know why!

“Alicia?” Again he tried to turn so as to have them face each other, and again found himself held in place. This was not the strength of a normal human, this wasn’t even the strength of a princess who had once hosted a Valkyrie, this was in fact something MORE.

His hand touched her right one, feeling the ring of Mylnn firmly in place. It was still too big a jewel for a hand as petite as hers, and yet it was a vital part of her now. The only thing keeping her curse at bay, the magic he had once hated for keeping him alive and perfect, now able to be the only salvation left to the princess.

Things would have been different if Rufus had been able to become a God. Forget about Lezard, and the ruin he had plunged the world into, as the supreme deity, the elf’s first act would have been to completely cure Alicia of the poison in her veins. That wasn’t an option now, not with Yggdrasil in decay. Not with the Gods as they were, the current pantheon of divine, all selfish and needlessly cruel and without an incentive to cure anyone, let alone Alicia.

“Don’t worry, Alicia...” Rufus spoke in a hushed tone, as not to wake up the snoring warrior who lay closest to the fire. Arngrim didn’t so much as stir, the man having the utmost confidence in their undead companion’s ability to keep all the monsters at bay. Rufus didn’t know if Brahms ever even slept, the vampire studying always the last sight the elf saw before he inexplicably drifted off to sleep. Last to bed, and first to rise, that man always busy with something or other.

“Somehow, someway, we WILL break your curse.” He felt the flinch, felt the way Alicia’s whole body recoiled at those words. Now he was the one turning, grabbing at her, trying to keep her with him. She fought with an unnatural strength, that level of power a sign that something was very much wrong. “Alicia!”

There was an angry snort from the direction of Arngrim, the warrior rolling onto his side, so that his back was to them. It was the only privacy he could give them, the stubborn man refusing to be drawn out of his sleep so completely.

“Sorry...”

“No..no...I should be the one apologizing.” She was no longer fighting, as though conscious of disturbing Arngrim from his much needed rest. Her head was bowed forward, the sweep of her honey hued blonde hair, casting her face in shadows. “I’m being a bother...”

“You are NEVER a bother. Not to me.” His answer was immediate and fierce, Rufus hugging her against his front. Her fingers curled into the coarse cloth of his tunic, but Alicia didn’t look up. As though she was still trying to hide the crying they both now knew that she was doing still. “What is it….? What troubles you so?”

“Ba...bad dream...”

“This is more than some bad dream.” Rufus insisted. “Alicia...please….share with me...tell me what’s going on!”

Rufus couldn’t begin to know just how long the princess then hesitated, a small eternity seeming to have passed, before the young woman that he loved, slumped against his chest. “Alicia?”

“What...what if there was another way...” Came her hesitant voice. “A way that didn’t need a God’s miracle? Would you...would you take it?”

“If that way meant a cure for you? In a heart beat!” There was absolutely no hesitation in him, Rufus steadfast and determined in his devotion to the princess. “I would do ANYTHING to help you, Alicia. You KNOW that..”

She shook her head, but it wasn’t an outright disagreement. “The cost is too high...”

“Cost?” His eyes widened. “Did you discover another way!?

“It doesn’t matter...”

“Of course it does!” Rufus insisted. “This is your life we are talking about, your humanity! If there is a way to restore it...”

“We don’t have time.” The words snapped out of her with a harsh breath. “Not with things as they now are...”

“Well, sure, the world is in a bit of a pickle…” Rufus was trying to be optimistic. “But we’ll soon have that taken care of….”

“Not soon enough.” insisted Alicia, and she finally lifted her head, so that he could see the tears gleaming amid the color of her blue eyes. “Not for me...”

“Alicia?”

“Silmeria waits, in a land far removed from the direction of the cure.” He gasped at that, the implications that of another kind of cure actually existing dulling the shock of what else she had said.

“So there is a cure!” Rufus exclaimed. “Then we must...”

“I can’t do it!” She interrupted him. “I can’t risk condemning the world for my own happiness!”

He had an awful feeling, Rufus suddenly this much closer to understanding why she had been crying. Her hope had been dangled before her, and then crushed, Alicia’s own fist destroying it and all thought of salvation.

“Damn it, Alicia! For ONCE in your life, stop being so self sacrificing!” He hissed at her, hugging her tighter against him. She fought against him, not with her body, but with her words, Alicia telling him that she couldn’t.

“Why!?” Rufus demanded. “Why can’t you!?”

“We have no guarantees of succeeding, even if we find Silmeria and Hrist...and I…if the world is to end, I want to spend my last days at your side...”

“You can still have that!” Rufus told her, too heated to feel awkward. “I’ll go with you anywhere, whether it’s to find Silmeria, or the cure….Alicia, I...”

“You can’t!” Alicia tried to shush him. “You wouldn’t...”

“The hell I wouldn’t...we’re...” He hesitated, not sure what label to put on the complication that was the growing feelings between them. “Partners.” The half elf settled on. “My dearest...friend...No matter what it takes, no matter what it involves, I’d fight any demon, if it meant helping YOU.”

“Even if it meant having to face your own past?” He wasn’t even hesitating, wasn’t taking the time to try and figure out what that could mean, and his stubborn desires only made Alicia cry MORE. “Rufus I would never expect you to do that...I would never ever dream of asking you to risk it...”

“To risk what!?” He cried out, his frustration with the princess succeeding in finally waking Arngrim up fully.

“Get a room, or go to sleep!” Arngrim snarled, giving them both an evil look. “It is too early for this bull shit!”

Alicia flinched at that, but Rufus did not, the elf firmly gripping hold of her chin, to force her to meet his stern look. “Anything Alicia.” His voice was full of his earnest passion, Rufus sure his eyes were blazing a striking color with his determination. “No matter what!”

“The cure lies within the domain of the elves.” Her eyes were leaking tears again, the blue gleaming beautiful for all that pain and misery. She seemed to sag with that admission, and Rufus couldn’t lie, reeling for a moment in shock, at the thought of going anywhere near those people. Next to the gods, the elves were his least favorite of all the beings of Creation. For the tortures they had inflicted on him, the beatings, and the freedom they had tried to keep from him.

“That settles it then.” Rufus knew his tone was decisive, and Alicia was nodding as though in acceptance. “We’ll just have to go steal that cure TOGETHER.”

Her lips parted on a gasp, Alicia now shaking her head no. Arngrim muttered some nasty words at their back, but all Rufus cared about in this moment was Alicia. With her tearful eyes made wide with her shock. He gave her a crooked grin, ignoring all her protests of how she couldn’t let him do that, Rufus determined to prove more stubborn than his spirited little princess in this.

To Be Continued….!

I know, I know...I said not to expect fast updates, and yet here I am churning out the second chapter already. But I feel inspired so far..even if the characters keep trying to derail me.

The only thing I am not too happy about in this one, is that Lenneth’s interlude was so short. I also debated checking in on the Gods in this chapter, but decided it was long enough. May open three with one of those divine as the narrating POV...probably Freya OR Loki….But don’t take that as a concrete decision for sure!

Later!

---Michelle

#valkyrie profile #Triumph's Tribulations #A complete reimagining of Lezard's Triumph #Alicia #Rufus #Brahms #silmeria valkyrie #Arngrim #Hrist Valkyrie #Lezard Valeth #Lenneth Valkyrie #Freya #loki #fanfic #fanfiction

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ceejay1163 · 5 years

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Creation- The Prologue

This is an idea for a fanfic I had as a spinoff from Season 8 of AHS. First story I’ve written in a long time so any feedback would be appreciated. Not edited.

Warnings: Some swearing, suggestions of sex, mentions of blood.

Prologue

She walked into the lobby of the Hotel Cortez wearing her black stiletto pumps, back-seemed stockings and expensive black, skirted suit. With an air of confidence she strode up to the check in desk with a sickly sweet smile and regarded the lady behind the desk.

“You must be Iris. I’m Eve. Mr March should be be expecting me.”

Iris looked up from her crossword puzzle examining the woman in front of her. Without moving from her place she motions to elevator.

“He’s waiting in the Penthouse suite. We’ve organised a party in your honour tonight. The guests will arrive at 7.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the help.” Eve turned on her heels leaving a roll of cash on the desk before strolling to the elevator.

Ding.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the woman of the hour, or the century as the case may be. Now I have had my people use that machine to pick out some possible outfits for you for tonight. I hope they will be sufficient for you. If not we can arrange something else.” Eve held her hand up motioning silence from the man in the pinstripe suit with the thick Boston accent.

“I’m sure what you have organised will be sufficient Mr March. Have you prepared a room for the private celebrations?”

“Yes. Yes my dear the room is prepared.”

“Good. And your ex wife. She is not going to be present, correct?” She gave him a pointed stare to which he seemed to squirm uncomfortably under.

“No ma’am she will not be present. She is tending to our son. She does not come out of her room often and she has promised me she will not be a problem tonight.” March swiftly responded, uncomfortably shifting his weight between his feet.

“Perfect. I never liked that woman. She didn’t appreciate the talent you could have been. Thank you for the clothing Mr March. I will join you tonight for an early dinner before the festivities. I am sure you have more preparations to attend to.”

The Next Morning…

Clothes, blood and bodies littered the floor of the hotel room while a woman smoking her cigarette looking at the chaos before narrowing in on the sleeping figures strewn on the double bed.

“I hate to interrupt but it seems our guest has some unexpected visitors. They’re waiting in the lobby.”

There was a groan from the bed and Eve raised her head, acknowledging the blonde by the door with a polite smile.

“Thank you Sally. We will be down shortly. You might want to let Iris know this room might take a while to get clean.” And with that Sally turned on her heel dropping her finished cigarette on the floor as she left.

Eve turned to the bodies laying next to her.

“James we’ve let this one run cold my dear. It’s a shame, she was pretty. Do me a favour open her mouth, be careful rigour mortis will be setting in soon.” The man groaned and rolled over only to bump into a cold lifeless body. He lifted his head groggily over the mass of long brunette hair that was currently in front of his face to peer at the woman leaving the bed. Her curvaceous body rising from the bed with ease. Watching her glide to the small wardrobe and begin to dress. He looked back to the form next to him.

“Well, we did make quite a mess with her didn’t we dear?” He grunted as he sat up in the bed before roughly pulling the form near him over by the hair. He gazed down at the naked form of the woman in front of him.

“Are you sure you can fix this one? We may have gone a bit far with this one. I mean her neck, it’s barely attached to the rest of her at this point.” He looked up sombrely at Eve as she buttoned up her dress shirt and rolled up the sleeves.

“I’m disappointed in you March. I thought you knew me better than that. Now do you remember how to do CPR or are you only capable of killing?” Eve looked pointedly at March assessing the man who held the lifeless form of the young woman in his arms. What was once pretty and full of life now lied motionless, gashes along her torso leading up to a deep wound that had savaged her throat making it barely perceivable that she had been breathing, laughing and dancing mere hours before. Grabbing the knife from the bedside table Eve climbed onto the bed and sliced her palm before roughly smothering it over the dead woman’s open mouth.

“Press on her chest now March. Three good pumps should do. Try not to break her ribs. No sense in breaking what we are fixing is there.” The man moved to do as he was asked with one, two, three solid compressions he moved to collect his discarded clothing from the night before.

“How long will it take?” He posed. The sounds of a deep inhale were followed by shrieking and coughing. The naked body on the bed withered and convulsed before stilling once more.

“Give her a minute. Coming back from the dead really fucks up a person. You’ll have your plaything back soon enough. In the mean time I believe I have guests waiting downstairs. I assume I will be seeing you downstairs soon.”

“Ahh yes, I just have to make sure Ms Evers cleans up this mess.”

The girl on the bed shot up like an arrow breathing heavily as if she was was struggling to catch her breath. March came up beside her and started murmuring for her to relax. He handed her a shirt that laid on the chair beside the bed.

“It really is extraordinary what you’ve done, really, you cannot even see a scar. Fabulous work my dear. Although this incoherent babbling will subside will it not?”

Eve looked out from the bathroom and shrugged.

“Some do others don’t. Depends how strong the mind is. If she was important I would put more effort into saving her but she’s just a plaything. Dead before the end of day I presume.”

“What happened? Why am I here? Where am I? Who are you? WHAT IS HAPPENING?” The woman screamed getting up and pushing March out of the way. Getting up from the bed, grasping outwards to the door.

“Umph.” There was a thud as she fell to the ground tripping over one of the bodies that littered the floor. A howl left her lips as she raised her head and took in the sight before her. Her distraught cries tore through the room as Eve pulled her up by her hair with one hand and smashed the woman head down on the desk with a crack. Shoving the now unconscious woman towards March, Eve turned on her heels to face them. Walked right up to both of them leaning over to whisper in March’s ear.

“Sorry dear this one is too weak. I’ll send you another.” Stepping back March noticed the weight of the woman in his arms had sagged. As she crumpled to the floor his smile rose to his lips as he saw Eve lift her hand to her lips while holding the still beating heart of the now lifeless body on the floor. He looked into her eyes as she bit into the heart, pulling her hand back to tear at the muscle. March licked his lips as the blood ran down her arm and chin.

“We should get going love, you keep your visitors waiting long.” March hummed, holding his hand out for the heart. Eve placed the heart in his hand and when he looked down his grin broadened into a full on smile.

“An apple?”

Eve smiled and held out her arm for March to take. He took her hand and kissed, lapping up some of the blood that was on her hand and taking her arm in his, escorting her down to the lobby.

Waiting in the lobby when the elevator doors opened were three figures dressed in black robes. Eve stepped out of the elevator and March followed behind bowing his head down. Eve glided towards the trio stopping and extending her hand to the man who stood in the middle.

“You’ve found what I asked for?” Eve questioned as shook his hand.

“I’m Anton Lavey, the Black Pope. We have indeed.” The man replied as Eve shook the hands of his female colleagues.

“Well may I meet him?” Eve asked looking expectantly between the new faces before her. Anton looked between his colleges before giving a short nod. They moved aside and Eve knelt down to peer at the small child hiding behind the robes of these new figures in the lobby. Eve smiled politely at the small child extending her hand to the child slowly as to not frighten him.

“Do you know who I am sweetie? Do you know why you are here?” Eve cooed at the boy. The boy tentatively grasped Eve’s hands studying her curiously. He moved cautiously towards her before flinging himself towards her, hugging her tightly around the neck, while whispering into her ear.

“Father said you would take me to meet him.” Eve grasped tightly onto the boy standing up and twirling around with a smile on her face as the boy started to giggle.

“That’s right little one we are going to fulfil your father’s promise to me. And that starts with going to visit him.”

#ahs fanfic #original story #ahs hotel #ahs apocalypse

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dictionarywrites · 6 years

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Brought To Justice: Chapter 1

Odin gives Loki a choice when he is brought back to Asgard: imprisonment, or execution. When Loki chooses the latter, Odin increases his punishment twofold, and Loki is sent back to Midgard in order to repay his debt. Bound by his own magic and forced to obey whatever order Steve Rogers lays out for him, Loki is forced to attempt a redemption he neither wants nor deserves.

Not a wooby!Loki fic, not an "everybody loves Loki now" fic.

Ao3 link. Rated M. 6k. Complex relationships. Fusion of canons.

Tony watches from the balcony, his arms pressed against the balcony’s side, at the ritual being conducted in the atrium of Stark Tower – and it is a ritual, that much is for certain. Loki, still sporting his injuries from facing up with the Hulk, is kneeling on the hard tile, his hands behind his back, his head bowed, and Odin Allfather is speaking in a high, lofty language Tony couldn’t hope to understand. Magic is visible on the air itself, smelling like the air after a thunderstorm, and he sees blue strings of energy curling between Loki and Cap, who stands uncomfortably in front of him.

Rogers is standing in a military pose, his shoulders squared, his arms at his side, but Tony can see his eyes reflect a discomfort at precisely what is happening – Odin had made it all too clear. “It is your choice entirely,” he had said airily to the group of them gathered, his voice full of faux-sympathy: Thor had stood behind him, his jaw set, his fists clenched at his side. “We shall either execute Loki… Or I will make him harmless to you, and he can help you save lives, instead of taking them.”

“You want to put the onus on us, huh?” Clint had spoken up, still visibly exhausted, his eyes puffy and red, his lips chapped. “You want it to be our choice,” he had used his fingers to quote in the air, “if you kill your son.”

“He isn’t my son,” Odin had said, damningly, and Tony had seen the way Loki flinched in his bonds. Rogers had seen too: maybe that’s why he’d agreed to it.

Odin finishes with a flourish of magic that bursts upon the air, and Loki remains in his spot, silent, unmoving. Tony could believe he was a statue if it weren’t for the way his hair hung down around his face, if it weren’t for the way he could see his shoulders marginally rising and falling as Loki took deep breaths. What, is he scared? What the Hell does he have to be afraid of?

“Now what?” Rogers asks, his voice professional – just like his posture, it has that military edge to it, and Odin seems to respect that.

“He’s yours, now,” Odin says mildly. “He cannot harm you. If you order something, his very own magic will have him obey.” A shadow passes over Roger’s face, a plain discomfort, and he looks down at Loki.

“Stand up,” he says, and slowly, Loki rises. Tony hadn’t really seen it before, when he’d been half-crazed with the Chitauri and burning with the power of the Tesseract, but Loki has a quiet grace to his movements even Thor doesn’t really have. There’s something liquid about it, something extra – he’s only really seen that kind of smooth stand in cats, not in people. Rogers doesn’t look happy to be obeyed. “You have to tell the truth if I ask you?”

“If you order me to tell only the truth now,” Loki says, quietly. Something passes between him and Rogers, a flickering light that passes between their eyes, and Loki adds, “You might, of course, renege that order, if you found it wasn’t to your liking. I doubt that it would be.” Loki’s voice carries up to the balconies, and Tony glances at the others. Bruce is stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his glasses low on his nose; Clint and Nat are stood together, both of them visibly disgusted, and Thor… Thor is down there, behind his father. Tony can’t see his face.

“We’ve been honoured to receive you, sir,” Rogers says, and he barks out the last word as he looks to Odin: Tony half-expects him to salute, but he doesn’t. “With me,” Rogers orders, and as he marches into the main part of Stark Tower, Loki follows him, his hands still behind his back. If Odin was expecting a “thank you”, he doesn’t show it: instead, he gestures for Thor to follow him, and the both of them leave through the wide, double doors.

“Come on,” Nat says, and the rest of them make their way off the balcony, so they can see precisely what is gonna happen now.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

“So, what do we do with him?” Nat asks. They’re down in the training hall, where the walls are insulated and the least amount of noise will carry to the rest of the building. Tony guesses it’s so Cap can weigh up what kind of skills Loki has, but Loki doesn’t seem worried at all: he’s sitting on the air itself, gently buffing his nails with a smooth, unfamiliar instrument.

“Whatever you please,” Loki says, and she looks at him, impassively.

“Shut up,” she says.

“My apologies, Ms Romanov, it seems you’ve misunderstood the terms of this arrangement. I’m certain Captain Rogers will allow you to give me orders, once he’s certain you won’t use the privilege to murder me.” Rogers turns, looking at Loki. All of them are looking at Loki now, and his pale face shows the barest amount of surprise. He looks between each of them, and then his eyes meet Tony’s, his blue eyes staring.

“Surely you knew?” he asks. “Anything you order of me, I am bound to do. You think that stops at harming myself? Killing myself, even? So long as your orders come within the realm of Midgard, I must do as I am bid.”

“What if I tell you that you that don’t have to obey what I tell you?” Rogers asks, and Loki barks out a laugh. It’s an angry, savage thing, showing all of his teeth, and his eyes look impenetrably deep for the barest second, a thrum of power radiating away from him like a pulse, and Tony feels himself, unconsciously, take a step back – and sees the others do the same, except Cap himself.

“Are you certain you want to risk that, Captain Rogers?” Loki asks, arching a fine eyebrow. His tone is slippery, steaming with venom, as he adds, “After all I’ve just done?”

“I didn’t think it was going to be slavery!” Rogers snaps, and Loki chuckles, shaking his head slowly.

“A moral question for any young student of philosophy,” Loki says archly, and he stands up from his invisible seat, vanishing his nail buff into the ether around them. He speaks with his shoulders back, his chin high, and he gestures widely with his hands. His every movement is quietly theatrical, as if he is used to lecturing on this subject, as if he has practised this before. “The question as is as follows: the man in your possession is a slave. He shall obey your orders, gladly, and promptly. You yourself, of course, cannot abide by taking away the liberty of another fellow – but if you set him free, he shall surely die, or worse, be taken up by someone who might treat him cruelly. Do you keep him, or do you set him free?”

“Shut your mouth,” Rogers orders, crisply, and Loki’s mouth shuts with an audible click. There’s a bitter taste in the back of Tony’s throat, and he watches the way Rogers’ brow furrows, watches the way his lips twist. “I didn’t mean that. Talk as much as you want.”

“In accepting the Allfather’s terms, you have made yourself responsible for me. The very reason he has bound my magic in this way is so that I cannot be held accountable for any actions I perform: I am your charge, Captain Rogers, and subsequently he has removed any connection from me to him, or myself to the throne of Asgard. Cunning, isn’t it?” He sets his hands behind his back, his lips pressing together for a moment, and then he says, “If I might make a recommendation, I would suggest the true meaning of this arrangement be held back from the general public. It will sour the name of Captain America, or indeed, of any of you, to think you have entered into an agreement the people of Earth at large will find to be archaic. Tell the peoples of Earth that I was somehow under the psychological control of the Chitauri: pretend I have entered this arrangement to pay back the debt I feel I owe to this society.”

“Why should we believe you?” Bruce asks, his hands in his pockets, but he seems neither scared nor angry, really – just quietly curious, scientific mind working underneath that thick hair of his. Loki sighs.

“One makes the best of an ill situation, Doctor Banner.” Why the Hell is he talking like that? Tony can’t quite get the hang of it – he and Loki had almost been on a level when the two of them had been talking upstairs just a day or so ago, and now everything Loki says is stiff and starched at the edges, as if he’s speaking as an ambassador to some foreign court. Is it part of the magic?

“What?” Clint asks, taking a few steps forward, until he is directly in Loki’s face, until he is looking up into Loki’s eyes. Loki can see that he’s shaking, sees that his face is red, but Clint doesn’t seem to give a shit how scared he is. “What, you think this is the best that could have happened, huh?”

“By no means, Mr Barton,” Loki whispers, and he leans in closer: his lips move, but no sound comes out. Barton’s eyes widen as he reads whatever Loki had said on his lips, and then takes a step back.

“What did he say?” Cap asks, but Barton is already leaving the room, heading toward the stairs and rushing up them: Nat follows him, but not without shooting a venomous stare in Loki’s direction. “What did you say to him? Tell me.”

“I said the best of this situation would have been if the Allfather had me executed, as per my request,” Loki says. The room is utterly silent now, the four of them standing in the quiet, unmoving. After a few long seconds pass, Loki says, “Of course, Captain Rogers, you might pass me onto SHIELD as an asset, if you would prefer. You cannot shift the connection the Allfather has fostered between us, but you could order me to obey the commands of the SHIELD officers, scientists. Do you trust your organisation, I wonder, with me?”

“Stop trying to turn this into a philosophy class,” Rogers says quietly. “I’m not gonna feel guilty for saving your life.”

“You’re more like Thor than I expected,” Loki replies in a soft voice. “Foolish, and sentimental.” Rogers lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head: if Loki meant for that to hurt, he doesn’t seem to have landed the blow.

“If you think you can bait me into hurting you, your highness, you’re damn wrong,” Rogers says. Looking between Bruce and Tony, Rogers gives a wave of his hand, and says, “You guys head upstairs. Work on the rebuild. Me and Loki are gonna stay right here.” Bruce seems glad for the excuse to leave, and he heads toward the stairs, but Tony reaches out, touching Steve’s arm.

“You sure you wanna be down here alone with him?”

“Get Pepper to call Nick Fury,” Steve says quietly. “I didn’t exactly get SHIELD approval for this one, and that’s probably for the best. He’s right. I don’t trust him in SHIELD’s hands – I wish I could. Can we put him in a room here in Stark Tower?”

“Sure,” Tony says. “If that’s what you want. You trust him?”

“Hell no,” Rogers says, shaking his head. “But I don’t need to. Thanks, Stark.”

“No problem, Cap,” Tony replies, and he heads out. It’s… Weird. The whole thing is weird. But what else are they meant to do?

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

Loki stands with his hands behind his back, his back straight, his soles flat against the soft matting that makes up this training hall’s floor. From a very young age, Loki has been used to many different training grounds, most of them using some sort of mix of sand and saw dust to soften the ground, but these mats seem soft enough to allow for an easy landing, and the Midgardians seem so intent on covering everything in plastic.

Captain Rogers is watching him. It doesn’t matter that he’s a hundred years older than his fellows – he has spent those extra years unconscious, and they add nothing to him. Even if they did, what is a hundred years? Loki is nearing his third millennium, now, and not a single person on Midgard could compare to him.

“The magic tricks,” Rogers begins. “Sitting on the air, pulling stuff out of nowhere. You weren’t doing that when you had the sceptre in your hands.” Loki frowns.

“I didn’t need to,” he begins, but Rogers holds up a flat palm for him to stop, and Loki does.

“You couldn’t. Tell me why.”

“The sceptre drained all manner of energy in its vicinity,” Loki murmurs. He dislikes to be forced into honesty like this, but he feels his magic bubbling in his veins, feel it force him to speak with honesty. “Mine included. It would have come back to me after a time.”

“Uh huh,” Rogers says, as if he doesn’t believe Loki, as if Loki doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but there is a pit in Loki’s stomach, and he chooses not to engage with it. “You really wish you were dead?”

“Not exactly,” Loki answers. “The Allfather offered me a choice between imprisonment beneath the city of Asgard, alone, or death. I chose the latter.” Rogers’s frown draws at his lips, turning them downward.

“Then Thor stepped in?” Loki inclines his head.

“He didn’t want to see me die. Suggested that if they imprisoned me under Asgard, it’d only be a matter of time before I broke out again – he was trying to appear to the Allfather’s sense of logic, and cunning, but rather quickly, and with little forethought. It was hardly his fault: he was upset at the thought of seeing me lose my head. Scrambling for an idea, he suggested the Allfather bind me, using my own magic, to Thor’s hand.”

“And Odin said he didn’t want you roaming around Asgard?” Rogers asks, and Loki nods his head once more. The young captain is, Loki is uncomfortable to realise, much more perceptive than Loki had initially realised – even with the clean, methodical lines of Clint Barton’s thoughts beneath his own, he had underestimated each of the Avengers. Is it not fitting that this should be his downfall? “What I need to do know is if you’re gonna try to kill yourself at the first opportunity. ‘Cause that puts other people at risk – other people I have to care about.”

“Why not just order me not to?” Loki asks, and Rogers sighs.

“Can’t order you not to risk yourself. What if I need you to, later on? I just need to know that you’re not gonna jump into self-sacrifice when there are other options available. Suicidal soldiers are no good to anybody.”

“Is that what your Avengers are to you? Soldiers under your command?” Loki asks, and Rogers’ lips twitch into a wan, unfeeling smile. What must it be like for him, Loki wonders? Such a bright-eyed young man so intent on saving others, and here Loki is, a spanner in those particular works: Rogers ought despise him, by all rights, and yet he seems to be doing his best to be near civil to Loki.

“Let’s talk about what you can do,” Rogers says. “Illusions?”

“Yes,” Loki nods. Rogers looks at him expectantly, but Loki doesn’t say anything more, and Rogers sighs, shaking his head, before continuing.

“And your magic… What’s the limit of that? What kind of stuff can you do? Tell me.” He’s learning quickly, Loki thinks, and he cannot help the way his lip curls.

“Shifting the shape of my own form requires time and energy, but I can become much smaller and much larger than myself with relative ease. I can form various shapes, including seemingly inanimate objects and non-sentient beasts. For conjuration, I can quite easily conjure inanimate objects as large as, say, a dining table. I can also summon objects, either from pocket dimensions or another location, so long as I know where that location is precisely, ideally having been there. I can speed the growth of living thing, and I can heal most bodily wounds, so long as I have a deeper understanding of the thing’s anatomy. I can do minor divination, use magic to interbreed strange plants. I can Skywalk, which is rather like a more dignified form of flight – I can walk or run upon the air, and travel freely with seiðr as the source of fuel, I—”

“Stop.” Rogers is looking at Loki with his eyes slightly wide, his lips pursed, and then he says, “Ground rules. You never lie to me – and I mean never, Loki. You don’t lie by omission, you don’t try to squirrel out from a question I’m asking you, and if anything important happens, if you notice anything weird or anything that creeps you out, you tell me.”

“Creeps me out?” Loki repeats, mockingly, and Rogers grabs him by the front of his jerkin, setting his jaw as he meets Loki’s stare, his eyes intent.

“Anything makes you uncomfortable, anyone treats you badly, anyone orders you to do something that you think I’ll think is wrong, you fucking tell me.”

“You use profanity,” Loki murmurs, his lip twitching. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’m a soldier, Loki. You ever meet a soldier that didn’t curse?”

“Soldiers don’t usually get the chance to say a word to me,” Loki replies, his smile showing his teeth, but Rogers is unshakable. He releases his grip on Loki’s armour, and then he puts his hands on his hips, looking Loki up and down.

“For now, take orders just from me. You don’t have to do anything anyone else says, but as a rule, don’t manipulate people, don’t try to set them up to fight each other, and stop saying stuff just to make people uncomfortable. Do not hurt anybody. Do not engender a situation in which you technically are not the person hurting them, but they become hurt as a result of the situation you made. Do not tell anybody who doesn’t already know the ins and outs of this situation, and do not tell anybody who doesn’t know that the magic your father used binds you to me. Next, be healthy. Don’t try to starve yourself, or stop yourself from sleeping, or anything like that. You’re not meant to be hanging off my word, so unless I’ve told you to do something, just live your life.”

“Very comprehensive,” Loki murmurs. Every order seeps into his skin like poison into groundwater, and he clenches his hands into fists at his sides, turning his head away from Rogers so that he doesn’t have to look at the soldier’s face. To think: he has come from the binds of the Chitauri to this. “What will you have of me?” The bitterness of the question sounds through, but Rogers doesn’t seem to care.

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “We obviously don’t want you in the field if we can help it – people will try to attack you, will think you’re there to hurt them. Probably keep you on hand as a healer. You know much about technology?”

“Asgard is much more advanced than Midgard,” Loki points out, but Rogers raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I can drive a Buick, but it doesn’t mean I can take the engine apart and put it back together.” A Buick is some sort of automobile, Loki imagines, and he doesn’t appreciate the hardness of the other man’s stare.

“I take your meaning.” Loki hesitates, then says, “In short, yes. Magic requires a lot of mechanical comprehension – without understanding something, I cannot repair it if I need to. I understand the facets of electronic and engineering invention, and I would consider myself a passable engineer.”

“How old are you?” Rogers asks.

“Exactly?” Loki asks. “I don’t know.”

“I told you not to avoid questions,” Rogers says lowly, his eyes dark, and Loki feels his magic pull hard at his heart, and he sighs, frustrated, and angry, and trapped, as an animal in a corner.

“I’m some years past my third millennia.” Rogers’ eyes become marginally wider, but he schools his expression carefully, ensuring his surprise doesn’t show too obviously.

“So when you say you’ve got skills, you’ve had time to accumulate them.” Rogers presses his lips together, looking Loki up and down, as if searching out clues to other skills Loki might have under his belt, as if searching for the evidence on Loki’s very form. There is none. Loki is not used to wearing his abilities on his sleeve. “Jesus,” he mutters, and Loki frowns.

“What?”

“You and Thor, you just look… You look young.”

“We are,” Loki says. “By the standards of our own species, we’re very young indeed. Well—” The magic drags at him, makes him choke with its heat, and he spits out, “Thor is.” Rogers’s blond brow furrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, it—” Loki lets out a sound of pain as he feels his magic bubble like so much venom in his throat, forcing its way out into his mouth and strong-arming his tongue into speech. “Thor and I are not the same species. I’m not an Æsir, as he is. I’m a Jötunn.”

“He mentioned you were adopted.”

“Adopted?” Loki repeats, surprised by the harshness of his own voice, and he clenches his fists at his sides, feeling magic bubble in his veins, but not, this time, against his own volition – adopted! What a word to use! “Of course he would call it that.” Rogers opens his mouth, evidently planning to ask another question, but there are footsteps in the stairwell, and Loki looks to see the one-eyed Nick Fury striding into the room, flanked by two young soldiers.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

“You’re not taking him,” Steve says, lazily, for the fifth time. Fury is pacing before him, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders high – you can tell he used to be a soldier of sorts himself, before he was a commander. There’s something in the attitude that never goes away. Steve leans upon the island in the centre of the corner kitchen, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. This kitchen is an anteroom off the main training hall, like the changing rooms and the showers, but this room is mercifully clean, and isn’t heavy with the scent of sweat.

“You’re telling me this guy has just killed a few hundred people, and you’re adopting him?” Fury demands, his voice harsh: he’s a skilled manipulator, Steve will give him that, but Steve doesn’t need to remember the Cold War to know that isn’t the way he plays. As soon as Fury had entered the room, he’d ordered Loki to go and find Tony, and reluctantly the god had gone up the stairs, pursued by Fury’s two lieutenants.

“He’s been entrusted to the Avengers. Last I checked, Nick, you aren’t an Avenger.”

“Entrusted?”

“He’s bound by his own magic. He’s one of us now.”

“He just killed half a thousand people!” Fury snaps, his voice raising and bouncing off the thin walls, but Steve just stares at him.

“He’s gonna pay it back,” Steve replies, his tone calculatedly even. “Better than he would, what? Spread out on a lab table so SHIELD can take him apart and see how he works?” Fury’s single eye narrows slightly, and he can see the twitch of muscles underneath Fury’s skin as he shifts the set of his jaw. “He’s not an asset, Nick. He’s a person, and he’s gonna do some community service and pay back his debt. I don’t trust him any more than you do, but he literally can’t lie his way out of this one.”

“He ain’t a person, Steve. You not thinking of Coulson? What about—”

“We’re going in circles, Nick. I’ve told you what’s happening: this is how it’s happening.” Fury’s lip curls slightly, but he seems to realise he can’t use Steve as a tool, can’t push him around. Steve thinks of the weapons they’d seen up on the ship…

Yeah. Fury isn’t at the top of his to-be-trusted list right about now.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Steve suggests, sipping at his coffee and setting the mug in the sink. “I’ll walk you to the door.” But Fury is already walking away from him, his squared shoulders showing his irritation, and Steve smiles, sourly.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

Loki lies on his back on the cot to the side of the room. It is a small bedroom, holding only this single bed, a small desk and chair in the corner, and a bathroom that takes up a corner of the bedroom’s box space, holding a toilet and shower. These rooms are intended for the short term, Stark had told him, for those that just need somewhere to stay overnight if they need to be on hand.

This tiny space is the box they’ll put him in, when his services are not required.

Loki stares up at the bare, white-painted ceiling, his lips pressed loosely together, his hands loosely clasped over his belly. He feels like a corpse on a ritual slab – and isn’t that right? Isn’t that fair? Isn’t this what Odin wanted, when he saw that Loki would choose death over imprisonment, and wanted something worse than both?

And what better punishment for betrayal than to turn Loki’s most loyal friend against him – his very magic?

A knock sounds at the door. Loki’s eyes flit toward it, staring at the dark wood and waiting for someone to step through. There is a long pause, and then there is another knock upon the wood, polite, and short. Frowning, Loki stands from the bed, comes to the door, and opens it.

Here stands Tony Stark, forced to look up a little to meet Loki’s gaze, and he peers past Loki into the bare room. “You’ve been in here for an hour,” he says. “When I said make yourself at home, I kinda meant… Do whatever you want with it. What, you can magic stuff up, but not paint and different bed sheets?” Loki says nothing, and merely stares down at the other man, his gaze impassive. “Uh huh… Anyway, come with me. We’re gonna have something to eat.”

Loki steps out of the room, closing the door behind him, and he sees that the door is not the same as it was when he first stepped inside: somebody, likely Stark, has pained Loki on the wood in curling, painted letters. Loki feels a nausea deep in his belly, and he follows Stark down the corridor, toward the primary dining hall.

There is an unfamiliar man, tall and handsome (another soldier, Loki knows at a glance), dominating the large kitchen in the corner of the dining room, and he is working with ease at the stove, searing the meat of some of those… Ugh. What the Midgardians call burgers, made of the heavily processed meat America seem so fond of. The very scent of the stuff is heavy in Loki’s sensitive nose, and when Tony says, “You want a glass of water?”, Loki nods his head a little more fervently than he had wanted. He takes a sip, and he looks to the dining table, watching the Avengers. Rogers is already sat down, talking seriously to a red-headed woman that Loki doesn’t recognize, and Romanov and Barton work swiftly, setting out plates at every place setting as Banner sets out knives and forks and napkins. The entire situation is unnervingly domestic, and yet no one glares in Loki’s direction or snaps at him. They act as if they’ve done this a thousand times before, and yet Loki knows they’ve only just been thrown together, that they are all as yet strangers.

“Sit down next to Steve,” Stark murmurs, and Loki, seeing no other real option, takes a seat beside Steve. He and the red-headed woman are discussing a renovation of Stark Tower, making it into a space for the Avengers instead, and Loki stares at his empty plate. Soon enough, everybody is sitting down: Stark sits beside Loki, the handsome cook beside the red-headed woman, and then the others take the remaining seats. They pass plates around the table, allowing everybody to serve themselves, and Loki takes a modest amount of a salad Banner had thrown together, passing the plate of burgers immediately onto Stark when Rogers hands the plate to him.

Conversation occurs around him, and Loki eats in silence. He is hyperaware of what he must look like, still in his leathers, his straight back, his poise princely, but no one comments, and everybody ignores him, mercifully. Loki has never been so glad not to be noticed before. The salad is palatable enough, the vinaigrette strong and settling acid-heavy on his tongue, and it is plain that Stark orders in high-end stock – what the Midgardians call organic, ridiculous phrasing – because Loki cannot taste the tang of pesticides in the crisp, green leaves or in the softness of the tomato.

“So, Loki,” the handsome man says, and Loki looks across the table to him, doing his best to keep his expression entirely neutral. “You don’t eat meat?” Loki looks from the handsome man’s dark, brown eyes to the platter of burgers in the centre of the table, dressed with relish, a few of them topped with American cheese or slices of bacon cured in some sort of syrup.

“Uh—” Loki isn’t entirely certain how to respond: he cannot lie, his magic reminds him, and he dislikes the idea of telling the entire truth. “I… Do.”

“Just my cooking you don’t like?”

“He won’t eat processed food,” comes Barton’s voice from down the table, and Loki both rejoices at the interruption and reviles it: everyone is silent now, and Loki feels embarrassment blossom in his chest – of course, Barton knows things about him that those gathered here do not, and all of them are staring at him, now, with various expressions of repulsed curiosity. “Won’t eat American meat, won’t eat American cheese. Won’t eat candy or fast food.”

“But apparently mass murder is just fine,” Romanov says dryly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Interesting.” Loki wonders why Rogers had refused Fury, wonders why he hadn’t just allowed Fury to take him – none of these people want Loki here, and Loki should prefer plain torture and pain over this sort of social awkwardness.

Banner takes the bowl of salad in front of him, and passes it to Tony, who passes it to Loki: taking the silent instruction, Loki serves himself a little more of it, and murmurs, “My thanks.” The handsome man is watching him, his chin on his hand.

“You haven’t got food like this where you come from, huh?” he asks.

“No. The city of Asgard is served by wide orchards, possessing a great many fruits and fast-growing vegetables and roots, each of them imbued by their own magics. Meat is farmed on a very small scale, and the majority of our domesticated animals are goats and hardy cows, a few egg-laying fowl. Most of the meat we consume is that which we have hunted ourselves.” Loki looks away from the man’s staring eyes to his plate, taking small bites.

“Thor likes Earth food just fine,” Stark points out, mildly. “You always been a fussy eater?”

“No: Thor is merely an indiscriminate one.” Stark laughs, patting Loki’s shoulder, but the rest of the table is entirely silent, and Loki wishes he had held his tongue. “You have cooked a most admirable meal for a large table,” Loki says quietly, meeting the handsome man’s searching eyes once again. “Please, do not take my… Fussiness for ingratitude.”

“I won’t,” he says. “It’s just that in the army, you learn to eat what you’re given.” Loki chuckles, quietly, and he wipes his lip on a napkin.

“A lesson that was never imparted to me, I fear, and likely never will be. My own children once complained of my palate.” Banner leans forward, looking around Stark, and his dark eyes land on Loki, his eyebrows raised, his wide eyes.

“You’ve got kids?” Loki frowns, looking around the table at large: once again, silence reigns, and everyone looks at him with a sort of dawning horror. A lie comes to his tongue, but immediately evaporates into the ether, and so Loki gives the smallest shake of his head.

“Not anymore,” he murmurs.

“You’ve been married, then?” Rogers asks, and Loki gives a nod of his head.

“Twice,” he says. Rogers’ gaze flits downward, looking for a ring on Loki’s fingers, but Loki has never worn rings, and likely never will. Rogers keeps looking at him, silently urging him to continue, and Loki says, “My first wife died some time ago. My second wife and I are—” How best to phrase it, that these puny aliens might understand, might comprehend? “Estranged.”

“Big surprise there,” Romanov says, and Loki gives a light shrug of his shoulders, his palms to the ceiling.

“Few marriages survive the deaths of one’s children,” Loki says simply. “Even in cultures far across the stars, this fact remains the same.” Romanov’s expression changes, and Loki knows that this isn’t the act he experienced from within the confines of his cell: that slight change in the marble features of her pretty face is entirely real, and Loki feels a bitter triumph at having engendered it.

“What were they called? Your children?” asks the red-headed woman, her voice quiet. Surely, she cannot be giving into sympathy? Foolish, these mortals are – their hearts are so easily swayed.

“Narfi and Valí,” Loki answers. “Borne of the lady Sigyn.”

“What about your first wife?” Stark asks, and the curiosity on his face shows with another, more complex cocktail of emotions: it unnerves Loki, to be at a dinner table with so little ability to lie, to shake off questions. Never has he felt so very exposed, so forced into this horrific veracity.

Truth is not in his nature, but then, nor is servitude.

“Angrboða,” Loki says. “She was a Jötunn, like myself. We had three children together: Hel, Jormungandr, and Fenrisúlfr. We lived together on an island I had built on the edge of the great Jut sea, apart from the political quagmire of Jötunheimr, and a world away from the courtly graces of Asgard. Our children were wild things, half child and half monster, roaming in the waves, laughing on the sands. There was the great wolf, Fenrisúlfr, with white teeth and strong jaws, running with his four great paws pounding the earth beneath him, and in the shadows he would go unseen, for he sported fur of blackest night. Then Jormungandr, the snake, a great curve of sliding scales and coiling muscle, with eyes of agate, and Hel… She was the image of myself and her mother alike: her hair fell about her head in shining black tresses, her skin was a blue-tinged white that seemed to have been made of moonlight itself, and she walked on two feet, like the princess she was.”

“What happened to them?” asks the red-headed woman, and from her downturned lips, her sad eyes, he sees that she has already grasped some of the truth to come, simply from the reminiscence in Loki’s tone. She asks the question, knowing the answer will be sad, and for that, he finds a sort of respect for her.

“The soothsayers said that the children of Loki would bring about Ragnarök – that is to say, the end of the realm of Asgard. The twilight of the gods. I was away at the time, walking the lands of Jötunheimr as I hunted a great deer – when I returned home with its weight upon my shoulders, my children were gone, cast to the ends of the universe, and my wife lay dead in the water, her blood tainting the sea. Fenrisúlfr was locked in a crypt and bound in great chains; Jormungandr was made mad, forced to consume his own tail, and sent to the depths of the ocean, and Hel… Hel was cast into the underworld, to rule over the realm of the dead. She had yet to reach the cusp of womanhood, and yet there she was, made queen over corpses and rotted things.” Loki sips at his water, feeling its coolness running over his tongue. He can taste what the Midgardians use to keep their pipes clean, hints of chemicals that prevent strange things coming out of their taps. “At least her mother was among her subjects.”

Loki sets down his knife and fork, and says, “My apologies: I find myself without appetite. If I might be excused, Captain Rogers?”

“Go ahead,” the Captain says, his tone unwaveringly casual, and Loki stands from the table, making his way swiftly down the corridor and hiding himself in the bathroom of his small quarters, his back against the cold tile, his head in his hands. His very heart feels as if it has been cleaved open, pumping forth its blood like the words he had spoken – the magic hadn’t forced him, and yet spoken he had, spoken and spoken!

How shall he be here, now, amongst these Midgardians? How shall he be a servant, indentured forever more? How shall he be?

This is the bed he has made for himself. How best to die in it?

Ao3 link. Thanks for reading - please feel free to reach out to me and talk about this ‘verse, I’m super excited about it. :) This is my tip jar, if you feel like leaving a tip.

#loki laufeyson #loki friggason #steve rogers #marvel #mcu #fanfic #dictionary writes

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