Chapter Text
“[Odin] spake:
‘[…] Winters eight wast thou under the earth,
Milking the cows as a maid,
(Ay, and babes didst thou bear;
Unmanly thy soul must seem.)’”
(Lokasenna 23, Bellows translation)
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On the way to Odin’s chamber, Loki had noticed the first early snow fall. She had spent a minute outside, arms spread and face turned towards the pitch black sky, letting the gentle cold melt on her face. The memory of that sensation made the restricting heat of the castle bearable, if not the reason Odin had summoned her.
“We would like to place an inside source on Myrkheim,” Odin said, enthroned in an armchair close to the fire. “And you’re the one I can send without causing suspicion.”
She was staring at the tapestry of the creation of the realms, hung beside the fire. Above all stood her great-grandfather Buri, looking down upon the corpse of the Giant Ymir. The latter was depicted as almost comically ugly, his eyes crossed and empty of thought. Blood was pouring from his veins to become oceans, his flesh turned into earth. And the maggots that sprang from rotting body cocooned and hatched the race of the Dwarves.
“Do you not have a single Dwarven spy you could send, no other source of information?” Loki asked stiffly. “Surely, some of the refugees are grateful enough to turn on their homeland.”
“Ginnar is a council member and actively politically involved,” Odin said. “And he has requested your presence multiple times. I could not place anyone in a better position to gather information.”
Loki ground her teeth. If the Dwarf hadn’t been the source of her recent misery – and stunted ability to use her magic –, she might have accepted this assignment eagerly. It was more challenging than what she usually would be tasked with, but also a sign of Odin’s trust in her abilities. Wasn’t it? Or was it just a convenient excuse to get her out of sight?
It was the first day that Loki had been out of her chambers in weeks. Upon returning from the mountains, she had immediately claimed to need rest and locked herself securely away. Not even her usual servants were allowed in her quarters. There were whispers coursing through Asgard, of course. Who knew how many people actually suspected she was stuck as woman.
“Thor and Sif will be your contact on Myrkheim and on standby for the duration of the reconnaissance.”
Loki looked at her brother who had been standing as far away as he possibly could while not actively leaving the room. Since Loki had changed genders, he tended to either stare at her – when she wasn’t looking – or avoid her eyes completely – when she tried to catch his attention. He did that now, watching the crackling fire while fidgeting. Loki found it maddening. As though it had been her choice or even her fault. That she carried that thing in her womb, the monster that Ginnar wanted to claim for Myrkheim. She ground her teeth.
“It is, without doubt, dangerous,” Odin said after a long silence. He looked old when he said it. Maybe disappointed. “I do not trust Ginnar or his intentions. And if you feel you cannot do it, I will not press you.”
“Of course I will go,” Loki spat. “But do not expect me to make nice with that wretched little man.”
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Beyond the glass of the orbital station, the sky stretched into endless stars. The space port wasn’t large and likely didn’t offer much in the way of culture and entertainment, but it was bustling with activity and close to Myrkheim. It ran a regular shuttle to transport travelers and goods there, and Loki had spent a minute memorizing the schedule.
“We will be waiting here, ready to receive information,” Sif told her. She pressed a small device into Loki’s hands, easily concealed in the hollow of her palm. “Don’t lose it. It sends us a ping that should be undetectable from the outside. You can still send reports through your normal communicator, but if you find anything of sensitive nature, we’ll come to meet you as soon as we can.”
Loki closed her hand around the device and vanished it into her pocket dimension.
“What are you going to do? Sightseeing?” Loki asked with raised eyebrows.
“There’s supposed to be good hunting planet-side,” Thor grinned. Sometime in the past week of journeying, he had forgotten to be uncomfortable around Loki for long enough to carry on a normal conversation. It filled her with an odd sense of relief.
“We’re not going hunting,” Sif gave Thor a quelling look. Thor just kept smiling and gave her playful nudge with his elbow. Sif rolled her eyes. “There is information to be gathered on our end, too. And we will aid the relief work when it comes to the refugees.”
“I doubt I will find out much,” Loki admitted grudgingly. “I dislike Ginnar too much to get any kind of mileage out of relationship work. You should take your end of this seriously.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Thor clapped a shoulder on his hand. “You’re great at this kind of stuff.”
“At what?” Loki asked.
“You know,” Thor said, squeezing his shoulder. “Politics. Pretending. Lying and all that.”
Loki gave him a withering stare.
“Most importantly, don’t take unnecessary risks,” Sif reminded him.
“Yes, yes,” Loki waved her off.
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Myrkheim was a satellite in the orbit of Nidavellir. It’s surface lay in perpetual twilight as the light of the dying star continually simmered down and dissipated into endless darkness. And the magic shield, which should have spread like an umbrella and protected Myrkheim from invaders, seemed to be down.
Loki stepped out of the grimy shuttle, black sand crunching under her feet, all senses on high alert. There was little for the eye to focus on. The landscape was bleak, only the occasional broken building interrupting the endless steppe. Spindly grass and dry shrubbery fed penned cattle and little else.
Then again, Dwarves were traditionally subterranean. If Myrkheim had been populated before Nidavellir began dying, Ginnar’s people would not live on the surface level. They likely cared little for it’s depressing lack of feature.
The shuttle – the only thing that would get them off this damn rock – started up with great whirring and a blast of light and disappeared into the clouded, purple sky.
Ginnar waited for her by a small air control station. She had to restrain herself to not tear out his miserable throat the moment she laid eyes on his wretched short form, the ugly smirk on his pockmarked face. He wore something richly embroidered that fit like a potato sack and it made him look like someone had painted gold on a pile of shit.
Of course, there also was the binding magic that made it near impossible to think these things without making her want to throw up.
Ginnar made sure she had seen him, then waved for her to follow. Loki slowly fell in step behind him. For all that Odin had oath-bound the Dwarf to return Loki hale and healthy and on time, she did not trust him as far as she could throw him. (She bet she could throw him pretty far. She was tempted to try.)
“I’m glad you followed my invitation,” Ginnar eyed her belly greedily. “I hope your flight was pleasant.”
“It was, but for the destination,” Loki said. Ginnar’s laughter sounded genuinely amused. He walked with a spring in his step, taking her the short way from the landing pad and along a dirt path. Ginnar pointed out structures and relayed what they used to be – a reception hall for foreign visitors, an air shuttle center, warehouses, all of them reduced to broken, empty caverns. He did make a point to take them past one of the large pastures.
“My cows,” Ginnar said, gesturing at a sizable herd of 12-feet tall ruminants. One of them approached, knuckle walking, rearing up much like a bear would. Its eyes shone red the sparse light and its hide seemed black in the darkness. Loki did not like the look of their claws one bit. “These are rare and valuable creatures and they’re the pride and source of wealth for my family. My late wife used to take care of them, and they’re not my daughters responsibility. I was thinking you help with the work while you stay with us. As a cultural experience, and a favor.”
Loki chuckled, arms crossed. “Indeed, I will not.”
Ginnar looked on without worry. “We will see, won’t we.”
He led them to one of boxy towers that rose nightmarish against murky skies, utilitarian constructions of black steel and stone, and red light flickering through arrow and gun slits. Ginnar was let in after showing identification, and Loki walked past suspicious eyes into a hall reminiscent of a mine shaft’s headframe. The space was lit by flickering gems, and all machinery and defenses showed signs of Dwarven master craft. Behind a secondary wall, armed with weary-looking soldiers, gigantic winches took up much of the space. Their cables connected to heavy-duty elevators.
They stepped into the spacious cage, easily built to hold a hundred men. It had, however, been refitted with a low ceiling. Loki stared up at sharp spikes pointing downwards, some of them looking crusted with brown dirt.
“For the Giant scum that makes it past the surface,” Ginnar explained. The elevator started moving with a start, and Loki unwittingly grabbed onto the bars. When she looked at Ginnar, he was watching her hungrily. Loki felt a flicker of nerves in her chest.
The underground city came into view slowly. If Loki hadn’t been so set on despising it, she might have called it breath-taking.
The structures spanned maybe a mile of natural cavern, which yawned tall enough for the ceiling to vanish almost into full darkness. Bioluminescence clinging to stalagmites created a starry sky above. Houses were hewn into rock walls, rising to intricate towers, alight with magic. There were stone bridges and cable cars connecting large plateaus with bustling markets and plazas. Mushrooms grew tall as the houses, and were shaped into gardens and parks with fountains. Pillars were carved with stairs and inlaid with murals, and atop them sat temples and meeting halls. The elevator hit the ground with a resounding clanging and they walked into the lively metropolis.
What Loki noticed next was the sense of displacement. Beggars were crowding in around the elevators, asking newcomers for food and money. Dirty and neglected-looking children were running wild in the markets, and vendors had only pinched expressions for anyone not obviously wealthy. Close to the elevator shafts, many of the buildings had been ruined and destroyed, showing signs of recent battle fought with explosives.
Ginnar’s home was central and far away from the destruction. It was prominently set out by a cliff, rising to contain four floors. Most of it, however, seemed abandoned and dark, and when Loki stepped into the space, the carpets smelled musty and the air stale with disuse. There was a distinct absence felt in the home that could not be explained purely by the devastation of the raids.
“We let go of the servants when my wife died,” Ginnar explained as he saw her judging the space. “We lost most of the livestock. We live in the northern wing until we can recover.”
Ginnar looked slightly forlorn. He had the air of a man that had forgotten to take care of himself and his disheveled appearance suddenly made sense. Like he had fallen into a kind of darkness when a very important part of his life collapsed.
Loki darkly wished that the Giants would take everything that Ginnar loved.