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nildespirandum · 2 years ago

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After a long hiatus, with the encouragement of some new readers (thank you @gigglingtigger , @coldnique and @lokisgoodgirl !) as well as readers past like @mdemontespan1667 and my ever and always most beloved @caffiend-queen, who also created the beautiful artwork for this story - The Golden Horn is setting sail again

18 + Only

Above -

“Nothing to report, Commodore,” Captain Barnes said, the temperamental officer more irked than abashed at having no quarry to engage.

His command , The Hibernal, sat in perfect stillness, not the slightest breeze rippling her sails, more like she was in dock and not upon the open skies. The same was true with the other eleven ships of their many-Realmed flotilla, which all hung scattered over the near air. From the tiny, swift Vanir crewed cutter Guldsmed to the massive Asgardian flagship, Sleipnir , helmed by the crown prince Thor himself, no motion save that of crews going about their daily work could be seen.

Commodore Stephen Rogers sighed.

He could see as much himself. The bit of distant sky the battle-ready ships he commanded floated idly upon was all and utterly empty of other ships or flotsam. Not even the barest speck of an isle where a bit of water or wood could be gathered was visible through the far-seeing spyglass that Stark had begrudgingly gifted him at the start of their journey.

Yet this was where the ever fainter, ever softer chime from the Alchemical engine stolen by Laufeyson had stopped its forward motion, even if it still rang.

Handing the ‘glass to Barton, one of the intelligencers that had been foisted upon his mission by Stark, who was having fits and mania about the loss of his innovation and made his mistrust of the Navy’s talents plain. “Your sight bests mine, even without aid,” he said. “Spy out if you see as much as a speck of a boat.”

The falcon-eyed intelligencer looked to his partner, a bonny red-headed woman answering only to the Widow. Stephen knew her well. She had a fast knife and a sharp tongue, as well as Roger’s respect. She nodded and Barton gave a shrug then raised the glass to take in the blue and enemy-less sky.

“Nothing, Commodore. Even I cannot sight what is not there to be seen,” he said, collapsing the glass and returning it to Rogers.

They all fell to silent contemplation.

The signal from the engine, adding to the absence of the Golden Horn meant either Laufeyson had learned a spell rendering his ship to a state beyond the senses or, the more like thing that none of them could bring themselves to say.

“They’ve attempted the Drop,” Barnes finally said through grit teeth.

“Do we think them dead, then?” the Widow asked the skies.

“We do not,” Stark said, joining them at last, looking rough after a night of drinking with the foremost jacks. “My Engine works as it is meant to, and Laufeyson and your pretty turncoat Captain Breathnach,” Stephen winced little enough that only the Widow saw it for what it was, “are both more than skyworthy, they are down there.”

They all looked over the side into the ever-darkening blue of the Drop.

Below -

Aenor had never slept well when not even the hint of sky looked at her through a porthole window. Deep below the Drop and further still below the dust and rock of Titan’s surface, thoughts tangled up with fears for Loki and the dreadful wants of Thanos, sleep was a scornful lover and bad friend, offering her not even a short reprieve.

The rest of the scalliwags that were now her obligation had no such difficulty. Each of them had spent a share of time in durance vile, where prison walls kept out the comforting sky, and all of them had turned over obligation for their actions to her, so no concern or conscience kept them awake.

After a time, she rose from the thin-cushion pallet within the alcove that the Titans had offered them for their slight privacy and, stretching, walked out into the quiet of the fallen palace.

Her deck-hardened bare feet felt the cool tiles of the massive mosaic that - so the Elder Cui the Storyteller had claimed - once showed all of the Realms they knew and places even beyond their knowing. The middle of all, in purples and golds that still shone in the murk, floated Titan.

Great in size and beauty, there was detail of great cities and mighty forests, fields blessed with grain, and temples to gods alien and familiar. The highest tower of all, black and violet, a church to the goddess Death. Aenor sat and traced its limned edges, set with actual gold, jet, and amethyst. Even after centuries one of the gemstones held a sharpened edge, and a number of drops of her blood fell and puddled on the top of the tower’s spire before she could press it with her last, clean handkerchief.

Thanos, who they called the Mad Titan, who had once been a just if stern ruler, the Elders claimed, the last in a line stretching back past even where their history began. Wise and well-educated as a philosopher, statesman, and in the alchemical art, taught the ways of war he had always kept the peace, and had worked with tireless, perhaps dangerously tireless, vigor to ensure the lives and joy of his people.

Lady Death liked it not. Or so he claimed. For one day he came to where his council met dressed for war and said that through the night and for long nights before, she had whispered in his ear. When one of his councilors, a kinsman, had asked what she had whispered Thanos drew his brutal sword and cleaved the man in twain, saying that her words were for him alone.

But that he had a word for them, and that word was war. War with all and sundry of the other Realms, war until his Goddess bade stop.

Upon that spot Thanos built that new, towering temple to a lover who would ne’er requite him. No matter how many offerings of creatures taken in battle with the other Realms, sacrifices he gave to her name, or the wasteland he made of his own, exquisite Realm to honor her, she remained greedy and unattainable. He could not kill enough to win her to his bed.

Which had led to the Black Armada, the creation of which had stripped Titan of all she had, of lives and resources and healthful nutrients of the soil and water and fauna. Thanos entombed the hearts of every wind master on Titan in their metallic hulls to ensure they would never be becalmed.

Yet it made no difference. They were too large, too heavy, to take to the skies, so Thanos and his children found a way to plunder even Titan’s ability to float. But what they stole from her would not make them rise, and all plunged down through sky and then the Drop, on what they called the Night of Screaming.

All was lost, save the few largest buildings and those who were housed within, those in the palace and Thanos and his most loyal within the Tower of Death.

Loki had been right about the Black Armada, it, like these few ragged folk, had survived the fall. The ships still hung in dock upon the edge of the Fallen Realm, suckling from her like leeches, preserving themselves perfectly whilst keeping Titan from ever healing herself.

Thanos had lived as well, along with those who worshiped him and did his bidding as he did his goddess. For these years they had tried dark magic, cruel science, and brute force to raise the Armada and ravage the skies for Death. He had come close and close again, but he needed one who could grasp the wind and in the magic-parched Realm, none were left nor born that could do so.

Yet now Loki had most courteously delivered himself, the most powerful Wind Master in all of the Realms and perhaps in history as well, to the grasping fist of the Mad Titan.

Oh, Loki my love , Aenor thought, a tear and then another diluting the stain of her blood upon the image of Lady Death’s tower, why could the skies we had not been enough?

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Loki sat up and turned to comfort Aenor, for he was certain she was crying and then recalled to himself where he was.

The new cell he had been granted was finer and had more comforts than the one he’d woken in before, yet the lock was still on the other side of the door so a cell it remained. High above him a small window let in the murky light of the rush-lit hallway of the massive warren of caves and caverns the King of Titan called his home.

Though he did not trust Thanos, it was more in the perfunctory way he trusted no one. The Titan had made no claims to mercy, decency, or any other thing that kings lied about with astonishing regularity. As such Loki found him refreshing as well as terrifying. There was no reason to suspect that he did not mean to give Loki all that he promised, even as there was no reason to believe he would.

No matter , Loki thought. He was in no position to disagree with Thanos, not should he wish to keep his own will. Moreover, the portrait painted in his thoughts of Odin knowing that defeat came at the hands of his unfavored child, whilst Aenor sat enthroned at his side for decades and perhaps longer still, should he find a way to turn the tables on Thanos, was as enticing as any sweet sin.

Or so the little breeze that whispered in his ear told him.

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#The Tale of the Golden Horn #Loki au #loki fanfic #PIRATE LOKI #pirate mcu au #tags on ao3 #pirates #loki #tom hiddleston loki

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