[i]“The king is dead. Long live the king.”[/i]

The boat moved through the mists, a tidal chop lifting and dipping the bow of the Nordic dingy as it moved over dark waters and stranger tides. The youth wasn’t certain of at what point he had become consciously aware of his existence on that boat, for time was a concept which now seemed to elude him. What was moments ago seemed no different than what was happening now. Or perhaps what was – what had been – was all that was important in this place.

He was.

He had been.

And now? He wasn’t even certain that there was a [i]now[/i], let alone whether or not this was now. This did not even seem to be a moment, but perhaps, instead, he was in the moments between moments.

And so, for how long he had drifted, he knew not. There was a light upon the horizon, a light like that of a fisherman’s village upon the shore, and so he journeyed toward it. A journey of seconds, a journey of a thousand lifetimes, a journey in which the journey was meaningless. It was all the same. 

The bottom hull ground into sand, the boat beaching itself in a shoreline which dipped into the dark waters and gave rise to an ancient village with spear towers and palisades, dirt streets on which Aesir, frost giants, elves, and dwarves mingled and mulled. It was a place quite unlike any he had seen in life.

[i]“You, there, boy!”[/i]

[center][img=http://baku-panda.org/images/OU_lokiblue.png][/center]

The child looked up from the bow of the ship, as gray ash from the fires burning in the village began to snow down around him. Red eyes peered outward from out of a face that was a midnight blue, the color of his skin having been a fixation. Because he realized, this was his flesh. This was his true color. And he had never seen it before.

A dwarf, the owner of the voice that had called out to him, appeared from out of the mists and smoke on the shore, wading through ankle-deep water as the bearded warrior took hold of front of the boat and got a better glimpse at its sole passenger. “You’re a wee one for a frost giant,” the dwarf offered by way of greeting, a meaty arm stuck out to help the youth ashore. “Welcome to [b]Hel[/b].”

As the boy’s bare feet sank into the wet sand the sensation of the coarse silt crunching between his toes made an immediate impression as to how very [i]real[/i] this was. And, yet, none of it [b]seemed[/b] real. Not his blue flesh. Not spontaneously waking in a boat somewhere on a dark ocean. Not landing here in the spectre of so many yesterdays. He felt [i]empty[/i], as though there was a void somewhere in his very being – his very blood – and he knew it to be the absence of magic. 

He had no power here.

“Startling, eh?” the dwarf rumbled, clapping the youth on the shoulder. “Aye. Aye, it is,” the bearded creature offered simply. “But, let’s get you with the maester. You don’t want to put off the scales of fate.”

The maester was an actuary of souls, a man who looked as though he might have been the personification of time itself, a withered body of an elder man whose pock-marked skin was stretched taunt across a hunchbacked frame of brittle bone. His beard trailed the ground as he hobbled between book shelves teeming with tomes and scrolls; the accounts of the living, the deeds of the dead, the sins of the damned, and the libram of heroes.

In was in a round, animal skin hut that he was to meet judgment. The judgment of his fathers, and their fathers, and their fathers. It was daunting to try and fathom how many had gone before this man. Had Loki done so before? Another chapter in life, another story...

[i]”Your name,”[/i] the maester demanded simply, holding a quill pen and looking down at the youth as he prepared to make another entry in the voluminous scroll whose parchment overflowed the simple wooden bench on which he labored at his scribe.

Holding himself proudly, proud like he hoped Thor might be of him, the boy held his head high and answered, “I am Loki, son of Odin.”

Laughter.

It crept through the walls, through the shelves, through the books. An eerie, otherworldly sound, as though souls of a thousand reckonings were looking down now upon him. And the maester? The man set his quill aside and folded his spindly arms down on the table. [i]“We have no sons of Odin here, little man,”[/i] the actuary stated, in a very matter-of-fact tone. Looking the child up and down, the man stood on trembling legs and made his way to a shelf, from which he procured a large, leather and iron-bound tome, the cover of which was marked by the symbol for Jotunheim. Dust flew from out between the pages of the book as he spread it open on the table and looked back at the youth. [i]“And Odin has no son named Loki,”[/i] the man stated in the same observational commentary, as a witch’s finger trailed down a list of names. [i]“But, let’s see if you’re here...”[/i]

In some ways, the boy found himself terrified of what might be written there. He [i]was[/i] Loki Odinson. He had been Loki Odinson from the time he could first walk. It was Odin who taught him to lace his own tunic, to string his own bow, to hold his own in the hunt. It was Odin who had calmed a child’s nightmares, soothed a child’s fever, and encouraged him to not back down from his own fights.

But Loki was a frost giant. And so it was true. Odin could not be his father.

[i]“Ah, yes, I see. You are Loki, son of [b]Laufey[/b],”[/i] the actuary announced, looking up from his book as the boy blanched slightly. 

Laufey. Odin’s enemy. The barbarian king of the frost giants. And he was Loki’s true father? 

The actuary had blanched somewhat as well. [i]“You are the Odin ward. The frost giant who became king of Asgard,”[/i] the man stated, as the laughter suddenly hushed over the room. An uncomfortable silence ensued, in which the boy tried to wrestle with his own denial of his parentage and the actuary seemed to want to doubt that the frost giant child before him was the person he now knew the boy to be.

[i]“What are you doing here?”[/i]

The question hung between them. Loki had no answer, and neither did the actuary.

[i]“Bah! Things are such a mess with new management,”[/i] the man proclaimed gruffly, slamming the cover on the iron-bound tome in another flurry of dust.

“Hela did not return from Asgard,” the young giant noted aloud. It hadn’t been a question, even though the boy was fishing for something that would confirm suspicion sparked by the man’s last comment.

[i]“No. [b]Heimdall[/b] now rules in Hel in her place.”[/i]

“Heimdall?” the boy echoed, in disbelief. And, yet, it made sense. Heimdall’s eye was everywhere. Heimdall, alone, could have witnessed Balder assassinate the young King of Asgard. That made his presence in Asgard a problem for Freya and Balder, aside from which, their [i]new Loki[/i] likely wanted to leverage dignitas and prestige for herself by claiming Heimdall’s role as Observer. And Heimdall’s Observatory was likely the only place in Asgard where Loki could be reassured that Freya didn’t have agents. That was the thing about Asgard. Even the walls had eyes, and all of them loyal to the All-Mother.

[i]“Aye. Strange eve it is, even in the long night of Hel,”[/i] the actuary offered candidly, before giving a snort and waving at the boy in a dismissive manner. [i]“But, ours is not a fate you should concern yourself with, young king,”[/i] the man said, as the dwarf who had led Loki to the man now reappeared through the doorway. Looking at his Hound, the actuary said, [i]“Light the signal flame. This one belongs in Valhalla.”[/i]

“Wait,” Loki commanded, the request clearly a demand as the boy still spoke as though he reigned still. He heard it as well, the sound of his own voice immediately making him mindful of the fact that he was no longer king. And he had no power in Hel. In Hel or in death, and so what he did now he would have to do with the assistance of people. And not because he was king.

[i]“You do not wish to go to the honored halls of the All-Father?”[/i] the dwarf asked, clearly in disbelief at being commanded to stand down from such an august task as to led one to Valhalla.

Turning back to the old man, the boy said, “Someone should have passed through Hel not long before I. A handmaiden of Asgard.”

The old man did not move. He merely peered down impassively at the youth as he asked, [i]“You would stay in Hel for a handmaiden?”[/i]

“Her name is Leah,” Loki stated, ignoring the question. Or answering it. To be truthful, the answer seemed obvious.

[i]“I know this name,”[/i] the actuary responded. [i]“A Valkyrie awaited her arrival. I could not judge her.”[/i]

A Valkyrie? Waiting on a handmaiden? “Then she has passed to Valhalla?” Loki inquired hesitantly. Already, he felt a knot of dread in his stomach. His being here was no mere accident of fate. Neither, then, should he assume Leah or the Valkyrie’s presence to be mere coincidence.

[i]“No.”[/i] the actuary confirmed. [i]“They are here... as though they await something,”[/i] the man remarked, hesitating as he came to the final thought as though achieving a realization there. Looking down at the boy, the actuary asked plainly, [i]“My king, are you betrayed?”[/i]

“All the Nine Realms betrayed, maester,” the boy affirmed firmly, as in his mind he began to put the pieces of his own life together in such a way as he had never viewed them before. “In life, my mother saw fit to lay a trap for me. She does so again in death,” Loki stated, as he turned back toward the door and prepared to take his leave. “And I shall not disappoint her,” the youth added in a quiet, reflective tone.

[i]“My child, to be destroyed in Hel is to be destroyed in totality,”[/i] the man warned in a stern voice, pausing the youth’s brash step as he warned further. [i]“Your story will be over.”[/i]

Turning his head, Loki looked back at the old man and smiled a smile that was as deep in sorrow as it was in pity. “It was never [i]my[/i] story, maester,” the boy-king stated, and then he left to meet his fate.