Fate's Fruit
The broken cry rang across the splintered edge of the Bifrost; "I could have done it, Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!"
And then the reply, the single reply which solidified the damage wrought on the prince's heart, those few words whispered across the dark space between the king and the prince; "No, Loki."
That taste in the prince's mouth was uncomfortably close to fear, to despair, and defeat. Defeat? No, no, no! Not defeat! Never defeat! Loki was never defeated! Never!
But Loki could not face the combined judgement of his false father and false brother. Asgard held no welcome for him. There was no place for him in Asgard now. There was no option left to him now save one.
The choice was telegraphed in the single tear which dropped from his eyes. Why he wept, he could not say. But weep he did as his grip loosened around the spear.
"Loki, no," his false brother cried as Loki clenched his teeth and let go, "Loki, no!"
Loki fell. Loki fell far into the icy blackness of empty space. He could not feel the warm presence of the World Tree around him. And he fell. He fell long and far until he no longer knew up from down or his own name. But as he fell on, deeper and deeper through the blackness which twisted and warped around him, he heard voices. But were they real? Or in his head?
"The rotten tree can bear the sweetest fruit when touched with steely kiss,"
He looked around, his green eyes straining against the darkness as he fell and floated, searching for the source of the voices and the mindless, ceaseless chanting.
"The fruit of trickery, the fruit of war,"
"What sorcery is this?" he demanded, or at least thought he demanded. But he may not have said anything at all, only continued to fall, blind and deaf and mute through the dark matter between worlds.
"The fruit will rot or bloom into a blossom fair, And spread its fragrance through the roots of the Mighty Tree, Or spread its rot and ruin till all the branches burn black with death. The child of war and trickery will have power undiscovered To rule as king of all the realms Or to be the end and fell the Mighty Tree."
Loki's eyes widened. Fell the tree? The Mighty Tree? The Yggdrasil? What possible power could destroy even the very fabric of the Nine Realms?
"Who are you to speak these words?" he cried, "Who are you to voice these verses where only I can hear?" Of that he was sure. He was not meant to hear this prophecy, but hear it he did. And he knew it would shape his ever decision for the rest of eternity.
"So speaketh the Norns. So tells Urda of the Past. So describes Verdandi of the Present. So fortells Skuld of the Future. Destiny lies in the union of war and trickery."
The Norns spoke the prophecy to him, he knew it! This prophecy, this fortelling of things to come, was meant for his ears and it was his destiny to hear it. Loki the Trickster would obey the prophecy - but how? Child of trickery - that much was clear, it meant a child from his seed! But of war? Was he to go to war? Was he to lead an army?
Child of trickery. Child of war. Child of trickery. Child of war. Child. Child. Child of trickery and war. Union. A union. A child. A child of war. A union of trickery and war. War and trickery. Trickery. Trickery. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. War. WAR!
His eyes snapped open.
Sif.