Aug 13, 2012

Estranged, Chapter 9: Fate's Call

You may also read this story on FanFiction.net
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He remembered the fall.

He remembered the temporary feeling of weightless freedom, like soaring above the rooftops, gliding eternally.

There was no fear in Loki’s mortal death, only relief from the physical stress of humanity and its expectations. But the damage to his soul had been done. He had not taken the time necessary to grieve and heal his wounds before departing. Despite easily shedding his mortality, he still carried his memories. They would never leave him. After the fleeting freedom of death wore off, lingering emotions seeped back into the forefront.

Love, broken and bittersweet. Wretched anguish. And so much pain. Unbearable pain.

Distantly he regretted that his death had not improved his situation.

For an unknown time his consciousness drifted. He tried to shake himself free of the memories that crippled his momentum and strangled his emotions from moving on—acceptance and growth was not impossible in this vacuum, just improbable.

In response to the torture he called to the darkness of the void surrounding him. He felt it’s slimy taint catch hold of him, and it began to engulf his consciousness. Within its corrupted grip he heard demented babble of the collective depraved, dejected, and delirious eternally lost in its midst:

warm memories to eat. soft parts. the oh so sweet beginnings. delicious frailty. ready to soak, ready to seep. inside the sweet memories of death. life polluted. beautiful screams. singing screams. exquisite agony. bathe in the lie.

Loki could remember the first time he had experienced its poisonous filth. But back then he had hope, purpose, ambition, jealousy, and passion to strive for his continued existence. His psyche had been fertile ground for growth. Now he had nothing to fight or live for. His spirit lay fallow. Nothing more to do than relinquish himself to become a breeding ground for insanity. To be sown with the fetid darkness that infested the void between realms.

But before he could succumb to the void’s permeating madness, he felt a tug in the center of himself. It wasn’t part of the taint, though, it came from outside and beyond.

Suddenly the world was filled with bright light. Then reality battered the rest of his senses like a jackhammer. He was sorely aware of every aching bone and muscle in his again-present body. Breath rushed into his lungs with an audible gasp. He heard murmurs and the drone of conversation, but it felt like an eternity before his blurry vision sharpened.

A golden glow suffused the retreating sunlight shining into the room. With difficulty he turned his head slightly and saw arched windows framing the image of a familiar fountain: a robed matron, her arms outstretched, cool blue water cascading over her upturned palms—a symbol of life and health. He was in the healer’s ward.

Hoarsely he pondered aloud, “Asgard...? No... Not here...” He managed a groan as his head was propped up slightly. “Take me back...” he complained feebly.

Odin, a shining beacon, stood over his recovering son and spoke briskly.

“You have been resurrected and healed, my son. Your recovery should be quick. You were not separated from your body long, perhaps only minutes.”

“I am...alive?”

“Yes, Loki,” Frigga, his mother, said as she rested her hand upon his. He had not noticed her sitting next to his bed. “You are alive and home with your family.”

Slowly he began to see that others were present in the room: Several healers and their assistants attended him or milled about the room performing complementary tasks. The healers, clad in white robes, rubbed salve upon his torso, arms, and legs and gave him herbal mixtures to drink that would restore his strength and speed his healing. He thought of refusing their aid, but was still too weak to do more than complain.

As if the day wasn’t bad enough, Thor appeared in the doorway.

“Father, I heard Loki had awakened—”

Odin cut off his older son with the silent raise of one hand. “Later, Thor. Your brother needs his rest for now.”

Thor called to Loki from the doorway before leaving with an excited grin, “I shall speak with you when you are stronger, brother. Be well soon!”

Loki’s senses slowly returned to him, and he said wearily to Odin,  “I chose death. Why did you disturb my soul’s rest?”

“Your soul was far from restful, Loki. Heimdall tracked your descent to Hel, but when you did not arrive, he searched and found the chink you must have slipped through into the void between realms. Knowing your exact whereabouts made it easy for the healers and I to bring you back from the clutches of darkness.”

“I would rather madness consume me than endure the pain I carry,” Loki admitted sulkily. Discussions with Odin often made him feel as if he were still a young boy deep in reproach. Odin and Frigga exchanged a knowing glance. Thor had explained the situation to them already, and no one understood love and loss like older parents.

Frigga rose from Loki’s side to caress his pale cheek briefly and place a kiss on his forehead. “Our love for you is steadfast, Loki. I shall leave you to rest a while. Be well soon, my dear son.”

He gave no reply, only watched her exit. Hearing his mother’s sincere affection made his heart ache bitterly. Her gentleness reminded him of Rowan. Was there nothing in the waking world that would alleviate his pain rather than put more salt in the wound?

Frigga placed a delicate hand upon Odin’s arm as she left and whispered softly to him, “Give him your support, my King. He has suffered greatly, yet continues to bear his anguish alone.”

“Your doting will not help him accept his grief,” he whispered back to her, “He has learned much, my Queen, and his resilience is greater than you know.”

Odin paced the room briefly after his wife’s exit, silently scrutinizing Loki and the fountain outside in turns. When he finally spoke it was an earnest attempt at concern, but Loki desired none of his sympathy.

“How do you feel, Loki?”

“As if my heart has been ripped asunder.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” His reply was resolute and measured. He was done chatting.

“I see. The healers have given you a concoction to help you sleep restfully. We shall speak in the morning. Sleep well, my son.”

**************

Loki awoke the following morning from a dreamless sleep feeling much more rested than he had expected. He was even able to stand and move about fairly easily.

As he consumed a bit of breakfast that the healers’ assistants brought him, he attempted to focus on his movements and his surroundings—anything to stay out of his own brooding thoughts for a time. Yet as he fought to keep his head above the waves of misery there was a feeling below him in the deep that he almost did not recognize, a feeling of wholeness. A feeling that he would be able to touch the bottom again should he slip under.

Hearing the news of his quick recovery, Odin summoned Loki to the great hall rather than visit him again in the healer’s ward. The assistants helped Loki dress in a plain, but well-cut outfit that he had often worn to practice in the training yards. Normally it might have brought back old memories, but today he was focused on speaking with Odin. He had some questions that needed answers.

His thoughts seemed to steady as he walked even if his body was still a bit shaky. He could control the pain of his loss a little easier—he refused to ignore it or wallow in it any longer. If it was going to be a part of him, it would be put to good use somehow. It hurt immeasurably, but he did not want to forget her. She was the woman who chose him for what was inside of him, not for his favor or power or lust or any other selfish concern. She loved him for the qualities no one else took the time to appreciate. And she was the woman who would have given him a family to call his own.

Loki entered the audience chamber, giving his father only a cursory incline of his head rather than kneeling. He saw no need to grant such a formal show of respect for someone who disrespected his desires.

It was my choice to die.

Odin strode through the great hall toward him. He had been pacing the balcony adjacent before his arrival.

“Good morning, Loki. How do you feel this morning?”

He found Odin’s persistent attempts to elicit discussion of his personal struggles quite irritating, but a little self-disclosure would be necessary for the answers he needed.

“I am closer to myself again. My heartbreak lingers, yet I no longer feel divided or hollow as I did on Earth. Why?”

“That is the response I awaited yesterday. Freyr sensed the pervasive taint of your madness when he rescued your mind from L’Shale’s mental devastation. He could not rid you of the madness; it has grown from within a part of you. Yet he was able to restrain the dark heart of its influence, giving the rest of your spirit a chance to strengthen against it and grow around it. The lack of your malignant madness was a small reprieve to make living among humans easier for you. Freyr gave me instruction on how to release the restraint once you were ready. You have gained much mental clarity and stability during your exile, and I removed it upon your resurrection. You have the power to properly control your madness now that is weak from disuse, should you wish.”

Odin’s explanation had been quite revealing, but the word “resurrection” hung around his brow like a stolen halo. Why was he alive when his innocent Rowan was lost?

Growing anger, despair, and irrationality shook his voice. “Where is she? You were watching. If you resurrected me, then you can do the same for her.”

“No, Loki. I cannot.” His father’s calm words stabbed deeply. He should not have contemplated that pathway of thought. He had previously avoided bargaining for a reason—it was futile. “Your betrothed made peace with her existence and moved on to the ether. So did the child. They shall watch the universe as a part of it. One day they may choose to reincarnate, but we cannot know right now.”

Loki’s heart sank in disbelief. Part of him knew that moving on was a part of life that everyone must go through, yet he was angry. Angry that he had been cheated out of his life with Rowan. Angry that he would not know their child. Angry that his father had overturned his decision to take his own life.

“This was not what was to happen—” His words were spoken too quietly for Odin to hear, a fervent denial thick with frustration. His emotions roiled.

Attachment is a weakness.

The old mantra nagged at him. In a world of unbelievable agony it beckoned to wrap its comfort around him. He dusted it off like a forgotten cloak and pulled it around himself. It would shelter him from future emotional thorns no matter how enticing the flower. But there was no relief from the damage already done.

I will trust no one henceforth. Never again.

From thin air Loki created a nameless staff as black as night—something to focus upon as he gathered himself. He had forgotten his sorceries, but the skills were once again second-nature  after using them.

Odin, oblivious to Loki’s internal struggle, entreated his upset son to speak with him. “I watched over your actions, yet I bid you to share with me, my son. What insights and lessons did you learn during your exile on Midgard?”

Loki was affronted at Odin’s audacity to reduce his murdered beloved to a life lesson.

He seethed with a deep, dark anger that had been withheld from him as a mortal. He could clearly distinguish parts of himself that he had not felt in over a year. Even though they were tainted with madness, it felt good to freely control all of himself once again.

“Lesson?” He glared at his father incredulously, "I mourn my murdered love and you speak to me of lessons?! I intended to bring news of my engagement and the addition to our family. But in twisted mockery of your lesson to be learned, I live while she is taken from me! Rowan was no lesson... She was to be my wife! She chose me, and I truly loved her! I would have died for her! I would have died for our child!” Loki paused, his heated focus fixed on the illusory staff clenched within a white-knuckled grip.

Fatherhood is lost to me as well. Never again will I endure this much pain!

“Can you even understand such a feeling?” His voice was half plea, half accusation. “Can you? You sit atop your ivory tower watching the rest of us prance about our lives like your playdolls, learning the lessons you see fit to teach us. Am I to believe my mortal life was but a puppet in your twisted play?” The rage climbed in his voice. The madness would seep out soon if he did not control it. “Did you enjoy twitching my strings, old man? Did you?!” He paused another moment to recompose himself, but his words were no less acidic. “You dole out your cruelty and dare to call it a lesson. I am disgusted I ever called you my father and sought your approval.”


Never again.

Odin narrowed his gaze circumspectly. “I twitched no strings, my son. Some hands of power are even more far-reaching than my own. Fate, the threads of reality...are all that may claim credit for your experiences.”

His father’s cryptic message spoke volumes to Loki and set his mind into motion—Thanos. Odin is not to blame for her death after all. Thanos indeed possesses the Infinity Gauntlet as well as at least one gem—the reality gem—if not others as well.

Possession of the yellow reality gem would have allowed Thanos to fulfill wishes even if they contradicted scientific law. But how far had Thanos reached into Loki’s life? Had Thanos wished for Rowan’s death? Or perhaps the malicious intent was deeper than that. Had Thanos wished Loki to meet someone worth losing? Had Thanos wished for Loki to suffer? Was this all a joke or was he a tool in Thanos’s plan? The possibilities ran wild, adding more and more twigs to the fire blazing within him.

Thanos will pay dearly for this.

“But you have grown, Loki,” his father continued, ”You throw your anger at me when you have cause to admire your own strength. You admit that you have loved and lost. You found happiness and sadness. You craved more than the selfish ends of power and recognition; you gave others your trust and held compassion in your heart for your beloved. Do not forsake your experiences and the feelings they cause, my son. They make us who we are, and we must accept them and move on if we are to grow.”

True though Odin’s words were, Loki did not hear them. He could not, would not, take Rowan’s death in stride. With his hatred tightly controlled and centered, he accepted the path he would take—the path of vengeance.

Loki stared at his father for a long moment, noticing how old Odin now looked. Odin would die one day, but he would not be the one to rule Asgard. It was no longer his desire. His only focus was defeating Thanos.

Loki’s voice was calm, collected, “If that is all you see of me—a lesson to be taught, a subject to be studied—then I am done here. Asgard holds nothing for me, and it would seem I have cause to meet with my own fate.” Loki stalked from the room with cold determination and no intention to return.

Rowan...your death shall be avenged.

“And you eschew your growth to spite me,” Odin mused to himself. He did not attempt to stop his son. “You are still a child after all, I see. So be it.”

***********

A voice of logic sought to remind him of words he once spoke to Rowan: Failure can happen. Learn from it and move on. Move on to what? He had everything he wanted in his hands, and it was taken from him. He would not play that game again. There was nothing to move on to, only business to take care of.

Rowan’s death was no failure—not some simple error to be righted. She had been murdered along with their future. Murdered in cold merciless blood.

After a quick stop at the library for information, Loki made his way across the palace toward the royal gardens. Just prior to the garden’s entryway, he heard Thor call his name cheerfully from behind him.

“Loki!”

Loki could not understand his brother’s persistence to “rehabilitate” him into a proper Asgardian.

No doubt he will invite me to frolic off with him on some pointless outing full of no one I care to be around and nothing I care to do.

He exhaled in minor irritation, but upon second thought recognized an opportunity and turned to greet his brother.

“Yes?” He did his best to appear in a hurry.

“How wondrous that you are up and around! Come with me to visit with our friends. Their good spirits shall speed your recovery.”

So. Utterly. Predictable.

“They do not wish to see me, Thor. They are not my friends,” Loki replied flatly.

“You speak nonsense, brother. Come out with us. The fresh air shall do you well.”

“I cannot, Thor. I already have plans.” He motioned to the gardens. “But if you could grant me a favor...”

“Always, Loki. What is your wish?”

“Will you be visiting Earth soon?”

“I have been summoned to a meeting at the headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D. in several day’s time.”

“Perfect. I need you to deliver a message to Director Fury. The message is for him alone to know. Do not involve any of his useless agents or your foolish comrades who play at being heroes.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “Come now, brother. You could show some respect for the men and women who risk their lives to preserve humanity. You were a part of that once.”

“True, I could show respect, but not today. I have a more personal cause to champion.”

Thor conceded in the interest of avoiding conflict with his recovering brother. “Tell me your message and be done, then.”

“You must repeat this phrase to him exactly....” Loki shared the message and asked Thor to repeat it back to him to prove his retention.

After Thor repeated the message three times, he was satisfied that his brother might not screw it up. He sent Thor on his way then resumed his walk to a particular corner of the royal gardens. It was not as trimmed and ornately decorated as the majority of the hedges and fountains it held, so it was often free of visitors. As a youth he had frequently retreated there to study or read when he wanted to remain totally undisturbed. There was an area between the hedges that was easily overlooked by servants who came looking for him. His father always scolded him for disappearing at inopportune times—he would hide there to avoid boring social engagements that should not have required his attendance. Thor had been the aspiring ambitious warrior, a worthy discussion piece for his family while he seemed to wither in his brother’s shadow as the knowledge-hungry scholar.

Once he reached the hedge-lined corner he sat upon its old stone bench and stared through the hedges, lost in thought.

The hollowness in my life—the one she patched up so easily with her love and patience—is now torn open anew leaving my sincerity and patience and happiness to bleed out of me. What dressing could staunch such a shocking wound?

The whole of my past year’s joy destroyed.

My mortal life with her, my Rowan, and the long dream we shared is a nightmare to me now. Memories that once brought comfort bring only pain. A pain so sharp it hurts to breath, to speak, to think of her at all. But I must endure this pain. This is my punishment for sharing my trust.

The only way I will survive is to set my pain alight and push it into every dark corner of my being—a blazing beacon to fuel my revenge. I cannot change the past, but I cannot move forward until the power responsible is punished by my hand.

Odin claims I have grown, but I was a fool to think I could trust another and avoid the pain of loss. Her comfort was ripped away from me prematurely. I loathe her grievous fate to the core of my being. How is that for compassion, father?

Fate has wronged both of us, my beloved. And the power responsible for your death shall pay in kind should I die a thousand times to exact it. I will not fail. I have finally found my conviction, Rowan—it was you.


After hours of contemplation, his plan was ready. He arose patiently and created a gateway to an unknown world cloaked in the suffocating darkness of nightfall.

And so his mission of revenge began.

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Author's note:
There's still a little more closure coming in the epilogue...

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