Enemies of the Heir

Odin Allfather stood tall and proud; before the golden halls of Asgard with Gungnir, the spear of heaven in his aged and battle hardy hand.

Cheers erupted when the monstrous door at the end of his hall swung apart to reveal Thor Odinson, in all his magnificent glory. Red cape fluttered and blew behind him, as he walked down the hall towards Odin. There was a glint from his helmet where the glorious light of the sun met finely crafted metal.

A moment of joy, a swell of pride, grew in Odin's chest as he watched his beloved son strode towards him. Then all too soon…Thor swept down to one knee before the King of Asgard.

Raising Gungnir by a fraction, Odin slams the base of his staff against the hard pavement of his hall. Boom erupted, echoed, loud and clear, silencing the entire hall before he spoke.

"Thor Odinson, my first born, my heir…!" Odin started, gazing at the young man before him.

He thought for a split of a second that there would never be a moment he was more proud of his son… The golden prince of Asgard.

Brilliant blue eyes were looking at him in happiness and excitement, a wide smile on the boy's face. Today at last, he was to be King. Crowned by Odin's very hands.

Then Odin continued after barely a pause.

"Do you swe-" Odin chocked; his voice would not come.

Before he even knew something was dreadfully wrong, a sudden and extreme weariness spread through his body like wildfire and he crumbled onto the ground. Gungnir clattered. All about him were shouts and gasps of horror and disbelief. He fought to keep his eyes open, but even as he tried to get up, his vision was fading. And the last thing he saw, was Thor's frightful expression as he rushed up the steps to him.

"Odin!" He could hear Frigga's frightened voice in a distance.

He could barely mouth his son's name when he felt a monstrous presence seeping through him. It was so very cold. A coldness that frightened him, a coldness that was born from his very bone marrow and it was foul… its presence curling and seizing every inch of him and it was pulling him under a great rush of icy water.

"And now you shall know fear… Odin Allfather…." Cold cruel voice whispered in the depths of Odin's mind.

"Get the healer!" Thor thunderous voice echoed through the hall.

Deep in the dark towers of Jotunheim, beneath the gaze of the bleeding moon, a blood curdling shrieked echoed and pierced through the very depths of its land, shaking it. In one of the darkened room of Laufey's magnificent fortress, pots clanged, glassy bottles crashed and smashed against the ice cold ground.

Loki coughed; blood spurted from his panting lips as he forced himself up to all fours; the gems and silver threads weaved beautifully into the strands of this long jet black tresses glinted beneath her red gaze. And the gold that adorned Loki's slightly curve horns glimmered.

He moaned; his dark nails scraped the icy ground as a dark cold chuckle bubbled from his raw throat. His naked body that glistered in sweat shook with pain, but he did not care. He laughed maddeningly, his scarlet eyes looking about the lovely runes that encircle him; written in the vilest of language. They were all drawn with his own blood.

He coughed again, his chest burned as he drew in a shuttering breath.

His blood magic had worked... He could feel it; its cold icy malevolence humming in his very bone. And he could feel his own sorcery continue to seep from his every pore, fueling his spell.

The old fool had fought hard and good, but the Great Odin Allfather had lost. If the old bastard had fought harder, it might have killed Loki or broke his mind. But it would seem that the God of War was not so mighty after all.

Then too soon, someone was pounding on his door.

"Loki! Open up!" Laufey's loud booming voice rang to Loki's horror.

"I am not fit for presentation at the moment dam!" Loki said hurriedly.

"I do not care! Open this damn door or I will break it down!"

Loki's eyes widened.

No! No! No! His dam cannot see that he was delving in such foul magic. Blood magic was not viewed kindly at all on Jotunheim, or any realm for that matter.

Panic surged.

"In a moment please!" Loki said urgently, pushing himself at once to his feet. His eyes were frantic as he looked down at himself. Cut up and covered in blood. The icy floor of the chamber stained in blood and broken glasses. There was no way he could be presentable; not in the next ten minutes at least.

"Loki! Now!"

"Please dam! I will meet you in the hall within the hour! Please!"

There was a moment of silence where Loki was terrified that Laufey would not hear his pleas and would simply barge in.

"Within the hour" Laufey's voice came finally.

Loki had met his sire and dam in their hall as promised, conjuring what lie he could of that scream they had heard coming from his room earlier that evening. He could tell that neither of them believed him in the slightest, but they did not dare question him further. He knew that though they loved him, they too feared him, just as everyone did.

In Laufey King's courtyard covered in ice and snow, Loki stood quietly, gazing at the blood red moon high above that likened the eyes of Jotuns against the pitch black darkness of the starless sky.

Long had the Aesir thwarted Jotunheim. Long had the Aesir laughed and mocked them. Long had the tyrant Odin Allfather sees to it that Jotunheim crumbles. Slowly, agonizingly, rubble by rubble, so that Laufey could watch painfully and helplessly as his kingdom dies a slow torturous death. As his people cries in despair and sorrow. As their crops wither and life stocks die, and their ground crumbles beneath their feet… but not for long anymore…

"Even in the deepest of Odin-sleep, I hear that you still see and hear all…" Loki whispered. "Then I hope you see this… I hope you hear me…I am the crown prince of Jotunheim. And I will take back what is mine. Watch me, Odin Allfather…and fear the wrath of your enemy…" He hissed into the cold silence.

He stood tall and proud; his long black locks that were neatly combed back from his slender features and his sculptured ears adorned with rings of golden piercings fluttered behind him, as arctic wind blew and funnelled through the night. The gems in his locks, the silvery thread and the gold too on his horns glittered, touched by the soft yet harsh light of the moon.

Clad in his usual garb of white fur strapped elegantly over his hips he strode across the yard, the fair rings upon his ankles clinked, and golden vambrance bearing the finely sculpt visage of coiling serpents with its mouth wide open on both his arms glint even in the darkness.

Tall willowy trees of grey bark stood all around him, but their enormous branches that spread above had long lost their splendor; standing bare and dead, as everything else in the realm.

He barely remembers their colors and their beauty anymore. But if he thought hard enough, he could sometimes remember being carried in Laufey's strong arms through a leafy roof of gold and its pillars of silver. He could vaguely remember their song of spring… the smell of life, before war spilled; staining all in red, drenching the land in death and plague.

Endless summer had surged the land and the burning nights were everlasting beneath the blood red moon since the lost of the casket of ancient winter; the heart of Jotunheim. The trees had slept since then, bearing no more beauty to any eyes. Snowfalls were rare, the icy wind had lost its bite and the ice had then began to melt, flooding the lower lands.

A sense of nostalgia clutches Loki as he stood silently by the threshold of the courtyard. Then he turned slowly and whispered a soft enchantment.

Tingling warmness flutters through his body, spreading down his arms. Mist of golden threads stirred and curled all about him. The soft apparition began to coalescence and shimmer, and they began to gently entangle with the trees; spreading slowly from one to the other, curling and contracting like smokes.

Before Loki's eyes, the landscape of cold deadened emptiness began to change. It was gradual but terrifyingly beautiful… Golden leafs bloom one after the other. A vision of grey white morphed to gold.

Loki smiled.

He made a vow then…When he is crown, he will be crown under these roofs of gold, roofs of new life and hope, or he will not be crown at all.

When he turned to leave, Loki caught movement at the corner of his eyes. Two toned twelve feet towering form of his brothers, Helblindi and Býleistr emerged from the shadows.

"You are restless tonight brother" Helblindi said.

"Aye"

"You are going somewhere are you not?"

"What is it to you?"

"I've already told you. Where you go I will follow. My brother, my prince, future King of Jotunheim"

"As will I" Býleistr, the youngest vowed.

"Do you even know where I am going?" Loki asked.

"No. But even to the fires of Muspelheim or the rotting depths of Niflheim I will go with you" Helblindi said without hesitation.

"The fires of Muspelheim and the depths of Niflheim would both be preferable to where I intend to go tonight"

"Do you really think anything you say could ever stop me from following you, dear brother?" He questioned, taking a step forward.

Loki simply looked at him silently.

No...Truth be told, he did not think anything he could say would convince Helblindi to leave him alone. But he could always give it a try...

"Don't follow me Helblindi. Not this time..." Loki said quietly. "If I do not return... the throne is yours"

Helblindi gave a low deep chuckle at Loki's feeble words as he knelt down on one knee, going as close as possible to Loki's level.

If he had truly wanted the throne, he would have left Loki to his own device a long time ago, and Loki would most certainly be dead by now, for the crown prince is very capable of getting himself killed in his grand schemes and plans.

Loki is likened wildfire; untamed and feral, volatile and unpredictable. Though the prince does not lack wits, he has no judgement for danger, especially when it lies in the way of his desires.

Their sire and dam knows this too. And they know too, that Loki is not one that allows himself to be caged as if a bird with clipped wings and tied feet. He would wilt, he would die…or if not, loath and abhor them. And that is a terrifying thought.

There is something dark in Loki, something akin to malice and wickedness in his very being. This darkness that is growing ever stronger as Loki grew. And this frightened them. And so, they let Loki go where Loki will.

"Do you know what dam always say to me?" Helblindi asked. "He says to me... Helblindi my child, look over your brother. Though he is cunning and sharp of tongue, he is reckless. Follow him and look after him"

Loki turned to look at Býleistr now. The youngest's long snowy hair was tied in a lose braid and it caresses down his pale cerulean back like silver falls. Narrow aristocratic nose, oval face and translucent red eyes that seem as if the very heavens burn in their very depths. Some say Býleistr looked much like their sire when their sire had prefer to grow out his hair rather than keeping himself shaved; but even more claimed that Býleistr was more beautiful than Farbauti had ever been.

He is beauty personified. The wet fantasy of Jotuns.

"What of you? Will you be the wise one and stay?" Loki asked.

"I am always the foolish one. Not the wise...I go where you go brother" Býleistr grinned.

Loki let out a sigh, taking a small step back. "Then swear it that you will do exactly as I say if I allow you to follow" He commanded.

Without hesitation, Helblindi and Býleistr withdrew a silver dagger from their pouch and put it to the palm of their hand, their fingers curled tightly against sharp metal and slowly they tugged the dagger back, revealing slick red wetness in its wakes. Scarlet bloomed, blood trailed down from their close hand to their wrist and still they continued to trickle. Dripping onto cold hard pavement beneath them.

"A blood oath I swear to you my prince, my brother… I am yours to command" They vowed in unison.

Loki lifted his hands, extending them first to Helblindi.

"Give me your hand" Loki said.

Helblindi uncurled his fingers, showing Loki the cut that ran across the hard palms of his flesh.

Loki reached forth to take Helblindi's hand and place his own much much smaller ones over the bleeding wound. He weaved a simple spell silently, and the wound knitted, closing in an instant.

Helblindi resisted the urge to smile at this.

There is still light in his brother in the midst of inky darkness. There is still kindness in him, in the midst of his terrible coldness, though diminishing day by day, as if a fleck of snow beneath the glorious sun. How sad it would be when it is gone when it neither needed to be that way. He wished he could tell Loki that power is not worth everything. Nothing is worth so much. But he knew too that his brother had sacrificed more than he could ever understand to turn back now.

Loki turned to Býleistr.

"Give me your hand" Loki said again, and Býleistr lowered his bleeding hand to Loki. Loki did the same with his wound.

When all was done, Loki turned; his brothers followed him, leaving the fair yard behind them without a glance.

The trees withered, covering the ground in gold, before they curled into inky blackness darker than night, until the rightful heir of the throne returns once again, dead or alive.

The golden halls of Asgard were in a state of chaos. Bodies sprawled, blood painting the ivory floor in deep red. Pillars fall, the ceiling crumbles and the walls broke. Ice and frost covers the lower bowel of the palace. Shouts echoed, thunders roared.

Thor gasped in pain, his jaws tight as he pushed himself to his feet again; broken rubbles all about him, mjolnir lying a little distant away. The blast had lifted him off his feet and smashed him through a wall. Every breath he took was agony. He had cracked several ribs.

A little way in from him he could see a fierce battle commencing.

The little Jotun sorcerer was not only a thief, but a monster!

He panted, his breath forming mist as his body trembled with a cold that seeped through his battered metal armor and invaded his skin like fiery needles. He called mjolnir to his hand, limping forward.

Sif stood with her back to him, tall and strong, five rows of archers before her, bow at the ready, arrows aiming down the hallway, covered in ice, blood and bodies.

Thor could hear shouts of pain from his men and see their lifeless body crumble beneath the monster's brutal attacks. In his pain, he watched in captivation and enthrallment at the fierce working of the elegant Jotun body, the ripple of its toned muscle, the ease of its footwork as it leaped and turned in midair.

The gold that adorned the beast glistered, its dark locks wild and untamed, whipping and caressing all over its azure form. Ice spears bloomed from its strong lean arms, driving it right through the bodies of his guards that kept pouring down the narrow path. Its fierce red eyes glistened in maddening fury and blood lust. The battle cries of Jotuns he had always hear warriors from the old battle field mimic in mockery at the feasting tables echoed down the hall. Blood poured and spilled in the corridor, drenching the slender face of the feral Jotun.

"Pull back! Pull back!" Sif was shouting to the fighting warriors as her archers loaded their arrows.

"Shoot! Sif! Shoot now!" Thor heard himself shouting despite his pain.

They have to take the shot when the Jotun is distracted, or arrows would do nothing to the cursed sorcerer.

Sif whipped around to Thor is shock.

"Our me-"

"Shoot!" Thor gasped, pulling himself beside Sif.

Sif hesitated for a moment before she gave a nod and turned back to the Jotun.

"Aim!" Her voice roared. Her archers pulled their tight strings.

The Jotun whipped around and Thor saw for a split of the second that its slender features were contorted in pure fury, its teeth bare, lips curled back in a snarl.

"Fire!"

Rain of arrows flew at the frenzied Jotun, piercing through flesh as if hot knives through butter. The surviving warriors dove for cover from the onslaught of arrows.

The Jotun let out a terrible cry. Blood poured. The beast crumbled to its hands and knees, refusing to lay dead, refusing to submit.

"Load!"

Arrows were drawn from quivers.

The Jotun coughed, blood spurted from its lips, its black mane in a mess, all over its sweaty face as it looked up. Its blood red eyes were glaring maddeningly at the golden prince of Asgard...Or was King of Asgard perhaps the more fitting title...

Thor Odinson.

It hissed.

Thor could feel a sudden chill inching down his spine at the expression of so intense a hatred that burn into every inch of the Jotun's slender face.

"Do you submit?" Sif asked.

The Jotun spat at the ground.

"I submit to no one!" The Jotun runt snarled and at once struggled to rise to its shaking feet. The white fur strapped to its hips was stained thickly in red.

Thor watched in grim satisfaction as the Jotun's features contorted in excruciating pain, but yet it stood, as tall and as proud as it could manage in its state. Bloody fingers reached for the arrows that were embedded in its guts and with a move, it yanked the arrows out.

A muffle cry wrenched from the beast's unwilling throat.

The Jotun threw the arrows onto the ground and reached for another pierce deep in its shoulder, and then another on its arms. And then quickly before all their eyes, they could see that its pale blue skin was knitting back together, its wounds healing.

Some of the archers hands shook, their eyes widened and gasp escaped their lips.

Thor gazed intently at the Jotun runt, taking in the sight of its gems and jewels that adorned that stubborn body, and then his eyes fell on the image of coiling serpents on the bloody vambrance of his enemy.

He recognizes it at once. The sigil of Laufey's house as he had seen in those damnable history books he had been forced to study.

"Aim!" Sif cried.

"Stand down! Stand down!" Thor shouted suddenly.

"Are you mad?!" Sif glared at Thor in utter disbelief; her eyes wide in anger.

"Stand down!" Thor ignored her.

A runt of Laufey's house. The mysterious crown prince of Jotunheim, Thor realized.

Loki Laufeyjarson.

Much had been rumoured of Loki Laufeyjarson, and Thor had yet to hear a single good word. It is said that Loki is darkness itself; as if an eternal night closing in on days. And that the creature practices the foulest of sorcery; scorned even by its own people. A cursed being.

But no matter what wicked things had been said, Thor still has enough sense of politic to know that killing a crown prince of ill omen or not, would supposedly bring on the wrath of their people. Who knows what those Jotun dogs would demand as repayment for this favor.

So then, to simplify matters…

"Do you yield Loki Laufeyjarson!" Thor asked, looking at the Jotun prince intently.

There were soft gasped and murmurs. Surprise flashed over those unyielding red eyes for a moment and it was gone as if it never were.

Red bore maliciously at brilliant sapphire.

"Archers! At the ready!" Thor took over the command when Loki did not answer. "Do you yield, son of Laufey?!" Thor cried again.

Still Loki did not answer, simply boring his fiery gaze into Thor's as if it meant to sheer Thor's soul with those haunting eyes.

"Do you yield Jotun?!" Thor cried for the third time.

Three warnings he had given and hence by all the laws that govern the nine realms, he will have committed no crime against Jotunheim even if he shoots down their crown prince.

"Aim!" Thor's voice thundered. Bow strings were pulled. Thor lifted his hammer; thunder roared and shook the halls.

Then Loki slowly lifted a trembling hand.

"Yield…" He smirked through his bloody lips.

Thor silently curses on the inside, though his expression remained passive.

"Throw him in the dungeons and have him chained!" Thor commanded.

Thor coughed his lungs burn in fire and he could taste a fine stream of coppery blood on his tongue, as his rough hand clutched the side of his monstrous mattress covered in thick soft fur. Sif who towered over him, frowned at him disapprovingly.

"I think you should go to the healers" Volstagg handed Thor a small bowl of homemade medicine that looked like sewer fluid to Thor.

"No" Thor said. "The healing room is pack enough. And the healers are busy"

"Don't be stupid!" Sif snapped at last.

Thor waved her off idly, forcing down the bitter medication. He coughed, willing for whatever he just swallowed not to back up.

"Friend, you need a new recipe for…this. Might I suggest some sugar" Thor joked, handing the empty bowl back.

"Thor, if you get worst I will personally drag you to the healers even if I have to tie you up" Sif said sternly.

"Interesting"

"I am serious Thor!"

Thor heaved sigh. "Come now, this is just a little bruise"

"I think cracking four ribs is a little more than a bruise!"

"I've endured worst. And anyway, how has the search come along? Has Heimdall seen anything yet?" He asked, deliberately changing the topic.

"No" Volstagg admitted. "The casket has not been seen or found and I fear it may have been lost after so many hours"

Thor nodded.

He expected as much, but there was nothing to be done now. At least they had the cursed crown prince detained. All hope is not lost yet. Even if Jotunheim had obtained the casket, they should not be so ready to make a mess of things with their crown prince being held prisoner on Asgard.

"Make sure that Jotun does not escape" Thor said.

"Yes my King" Sif and Volstagg bowed.

After some talks and jokes, Sif and Volstagg left, allowing Thor to rest.

Sleep found Thor quickly, but so did nightmare.

Thor tosses and turn, cold sweat breaking from his fair skin. There was darkness and a terrible cold that seemed to suck the breath out of Thor's lungs and seeped painfully into the marrow of his bones.

In his nightmare, in that world of darkness, it consists of nothing but fear…fear with such an intensity like Thor had never knew it. Drifting in a void of oblivion, red monstrous eyes of the Jotun flashes and disappears, black tendril likened fingers curl and tightened all over Thor's limbs, holding him immobile even as he struggles and yanks. He opens his mouth to shout, but no voice would leave his lips.

Hollow laughter chortled and echoed.

"Shall I sing you a lullaby to close your eyes…?" Voice so soft and harsh whispered as if a tangible thing, caressing him.

Thor growled; his eyes so wide, the fullness of his brilliant cerulean orbs could be seen as it darted frantically all about him, as if willing for his eyes to see a light. His breath shallow and fast, his heart thundered.

"Here's a lullaby to close your eyes…" Inky vine curled over Thor's naked neck. "Goodbye…" The sinister face of the Jotun prince appeared suddenly.

Thor jolted awake, his eyes snapped open and he thought he saw for a split of a second, a pair of venomous red eyes and sharp teeth hovering against the impenetrable darkness that surrounded him. A weight was on his chest, deadly coldness brushed his throat.

He howled in horror. Rolling to his side at once, he called mjolnir to him and leaped right off his bed, tearing down the thick curtains that surrounded his wide bed. His weapon smashed through the pole of his bed to Thor's hand.

Silvery moonlight ray poured onto his mattress as he stumbled and whipped around, his eyes wild as his frantic gaze swept his messy room.

There was no one. Nothing...

He panted, his breath forming mist. Frosts were already starting to creep over his glassy windows.

Thor coughed; his chest ached terribly. His naked body shivered in cold and adrenaline.

This unnatural coldness…everything, the nightmare too perhaps, it is the working of that cursed monster he is sure!

Thor gritted his jaws in irritation and annoyance as he drops mjolnir down by his feet, swiping his trembling hands down his features, feeling like a fool. A fool that jumps at his own shadows.

Damn it! Damn it all! That damn Jotun dog is making a fool of him!

And so the Jotun is, night after night after night, drowning him in cold, such like he had never felt. And in spite, Thor let Loki rot in his dungeon.

Thunders crackled and rumbled over Asgard, the sky thick in grey clouds that flashes dangerously. The maids and servants around him gasp and scream; shouting for guards as Loki walked indifferently into the glorious dining hall as if it were his own.

Beautiful and tediously picked bouquet of flower sat all along the long table of the Allfather. There was no breakfast yet, but he did not care; strolling over as maids fled in fear of him.

The fur he wore were smeared in dried blood and stained with filth, his once neat silken locks were in a state of disarray, as if he were a madman.

He has had enough of that decadent cell!

He could hear the pounding of many boots. Guards were coming for him no doubt.

He hummed idly; moving to pick up a bowl of fruit intended as decor off the counter and sat himself down upon the Allfather's golden seat at the head of the table, just in time for the hordes of angry guards to pour in from doors on either side.

Thunder cracked deafeningly. A thicket of spears were pointed at him, but he remained indifferent, picking at the bunch of oval purple fruits in the ornate glass bowl.

"That's enough!" Thor's thunderous voice boomed, as he strode over the tide of guards to Loki's side; his red cape bellowing behind him.

The Golden King was positively fuming by then, at the verge of snapping.

He will not have the Jotun prisoner undermine his authority! He will not have the damn thing play him for a fool! And he will definitely not have that monster sitting on Odin's seat!

"Get up!" Thor snarled; his fingers curled into a tight fist, resisting the urge to use mjolnir that was strapped so temptingly at his belt.

Loki lifted his gaze at the King, mock amusement evident in his eyes, as if to say, make me.

"How the hospitality of Asgard has deteriorated" Loki drawled, turning back to his little purple fruits, plucking yet another from the bunch.

Thor snatched the bowl and smashed it on the floor.

"Hospitality is the privilege of guests! Not thieves and murderers!"

"Ah…" Loki sounded surprise; lifting his gaze to Thor again. "You accuse me of thievery yet you have found nothing on me. You accuse me of being a murderer, yet I only kill to defend myself. Should I have let your soldiers put an axe to my head? Or perhaps a few spears through my guts while they are at it?"

Thor gritted his jaws, his eyes flashed dangerously. He was not very good with words on the best of days, what more when he had a headache the size of Asgard.

He will not be made to look like a dullard in front of his men! He will not play this game!

"That is enough! I have no time for your word games!" Thor said.

"How disappointing"

"You will return to your cell now!"

Loki slammed his hand on the table hard; standing to his feet, he turned his blood red eyes at Thor. "No" He said firmly. "I am the crown prince of Jotunheim! And I will be respected as one!" He declared.

"You speak of respect yet you show your host none!"

"I apologize for any offense I might have caused due to cultural differences!"

Thor snorted.

"Bow before me as any honourable guest in my father's house would and then perhaps we would talk of respect and this difference you speak!"

Fury and indignant flashed before those blood red eyes, Loki squared his shoulder and took a proud step towards Thor, staring him straight in the eye.

"The only way you will have my head lower than yours or any Aesir is if you take it off my shoulders" He gritted.

"Then there is nothing to speak of" Thor growled, taking a step back. "Seize him!" He commanded.

The guards stirred, but none took a step closer to the Jotun.

Loki raised his brows; then let out a mocking laughter as he spread his arms. He knew that none dare touch him, least his icy skin scorch their flesh.

"What is the matter?! Seize him!" Thor commanded.

Still none move.

Loki laughed.

With the lack of sleep and a pounding head, Thor has had enough. Without thinking, without caring anymore, Thor grabbed Loki's upper arm.

At once, excruciating pain speared both their arm.

Loki howled.

Thor clenched his jaws in pain but at once tightened his blistering fingers even more, knowing that the monster is in as much pain as he is. Watching in grim satisfaction as the beast cried in agony, watching in grim satisfaction as the monster's expression twisted in torment, seeking to wrench its burning arm free.