Chapter Text
He knew he had done something wrong the moment the seiðr sparked violently in him, a warning thud that was so genuinely different from the soft power he usually could summon.
Perhaps he should have heeded his mother's words to let the teleportation rest for the time being, until he had a better grasp of the magic in his body.
It was too late now, though.
Loki was blinded in a bright flash of light, and there was a painful tugging in his stomach that lurched him forward an onto his knees, his breath knocked out of him so he could not even cry for help.
Then, darkness swallowed him.
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The first thing he did when he felt himself waking up was wincing. He was sore all over, his belly felt as if someone had punched him, and his head hurt, probably from the strain of using too powerful and strong magic, magic he was not used to yet.
Blinking brought pain with it, too, as he was greeted with warm rays of the sun.
No – a sun.
It was not the clear, cosmic sky he usually gazed upon. This one was cerulean, shielding the universe behind with a thick atmosphere that bent the light and swallowed any glimpse into the beautiful cluster of stars Asgard was graced with.
Where was he? Was this Vanaheimr? Had the spell taken him across the Realms?
Norns, Mother and Father would be furious.
Scrambling to his feet, the boy noticed the strange, high buildings in front of him. He had awoken in a patch of grass, surrounded by trees and a lake, but all around it was encased by houses high as mountains, and he could hear a distant noise, certainly louder than anything he had heard before, and so very unknown to him.
And by Yggdrasil, the air reeked. Loki scrunched up his face when the smell of oil and burnt substances reached his nose, overlaying the faint trace of flowers and greens that were so much closer.
Instantly, the young Prince felt lost even more than before. Here was nothing familiar, nothing known, nothing homely, and he had not the faintest clue as to how he should get back to Asgard and his family.
He should definitely have heeded his mother's words.
“Heimdall!”, he said, curiously glancing up to the sky.
Nothing. That was odd.
“Heimdall? Are you there?”
Still no reaction.
Loki paled. What if his parents had seen him trying that spell and were now angry at him? What if they wanted to teach him a lesson? All alone on a foreign Realm with strange, grey buildings and steel contraptions that moved faster than any horse, faster than even Sleipnir?
“Heimdall! Please, I'm sorry! Let me go home!”
It was futile. His words did not reach the All-Seeing.
Suddenly feeling very small, Loki turned around and searched for a person to speak to, someone to ask where he was and how to get back.
Ruling out some strange people with strings sticking out of their ears, running past him, he finally chose a woman who could have been his Mother's age, shyly approaching her.
“Excuse me, would you tell me where we are?”
The soft smile vanished and she frowned before answering, and Loki knew exactly why her face had contorted – he could not understand a single word.
He definitely was on a different Realm.
“Pardon me.”, he mumbled, gnawing at his lips, turning around and walking away.
He was in serious trouble.
He tried asking three other people of different ages and looks, but neither could understand him, just as little as he could understand them in return, growing more frustrated the more people he found that were not speaking his language.
And he had not even begun learning the Allspeak – damn his pride and eagerness to learn it himself instead of letting a spell do the work for him. He knew not how to cast the spell.
Loki wanted to cry, feeling even smaller than before.
Unknown and lost, not able to contact his parents, not able to speak his troubles.
Trying with all his might to hold back the tears, he straightened, shifting his weight to produce a stance worthy of a Prince of Asgard, and walked away from the park.
Where to, he did not know, but he would surely not stay and make himself more miserable.
He was Loki of Asgard – he would find a way.
.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.
Tony Stark was sitting in front of his TV, a cold beer in his hands while watching the footage of Thor battling his way through Greenwich and cheering him on.
“Go get the bastard, Point Break!”, he said, wincing in sympathy when the god was thrown back once more.
Gods, he itched for a fight himself.
But with the whole Extremis-fiasco half a year earlier, he destroying his suits, fixing Pepper, and himself? No way he would be allowed.
He'd thought it would help him, at first.
He'd been wrong.
Tony had never felt so useless in all his life before.
“You're moping again, aren't you?”
Speaking of the Devil.
“Course not, Pep. I'm perfectly fine sitting on my ass watching Thor beat the shit out of some other alien conqueror. Do they breed them like that on Asgard? What do you think?”
“Tony...”, she sighed, before kicking off her heels and letting herself fall besides the engineer. He pouted.
She groaned.
“Go! Build another one of these death-attracting suits, but heavens above stop sulking already!”
Tony did not move a single muscle and only stared at her, mouth agape.
“No, you're not so drunk that you imagine this. Go. You've become a positive hermit these last months, and while I like the peace around here without having to fear for your life on a daily basis, I really liked you better while engrossed in building one of the suits.”, she explained, rubbing her forehead.
“Just please promise me you'll be a bit more careful as of now.”, she whined.
She did not need to ask a second time. With a quick kiss, a huskily exhaled “Damn, Peps, you're the best!” and a bright smirk he hushed into the elevator, and before the doors could close, he was already rattling off lists of items and objects he would need to Jarvis.
Pepper sank down further into the couch, contemplating what evil deed she had done in her first life to be punished like that now.
It grew worse when she was alerted to the ruckus in the Lobby.
“What is going on?”
“There seems to be a child without supervision in the Hall. The authorities are on their way already, and I took the liberty to engage an interpreter, as the boy seems to speak an unknown language.”
“Thank you, Jarvis.”
The child was no older than seven. Eight, maybe. And despite the calm surface he sported, Pepper could see the tension in his small body, the fear in his eyes.
“Hey there, Sweetie.”, she said in his direction, crouching down so she would be not as tall and intimidating, hoping that her smile would perhaps translate the message.
“Ek mælat yðvarr mál æva.”
“I am sorry, I can't understand you.”
He frowned. Before Pepper could try again, someone steered the kid away from her and to a woman – possibly of the child protective service, the way she clutched a stack of papers to her chest.
“What is a boy doing here, all alone?”, the CEO finally asked one of her employees.
“No idea, Miss Potts. But I know I'd be bawling as soon as I'd know to be alone.”
“Yeah, he's eerily quiet.”
The boy was led outside.
He glanced back at her.
Pep smiled and waved.
.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.
It was frustrating.
No one could understand him. He could not understand them.
Still they tried to speak with him constantly, as if he'd be miraculously be able to make sense of their phonics. They even gave him pen and paper (and what a strange thing this pen was – he was used to graphite and ink, and this was some kind of ink, but thicker, sticking in a small, clear tube like aspic).
Loki had sighed, had written his name in the only way he knew – runes – and underneath 'not that you would be able to read it, blundering oafs' just for good measure and to blow off some steam.
The men had pursed their lips in disappointment.
When he had sat for hours in a small, cramped room, a desk full of papers in the middle, a small table where he was seated at, a woman came in, books in hand, and sat down on the other side.
“I.”, she said and pointed towards her. Ah. Someone intelligent for a change.
“Ek.”, Loki said and repeated the gesture, adding “þú.” while pointing at her.
She grinned.
“You.”
He tested the words on his tongue, rather relieved when he managed to speak them without flaws – it seemed the foreign language was phonetically related with his own.
How strange.
“I am Cora.”, the woman said. “I. Cora.”
Oh, Loki had understood the first time. He was rather good with languages.
“I am Loki.”, he gave back, noticing her flinch back minutely.
Narrowing his eyes, the child shifted his body into a more defensive stance. “Do you know me?”, he asked, knowing she would not understand. “Where am I? I need to get back home, back to Asgard.”
Her smile grew sad. Pity shone in her eyes, and Loki hated it. He did not need pity.
“Poor thing, you're probably distraught, hm?”
He wanted to scream and set something on fire when she, too, started to speak like he was some toddler in need of coddling.
But no – he had to reign himself in. Using magic would be the worst thing he could do at the moment. On the one hand because it was the only advantage he had right now, in case he needed to defend himself, on the other because it was the most cowardly and dishonourable thing to do while in a foreign land, under a foreign ruler.
He had to represent Asgard, his Realm, his Kingdom, his King – showing his magic would make a very bad impression of the Realm Eternal.
He was asked questions again. Mouth set in a firm line, he did not answer. Why? He could neither understand nor answer so that he would be understood.
Instead, he used the time to concentrate on the speaking patterns, to analyse the language to the best of his abilities, and to perhaps translate some of the words so he could try and start to learn.
In the evening, he could understand the basics of the conversations around him – not nearly enough, but a good start to let it grow.
A middle aged man came and smiled at him, trying to lull him into a sense of security, but Loki knew exactly not to trust anyone. He played his part, though, answering in short, one-worded phrases that someone had tried to teach him.
At least he had a roof to sleep under and a meal. His parents would be proud of him when he returned.
When.
It burned.
There were two men waiting for him in the same stuffed room as the day before.
One spoke words so familiar it made Loki rash and careless, answering with a quick tongue before he could hold himself back.
The man blinked in confusion.
“I do not understand you.”, he said.
Loki wanted to cry.
“Why? Your words are the same!”, he returned.
Turning his head, the man muttered a disbelieving 'I am not sure, but this could be Old Norse. It's a language long dead, and I've never heard it been spoken fluently. Call Gunnar.”
Whoever this Gunnar was, he took his time to arrive.
The boy had been given a children's book, in the meantime. He had sneered at it at first, but grudgingly accepted it as a way to learn, pointing to letters and expecting the adults to help him.
When Gunnar arrived, he had read the damned thing six times, had memorized the letters, scoffed at the caterpillar that gorged itself and begged the Fates to bring him home.
“Hello.”, he heard, and answered accordingly.
“Your name is?”
“Loki. My name is Loki.”
It grew boring to repeat it.
“Where are you from?”, he was asked, once in a crude form of his own language, once in that new one.
“I am of Asgard.”
Murmuring, the three adults stuck their heads together, annoying Loki to no end. He hated people who talked about him without being noble enough to do it to his face.
“You are Loki of Asgard.”
“Yes.”
Were these oafs retarded?
“You?”
“Yes.”
Wait.
Blinking, Loki scanned their faces for any chance of recognition and found none. But perhaps...
“Is Thor here?”, he wanted to know, wetting his lips in the process and...
Direct hit.
Eyes flew open, they flinched and jerked before getting themselves under control.
They knew Thor. So he was still somewhere on the five Realms he had not crossed out yet – Vanaheimr, Alfheimr, Svartalfáheimr, Midgardr, or Niflheimr. But where?
They started to discuss things again.
Getting angry, Loki snatched himself one of the other books and decided to ignore the lot from now on.
.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.
“He cannot be – he's too young. He is probably just confused and lost. He's still a child.”
“Yeah, you're right. And it's not as if no one knows Thor. The guy's practically all over the news.”
“Let's fetch Annie.”
“Good idea.”
.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.
Day four and five were passed with reading. Loki had been given more books, and a dictionary, so his vocabulary broadened significantly. He made lots of mistakes, but hey, learning a language was always a work in progress, and he seemed to impress a lot of people when he was able to follow the conversation on day six.
So, taking his chance, he asked about Thor.
The following silence was unnerving, and dread rose in his chest when he noticed the sheepish glances all around.
“Thor has... helped with a threat. He joined a team of heroes and fought besides them to safe us.”
Loki blinked. Thor? Fighting with others as a team? No way.
Besides – his brother was barely thirteen, he was not even allowed to a hunt. How should he have become such a skilled warrior in such a short time?
“I... think we speak of different people.”
Even when they seemed to relax and told a bit more, and the appearance could perhaps fit, the characteristics of this Thor did not. He was nothing like his brother.
“Where am I? Is this Alfheimr?”
Gunnar frowned. “This is Earth. Midgard.”
Finally.
“Midgardr. It is... surprising.”, he stated.
How had he come across Midgardr? Had the axis of the universe drawn him in when his magic went wild?
He was left alone after that – brooding as he was, they knew by now he would not answer any more questions. Or ask some himself.
He returned to the family that watched over him for the time being and pondered about the fact that he had fallen into the only Realm that housed weak humanoids.
How strange.
.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.
“It's called Xenoglossy. I am pretty sure the boy has witnessed something traumatic and unsettling, causing his brain to malfunction and revert to a language he has not been able to speak before. Perhaps he has Icelandic relatives and has picked up one or two things, and his subconsciousness has now worked up a pattern so he may speak a language. It would explain why he is able to learn English as fast as he has – it could be his mother tongue.”
Annie – the child psychologist – told them what she had learned from her brief visit to the child.
“Coupled with a severe head injury and amnesia, he could believe he really is Loki, Brother of Thor, perhaps because he has seen him on TV and clang to that idea unknowingly.”
“So he is lost, crazy, ill, and we have no idea where to search for his family. Great.”
“I believe he has strong issues with his identity, he insists to be Loki of Asgard. But perhaps there is some language barrier he has not crossed and we simply do not understand correctly.”
.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.-~^°^~-.
On day twelve, Loki had been seated in front of the television (a strange thing that was able to show moving pictures – he had never seen something like that and was fascinated!) while the people who were responsible for him had been called to some kind of group meeting. Probably revolving around himself.
Zapping through the myriad of channels, Loki was drawn to a show when he heard a familiar instrument, its soft tunes oh so familiar that he ached with longing for home.
He wished for his mother's warm embrace before blinking back the tears.
The person showing up on the screen he did not expect.
It was... Thor? A bit more grown up, at least. But there was the same blond hair, the warm blue eyes, that smile, and of course – Mjölnir.
No.
Loki would never believe it. It had to be an imposter. His Thor was not old enough to be this man, and he swore that he would find him and restore his older Brother's honour. No one was worthy of Mjölnir besides Thor – and no fake hammer would sway the people's hearts. Loki would make sure of it.
The door opened, the people came back and greeted him, and in that exact moment, his magic decided to act on his temper and made some fruits in a bowl explode.
The woman shrieked and jumped back a step before looking to the bowl with wide eyes.
Loki paled.
“Forgive me! I did not do that with intent!”, he squeaked, quickly retreating from the sofa and bringing distance between himself and the people.
The man narrowed his eyes at him, and Loki swallowed drily.
“What did you do?”
“I am sorry! It is under control most of the time, I did not want to deceive you. Forgive me.”, he stammered.
The Lady with the red hair he had seen that first day came an hour later to fetch him.
She was colder than the last time. Loki saw her tense shoulders, felt the distrust and the loathing, but could not place it.
What had he done? Had he scared her with his last gaze back two weeks earlier?
“I apologize for angering you.”, he mumbled softly, shyly, but polite like his mother had taught him. A prince had to smooth out his wrongdoings.
She flinched, a forced smile marring her face.
“You did nothing wrong. Don't worry about it.”
Loki had always been good in reading people, and that was a lie so obvious even Thor would have recognized it.
He did not call her on it.
He sat in that contraption called “car” again. It was horrifying, being squeezed up in something this fast and tiny, how did the mortals cope? He was Aesir, and knew to be more durable, in case of something happening Midgardians surely would pay with their life.
“You don't need to be afraid. Happy is the best driver in the whole World.”
Didn't really calm Loki – if not on the back of a horse, or per Bifröst, travelling would be forever horrifying for him.
Not responding, he folded his hands in his lap, idly picking at his nails and looking out of the window, onto the street they were crossing right now.
Sure enough, soon he saw the greens he had awoken in, and when they had passed these, the buildings grew taller again, the light was swallowed to some extend.
“Come on, Loki, we've arrived.”, the woman said, making a huge effort to smile and be friendly towards him when he knew and sensed she wanted to do the opposite.
He climbed out of the car and followed her through the room he had been in two weeks before, now crossing it and entering something that she called 'elevator'.
That one resembled Asgards own devices to an extend – really no one wanted to climb all the stairs to the top of the Palace day for day.
While the next metal contraption of possible doom lifted them to the higher floors, Loki saw how she watched him intently.
“You really believe you are Loki.”
“Who else shall I be?”, he answered with a snarl, downright fed up with these constant questions pertaining his name and person. Couldn't they just believe it?
She did not speak up again.
When the doors finally opened, she ushered him out into the open room, a lot bigger than the previous ones he had been in, though not even remotely comparable to his Father's own rooms, not to mention the throne room.
“Peps! Still alive?”
“As you see.”
“Good. The gang's ETA is two minutes, so let's get you something to drink, the pipsqueak a nice spot, and then we wait.”
It was beyond uncomfortable, to be honest. Loki was forced to sit down on yet another couch, by a man almost smaller than the woman (he had seldom seen a smaller man), beard a crippled, short stubble with sharp lines, and all of Asgards warriors would have wept for such a cruel display. His brown eyes were hard when he looked at Loki, and the Prince got the distinct feeling that he was not here for a friendly chat.
These people knew him.
And they hated him.
If he just knew why.
“I'm Pepper, by the way. And that's Tony.”, the woman uttered quietly, clinging to a glass.
“Mr. Stark to you, kid.”
Loki remained silent, wringing his hands together as inconspicuously as possible.
The roaring of an aircraft had him look out of the window. Just seconds later, four people exited the floating thing, faces stony or simply unreadable.
By Yggdrasil.
The one with the dirty blond hair carried a bow. And looked more than ready to use it.
The boy gulped, nervousness creeping up.
What had happened? Who were these people? What had he done?
“Guys! Awesome to see you. Drink? No? Okay then. Bruce, a tea? You look a bit green there.”
Loki wanted nothing more than sink into the cushions and disappear when five pairs of eyes narrowed and were fixed on his person.
That did really not bode well.