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Trickster's Gambit	By : Andartha Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Avengers, The Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel. Like all the other fans, I only get to play with them a bit, in an entirley non-profit kind of way.

Chapter List
- 1-Burned
- 2-Stolen
- 3-Split
- 4-Bound
- 5-Hunted
- 6-Fallen & Cracked
- 7-calmed
- 8-Settled
- 9-Sparked
- 10-Sneaked
- 11-Pranked
- 6
- 7
- 8
There's a towering old oak beside the little river that runs through the forest, its’ branches long and gnarled and broad enough to lie on.
His favourite one reaches almost halfway across the water and he enjoys lying belly-down on it, watching the ice-floes drift along in the deep turquoise waters.
Observing the patterns the drifting ice makes as it floats by has an almost meditative effect on him and it certainly helps him as he concentrates and reaches out with his mind for the Tesseract.
The first time he tried to touch it, it took him almost thirteen hours. Since then, he's practiced a lot and these days, he can touch the crackling energy and the oddly intelligent presence that form the Tesseract within a few breaths.
Today, she’s more “awake” than usual, sparking a myriad of new ideas and concepts in his head as the “touches” her, which is interesting. Like a buyer at the stall of a jewellery-seller, he looks over what she’s showing him, trying to pick one or two things to explore more in depth.
The “pictures” he’s looking at are starting to shift, some of them shoved to the forefront while others recede into the background and his pulse quickens. She’s “selecting” things she wants him to examine more closely….and she’s never done that before.
With a half-groan, he realizes that it’ll take him hours to sort through the most tantalizing bits…and Tjalar promised to take him deer-hunting this evening.
The prospect of roast venison made his mouth water even now and he’d been really looking forward to the thrill of the hunt that came before.
But if he stays here, trying to figure out what the Tesseract means to show him, he will be late and Tjalar will leave without him.
Of course, figuring out the Tesseract would be easier and faster, if he had someone to teach him how to interact with it….but his granther didn’t leave instructions, and after him, the only remaining person who could and knew how to use the cube was his granther’s blood-brother.
Well, he’ll be damned before he’d ask old One-Eye. At best, the crafty old prick would only try to meddle, at worst he’d keep pushing until everything was resolved to his own satisfaction…and Loki’s sick and tired of being a game-piece in other people’s plots.
Besides, he’s making good progress all on his own. Thor would be utterly stumped with a task such as this, but then Thor’s a warrior and not a sorcerer. Thor might have brawn and fighting skill, but arcane knowledge and superior intellect?
Not so much.
It never seemed to make a difference before.
“Some do battle, others just do tricks.” Thor had said to him, just before the aborted coronation ceremony…
….and the servant standing by had snickered.
As people always did.
The servant he had scared with an illusion of slithering poisonous snakes, laughing quietly as the man screamed like a little girl and staggered backwards, dropping his tray and the goblet on it.
That scream had been sweet indeed.
And oh, how he’d wished at that moment for the ability to make Thor scream like that.
He’d had his fill of Thor’s little jibes.
A thousand little nibbles, like moths feeding on soft wool packed away from sight during summer.
….
((The creature rears and its' scream shakes the very ground they're standing upon. His insides liquefy with fear as he realizes that his brother is down, lying on the ground, coughing up blood and that when the monster strikes, it will rend his Thor apart.
He doesn't have time for the usual patient, intricate preparations. Spells take TIME, time he doesn't have, and so he just yanks at the core where his power resides, feeling something rip, and flings his magic at the monster's eyes; the creature's pained shriek telling him that he succeeded.
He tastes blood and can feel a warm little rivulet running from his nose as the piercing agony of a reaction-headache settles behind his eyes. The last thing he sees, as his sight greys at the edges and grows dark, is his brother flashing him a thankful smile as Thor rolls away from the monster, well out of reach of the thrashing head, and lifts his hammer to strike.))
“…and then the bilgesnipe struck, but I danced aside and bashed in its' head!”
“….but it would have gotten you if I hadn’t blinded it with my spells.”
“Nonsense! It was the lightning quickness of my jump that carried me out of the monster’s range!”
Thor smiles at the pretty girl that had been flirting with Loki just moments before, and she giggles, smiling coyly at the golden haired warrior before her, his darker haired sibling all but forgotten.
An easy smile on his face and a frustrated snarl stuck in his throat, Loki excuses himself. If he wants pleasant company tonight, he’ll have to look elsewhere. Again.
Well, tomorrow morn’ he will be the one laughing. Bed-fleas make for itchy company and he’ll enjoy watching Thor and that faithless trollop squirming and wiggling as they try not the scratch themselves in delicate places in view of the full court during breakfast.
….
((Thor's eyes are bleak as he surveys the huge grey walls bristling with spears and well-manned with archers. There are even a few vats of oils bubbling at the top, the acrid smoke of the too hot liquid burning in their noses.
"We'll never get in there in time to stop the ritual." Thor whispers under his breath, voice rough with dread.
Loki narrows his eyes and tries to gauge the distance to the nearest tower. He guesses he can teleport into the tower by the main gate, where the opening mechanism is housed….but there are bound to be guards inside, and he will be all alone.
But Thor’s right.
If they don’t get in there NOW, the ritual will be completed, the young princess will be cursed to die and without her, her lands will be helpless against the onslaught of the armies of darkness that have gathered in the fortress before them.
“Thor? Get your troops to the gate.” And Loki flings himself through space and time, into the tower by the main gate.
A broken shoulder and an arrow in the thigh later, the gates swing open and the roar of his brother, as Thor and his friends rush in, is the sweetest music imaginable. Loki’s wounds take time to heal, but he joins the battle nevertheless, secure in the knowledge that while he’s still recovering, Thor will have his back.))
“…and then the gate broke down under the blows of Mjölnir and we surged into the fort, laying into those scoundrels like a pack of rat-hounds would tear apart a nest of mice.”
“…but as I recall, it was I who snuck in and opened the gates for you.”
“Don’t be silly, Loki! It was the might of my hammer alone that got us in. I know you were trying to help, little brother…and I’m sure you can somehow make yourself useful next time.”
The band of warriors whose fire they had joined after the battle for a horn of mead and a bowl of soup after the battle roar with laughter and the one sitting beside Thor slaps his prince on the back in the way of easy camaraderie that is so common amongst fellow fighters.
Another warrior re-fills Thor’s half-empty horn and, after having taken a deep draught of the honey-wine, Thor launches into another re-counting of his exploits. Loki’s horn has been empty for quite some time now and no one has offered to refill it.
With a bright flash of light and a clap of thunder, he teleports himself to the heart of a small thicket of trees a few lengths away. The surprised outcry and the curses behind him offer little balm for his aching heart.
At least the sight of their pain-filled faces will provide some amusement come morning, when they discover that the hang-over they suffer is hugely out of proportion with the mead they consumed….and that dying gloriously in battle might have been preferable to the skull-splitting headaches and the gut-purging nausea that plagues them then.
…
((It had been a good plan. Very risky. But good. It would have secured their victory within a few short hours.
Granted, so would a slower, more careful campaign have done too. But none of them was fond of huddling out here, beset by sleet and howling storms, for months.
Besides, they might call him “Silvertongue”, but when he chose to be, Thor could be quite skilled at persuasion too; and as his elder brother had quite succinctly pointed out, Loki had better things to do than come up with ways to keep them all from developing foot-rot while they chugged through marshes that left them covered hip-deep in mud.
Unfortunately, as with any risky plan, things had gone awry and at present they were cornered in a narrow valley, a hundred enemy warriors between them and the exit.
Sif had been trying to get Thor’s attention for a few minutes now, but the stupid oaf just mumbled to himself and surveyed the high surrounding rocky walls, eyes wild and shifting.
Well. He’s never tried veiling so many people in smoke before, and he’s willing to bet that he’ll feel like dog turds afterwards…but desperate times call for unconventional solutions….and Thor will survive having had to run from an enemy for once in his life.))
“…fought my way through a hundred warriors and pulled us out alive!
“As I recall, I was the one who veiled us in smoke to ease our escape.”
“Ah yes….some do battle, others just do tricks.”
The servant snickers.
….
A thousand little bites, like moths feeding on soft wool packed away from sight during summer….leaving nothing but rags and tatters.
Just once, he’d have wanted Thor to praise him in front of others.
Just once to have his elder brother acknowledge that it had been Loki’s clever use of his sorcerous craft that had led to victory.
But no matter how long he waited….no matter how often he tried….it never came.
He’d learned to settle for screams and curses.
And now….
There’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that he inherited an artefact which, in its’ own way, is more powerful than Thor’s Hammer.
There’s quite a bit of gleeful smugness too, in knowing that Thor would never ever have been to figure the Tesseract out, even if it had been his.
Heh….never mind Thor.
In the whole realm of Asgard, there is no one, save maybe the old meddler, who is his equal where it comes to sorcery.
He will do this.
He will gain the Tesseract’s power for himself and spite them all.
Once Eistla told him about the Tesseract, what it was and how his very blood connected him to that particular part of his heritage, finding a link to the artefact was…not exactly easy…but certainly no more difficult than locating an hitherto unknown birthmark at the back of his shoulder.
Touching it required a lot of mental twisting and some sophisticated contortions of the mind…but once he’d found it, he was forthwith always aware that it was there, that it was a part of who and what he was.
The first time he had explored his link to the Tesseract, he hadn’t known what to expect. An energy source? A bespelled item, filled with qualities set to a specific purpose, like the Casket of Ancient Winters?
Discovering that the Tesseract was….aware…and as such unlike any other object of that kind that he’d previously encountered had come as a bit of surprise.
Communication with the cube comes in the form of mental images and metaphysical concepts and so far, he’s been unable to determine just how intelligent the object is.
It might be that the Tesseract is no smarter than an enthusiastic puppy, fetching the secrets it is privy to for his master like a dog would fetch a thrown stick.
It might be that, compared to the Tesseract, he’s the simple one, and the artefact is dumbing down what it wants him to know to a level where he can understand.
Either way, it’s the kind of clever puzzle that he’s always loved solving and it gives him something to distract him from the ugly, confusing muddle that his life has become, so he doesn’t think about it ALL the time.
The Tesseract still humming at the back of his mind, quietly, patiently waiting, he begins to pick at the bark of the branch that he’s lying on.
It’s thick, but his black fingernails are hard and sharp and after a while, the bark starts coming away.
He remembers when his nails were still a white so light, it was almost transparent, and the skin underneath a healthy pink…not blue.
As he looks at his hands, his skin….the snow-covered landscape around him that no longer has him freezing and shivering in this form……‘tis as if a heavy rock had taken the place of his heart…. keeping him pinned when he would rather run as fast as he could from his memories.
Sometimes …….sometimes even the Tesseract is not shiny enough a toy to keep his mind off recent events.
Can’t keep him from remembering…..from shredding himself to ribbons on the jagged edges of his memories.
…
When he sees the two dead guards lying on the floor, shocked misery fills his gut, so bad he has to concentrate hard on not puking on the floor of the Odin’s treasury.
They’d been some of the best trained warriors that Asgard had to offer and he’d never thought that Laufey’s brutes would be able to get past them, let alone kill them.
And it’s all his fault.
…..
Thor’s laughing madly, even now refusing to acknowledge that they’re about to lose the battle….that they’re about to die.
Volstagg screams at them to be beware of the Frost Giant’s touch and he can see the ugly black frost-burn that has spread over the man’s arm….but despite this, just a few breaths later, one of the Jotuns grabs Loki. Touches his skin.
He waits for the pain, for the freezing, numbing cold to set in….but there is none.
Instead, he watches his skin turn blue, his nails black and for the first time since they arrived here, he feels warm again.
It steals all breath for him.
Only Frost Giants have blue skin like that.
Only Frost Giants have black nails like that.
Only Frost Giants feel comfortably warm in the icy temperatures of Jotunheim.
And Frost Giants are monsters.
The ground seems to drop away beneath his feet, leaving him hanging and choking.
How can it be that beneath his skin there’s another?
One that he shares with these vile creatures?
HOW?
Heart stuttering, he watches as his skin turns back, regains its’ rosy sheen…and, gut knotting, there’s just one thing he can think of: the others must not know.
……..
He looks up at the stern face of his father and, as he knew it would be the case, he can tell that Odin does not approve of what he’s done.
Voice breaking, tears streaming down his face, he tries to explain regardless.
Tries to win what his heart tells him he has already lost.
“I could have done it Father. I could have done it. For you. For all of us.”
His eyes search Odin’s face, search for a sign that will tell him he has his father’s understanding, his father’s support…..and for a moment, his world hangs in balance.
Wild, desperate hope surges in his heart and in his mind, he can hear himself silently plead with his father, an endless litany of “….pleaseFatherpleaseIdidittopleaseyoupleaseyousaidI’myoursonpleaseIdiditforyou…”
And Odin, the only father he ever knew…..
Odin tells him “No, Loki.”
And just like that, everything is taken away from him.
Everthing he ever knew, believed in, fought for, LOVED…..it is no longer a part of him.
And he lets go.
Lets himself fall from the broken ruins of the Bifröst, down into the yawning emptiness between the stars.
And Loki Odinson ceases to exist.
….
Blood pounding in his ears, eyes blinded by unshed tears, he stares at the waters below.
The floating ice beneath begins to crack and splinter, the deafening noise of the shattering ice sending a flock of birds flying, who had been peacefully nesting in the trees nearby.
How could such softly uttered words pierce so sharply?
And how could the Allfather, who had professed him his beloved son, with that one word, belie all the effort his jotun foundling had put into EARNING the place that was no longer his by right?
A particularly large block of ice explodes violently, the fly-away shards hitting the surrounding trees with dull thuds.
Had not Loki had killed his own blood-father? Killed Laufey, and all without a single Asgardian having to fall in battle?
Had he not kept Thor from a throne that would have suited the rash numskull ill? And thus saved Asgard from suffering under an incompetent ruler, one who was not worthy of that title?
Would he not have wiped out the Jotun threat with the help of the Bifröst, again, without a single Asgardian being killed or maimed in the process?
He swallows bile.
Breathes in. Deeply. Out again.
The floating chunks of ice beneath slow down, until the noise of ice breaking is reduced to gentle clunking as the floating blocks gently bump into each other on their way.
Granted….the last two reasons?
He smiles wryly, the curve of his lips sharp enough to cut himself with.
Maybe those last two reasons hadn’t been as brilliant as he’d thought at that time.
Destroying Jotunheim would have been wrong.
He understands that now.
Laufey and his hanger-ons were evil…but the people of Jotunheim are NOT and wiping them out would have made him a monster…..not the shining hero he strove to be.
Just a few moments longer, and it wouldn’t have been just Laufey’s fortress and the surrounding plain that had been destroyed….it would have been all of Jotunheim.
Thinking of Eistla dead? Tjalar? Meara?
The thought alone fills him with a bottomless dread that leaves him shivering, heartsick and helpless.
He owes Thor one for stopping him in time.
Thor…
He snorts and chucks a few slivers of bark into the swirling waters below and watches them float away.
Another thing he would never have thought possible.
The brother he’d know would shamelessly credit successes to his own actions, when it had been the valour of others that had won the day.
The man he’d known lived to battle, provoking strife where there had been peace, without giving one whit about consequences.
The prince of Asgard that he’d know had little care for others, especially when he had a chance at winning glory for himself.
But the man who had faced the Destroyer on Midgard?
The man who had been willing to sacrifice his very life, without a fight, to protect others?
Who had admitted to faults of his own and had begged forgiveness for them?
And who, later, back on Asgard, had tried to STOP a slaughter instead of starting one?
Who had kept the changeling he called brother from committing the very worst act imaginable?
Even at great personal cost to himself?
That was a man he might….MIGHT…feel comfortable to call king.
If not ever HIS king. Not anymore.
So…..he owes Thor.
That little tidbit aside…. Asgard still owes HIM.
He’d taken care of Laufey. Terminally. Even though Laufey was his true father. And thus, he had prevented the war that Thor had started with his ill-advised actions.
The tree loses some more bark as his fingers dig deeper.
Disposing of Laufey and preventing the war with Jotunheim SHOULD have counted for something, even if his plan had required using the Allfather himself as bait.
But Odin hadn’t seen it that way, had he?
And the Allfather also seemed to disregard the fact that he also owed Loki for lying to him for all these years.
He sneers and makes another ice-block explode, thinking of old one-eyes’ face.
No matter the good intentions behind it, no matter that, as Frigga had said, the Allfather hadn’t wanted him to feel different…..he’d ALWAYS been different.
Always the outsider, without truly understanding why.
Always mocked or belittled for being different, sometimes outrightly shunned.
The only way to fit in, even if it was a bad fit, had been to hide his true heart behind an insincere mask, to play along with the boisterous prancing and preening, when all he wanted was a bit of quiet, to jest wickedly when he felt like screaming in frustration.
He’d come to live the lie they’d told him and as a result, he’d never felt at home in his own skin.
Screw it.
At least he would have been able to live in peace with himself….if only he’d know his true nature.
NO…. screw them!
He wasn’t the naïve, trusting little hanger-on he had been, dependent on their opinions, their praise.
He was now his own man, and he was NOT going to ask that hoary one-eyed bastard for help where it comes to figuring out the Tesseract.
He can do that by himself just fine.
It’s not as if he has anything else to do….or anyplace else to go.
Sure, he could go back to Asgard. The secret pathways he knows are still open. He checked.
Fafnir’s tits, he could probably just drop the veil he’d shrouded himself in, letting Heimdall know where he was…that he was still alive…. and someone, probably Thor, maybe even Odin himself, would come looking for him.
But he’d hid himself from Heimdall’s gaze the moment he’d left Asgard for Jotunheim to make the duplicitous deal with Laufey, the deal that had lured the Jotun King into Asgard and to his death….and without thinking about it, he’d kept the veil up ever since.
And what reason would he have to take it down?
He doesn’t want to see ANY of them again, not even Frigga.
She wants her family to be whole…to be happy….and she’d just push until he gave in and came back. So no, he doesn’t want to see them, or talk to them or go back.
So….he’s not going back to Asgard. EVER.
Asgard isn’t home anymore.
But where else will he go?
He looks around, letting his eyes wander over the woods, covered with snow like a fluffy blanket, over the rugged mountain-range in the distance.
It is quiet here. The snow muffles even sound.
People leave him alone when he wants to.
No one keeps dragging him into things he later regrets.
He likes that.
But it doesn’t feel like home.
But maybe, one day, it will?
The Tesseract seems to have lost patience with his musings and he feels a pulse of energy come through the link.
Shaking his head and chuckling darkly, he turns his attention back to her.
The old girl is right of course.
He has better things to do than mope.
An artefact to explore.
Power to win.
So that maybe one day, debts will be repaid in full.

For Sinclaire_Threnody
Outcasts are often the most interesting characters and more often than not, they're the ones to provide the impetus for things to change, room for new ideas, the spark for innovation.
You don't get far by thinking just inside the box. ^_~
I'm happy that you liked the introduction into my version of Jotun culture. I hate it when a people gets portrayed as one-dimensional brutes and I just couldn't help myself....I HAD to add a little depth to that particular picture! (And there's going to be more of it in future chapters....though we'll get back to Midgard and one Clint Barton too soon).
As for your writing: I seriously loved what I've read so far of yours. Any chance you'll feed my addiction and post more?
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Trickster's Gambit