Title: Children of the Gods Snippet 2
Fandom: MCU, Harry Potter, Norse Mythology
Word Count: 1600
Warnings: Racism, internalized racism, Odin's fuckery and A+++ parenting, Loki, liberal (mis)use of Norse Mythology. Pissed off Mama Sigyn
Summary: When Loki grabs the Casket of Ancient Winters, it does more than unlock his access to his true Jotun form. It unlocks old, long-buried memories. And that changes everything.
Sigyn hated Asgard to the very depths of her being. This despite her and her family having been born and raised there for generations unnumbered, and despite Asgard's attempt to paint itself as the ultimate utopia. All for the sake of the man she'd loved since before she'd known the difference between the love of friendship and love of a more carnal nature.
Asgard in general and Odin in particular had done their utmost to destroy Loki over the millennia. All for the high crime of being different. His intelligence, skill in diplomacy, and seidr had seen him mocked and sneered at. That he not only possessed but preferred to use those things, and excelled in the use of them to the point he outshone nearly all of Asgard had been enough to see him all but officially outcast. So much so it had been the reason they'd married on Vanaheim. Because there had been absolutely no chance of Odin approving of their match, which would have made getting it solemnized on Asgard impossible. So they had presented him with a fait accompli and endured his rage over a thing he could neither forbid nor undo.
Sigyn knew not – for now – what had driven Loki to proclaim they were to leave Asgard never to return, but the announcement hardly surprised her. It had been coming for centuries now. She'd actively been encouraging thoughts in that direction for at least a century. And she hadn't started encouraging it until after Loki had (very idly) brought the idea up after a particularly ugly sequence of events.
That said, Loki stealing Sleipnir had been cause for a raised eyebrow. Mostly over the fact he'd managed it. Everyone knew that Sleipnir was slaved to Odin's will via the bridle he wore at all times. That he still wore even as they stepped foot on Midgard. Sigyn had always known Loki's seidr was strong, but to usurp the will of the Allfather was … impressive indeed.
Loki had lucked out, when it came to attire. Suits, it seemed, did not change overmuch. At least, not in the roughly hundred years since they had last been on Midgard. The same, sadly, could not be said for women's clothing. And such had been Loki's rage and hurry, they'd not had time to explore unseen and adjust their manner of dress and speech accordingly before joining the local Midgardians in their lives. Sigyn didn't mind overmuch, but she planned to correct the problem as soon as she could. After she'd gotten out of Loki what had driven him to the state he was in.
Because of that lack of exploration, the last thing she had expected was to turn around and all but walk right into one of their boys. They hadn't, after all, taken the time to find out their names, appearances, and locations yet. At first, Sigyn nearly laughed when she realized which of the boys they'd run into. The boys didn't control what they looked like when they were reborn, but this incarnation of Jormungandr's was, on the surface, nigh indistinguishable from his original body. His father's hair (though this version was much … messier … than the original), eyes and slender build, with Loki's canny nature and her own (as Loki was frequently wont to proclaim) generous heart. And, somehow, despite having never met the man, nor set foot on Asgard, a dash of Thor's tendency towards derring-do.
“Jormungandr!” Loki nearly squawked, clearly as surprised as she was, if equally delighted at the serendipity.
But then the rest registered. Jormungandr was too thin and too short for his age, going by the size of several other youngsters she could see in the bank. And he was dressed in rags, again in comparison. That was not going to soothe Loki's temper at all. On the other hand, it would give him a target he could fight. If Sigyn didn't get there first. Her anger might be slower to ignite than Loki's, and her seidr far weaker, but she was, if anything, more dangerous in her rage than her husband ever could be. Someone, somewhere, (and probably many someones) was going to pay dearly for laying hands on her son in malice.
Loki, if anything, realized something was amiss with Jormungandr before she did. The whole room seemed to go still – and, oddly - cold as Loki crouched down, looking their son in the eye. The goblins, as they were called, to a one focused on the tableau, the armed guards at various points all shifting their grips on their weapons as they locked onto the threat in their midst. For all the good that sword and spear would do them, if Loki lost his temper.
Loki, thankfully, seemed to be more invested in the working required to 'wake' their son than in losing his temper or immediately wreaking vengeance. Loki's voice, eyes, and the very air around him vibrated with seidr. For all Sigyn could nearly taste Loki's rage, not a jot of it showed in his expression or his voice. Loki would sooner cut off his own head than give any of their children cause to fear him.
“Jormungandr Lokison, awaken!”
Such a simple incantation for what was actually horrifically complicated and very, very powerful seidr. It had always amused Sigyn that waking their sons to who and what they truly were was as simple – yet as complicated – as saying their true names with intent.
Even as the very large man accompanying Jormungandr began to sputter, Jormungandr twitched, blinked, then groaned and put one small hand to his head for a moment. Then his head snapped up and he flung himself at them both, managing to get a fistful of Sigyn's dress and the other arm around as much of Loki as he could. “Father! Mother!”
Sigyn ignored everything save her husband and her son. Gringotts was, thankfully, neutral ground. No wizard could lift wand to another within its walls without paying a stiff price for it. The worst the large man could do was sputter and protest and verbally flail all over the place. Even if he got physically violent, well. He wouldn't be a match for a blooded Aesir of any description, so was no threat at all. Jormungandr was trembling slightly and babbling quietly, at such a pace that Sigyn was hard pressed to keep up and understand. Filling them in on the particulars of this life as fast as he could.
Particulars that had Sigyn giving the entire bank a death glare.
Someone. Was. Hunting. Her. Son.
Heads. Would. Roll.
And Sigyn began to get a potential clue as to what had upset her husband so greatly on Asgard, because there was an ever-increasing circle of frost and ice spiraling out from the three of them, centered on Loki. Sigyn had seen Loki enraged to the point he lost control of his seidr before, and this had never been what had happened. That enraged, Loki's seidr turned to fire and mass destruction, not ice. There was, in point of fact, but one species known for seidr that turned to ice when enraged.
It was making Sigyn jump to conclusions, but she kept her mouth shut. Now was not the time. And to be honest, if what she was beginning to suspect was true, all that changed was the depth of her desire to burn Asgard to the ground and salt the ashes for Loki's sake.
Still and all, the bank, and the goblins, were not the target of their ire in either case, so she laid a hand on Loki's shoulder. Which was very, very cold. Yet more proof her supposition might be correct.
Loki's head snapped up at the touch, and in the process, he saw the frost and ice, and his expression went utterly horrified before it blanked completely. He waved a hand and the ice and frost disappeared. Then, he rose to his feet, picking Jormungandr up and tucking the boy against his side as he went. With the sort of liquid, predatory grace commonly found in wild felines. His gaze was locked onto the large man who, to Sigyn's surprise, did not seem to sense just how much danger he was in right now. Because Loki was not above teleporting them all out of Gringotts (thereby sidestepping the 'no wands' rule rather neatly) in order to verbally or even physically strip the man to his bones.
And not for the first time was Sigyn wholly disinclined to slow or even stop Loki's wrath. She was very frequently of the mind that the folks Loki locked onto as 'prey' had brought that shite on themselves. This time, there was even more truth to that thought than usual. For inasmuch as Loki was sudden death on anyone who trifled with him, or worse, Sigyn … well. He was literal death on those that proposed to bring harm to their children. And Sigyn was right behind him. Normally, she'd be shoulder to shoulder with him, but given his mood before their arrival here, she'd decided to let him have this one.
“I find.” Loki fairly purred, menace dripping from every syllable. “That I have a great many questions. And you, sir, are going to give me answers.”
((And from here, folks, my brain just degenerates into Evil Overlord style cackling with very little in the way of sense or plot. Because sweet baby Jesus, the utter HELL Loki would rain down on everyone. Sheesh. Somewhere in the mess, too, is a vague idea of Steve being found before Thor gets exiled, and Steve being in New Mexico when Thor lands, and him and Thor buddying up, with Steve thumping some sense into Thor alongside Jane, Erik, and Darcy, and Thor and the gang helping Steve learn to live in this new, strange world he got foisted into. And them finding out Loki's Earthside, and some sort of hijinks ensuing.))