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Anamnesis

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Summary: Every cycle, Odin is Lokisbane and child-thief. This time, he has merely begun early. And oh, how deeply Loki shall make him suffer for it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or its characters. Creative liberties with myths.

More Mythology than MCU. Multiple time skips.

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Chapter 1: A Fool, and a Forgotten Truth

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For Loki, every nightmare starts as a day of triumph.

One moment, he is standing tall and proud before his father, confident that this time, he has truly done it, and there is nothing Thor can do to outshine his gleaming trophy.

"I humbly present to you Mjὂlnir, forged from a dying star by the acclaimed craftsmith Brokkr and Sindri, as token of my fealty and proof of my exploits."

The next moment, he is literally falling, the hammer in his outstretched hands weighing more than the sky, more than father's expectations, pulling him in its trajectory from his hands to father's.

As soon as he realizes this, he lets go; only too happy to give the gift to the intended. He cannot help feeling smug that father was so eager to see what elusive present Loki had brought for him.

(A small voice at the back of his head reminds him how unusual it is for the All-Father to cut through the niceties; Odin was always one for strict protocol. But as he was wont to do, Loki dabbles sparingly with caution and ignores all advice that could possibly help him.

An even greater part of him is rueful. He had looked forward to delivering his prize in front of father's throne, in full audience so all may know of his deeds.)

But no matter. The covetous gleam in father's eye is glory enough.

"'Tis an impressive weapon indeed, masters Brokkr and Sindri. You have my regard."

Loki maintains an impassive face, uneasy that his father chose first to acknowledge the dwarves, rather than his waiting son. The dwarves had no love for Asgard, and would have sold the hammer to the highest bidder, had Loki not tricked them out of it.

Yet, Loki is used to being an afterthought when father is concerned.

(Foolishly, he hoped things would be different this time. Foolishly, he hopes the same every time.)

The dwarves take the acknowledgement as their cue to move forward, shuffling in their stunted gait towards the golden throne, opening leering at Asgard's opulence with the eyes of practiced smith-workers. Clearing his throat, Brokkr murmurs, "We are honored that your highness has graced our humble creation with your blessing."

At this, he pauses, and carefully demurs, "However, there remains the matter of payment."

"And what price has my silvertongue brother tricked you out of, my good dwarf?" Thor laughs, as if Loki's hard work and the dwarves' misery are both simply games design to amuse his golden gloriness.

Brokkr is not pleased by the Crown Prince's lack of tact; but the opening is exactly what he needs.

"His head" the dwarf pronounces bluntly, and Loki curses Thor within the aforementioned body part. Loki doubts that Odin had any intention to pay the dwarf, unparalleled creation or not. But Thor just had to ask, without a thought for the consequences.

Time for his schemes to save his skin. As usual, though this time more literally than others.

Stepping in front of the dwarf, Loki grins. "Take my head, if you will; but I promised you not my neck."

Sindri gasps, and Brokkr turns puce. "And how are we to take your head without touching your neck!"

"Ah, master dwarf, you should have thought of that before you bargained with the trickster prince of Asgard."

Loki invokes his title judiciously, to remind the dwarf exactly who he is demanding recompense from, and what his terms are.

(He wishes he hadn't turned to face the dwarf. He cannot see Odin's expression; does not know what his father is thinking- but surely there is no reason to fear… he won this fair and square.)

Loki is not nervous. He refuses to be.

Thor is still smiling. His cavalier attitude breeds Loki's hate like gold engenders greed.

The hall is silent as Odin thinks. When his judgement comes, it is crisp, precise and brutally quick.

"The hammer Mjὂlnir is a force of power to reckon with; to be wielded only by one who has the will to control it. Thor, my son, god of thunder; you alone are worthy, and from this day it shall be yours to possess."

No. No no no no no no-

Not a gift for Thor. Please no father; I was the one who got it; it was for you-

"Masters Brokkr and Sindri. The hammer is a fine weapon, and it shall serve Asgard well in my son's hands. Therefore, though it has been naught but a trick, you shall have your prize. Loki's head is yours to do as you wish…. So long as you do not sever it from his body."

A gasp. Frigga? Loki wonders in a detached manner. For all his brilliance, he is still processing all that has occurred.

(He stole a priceless artefact for his father. Odin gave it to Thor. He is to be punished.

"Your father has a reason for everything he does, Loki."

Perhaps he is simply not wise enough to see it.

Perhaps he is looking too deep; perhaps Odin has weighed the costs and decided that the price is acceptable in face of the gains. (Prize, he called it, as if Loki's head was a trophy to be won.)

He is not to be blamed (the fault, as always, lies with Loki). Loki certainly thought the same (when he made the bargain) before he found out that the weapon would go to Thor.

Perhaps this is punishment. Can it be such if he does not know his crime?)

The dwarves, previously in whispered discussion, step up beside the king's throne to appraise him of their decision. Odin apparently finds it acceptable, for he nods and beckons to his 'errant' son.

"Kneel, Loki."

Loki hates bowing, hates leaving his neck exposed for the dwarves to chop off the bargained head regardless of the consequences. After all, he couldn't very well protest his case if he were dead, could he?

Yet, he cannot refuse a direct order form the All-Father.

So Loki lowers himself and keeps his eyes to the ground in respect and docility. Thor, meanwhile, is summoned to father's throne. He listens to his instructions carefully, then steps down to stand beside Loki's bent form.

The Thunderer considers his new prize calculatingly. Gently, Thor pushes Loki to lie on his back, then places Mjὂlnir neatly in the centre of his chest.

Loki gasps; the weight is like nothing he has ever felt before; he marvels at how he managed to carry this weapon from one realm to another. Of course, he thinks bitterly, that was before Odin declared it only worthy of Thor.

His legs are completely paralyzed, and Thor cannot (does not try to) keep the pleased expression off his face. "A wonderful gift indeed, father; to immobilise the slippery Loki."

No matter that it is Loki who stole the accursed hammer and presented it to Odin, as a gift for his father, he might add. Didn't Odin know that re-appropriating a gift suchly was tantamount to insult?

(It is not, by any means, the rudest thing ever said, or done, to Loki. Foolishly, though, he still expects his father to actually care.)

All inner sarcasm vanishes from Loki's head as his brother (stupid, blessed, privileged, brother) kneels beside him, the latter's brawny frame easily holding down the skinnier Loki's arms.

From the corner of his eye, Loki can see Brokkr. The Dwarf is fairly dancing in glee; the humbling being as important a recompense as the punishment itself. Loki sees the needle in his hand and pales.

The needle piercing through delicate skin of his upper lip awake such intense pain, Loki near loses consciousness at the first stich. The needle is cold on his face but Thor's hands are warm against his shoulders; the floor smooth beneath but the dwarf's hands rough.

Suddenly, frighteningly, he feels that everything is so, so wrong.

The hands holding him down are suddenly against his cheeks, cradling him while a gentle voice whispered soothing melodies in his ears.

He can feel Thor's hands on his face; he opens his eyes, his brother is stitching his lips while the dwarf cackles outside his line of sight, only Thor is not his brother but his nephew and he can't seem to remember why that is…

He can see three of everyone, three Friggas standing white-faced behind the throne, three Odins with various faces of disdain, three dwarves gleefully crowing over him, too many dwarves, too many threads-

He kicks, thrashes violently; mindless of Thor's surprise or Brokkr's hiss. The needle jerks in the dwarf's hand, it pokes him in the eye, blinding him…

Like venom from the fangs of a humongous snake…

Thor's hands are crushing into his side, holding him still so Brokkr may continue. Yet all Loki feels the weight of chains around his middle, chains forged from entrails of one son killed by another…

These are nightmares. They cannot be real.

But they are. And they have been. And they will be… if he does not act.

Suddenly, Loki's mind is clear like it has never been. He remembers; and more importantly, he knows.

He is not the son of Odin. He never was.

(Funny how he always knew that within his heart but refused to face the truth.)

He is a piece in a grand game played by the Norns – the cycle of existence. Each time, Yggdrasil is born from nothing and subsides into the nothing from whence it came. Each time is a different life, a different Loki, but each time is a Loki that has suffered by Odin's hand, a Loki that brings it all to an end... only for everything to start again.

Ragnarὂk.

His memories nearly overwhelm him; and for one twisted moment, Loki is glad for the thread. Else, his keening would alert Odin- nay, the whole of Asgard- of his pain, multiplied throughout each torturous existence.

And what would Odin do if he found out that Loki regained his memories?

Pain, pain… more and more in every cycle, building up in the end only for everything to crumble and start again…

But this time is different, it has to be. Loki cannot survive the cycle; each time he remembers, the horrors he endures piles up over the cycles and the combined tortures sap his will, fuelling his longing for destruction, if only to return to the cursed ignorance of rebirth. If his plans fail this time and the Tree crumbles and his heart is put together again, only to shatter in the next cycle… there are limits to how much destruction the destroyer of worlds can take.

Loki is not blood bound to Odin. The only oaths he has sworn are vague promises to Asgard itself, in various ceremonies and formal occasions, not to its ruler. The freedom within his own mind, the absence of a coiling, alien intelligence directing his thoughts, the supervision of his 'brother' (father?) … it is a taste of true free will, a sweet promise of freedom to come.

(Loki is Jὂtun, but he will not think of that. Not now. Perhaps later when he has time to sift through the memories and find out how much of a monster he truly is.)

Odin, by taking him as a babe, irrevocably changed the course of fate. Ragnarὂk is inevitable either way, but the All-Father's mischief has given Loki room to manoeuvre. Loki shall not give the Deceiver a chance to make the same mistake again.

This time, he knew where all he had gone wrong, so he could make things right.

Every stitch is a reminder of Odin's duplicity and a promise to himself. It is all he truly has.

…

Even with the thread gone, his reflection disgusts him. His true face is a mockery of the mask he has worn since he was born, lined with his heritage as prince and the burdens that brings.

But it is real, is one of the few things that has never changed throughout the cycles, while Brother became Father and friend became foe. So Loki faces his reflection, stiff in front of the glass, and learns to make himself accustomed (but not truly comfortable, not yet) with it… for he knows that the greatest drawback to his plans is often his own self-destructiveness. His (Aesir-ingrained) fear of his true nature only adds to his anger, his resolve, his strength.

In the night he dreams of other blue faces, older and younger, and his heart breaks a little.

...

It takes Loki far too long to make up his mind, whether or not to meet the King of Jὂtunheim. Odin told his children grisly tales of the brutality of the ruler; though the All-Father's word no longer holds any meaning for Loki.

Still, he is right to worry, for the cycles change people, and he knows naught who he will face. Will arrogant, vain Laufey smite him where he stands; or will the nurturing Nàl welcome her lost foundling into her embrace?

The trip to Jὂtunheim is well worth it. This Laufey has all of his trademark cunning, tempered by Nal's unwavering belief in the steadfastness of familial ties. Loki has been exceptionally lucky, considering the events of Ragnarὂks past. He thanks the Norns for this once-in-a-million-lifetimes' chance, for they have clearly blessed him.

The Norns' price turns out to be more than he can pay.

For when things go wrong, who is to blame but Loki?

The sun, the moon and the goddess Freyja – these are the demands of the craft-smith who would build a wall around the whole of Gladsheim with naught but his horse for assistance. The price is much too steep, but the terms are impossible, so Odin agrees with no intention to pay.

A serious miscalculation, as it turns out.

The builder's horse, Svaðilfari, is special; clearly a beast of magical power, completing several years of labour in months. Three days to the deadline, and the Aesir are frantic. Odin's promise of death results in Loki's unwilling transformation into a mare, with intention to distract the steed Svaðilfari and so deprive the builder of his exorbitant payment.

A mad race ending in capture, a forced coupling, a painful pregnancy, and a lost eight-legged child later, Loki is not so grateful for the Norns' 'blessing'. When the end comes, he thinks viciously, he will drag the Norns down with the rest of tangible existence, they who sought to take everything from him again and again and again.

If only his hands don't feel so empty and lost…

Loki loves his little foal, strange and unexpected though he may be. To cede Sleipnir to Odin's demands is to tear his heart out and watch it chained. Yet, for all the heartbreak, it is an old, bitterly familiar wound.

Every circle, Odin finds, twists and binds his children, in the name of Asgard, and in doing so ensures that Loki's wrath and hence Ragnarὂk. His strategy is naively simple. He subjugates the tamable younglings – Sleipnir, Vàli, Nàrfi – while banishing their powerful siblings to remote, inhospitable lands far from Loki's reach.

This cycle Odin has simply started early, by kidnapping Loki himself.

His plan of surreptitiously stealing the Casket back for his people is no longer an option. He will not leave Asgard without Sleipnir, and with his little colt bound by the Deceiver's magic, the only way is to face Odin head-on.

Very well. If Loki must incite war to free his child, then war it shall be.

For war, however, he needs his other children. And for that, he needs a mate.

Glὓt, his first wife, gentle and shy, fit only for the carefree Loki of Ragnarὂks past… her face has long faded in his memories. And his last, his Aesir wife (or was she Vanir? So much he had forgotten, or maybe these things change every cycle…), it is not surprising he barely remembers her. Those times where made indistinct by venom-induced hallucinations and the numbness of losing his innocent Vàli and Nàrfi. Those were days of endless agony, of trial and regret, with only pain and suffering as a constant companion.

Still, he wishes he could recall her features. Precious few were completely loyal to him.

Angrboða is a clearer picture in his head; their time together a complex meld of emotions. From what he remembers, Angrboða was hardy, resilient; and she would pass that trait on to their offspring. She would bear him strong children capable of surviving the horrors he knew were coming. After all, did his children not stand tall as victors at the end, rejoicing over the dead bodies of his so-called brother and father? (or brother and nephew, or some other sentimental relation to mask their real status as jailors and child-stealers…)

But the most resilient of all is Loki himself. Loki has suffered through centuries – entire cycles – of poorly concealed Aesir hostility. Loki has endured scorn and contempt and cursed thread and stitched lips.

No, he shall bear his children himself. He shall let them gestate in his body, feel his magic and his pain and his memories, so they know what fuels their cause. And he shall never, never, let them be taken from him.

…

The first time Loki kisses Angrboða, he can barely hold his bile. Hastily concocting excuses, Loki flees, lest memories of gorging on a living, beating heart cause him to empty his stomach upon the bashful Iron Woods diplomat.

The very thought of meeting Angrboða again makes Loki nauseous. Is this guilt for crimes not yet committed, he wonders, or a chance for revenge before the betrayal even occurs?

It takes time to overcome the backlash of old cycles' memories, but Loki perseveres by thinking of their precious children. Loki's affection for Angrboða is mostly genuine, though at times he remembers the cloying taste of betrayal, of a sensuous body whispering sweet nothings into his ears while he spilt Asgard's secrets into hers.

Angrboða doesn't question Loki's desire to be a dam despite the pressures of his eventual kingship, nor his preference for a more masculine form. It is a complete role-reversal; with Loki as the teacher and Angrboða the willing student.

Angrboða knows something; that much Loki is certain. Yet if he notices Loki's slip-ups and instinctive flinches, he makes no mention.

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His double-life is immensely productive, but sometimes the façade grows too tiresome to maintain.

Loki has always resented the mockery and ill-will of Aesir – his people, or so he foolishly believed (for decades, centuries… such liars all) – towards him. While young and naïve and hopeful, he had sought to address this, through valour, charm or show of power. As a prince of the realm, he had demanded his due respect. As Asgard's greatest sorcerer, he had demanded recognition. And from his family, he had expected love, no matter how absent their affections were.

Now, the casual disregard chafes Loki to the heights of irritation. He is the end of their world as they know it, and he wants them to bow before him in fear.

(Loki had suffered untold horrors by Aesir hands, in previous cycles; enough to drive him mad. They are treating him quite well, comparatively. Odin hiding his origins had some positive aspects.)

Odin and Thor are the worst. The All-Father, while blood-brother and ally, wisely held Loki in caution, recognizing the spirit of chaos within him, and the dangers he posed to the World Tree itself. Was that not why Odin sought Loki on his side and bound them through ancient magic?

The Odin of now is a fool, thinking he has tamed the Jὂtun through familial ties. Loki snorts. Even the chains of Gleipnir could not cage the bringer of Ragnarok; what could this warped facsimile of a family do?

It is ironic, truly; the Thor of cycles past would totter behind Loki, eager for flashes of mischief or magic. Now the bulky meathead expects Loki to follow obediently in the oaf's shadow.

Sometimes Loki longs to lash out, to unleash what he and no one else can unleash, but the plan is everything. It is the slimmest chance of freedom from the agonizing cycle, and Loki can put aside his anger... for now. He will use the scorn and the slights to feed the flame of vengeance inside him, till all of Asgard, no, till the World Tree itself burns.

For Ragnarὂk is both a rain of ash and the end of the world...

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His children grow tall and strong, proof of the giant blood that flows strong through both parents' veins. To them, Loki makes no secret of their captive eldest and what sacrifices must be made to have him back again.

Jörmungandr is horrified, Hela solemn, and Fenrir determined. Yes, Dam, they promise, urging Loki not to worry; insisting they will get their brother back from the one-eyed thief, even if they have to destroy the whole of Asgard.

Loki is pleased; he has thought them well. They know the value of family.

(As Odin never did, a voice in his head whispers. Loki quells the thought. He had no care for his Aesir 'family'.)

The children say a great many unsavory things about Odin. It appears that Laufey has also done a great deal of 'teaching'.

Loki is undeniably entertained; he is looking forward to their invasion.

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The destroyer is a formidable foot-soldier (though hardly intelligent enough to be deemed an opponent), well capable of hindering his plans, not to mention razing him and his fellow Jὂtnar to a puddle; and hence it is the first issue Loki addresses.

Funny how a simple spell to deactivate the door-opening mechanism can render Asgard's most prized defender obsolete, merely a hunk of metal behind bars that would not open.

Without the vault's metal guardian, the theft of the Casket is childishly simple.

He has no hard feelings in betraying the Aesir. He was destined to bring about their demise anyway. And if their actions happened to spur him along… well, what would that matter in the grand scheme of things?

With the Casket in their possession, victory is all but assured. The real thing left to gain, truly, is vengeance.

His children shall wage war against all of Asgard, their swords sharp with poisoned memories of cycles before. Jörmungandr's venom and Fenrir's fang and Hela's army shall lay waste to all in their path, swiftly annihilating the Aesir to free their long-lost eldest brother.

Ragnarök is come, oh child of Yggdrasil.

It would come on his terms now.

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Not done yet! This is a five-shot. Bits and pieces of the next instalments are already written; however I need to actually get them into coherent chapters.

Basic summary: The pain triggered Loki's memory of past lives. Cognitive re-calibration, you could say ;)

In this fic, I've decided to go for the intersex Jὂtun theory. I still use regular masculine pronouns for Loki, however.

In case you're wondering, 'gloriness' is not a real word. I'm just obsessed with alliterations.

Anamnesis (n): It is the idea in Platonism that humans possess knowledge from past incarnations and that learning consists of rediscovering that knowledge within us. (Source: Wikipedia)