Work Text:
Loptr sat, cross-legged, on a roof, staring up at the golden castle that Glaðsheimr had become. Certainly more grand than the wooden walls and shield-thatched roof that is had been Before. The guards and Einhjerjar went about their business, training and talking mostly. After all, what danger could Asgard come to at the top of the food chain and so isolated from the other worlds as they were.
They snorted, standing up as their horns, pointed ears, and other Jötun-esque features disappeared, melting into a more Aesir type look. For all that the Jötnar of old no longer existed, they doubted the Aesir would accept anyone of different decent any more than they did last time.
Besides, they had to try their hand at blending in for at least a little bit.
Once disguised, they jumped off of the roof, landing several stories below on the ground with hardly a flinch. No one around them seemed to pay them any mind for the maneuver. Loptr walked the streets, scoffing at the grandeur and opulence. Nearly everyone had a weapon visible on them, for all that there was likely no real reason to need it. They supposed it was good to be prepared, nonetheless.
They slowly made their way closer to the palace, winding through the market stalls and streets, looking at the wares on sale. Certainly more frivolous that Jötunheimr has ever had a chance to be in a long time. Eventually, they drew close to the sparring grounds, hearing the clangs of metal on metal, the cries and grunts a chorus in the background to all those participating in today’s training exercise.
This was the closest they have gotten to Asgard’s palace and Odin himself since the End of the Worlds.
They slowly walked around the sparring grounds, watching as the Aesir there played around, like they weren’t even trying to improve themselves. They sneered, trailing their fingers over the hilts of the swords that were sitting in a rack along the wall.
“Hey, you! I’ve never seen you before!”
They blinked, turning their head towards the voice that called out. It was a woman, one of the only ones on the grounds for some reason, glaring at them with a sword held at her side. They were surprised she hadn’t just pointed it at them to begin with, though her tone of voice and the clench of her fist around the hilt told them she wanted to.
Loptr smiled at her, splaying their hands in a way that showed they meant no harm. “I’m new here, just came from Vanaheim.”
“Vanaheim,” she repeated flatly, a hint of a question in her tone, not losing any of her suspicion.
They nodded. “My parents are Aesir, moved there just after the war. I decided to move back here, to be among my own people. I’m sorry if I’m intruding, I just wanted to look around.”
Finally, the woman started to relax, though she did not stop staring at them and the sword did not get put away, though they supposed it was not unusual to talk to someone while holding a weapon like that at the sparring grounds. “I apologize, we don’t see too many new men around here, at least none that aren’t young and going through enlistment. Or are you?”
Loptr widened their eyes. “Oh, maybe! I didn’t get to do that on Vanaheim so I might if I can, or am I too old now? I know how to fight, so I can still help defend Asgard if I need to.”
She frowned. “I don’t know … we should ask the General!”
With that, she turned, gesturing for them to follow her, and ran off through the throngs of people sparring and talking. They followed, but at a slower pace, wondering if she was going to realize they were so far behind. Eventually, they left the sparring grounds and entered the palace. Their brows furrowed as they stopped in the threshold of the open doorway, watching as the girl got further and further away from them without looking back.
There were Einherjar lining the halls, standing uselessly in their golden armor. But they paid no attention to them, staring blankly in front of themselves. So much for drinking merrily and sparring endlessly in Valhalla.
No longer able to see the woman, they turned to go down the opposite direction and began walking once more. Their eyes roamed the golden walls, the inside of what they had watched the outside of for quite some time. Growing up in Jötunheimr—again—this time certainly did not cause excessive excitement, desolate and frozen and desperate as it was.
It was a wonder they hadn’t exploded from pent-up energy.
No one questioned them as they walked, though they gathered a few curious looks. Looking like an Aesir certainly did freely open a few doors they’d had to smash to pieces before. Who knew?
There was no destination in mind; they hadn’t exactly planned to step foot into the palace. Not yet. Only wanting to get a little closer, see what the Aesir did in their day-to-day as they blissfully ignore the rest of Yggdrasil, before disappearing back to Jötunheimr like they had never been there.
Of course, they should’ve known, with their luck, that just as they turned a corner they would spot the one person they both desperately wanted to see and to avoid.
Loptr stood there, frozen, as they watched Odin the Allfather talk to another man—Tyr, if they were to guess, judging by the dress and general features. It didn’t take long for the king to look up, as the two were walking right towards them, and stop in his own tracks, his one eye visibly widening as he obviously recognized them as much as they recognized him.
“Sire?” Tyr questioned, glancing at Loptr with confusion, his hand going to the belt at his side as he obviously presumed a threat.
He would presume correct, if that had been the plan.
“Loki?” Odin whispered, still staring at them.
Loptr snorted. “Are you still going to call me that when you have a son named that? Did you name him after me? Or did you think he was me?”
Odin just stared at them, his expression frozen in astonishment. Tyr, for his part, stepped in front of the king, the sword sliding from its sheath with a ring as it was quickly taken out and pointed at them. “Who are you?” the general demanded. “You’re not the prince, so who are you?”
They ignored him, for the most part, staring right at Odin as they shifted their body back into their true form—growing a few inches taller, hair becoming more orange and wild, though still just as long and just as braiding, and finally, black horns sprouted from their temples, curving wickedly above their head.
Not the frost giant that the Aesir knew as Jötnar now, but that didn’t matter.
They knew, and Odin knew, what Jötunheimr was like before, and that was all that mattered in this moment. A reminded of what used to be. What his actions destroyed.
“Don’t just stand there, brother. Speak! Or do you have nothing to say after all this time?”
They watched Tyr take a half-step forward, raising the sword threateningly, his mouth opening to say something, but before he could, the King stopped him, stepping forward to place a hand on the sword and force it down. “Stand down, Tyr,” he murmured, stepping forward once more, coming closer to where Loptr still stood.
Odin looking tired, worn. But he still stood proudly as he faced them. “Loptr, then. I … apologize … for all that happened to you, for the role I played. But you must understand—”
“I don’t have to understand shit!” they spat angrily, a puff of smoke blowing from their nostrils like a dragon. “You killed my sons! You destroyed my family! All because your fear of a prophesy spoken centuries before. I know why it happened; it happened because you, the Almighty Odin-King, was scared, like a boy in the nighttime.”
Tyr gasped, looking scandalized as he attempted to step around Odin, though the king still did not let him. “How dare—”
“Tyr.”
Odin only stared silently at them, not answering their accusations, though neither did he look remorseful. “I did what I had to.”
A flash of fire, burst into existence around their clenched fists. They didn’t know why they expected any different. Why they thought that Odin would apologize, at the very least, for what he did and actually mean it. Odin had never done anything like that, before, and it seemed that trend had continued into this life. “Of course you did,” they said calmly, rage seething quietly under the surface. “That’s what you always do, why would I expect anything different?”
“Lop—”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now?” they continued, a wicked, black spear appearing in their hand, the tip burning in a flame matching the ones still hovering around their hands. They ignored as Tyr, once more, tried to step around Odin, rage obvious in his eyes, but they only had eyes for Odin, who suddenly looking down, appearing as tired as his outward age would suggest.
Loptr made to step forward, pointing the tip at the king. Tyr moving to meet them, but Odin’s voice stopped both in their tracks. “I can show you Sigyn.”
They froze, eyes widening as indescribable hope and longing filled their chest. How long has it truly been since …? They hadn’t ever been able to find Angrboða in this lifetime, no matter how much or how long they had looked. To see Sigyn …
“I can show you where she is now, even introduce you to her. I know it will not make up for all the wrong I have caused to you, but nothing will bring back the lives of your sons, especially now,” Odin-King continued. Tyr had stopped in front of him, his face showing no emotion, as stoic as ever, though his eyes gave away just how confused he was.
Loptr shook, the anger and rage they had carried with them for centuries, since before the End, begging to be released, the hope and longing he had released warring with it. They wanted so badly to attack, to raze this entire city to the ground in revenge for what its king had done to his family; they wanted even more to go to Sigyn, to start over with her.
But they knew they could do neither.
“No,” they breathed, stepping back, away from the Aesir in front of them.
The mention of Sigyn had brought up regret and longing, but also the memory of their past mistakes. The pain and heartbreak they had put her through, put all of them through. They couldn’t do that again, couldn’t be responsible for ruining the lives of his family again. There were remnants still, of that life, reminders of their failure.
They couldn’t do that again.
But neither could he give into his rage as he had once done Before.
“No,” they said louder, backing away further, letting go of his spear, causing it to disappear back into the void it came from. Still, Tyr did not relax his protective stance. “No, I refuse to play into your hand again. Leave her out of this.”
“Loki …”
“Loptr! My name is Loptr,” they snapped, voice slightly hysterical. “It has always been my name, even when you and the rest of Asgardr insisted on calling my fucking Loki.”
“I have only ever wished to help. You and all the realms,” the King—Betrayer, Oath-Breaker, Blood-Brother—pleaded.
Loptr looked away, out the open air windows that lined the corridor, overlooking Golden Asgard, her people going about their lives with the east they always had, residing at the top of the Tree as they do.
“It was always obvious which you would choose first.”
They spun on their heel, ignoring Tyr’s twitch, their form shrinking and changing as they did. On the wings of a larger than average falcon, they few out of the palace with a loud shriek. Flames trailed off their feathers, leaving a trail of embers and ash in their wake.
Completely unrelated, the ground beneath the golden palace started to shake violently, causing anything not nailed down and even a few pillars to fall and shatter to rubble. Shouts came from the warriors and civilians alike as all of them dove for cover to wait out the tremors. If more shaking followed the path of the large flaming bird, none seemed to notice.
Satisfaction did not fill Loptr as they flew, carefully not looking for one they so dearly wished to find. They wanted to rain down destruction on those that thought so highly of themselves just because they lived in Asgard. But they did not. They only did one lap around the city, ground shaking and shifting all the while. A single reminder to those that remembered Before.
Then they disappeared from Asgard entirely.
The shaking stopped.