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( a dry rot to take the weight off )
Nov. 18th, 2012 12:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
treachery[ A thousand years ago, Laufey-king and his consort the storm-bringer Farbauti created new life between them. The child was to be the herald of a new glorious age for the Jotnar, the firstborn heir to the throne, with laurels curved about his horns from the moment of his conception. It was a time of great merriment even amidst a winter so cold that even the Jotnar feared the icy winds — for long had Laufey and Farbauti loved one another, and long had they wished for a jewel to set upon the lesser throne of Utgard.
Many months hence, Laufey gave birth to the child on the coldest night of the year, when the third green-ringed moon hid behind the sallow second, and when the first moon was lost in a shroud of gray clouds. For many an hour did Farbauti wolf-slayer range the cold plains, killing two score white falcons to feed his mate and his firstborn child the blood-rich hearts.
But the merriment died that night in the birthing chamber, for Laufey-king delivered a squalling monster into the night — a runt, smooth of feature and black of hair, the curl of his stunted body no larger than a pebble upon the banks of Ölfusá. Tradition sought a ritual killing, as those too weak to withstand Jotunheim's cruel storms would never grow to adulthood, much less prosper amidst the demands of the Jotnar warrior-code. That he was born a prince mattered little; the House of Laufey was of royal, proud blood, and no half-formed monstrosity would mar its name.
But little Loki breathed flame into his dam's face before he could be thrust to drown in Ölfusá's currents, and so Laufey-king named him seidrmadr of the court, and saved his firstborn from an early end. When Helblindi and Byleistr followed soon after, Loki was removed from succession, and left to play with flame and spark, with magical herb and salve; he was not treated poorly, but neither was he given the respect that warlike Helblindi and clever Byleistr both received without needing to demand it.
On the eve of Byleistr's birth, when Loki was still a child barely weaned from his dam's arms, the great golden horn of Asgard sounded through Utgard's echoing halls. It was to be the first of many of the Allfather's visits, where Laufey-king and Odin-king sat in the council chambers for hours upon hours and busied themselves with whatever it was that kings were meant to do. Loki, who had learned to outsmart his servants from a very young age, flitted through Utgard's halls, eager to look upon Odin-king's retinue of pink-faced goblins from Asgard's shores. This particular visit had been steeped in importance beyond Loki's childish understanding, but he had heard one interesting tidbit: that Odin-king had brought his own son to Jotunheim this day.
So Loki met Thor.
It took several more visits for Loki to love Thor, for they were all too much the same in their obstinacy and unyielding pride. But perhaps it was always an inevitability that sunlight limned the storm of their friendship, and that their clasped hands would be stronger than each of them alone. So the Norns writ truth upon Yggdrasil's branches, and so it sprouted into a stunted Jotnar princeling and his apple-cheekd Aesir companion.
The diplomatic events were long meandering mazes from which Laufey-king emerged full of black fury, from which Odin-king rallied his Einherjar soldiers to him and hurried again to the Bifrost site. But in the scant moments of the interim, Loki and Thor fought under the skeletal trees bordering Utgard's walls, they stole snow-peaches from the kitchens and ate handfuls until they grew sick and bloated, they raised a white valdyr from a pup and clutched at one another when the Jotnar soldiers killed it when it grew too great and fierce for Utgard's halls.
Had they known each other into adulthood, perhaps the brotherhood they had forged might have anchored them to one another in a very different way, but such things never came to pass — for Laufey-king and Odin-king loved each other not, and the night always comes sooner than the morning beyond it. The diplomatic meetings ceased. For a century, an uneasy peace reigned; Helblindi-prince and Byleistr-prince sharpened their weapons and learned to hate the Aesir as their father did, and soon the Great War spilled blood over Jotunheim and Midgard and Asgard too. Another two centuries passed, thick and heavy with death, and Jotunheim was left a charred ruin. Byleistr was dead, and Farbauti of the Clan of Blooded Ice too, and Odin the Betrayer took the Casket and left Loki's people to suffer and perish.
An eternity ago, Loki had looked into Thor's eyes and found them unutterably lovely: like blue-glass mirrors of the sky, clear and sweet and stricken through with silver. Now, a servant leans to cover Loki's skin with draping gold: bangles to his elbows, rings and whorls of gold in his ears, a circlet draped with delicate jewels to set upon his dark head. A collar of gold, too, a melody of clinking necklaces, each one longer than the last, gold anklets and strings of emeralds about calves and thighs. He has always been less of a prince and more of a jester — seidrmadr are no more prized in Jotunheim than they are to the Aesir infidels — and so Loki has never known such finery. He is to be made a gift to Thor-prince, son of Odin, and he must look his best.
His heart has been twisted by the war. Thor-prince will not find in him the same fool of a child who had clasped him and shared tears alongside him.
When Loki entered Utgard's throne-room dressed in finery, ready to offer himself as a whore, Laufey-king had looked upon him with grief crowning his bowed head; he had reached out with one great scarred hand and pressed two crooked fingers to Loki's cheek. Go in peace, my child, he had said, and even silver-tongued Loki had known only the vastness of silence in his own heart, so great was his answering despair.
Go in peace.
So Loki dons a fur-lined cloak of white, and he leaves his Jotnar escort searching the halls whilst he slips to the Bifrost site alone. He is dry-eyed and brittle-boned, and he does not look back when the shattering power of the Asgardian magic pulls him from his homeland for the first and final time. ]
Many months hence, Laufey gave birth to the child on the coldest night of the year, when the third green-ringed moon hid behind the sallow second, and when the first moon was lost in a shroud of gray clouds. For many an hour did Farbauti wolf-slayer range the cold plains, killing two score white falcons to feed his mate and his firstborn child the blood-rich hearts.
But the merriment died that night in the birthing chamber, for Laufey-king delivered a squalling monster into the night — a runt, smooth of feature and black of hair, the curl of his stunted body no larger than a pebble upon the banks of Ölfusá. Tradition sought a ritual killing, as those too weak to withstand Jotunheim's cruel storms would never grow to adulthood, much less prosper amidst the demands of the Jotnar warrior-code. That he was born a prince mattered little; the House of Laufey was of royal, proud blood, and no half-formed monstrosity would mar its name.
But little Loki breathed flame into his dam's face before he could be thrust to drown in Ölfusá's currents, and so Laufey-king named him seidrmadr of the court, and saved his firstborn from an early end. When Helblindi and Byleistr followed soon after, Loki was removed from succession, and left to play with flame and spark, with magical herb and salve; he was not treated poorly, but neither was he given the respect that warlike Helblindi and clever Byleistr both received without needing to demand it.
On the eve of Byleistr's birth, when Loki was still a child barely weaned from his dam's arms, the great golden horn of Asgard sounded through Utgard's echoing halls. It was to be the first of many of the Allfather's visits, where Laufey-king and Odin-king sat in the council chambers for hours upon hours and busied themselves with whatever it was that kings were meant to do. Loki, who had learned to outsmart his servants from a very young age, flitted through Utgard's halls, eager to look upon Odin-king's retinue of pink-faced goblins from Asgard's shores. This particular visit had been steeped in importance beyond Loki's childish understanding, but he had heard one interesting tidbit: that Odin-king had brought his own son to Jotunheim this day.
So Loki met Thor.
It took several more visits for Loki to love Thor, for they were all too much the same in their obstinacy and unyielding pride. But perhaps it was always an inevitability that sunlight limned the storm of their friendship, and that their clasped hands would be stronger than each of them alone. So the Norns writ truth upon Yggdrasil's branches, and so it sprouted into a stunted Jotnar princeling and his apple-cheekd Aesir companion.
The diplomatic events were long meandering mazes from which Laufey-king emerged full of black fury, from which Odin-king rallied his Einherjar soldiers to him and hurried again to the Bifrost site. But in the scant moments of the interim, Loki and Thor fought under the skeletal trees bordering Utgard's walls, they stole snow-peaches from the kitchens and ate handfuls until they grew sick and bloated, they raised a white valdyr from a pup and clutched at one another when the Jotnar soldiers killed it when it grew too great and fierce for Utgard's halls.
Had they known each other into adulthood, perhaps the brotherhood they had forged might have anchored them to one another in a very different way, but such things never came to pass — for Laufey-king and Odin-king loved each other not, and the night always comes sooner than the morning beyond it. The diplomatic meetings ceased. For a century, an uneasy peace reigned; Helblindi-prince and Byleistr-prince sharpened their weapons and learned to hate the Aesir as their father did, and soon the Great War spilled blood over Jotunheim and Midgard and Asgard too. Another two centuries passed, thick and heavy with death, and Jotunheim was left a charred ruin. Byleistr was dead, and Farbauti of the Clan of Blooded Ice too, and Odin the Betrayer took the Casket and left Loki's people to suffer and perish.
An eternity ago, Loki had looked into Thor's eyes and found them unutterably lovely: like blue-glass mirrors of the sky, clear and sweet and stricken through with silver. Now, a servant leans to cover Loki's skin with draping gold: bangles to his elbows, rings and whorls of gold in his ears, a circlet draped with delicate jewels to set upon his dark head. A collar of gold, too, a melody of clinking necklaces, each one longer than the last, gold anklets and strings of emeralds about calves and thighs. He has always been less of a prince and more of a jester — seidrmadr are no more prized in Jotunheim than they are to the Aesir infidels — and so Loki has never known such finery. He is to be made a gift to Thor-prince, son of Odin, and he must look his best.
His heart has been twisted by the war. Thor-prince will not find in him the same fool of a child who had clasped him and shared tears alongside him.
When Loki entered Utgard's throne-room dressed in finery, ready to offer himself as a whore, Laufey-king had looked upon him with grief crowning his bowed head; he had reached out with one great scarred hand and pressed two crooked fingers to Loki's cheek. Go in peace, my child, he had said, and even silver-tongued Loki had known only the vastness of silence in his own heart, so great was his answering despair.
Go in peace.
So Loki dons a fur-lined cloak of white, and he leaves his Jotnar escort searching the halls whilst he slips to the Bifrost site alone. He is dry-eyed and brittle-boned, and he does not look back when the shattering power of the Asgardian magic pulls him from his homeland for the first and final time. ]
