Chapter Text
Loki was jolted awake and despite the darkness it only took him a few moments to remember where he was. He was stiff and sore and curled up next to the only soft thing in the prison wagon: Farbauti’s corpse.
Laufey’s (Loki refused to call him dam – he had never acknowledged Loki as a son, Loki felt it was only right to return the favour) soldiers had come for them only a week ago, and when they had tried to flee, they had struck down Farbauti. Loki was spared; clearly they had orders to bring him back alive.
They had beaten him though. Alive didn’t mean they couldn’t rough him up a bit first
Then they gagged him (and really, what was the point?), chained him to Farbauti and tossed them into the prison wagon. Loki had healed Farbauti’s wounds even though he couldn’t bring his sire back to life. It provided Loki with some comfort, being chained to an uninjured Farbauti almost convinced him his sire was simply sleeping, not dead. For the first few days he had curled up against Farbauti’s shoulder and wept. After that he had clung to Farbauti like a small child and wondered what fate awaited him back in Utgard.
It wasn’t as if Loki didn’t have some idea. Farbauti and the witch Angrbodr had discussed it for hours every day for most of Loki’s life. ‘Laufey will skin him’, ‘Laufey will put him to work’ ‘Laufey will bleed him of his magic and feed him to the crows’, and other vile and horrifying ideas.
Yet they had both been determined that Loki would go back, that when it was the right time Loki and Farbauti would return to the Ice Palace, would be welcomed back with open arms and that one day Loki would be King of Jotunheim.
(If there was one thing Loki was sure of, it was that he would never be King of Jotunheim, nor did he want to be).
Then Angrbodr had experienced a vision, of Loki in Utgard, clothed in fine leathers and furs, stood beside Laufey on his ice throne. And that was it. Farbauti had dragged Loki off into the blizzards, away from the safety of their hiding place in the mountains, and the snow-drowned forests towards Utgard. Then they had encountered the soldiers and now he was in a wagon, without Farbauti or anyone else.
All he could hope for was that Laufey would grant him a quick and relatively painless death.
(And realistically, what were the chances of that, when Loki’s only crimes were being born a runt and yet somehow a powerful sorcerer to boot).
He shifted to try and relieve some of the soreness and tension from his muscles, when he realised the wagon had stopped. There was no way they had reached Utgard, and they were still miles away from any civilisation, Loki was sure of that. But there was shouting outside, first confused and then angry.
Loki got up, wincing when his muscles protested, and tried to peer through the tiny barred window. He couldn’t get very close, the chain linking him to Farbauti didn’t allow him to get close enough without stretching his arm to almost painful.
There was nothing but snow and trees. Then there was a growl and one of the jotun soldiers ran past the window. He heard more shouting and growling and then screams and cries and the sound of metal. A battle raged outside the wagon, but try as he might, Loki couldn’t see any of it.
Then everything went quiet.
Loki stepped back from the window and crouched next to Farbauti. There were voices outside that didn’t sound like jotunns.
“Are you all well?” asked a deep voice.
“Aye,” replied a chorus of voices.
“This was no scouting party,” said a high-pitched voice.
“No, that much is clear. I wonder what is in the wagon,” said the first voice.
“Only one way to find out,” said another light-hearted voice.
At that Loki panicked. There was nowhere for him to hide inside the wagon, except beneath Farbauti. Before he could even more the doors of the wagon were pulled wide open and the tiny space was flooded with a bright light.
Loki flinched and covered his eyes. He heard someone shout “Jotuns!” and heard the string of a bow being pulled.
“Come out!” demanded the deep voice.
Neither jotun complied: Farbauti because he was dead, and Loki because he was temporarily blinded and chained to the dead Farbauti.
“Come out now!” repeated the deep voice.
A tense few moments passed when a sombre voice spoke. “I do not think the adult is alive.”
Loki was just starting to open his eyes, and registering the comment of ‘adult’ when he felt Farbauti being pulled out of the wagon. He grabbed hold and was dragged out as well, landing into the snow with a thump.
He buried his face into Farbauti, fingers scrambling for purchase on the bare chest.
“A dead adult and a child? Why would the jotuns being transporting them?” Loki felt a foot nudge his side. “Speak up jotun.”
Oh, how Loki wished he could. Instead he buried his face further into Farbauti, whimpering as he did.
“Answer me,” roared the deep voice.
A hand, gloved in leather, grabbed the back of his neck and wrenched his head back.
He heard the gasps and registered the shock of the white-skinned faces that looked down at him.
Aesir.
“By the All-father,” one of them breathed. “What…?”
The one that had pulled Loki up hadn’t let go of his neck. Piercing blue eyes and a blood-stained face peered down at him, brows creased in some mixture of revulsion and pity.
“Who would do this to a child?” the Aesir asked, reaching with his other hand to touch Loki’s face. His finger brushed against the gag made of ice that had been put on him by the soldiers.
The fingers traced along the edge, reaching around the back, underneath Loki’s braided black hair. Loki heard a crunch and marvelled at the strength of the hand that had broken the ice. He braced himself for what they would see as the gag fell to the floor.
The five Aesir gasped a second time, even louder than the first.
If he could have, Loki would have warned them. The gag had been pointless in silencing Loki: the soldiers had only put it on him to hide the truth, to hide the fact that his lips had been sewn shut.