Chapter Text
Asgard. It was just as the legends described. A city of gold and splendor. Men, women and children living a life ease and opulence. Crops seemed to never fail in growing. The smells of the market filled the air with the perfumes of baking bread and fresh honey. The sun was bright, blessing the kingdom with a grace and charm not seen among lesser lands. Asgard was a place of heaven and Loki could, in some sense, be awed by its scope. In spite of the cold irons dangling from his wrists. True, he should be scowling in anger and disgust at such a city. After all, this was to be his prison. Yet Loki could not bring himself to detest his scenery. All his life, he'd known nothing but the ice and bitter cold of the mountains of Jotunheim, where a simple blade of grass was the beginning and end to a warm summer. To see something so rich with color and life was... beyond him.
Currently, he was taken towards the front gates of the palace. And what a palace it was. If the city itself was something awe inspiring, it was nothing compared to the golden columns of the palace. It stretched tall, like the many peeks of his homeland. The highest tip nearly blocked out the vibrant sun. The closer they came, the more dwarfed Loki felt in comparison. Through the stalls and merchant stands they walked, he and the three guards who escorted him. Heads turned with every step. As the crowd thickened, only then did Loki take notice. Rather than shift his eyes, Loki held his head high. Even in this moment of shame, he would rather die than show weakness. But the Asgardians could not help themselves. After all, a Frost Giant was a rare sight for the common folk of the realm.
For Loki was a sight to be held. His skin was an icy blue, rivets and swirls of white decorating it. While the chains on his wrists were to keep his hands bound, they were of a fine make, painted gold for a more pleasing aesthetic. He wore a thin tunic of silk, trousers of satin, and bangles and braids of gold showering his arms and neck. A gold circlet wrapped around his crown and up his horns, with small chains hanging down to the thick tufts of his hair. He was small for a Jotun. Probably too small to be considered a Frost Giant. But one look of his red eyes was all that was needed to confirm his heritage. He was a creature of ice, and now, would live his days in a land of fire.
His bare feet walked up the palace steps, eyes now focused on the slow opening doors of the giant before him. Loki had never been one to express fear. But as he stared into the behemoth of a great hall, he could not disguise his weary gaze. What would he be like? This prince of Asgard. If his father was right in any respects, Loki would be shocked if he survived a week. Asgardian men, after all, were loutish brutes, who raved off meed and meat, taking all that stood in their path. Loki was not amiss with a blade, by any means, but against a savage with no weapon? He would be obliterated before he had a chance.
Loki's heart pounded as his feet padded against the marble floors. As he walked, the nobles of the Asgardian palace began to emerge. Some were warriors, having been seen in battle many a time. Others were men and women of scrolls, their eyes more piercing than their counterparts' weapons. Loki refused to give any of them a glance. He refused to allow them the satisfaction.
Finally, Loki was stopped before another pair of doors. These were far less huge than the former, yet still he felt his heart quiver with anxiety. Behind these doors stood the man who would control the rest of his life. By now, the amazement of the grand city had worn off. Loki felt a sullen anger well within him, and only then did he lower his glare to the marble stone.
“Wait here,” said a guard. “I shall see if they are ready to receive us.” With that, the golden cloaked man slipped between the crack of the doors. Standing on the other side of it, Loki could hear voices. Deep, commanding voices that rang out like thunder. At first, it was difficult to understand them. But after straining himself, Loki could focus on the conversation in the other room.
“...These are not the grounds for a treaty. This is the act of a slaver, not a king!”
“Would you have it the other way? With Asgardians and Jotuns fighting until every last drop of blood was spilled?”
“You know I would not-”
“Yet you so eagerly joined the battle when it began.”
“Yes, when I was a boy! When I was young and convinced that such an act would be valiant!”
“And now it is over! If you need peace, make it in that fact!”
The voices paused only to allow the guard to quietly announce that Loki had arrived. All went quiet within the room, and Loki felt his insides tighten. Lifting his chin, he stared forward as firmly as he would allow. He would not cry. He'd done his share of crying when Laufey told him the news of this treaty. He swore he would not shed a single tear after.
When the doors opened, Loki was brought inside. His eyes immediately went to the two men standing before a throne. The first he immediately recognized as Odin. Still so frightening in his older years. His face was hard, chipped only by age. The king of Asgard wore a breast plate on ceremony, though Loki could see the nicks and scrapes of time old battles within its metal. And to his right, stood the man Loki could only assume was Thor, the prince of Asgard.
His new master.
Like Asgard itself, Loki was taken aback by the grand nature of the man before him. His shoulders were broad, hidden only by a blue shawl draped beneath his wild mane of golden hair. Thor's eyes were bluer than any summer sky Loki had gazed upon. Strong hands rested at his thighs, gauntlets of metal wrapped around his wrists and knuckles. His jaw, crowned with budding whiskers, was set and tight, those dark brown brows knit firmly above his nose. Neither man seemed happy about the situation at hand.
“Loki.” Odin's voice boomed against the walls of the throne room, his scepter held firmly. “Son of Laufey. Do you know why you are here?”
Loki, having torn his eyes from Thor, popped his brow. “Dinner?”
While Thor's eyebrows rose in surprise at the jib, Odin's only grew darker. “If I were you, I would not make light of the situation.”
“Of course. From what I hear, Asgardians don't make light of anything.” His eyes, very pointedly, darted to Odin's stomach. By now, a few of the guards were staring at each other in awe of their prisoner's gall. Regardless, Odin continued.
“Your father sent you here as a mere bargaining chip. The treaty between the people of Jotunheim and Asgard will remain sturdy. To prove his intentions, Laufey has sent his youngest son to serve my own.” Almost instantly, Thor turned away, his jaw grinding. “The fate of both our worlds relies solely on your obedience.”
Loki screwed his face slightly. “Then it looks like the two worlds are out of luck.” He and Thor caught eyes. “Sad to say, I don't listen very well.”
“Then you will learn to.” Fed up with the conversation, Odin turned to Thor, his scepter brandished forward. “And you, my ungrateful heir, will take this prisoner and teach him manners.” Thor's sneer was barely with-held, though his eyes betrayed his distaste. “Now begone. The both of you.” With that, the king left his son alone with his newest war trophy.
Thor turned to the Jotun, his eyes uncertain. Yet he kept his shoulders straight as he approached. Like the palace itself, Thor grew larger with every inch he advanced. Before long, they were within a foot of each other. Thor was at least a head taller than the ice prince, and twice as wide. The man was a beast. He turned to the guards, his voice firm.
“I can escort him to my chambers. You're dismissed.”
Nodding at the order, the guards marched out of the throne room, leaving only the master and slave to themselves. Thor was silent, staring at Loki with a curious expression. One of anger and determination and disgust, all mixed in together. Loki, meanwhile, merely cocked a half-hearted smirk.
“Am I to call you 'Master' now?”
“You are to call me nothing.”
“Alright. You are nothing.”
Thor's cheek twitched, his lids lowering to a very unamused expression. “Is jest all you understand?”
Loki scoffed. “Why... I'm offended, Prince of Asgard. I know far more than to jest! Like... to read, for example. Something I'm sure a man like you doesn't bother with.”
A strained smile hit Thor's lips. “I'm sure you fancy yourself very funny.”
Loki paused himself. “Well... yes.”
“A fine time for laughter. I am to lord over you for the rest of both our days.”
“Yet you are not the one laughing. Isn't this what all warriors want in the end?” Loki held up a chained hand. “Total victory?”
Thor took a moment, eying the golden irons that held his wrists. Reaching forward, Thor held up both hands by the middle of the chain. “You will not wear these.” With both hands, Thor managed to snap the chain in half, two bits of a broken link falling to Loki's feet. For once, the Jotun was pleasantly surprised.
“A master who leaves his slave unchained.” Loki couldn't help the tiny smile on his lips. “Are you slow by nature or by nurture, I wonder?”
“Only a coward restrains an unarmed man.”
“And if I become armed?”
“Then I will respond in kind.”
Frowning, Loki put his hands on his narrow hips. “You are the odd sort, Prince of Asgard.” A full fledged smile came to his lips then. Pushing his luck, he pinched Thor's cheek. “And so serious.” Thor knocked the hand away, making Loki laugh. Without a word, Thor turned, motioning Loki to follow. He did so, if only to satiate his own curiosity.
The odd sort indeed. Of the few Asgardians Loki had actually met, almost all of them were power hungry, heathen louts. Thor was brutish by his very nature, but he was restrained. Like a beast who had not yet known hunger. Or a beast who had, but had dealt with it long ago. By all accounts his master could have been far worse. An image came to Loki's mind of one particular Asgardian soldier he saw in the war. A big, fat, bearded man who sweated profusely every time he wielded his axe. Thinking about a man like that owning him honestly gave a bit more perspective to the situation.
Ascending the stairs, Loki glanced around Thor's tree-trunk arm to see the doors down the hallway, leading into the prince's quarters. “So,” Loki began. “I can only assume my slavery-”
“Servitude.”
“-was not your doing.”
“Twas not I who wrote the treaty, nor I who sent for you.”
“Ah. So then why agree? Surely you and Odin could have barked over it until the issue got resolved.”
“It is not my place to deny the king's orders.” Thor paused at the door, turning to his newfound servant. “Nor is it yours to deny Laufey's.” Loki's face fell immediately, eyes turning away. It seemed they were both bound by the will of their father.
Leaving the subject hanging, Thor turned back and opened the door to his chambers. It was a spacious area, with open windows looking out into the sea. A breeze drifted within, brushing against the red and gold drapes. The sun was close to setting, coating the room with an orange haze. Thor's bed was large and round, furs of every animal imaginable sewn together for warmth and comfort. To the right of it, a long table rested beneath the window sill. A washbowl and towels sat upon it. To the left of the bed, an open balcony allowed the air to flow freely. And hanging above the headboard, hoisted up on a plaque, was a hammer. Its handle was wrapped in leather, its metal head inscribed with so many symbols and inscriptions that they matched the designs of Loki's own skin.
“Mjolnir,” Thor said, noticing his gaze. “A weapon crafted for me by my father's finest blacksmith.”
“Forged in a dying star,” Loki said, almost automatically.
“You've heard the story then?”
Finding himself caught, Loki scoffed. “Every idiot bard and harem whore from here to Helheim sings of your brutish nature. Who hasn't heard the tale of 'the Mighty Thor'?”
Thor actually smiled at that. Loki was taken aback. A row of perfect, pearl teeth befitting of such a carved face. “Harems?” he asked.
Loki felt heat come to his blue cheeks. “What of it? Aren't all Asgardians quick to take the opportunity?” The rest of his words died within his throat. For Thor had inched forward, towering over the miniature Frost Giant. With Thor's piercing blue eyes in the foreground, and his overly sized bed in the background, Loki felt his blood rush at the sub text of it all.
“Quick to take the opportunity,” he repeated. “Such as with the slave given to me by my father?”
Loki's breath deepened, trying to calmly put up a defense against the mountain of a man. “I see. So this is what my service will mean. Bending to your every will and want.” He sneered. “So typical. Well I will tell you now, I will not crumble to your wishes, O Prince of Thunder. My wrists might be locked by chains, but I am a prince as well. A Prince of Jotunheim. And a Prince of Jotunheim does not lay down and take a man's fiendish desires.”
“Oh?” Thor goaded.
“I swear to you. Touch me and I shall fight to the bitter end.” Loki shed his glower to the side, his chest now filling with unbridled anger and embarrassment.
“You take what you want without cause, don't you? You're all the same...”
“Every Asgardian, or so you keep repeating.” Thor had moved in closer then, threatening to slip himself into Loki's space. He could feel the hot breath against his neck. “Well... Loki, Prince of Jotunheim...
“You have not met every Asgardian.”
Turning away, Thor stepped towards the door, leaving Loki winded and – admittedly – a little confused. He rounded to Thor, watching with suspicious eyes. But Thor made no move to lock the door, and left no hint that Loki would be assaulted. “Call for a bath if you wish. The trip has not been easy for you. If you are hungry, there are servants that will bring you food.” Thor lifted his head to Loki. “But if you escape, my father will know.”
Loki was quiet for a great moment longer. Frankly, he didn't know how to react. Leaving his homeland, Loki had been told by many that he was to expect complete torture by the hands of the Asgardians. He would need to put on a tough skin, and endure pain and humiliation to no end. Perhaps go weeks without eating. And Loki had been prepared to endure, and to fight. And yet... there he stood. The promise of food and comfort at his fingertips. Was this a trick? It had to be.
“Do you mean to fool me?”
Thor smiled. Softly. Sweetly. In that smile, Loki saw a pity he did not want, yet desperately needed. A pity for the both of them. Master and slave, both forced to be so. “No.” The honesty in his voice was overbearing. “Now... I will return tonight.” With nothing else to be said, Thor left his room, and Loki was allowed to be alone for the first time since leaving Jotunheim.
His legs were weakened by it all, and very slowly, he sat on the edge of Thor's bed. What a plush thing it was. Fit for a king. Loki's own back home was comfortable, but not nearly this lush. As he ran his fingers through the dense softness of the furs, Loki wondered if all he was experiencing was real. If Thor had remanded him, perhaps treated him unkindly, that he could understand. But this... Should Loki be anxious or simply count his blessings? Lifting himself from the bed, he turned, once more letting his eyes linger on Thor's famed hammer. It was said that only those worthy of its greatness could wield it. And so he wondered:
Was Thor worthy?