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chaoskirin · 3 years

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Reversed (Reworked) Chapter One

Well, I finally did it! I am re-working Reversed in order to remove the Harry Potter from it. This was one of my most popular Queen stories, written before the author of HP showed her true colors. I like the story too much to allow it to be tainted by that BS, so here it is with a new coat of paint!

There is, of course, still some similarities. I’m REMOVING the Harry Potter. And while that does necessitate some re-writes, the gist is still the same. I hope you enjoy the story as I repost it chapter by chapter!

PLEASE Reblog, and please feel free to comment on AO3. I love comments, if you’re so inclined.

AO3 link can be found here!

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Chapter Title: In His Eyes Word Count: 5148 Rating: PG Genre: Fantasy/Gen Summary: Roger, Brian, and John are brought together by a shared accident.

Between the two of them, Brian and John should have been able to get Roger up the stairs. Should have. Except Roger had become dead weight between them, legs dragging, black eyes staring.

"Did you hex his legs, too?" Brian snapped, lip curling at John, who supported Roger's other arm.

Neither Brian--a student in the Kyyra View--nor John--who made his home in Vexxzus--were particularly powerful. Despite Roger falling prey to the same muscle-less predicament, he sure had a healthy weight to him. As John stumbled on an uneven step, he growled, "Use your legs, Taylor!"

"I thought I was supposed to be playing the grievously injured damsel in distress?"

Brian groaned. "How are you still joking about this? You can't see, you idiot!"

"Bet he can walk, though." John elbowed Roger's ribs, and miraculously, the Oerris found his feet.

Vale Rest loomed ahead of them--an enormous, crooked tree growing out of a shallow escarpment. The natural magical force in the area made it an ideal, if not unsightly, place to construct an academy. At least it blended in with the environment, which was more that could be said for other schools. Of course to get to it, one had to climb a million steps.

At least that's what it felt like.

They paused outside the southern tanglewood doors to catch their breath. Despite their altercation, John kept one hand on Roger's arm out of guilt; he couldn't just leave the other student alone on the dark after everything, especially since it wasn't meant to happen.

John only meant to disarm the other boy, but a much nastier curse had bubbled up in his mind instead. The anger, combined with the fresh blood on his hands, led to the recitation of a spell he didn't even know he knew.

Scraping his thumb across his palm, John dislodged the last of the dried beetle haemolymph. Vexxzus spellcasting was disgusting but powerful, and he could still feel the magical aura around him from the insect's death. With that alone, he'd be able to cast for many hours.

As if reading his mind, Brian asked, "Why can't you Vexxzus have a normal focus?" He ran his hand over the branched barrier in front of him until he found the right combination, after which the door swung open. "To cast immediately, too. It's... Well, it's irresponsible is what it is!"

"Aw, c'mon. You know Vexxzus' magic is pretty new," Roger said, glancing up from the floor. An intricate black mask traced the skin in and around his eyes, the pattern almost like lace. It was disturbing but beautiful, shimmering like stars. John couldn't stop looking at it, half with pride and half with horror. A second year student such as himself shouldn't have been able to cast such a curse.

"Decades old," Brian corrected as he and John guided Roger onto the flagstone interior, then toward yet another set of stairs. "A new study in the course of history, sure, but it's been around--There's still people alive who were kids when it first manifested. It's hardly new! Anyway, why are you defending him?"

"Mmmh," Roger mused, his feet tapping in front of him to find the steps. "It looks like he's sorry."

"Looks like!" Brian exclaimed. "You can't bloody see!"

"But I can feel!" Roger argued. "Look at 'im. He's practically shakin' out of his boots."

John certainly did feel as if he'd be expelled for this, or that his family would disown him. Or kill him. Consequently, he couldn't prevent the occasional shudder from wracking his body.

Brian grunted a halfhearted acknowledgement. Roger patted John's arm and said, "It's okay, John. Trust me."

John curled his lip, sneering. "How, in any way, is this okay?"

"It's not," Brian said. "And once we make sure Roger's okay, I'm telling the Council everything."

"I hope you make sure you tell them that this idiot challenged me to a duel in the first place!" John snarled. "And you were his second, May!"

"'This idiot' is right here," Roger noted.

"Good! Don't challenge me to a duel next time!"

"Roger that!" Roger Roger'd.

Incredulous, Brian let Roger go, and stood with his hands on his hips. "Oh, you'll listen to him?" Brian demanded. "This is a snake, Roger. We step on snakes. I'm your best friend, and I clearly remember telling you that this was a bad idea."

"Well, I mean..." Roger fumbled for words. "There's a big difference between 'this is a bad idea' and 'don't do the thing.' Seems to me like we should keep John around. He has the potential to stop me from doing some incredibly stupid stuff!"

John chuckled before he realized what he was doing.

"It's not funny, you prat," Brian said. "You could have killed him." Killed? No. Could he have? Granted, he'd said the words to the curse that blinded Roger before he really knew what he was saying, as if they had a mind of their own. He'd screamed them, in fact, if he remembered right. At full volume, louder than he'd ever said anything before.

What if his anger had driven him to say something else, though? There were rumors. The barest whispers of the power of Death Magic--the power to take a life for a life. Since the Vexxzus View manifested some seventy-odd years ago, those in the darkest reaches of the world had experimented. And, it had been theorized, the words came from deep within; a language spoken with no context. An ancient tongue... "No," John said, half to himself and half to Brian. "I couldn't have. I'm twelve." He stopped on the stairs, distracted by the idea. "You could have. I'm honestly surprised you didn't," Brian said. "Pleasantly, mind, since we're all still very much alive. Thanks for that."

Could he have felt so much hate in that moment that he could have possibly used magic to kill? Was it even possible? If anyone could do it, his View could.

No.

"Let's go, Rog," Brian said, taking Roger's arm again. He gave John another good glare before turning away.

Despite his blindness, Roger still faced backward even as Brian dragged him up the stairs. Eventually, Roger turned away as well, and John thought that would be the end of it. He'd escape to his dormitory and await his punishment while he pondered if he was capable of killing another student in hatred.

Well. Hatred was too strong a word. John didn't particularly like Roger Taylor, but he didn't hate him.

"Hang on, Bri," Roger said. John looked up again, to find the Oerris student feeling his way down the stairs on his own. John automatically reached out to help him. Roger wasn't a bad kid after all... He was just a bit of a jackass. And definitely didn't deserve a life of blindness for a few idiot pranks. "John, I told you, it'll be okay." He took one of John's hands in both of his, and for a second, John believed him.

"No, he's like all the other Vexxzuses," Brian grumbled. "He'll grow up to be a murderer. Maybe even the first person to murder someone with a single word."

John wrenched his hand away from Roger. He lacked the fortitude to argue, since fear and a painfully insistent shame clouded his thoughts. He actually could have killed someone! And even if Roger was just an stick-waving Oerris like the rest of them, with no sense of artistry to the craft, he was still a kid.

Also, the most confusing person John had ever met, because who in their right mind was actually nice to someone who'd just cast a terrible curse on you?

Roger, apparently. An person with feelings and dreams and goals. What if, instead of staring into Roger's starry eyes, John had to stare at his life-robbed corpse?

He saw it for a moment. A snow-pale classmate, dead and still. Struck with the gravity of what could have happened, John shuffled backwards. Unfortunately, as he was on a step, his foot landed on thin air, resulting in an immediate tumble. Something cracked as he tried to catch himself, and the resulting pain followed him all the way down. He couldn't remember how high up he was, but by the time he collided with the landing, he felt like he'd rolled down a hundred stairs. Howling in agony, he curled against the banister, clutching at his arm.

"What happened?" Roger asked. "John?"

"Look--I didn't mean it, Deacon," Brian said, footsteps getting closer. "I mean, as far as Vexxzuses go, you're all right, I guess? What'd you go and--Oh, hell, this is broken."

John opened his eyes, tears distorting the blue and silver colors of Brian's Kyyra uniform. "Broken?" John hadn't ever seen that look on Brian's face before. Gentle, worried, caring. Before, it always looked so angry. "You're both idiots," he said.

"Brian?" Roger whimpered.

Brian bit his lip, brow furrowed. "Okay, Rog... Let me..." He stood, skipping back up the stairs. Taking Roger by the hand, he guided him back down to the landing. "Sit here with Deacon. I'm gonna go get a nurse. Don't move, either of you. I mean it."

After helping Roger sit, Brian ran off, at a much quicker pace, toward the hospital. All John wanted to do was cry, really, but he found himself distracted when he felt Roger's hand on his hip. "What are you...?" John started. But Roger seemed to be concentrating quite intently as he moved his hand, finding John's elbow. A little more, and he was touching John's shoulder. "Ah-ha!" he exclaimed. Reaching all the way around, Roger pulled John up, until he was sitting. Not one to reject any sort of comfort at the moment, John leaned against Roger, relishing the warmth. "Did you fall down the whole flight?" Roger asked. "Half, maybe," John said, glancing up and estimating. "Yeah, half. May says my arm is broken." He looked down at it and wished he hadn't; no arm should be able to bend quite that way, and seeing it just made it hurt more.

"Why do you do that?" Roger asked.

"What? Fall? It's a hobby."

"No. You call me and Brian by our last names. I mean, he does it, too, but just 'cuz you do, I think."

John really had no idea. It seemed like the thing to do, he supposed. Take something precious to someone and completely ignore it in favor of something less personal? Seemed stupid, now that he really thought about it.

"Anyway," Roger went on. "This is quite a spell you did. I think you might know more than Brian." More than a stuck up old Kyyra? Possible. Probable, even. Though Brian didn't seem like the type to study curses in the first place. Academics could name a curse and maybe even go through the incantation for a test, but to actually pull it off? Nah. Most who shared the Kyyra View had the same problem, at least as far as John knew.

He took a moment to feel pride at the compliment, until the implications hit him. Looking into Roger's eyes, he winced. "It's bad, Roger."

"I know."

"Then why are you so calm?"

He smiled serenely. "Well, it's done, isn't it? There's nothing I can do about it right this minute. Besides, I don't think you meant to."

After a moment, John said, "No. I really didn't." There was no sense wasting an opportunity to learn, though. He leaned over to look at the spell's handiwork again. "What's it like? Do you see anything?"

Roger shook his head. "No. N'come to think of it, I'm not totally sure what... what it was like to see." His eyes narrowed, the bright stars shifting around inside. "That's strange. I mean, odd, isn't it? I don't remember what you look like."

John felt sick.

"It'll be okay!" Roger said again. "Brian'll demand the Head Matron. Salwix, or her assistant Cammielle. He gets all panicky and people kinda take him seriously 'cuz he's so brainy. They'll make it better."

John wasn't so sure.

In the idle silence, Roger waved a hand in front of his own face, expression elated, as if this was the most wonderful thing to ever happen to him. "Wow! What's a hand look like? I can feel it, but I don't remember. Neat, huh? You know, my view's colors are purple and gold, but I can't even think of what purple is anymore! This is so weird--"

"Please stop," John said weakly.

"Eh? All right. Just thought you wanted to know, is all." Roger pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them.

"Didn't know it did all that," John replied. "Actually I wasn't sure what it'd do. I think I read about it once. My family's got these old books. Sometimes I'd sneak into my mom's study to read them."

"Didja get in trouble?"

John laughed. "Yeah. Sometimes." Roger laughed, too, then said, "Look at us, havin' a normal conversation for once."

"You're cursed, and I've just broken my arm. This isn't how normal people have a chat."

"Normal as we've ever had. Anyway, you seem nice enough. How'd you end up with the Death View, anyway? I thought only the creepy ones ended up there."

John curled his nose. A lot of people thought the same of Vexxzus, but one couldn't control their magical aptitude any more than they could control the color of the sky. "They shouldn't be called Views," John answered. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

"Yeah, but--"

"It's just a way to do magic, all right? And some people are... better at it than the other views. Some people... It's all they can do."

"Really? It's all you can do?" Roger pressed. "I'm good at Oerris, but I can do Kyyra if I really concentrate. But I don't want to concentrate, so..." He trailed off with a shrug. "You know Brian can do all four? Even Ghittan?"

John didn't know that. His respect for the Kyyra increased a fraction of a millimeter.

After re-situating his arm, which had dulled from a brilliant pain to a mere sharp ache, John said, "yes, it's all I can do."

"Weird," Roger said, though his voice carried a hint of contemplation to it. "We all just thought that--"

"Oh! Heavens, there they are, just like you said!" a voice echoed from the upper landing, cutting Roger off as a heavyset nurse bustled down the steps. Headmatron Salwix, who ran the entire hospital, reached John and Roger and knelt down next to them. Brian followed a few steps behind.

Salwix reached into her pocket, retrieving a pouch, out of which she took a pinch of red clay. Looping the pouch around her thumb, she reached for John's wrist; her touch set it to throbbing again, and he squealed.

She tsk'd. "You're right, May. Definitely broken. Falling down a flight of steps at your age, Deacon? Remind me--"

"A second-year, ma'am," Brian supplied.

"Well, I suppose it happens sometimes," Salwix muttered, gently sprinkling the cold clay down John's forearm. She muttered a healing incantation John hadn't yet learned and added, "this will numb the pain until I can take a closer look. But it's still broken, so don't go doing cartwheels on it."

John's answered with a relieved sign. "Yes, ma'am."

"As for you..." she said, turning to Roger. Reaching for his face, she grabbed his cheeks and turned his head from side to side, squishing his lips into a pucker with her grasp. With her other hand, she traced the lines around his eyes. "Cold, smooth. I know what this is, but I haven't seen it in years, and then, only once in my entire career! What in Merlin's name happened?"

John looked up at Brian. The Kyyra crossed his arms, quickly looking away. He hadn't told!

"Whrrbwoosiiyrrs--" Roger tried. Salwix released his face.

After rubbing his jaw, Roger tried again. "One of the sixth-years bet me that I couldn't curse myself," he said, brimming with unearned pride. "Now he owes me n' Brian n' John here a round next time we go to Rec."

John bristled. How dare a stick-waver take credit for John's brilliant spell? Before he could ruin their whole cover, though, he bit his tongue. Roger seemed to be in the process of saving his ass, which meant John was going to have to let that little insult go. At least for now.

Salwix looked up at Brian, who rolled his eyes. "Roger's an idiot, Matron Salwix," he said. "I found him wandering around down the hill. Me n' Deacon were helping him get up to the hospital, but then..."

"I see. Well, Mister Taylor, I'll be informing your View's council that you've been using advanced curses. This won't go unpunished, I'm afraid. This sort of magic is dangerous." She shook her head, clicking her tongue. "At least you didn't curse someone else. Honestly, you children. Up. Both of you. We'll have you seen to."

With Salwix helping Roger to his feet, that left Brian to help John. He did so with surprising care, slowly, so as not to jar the broken arm too badly. It still stung, now that gravity was pulling on it. John held it to his chest, feeling tears sting at his eyes again. "Matron Salwix?" John asked. "Can you fix his eyes? He's going to be okay, right?"

Salwix turned, hesitating. Roger said, "It's okay. You can say." "There are... some side effects," she said. "Minor, but obvious, I'm afraid. But you'll see again." Side effects. As Salwix helped Roger up the stairs, John met Brian's eyes, and they shared a moment of worry.

~*~

"Uuughhhh," Roger groaned. As he became more and more conscious, the headache seemed to get worse. Still, he chanced opening his eyes, grimacing as the light hit them. He threw his arms up in front of his face to block it out.

Well, at least he remembered what seeing was like now. Pain. Agony.

"Roger," someone whispered.

"No, not so loud," he whined. Peering through his fingers, he found John and Brian standing over him. If John would only move a little bit to the right, he'd block out the overhead light...

"We're between classes," Brian said, as quietly as he could manage. Thankfully, Brian's voice was fairly comforting anyway, but it still made Roger's head hurt. "Thought we'd come see if you were awake yet." Between classes? Roger's duel with John was on Saturday, which meant he must have missed all of Sunday. At least. "So, this is when I ask the cliché, 'how long was I out?' question, I suppose." He squeezed his eyes shut and added, "Shut up, Roger. You're too loud."

"He's Roger, though," John said, worried. "He knows. He's just being funny," Brian replied. "Or trying. It rarely ever hits the mark." "Hey, I'm funny." Roger opened one eye again, and gestured to the window. "Think one of you can shut the curtains?" "They're closed, Rog," Brian said. "Besides, it's cloudy out. You're just very photosensitive right now. It'll pass." "Oh, yeah, don't take my photo right now, either. I imagine I'm a bit of a mess. Now, c'mon. Tell me. How long was I out?"

Brian and John looked at each other. Roger noticed that John's wrist was neither wrapped, nor did it look like it hurt at all as he cradled a stack of books. "Ah, well," John said. "Salwix put you out for a week. She thought you'd wake up today. I got your homework."

Roger groaned.

"I told you, he doesn't like homework," Brian said. "You should have saved that for when he was up and about."

Roger smiled. "You two friends now?"

"He needed someone to keep him in line. Vexxzuses, you know," Brian said.

John rolled his eyes.

Roger pushed himself up until he was sitting. The headache was easing a bit now, although it still felt like someone had grabbed his brain, shaken it, and put it back sideways. One would think that with all the mages around Vale Rest, they might have found a way to eliminate such inconveniences entirely. Maybe he'd ask Salwix for a headache draught once Brian and John left. "You guys figure out what the side effects are supposed to be?"

They smiled, and John giggled behind his hand. Roger didn't like that. It meant they were in on a joke that he wasn't in on, and that was unacceptable. "C'mon, it can't be too serious. What? What is it? Do I have another eye?" He waved his hand in front of his face, but found that he was still seeing in boring, normal three dimensions. No mystical powers of prestidigitation. Alas. "Is he disappointed that he doesn't have another eye?" John asked.

"No," Roger said. Then, "Yes, maybe."

"It's not that exciting," Brian said. "John, did you bring the mirror?"

"Oh, right. Hang on." He set his books down on the nightstand and slung his bag off his shoulder, digging through it. "You'll have some dark circles under your eyes," Brian said. "That's thanks to the initial masking spell effect. But it doesn't look that bad, honestly, I think. It's the other thing... Show him. He'll probably love it." John handed him the mirror. Despite his curiosity, Roger still felt just the slightest amount of trepidation as he looked into it... and found that his eyes were a rather fetching shade of bright lavender. Surprising, to say the least. He wondered if it was a trick of the light, but when he moved the mirror, they stayed purple.

"Salwix says they'll change based on the weather," Brian said. "It's raining now, so... We're guessing purple is rain. We'll have to see what the rest is. I guess that's the true intention of the spell, it's just... imperfect. Also, it's..."

"Not reversible," John said quietly. "I'm really sorry, Roger."

He missed the blue, it was true. Still, John seemed so down, and it could have ended up being a whole lot worse. Color-changing eyes? The girls were going to love him. "Are you kidding?" Roger exclaimed. "This is great. There's no windows in the dorms. We'll know what to wear without sending someone upstairs in their skivvies."

"Told you," Brian said. He smiled, laying a hand on John's shoulder. But John didn't look particularly relieved. He had that same sick, pale look that he had on the stairs. Or, the same look Roger imagined he would have, if Roger could have pictured anything at that point in time. In any case, he looked now how he sounded then, and that was kind of sad. "Hey, Bri?" Roger said. "Can I talk to John for a bit?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. Glad you're up, Roger. I'll have your homework waiting for you when you get out of here." He winked as Roger groaned, before shouldering his bag.

"He knows I hate homework," Roger said, once Brian was gone. "Your wrist looks okay." "Oh, yeah. They fixed it up here really quick," John said, turning it over a couple times. He sat on the bed, shoulders slumping. "Thanks, by the way... For taking the fall for me. While I was up here, I heard Salwix talking to your Council. I'm sure if they knew I cursed you, I would have been expelled."

"It's not that bad! Is it?" Roger held up the mirror again, poking at the dark smudges under his eyes. Eh, he could make it work. They really brought out the color, honestly, even if that color was purple. "We gotta find out what the other colors are. Think you can make it stop raining?"

"...Yes." John said. "I mean, yes, it's bad. No, I can't make it stop raining. Do you take anything seriously? I cursed you, Roger. Forever. What if it'd been worse?"

Roger lowered the mirror. The poor second-year looked like he was about to cry. "My mum says 'if' is a big word."

"It's two letters."

"Yeah, but you can't dwell on it, you know? If you start thinking of all the 'what ifs,' then you never live now. What are you worried about? That you'd be able to do some weird death magic?"

John didn't say anything.

Honestly, Roger always did have a healthy fear of the Vexxzus View. Some, like John, crushed beetles to gain a burst of magic power, but he'd seen others take the lives of mice or birds. Killing was a strange, gruesome, macabre focus, unlike the much more sensible imbuing of magic into a wand or gem--like a sensible human.

Furthermore, the View possessed an air of secrecy and mystery, even among its own members. No one knew how far the magic could go. What it could do. Everyone else in Vale Rest just assumed the Vexxzuses pursued murder as their ultimate goal. Why else would you choose...

But John said he hadn't chosen it.

Roger sighed. "Look, I don't know you very well, but everything I need to know about you, I've learned since our duel. S'far as I can tell, you wouldn't be able to do it." When John looked affronted, Roger clarified. "That's a good thing! No one should be able to invent a killing word, and those who'd do it are bad people. And... and even if you could... Even if you knew some death spell, you wouldn't have done it anyway. You wanted to teach me a lesson. You didn't want to kill me." Roger paused, then added, "Did you?"

"No! Of course not!" As soon as John said the words, realization dawned, and he relaxed. "No. I never want that. Still. I think what I did to you... It's the worst curse I know of. And I shouldn't have been able to do it. I mean, most adults can't do it. It is still under development, after all. It just doesn't work right... But it's not the words. I've read about it, you see. A little. It must be the pronunciation. It's not at all natural. The words--they say they're ancient..."

"Like... Old god ancient?"

"Maybe," John wondered. "And it'd be easier with a wand, like you have in Oerris. There's a... A motion to it."

"I thought you said you didn't read much about it."

John's academic fixation fizzled, and he slumped. "I pick things up."

Roger muttered to himself, throwing his feet over the side of the bed. Looking through the drawers in his nightstand, he finally found his focus--a rosewood wand, carved in the shape of a panda eating bamboo. He held it out to John, who wrinkled his nose.

"Yes, yes," Roger said. "Stick-wavers and such. I've heard it all. It's a valid implement for magic!"

"Mm-hm," John conceded, taking the wand and holding it between his fingers, as if it were filth. "I told you, I can't. Most people who can do Vexxzus magic can't. Except Brian, I guess."

Undeterred, Roger reached for the nearly spent candle next to him, and puffed out the flame. "Light it. It's the easiest spell we know. You said you pick things up, right? Maybe a different View? One that's not so deathy?"

"I can't--"

"Try!"

"No!"

John pressed the wand back into Roger's hand. "No. It's--It's not..."

He pressed his lips together, eyes focused downward at his own hands.

"All right, all right," Roger said, tapping the wand to the candle's wick and setting it alight again. "I just thought--"

John vigorously shook his head. "Sorry."

Interesting.

Roger set the candle back on the nightstand, and leaned back on his pillow. Despite having slept for a week, he still felt incredibly tired. Maybe being cursed sapped all your energy, too. Honestly, the thought that it could have been worse was pretty frightening, and maybe he'd think about how lucky he was later when it all caught up with him. Maybe he'd talk about that with Brian, though, since John seemed awfully traumatized by the whole thing. He certainly didn't seem like the stereotypical mean-spirited, borderline-evil Vexxzus everyone talked about.

"Hey, John? Why'd we start fighting, anyway?"

"You don't remember?"

Roger thought for a moment. He really didn't.

Clearly uncomfortable, John shifted, appearing much smaller. His brows lowered, but he looked hurt more than angry. "You... You charmed all the words in all my books to be the same color as the pages. I'd bought new books before I realized what you did."

"Oh yeah! Yeah, I remember now." He chuckled. "You were so pissed. I never heard a first-year say those words before." John reddened, looking away. It wasn't just the incident with the books, though, Roger realized, with a rare stab of guilt. Because after that, there was the hair-color-changing incident. And the sweater-unraveling incident. And many other incidents that seemed entirely minor and extremely funny, until Roger added them all up and realized... He'd been harassing the shy kid. The quiet one who just wanted to stay out of the way. Who didn't want to bother anyone.

Because John was a Vexxzus, and so very easy to harass. The whole time, Roger felt like a hero.

It was no wonder John had been so angry by the time they got to dueling. "Oh. Damn. I mean, you have such a bad temper... It was like, ah... throwing water balloons at a bear. Hilarious, 'til it... rips out your spleen or something. Brian did tell me to leave you alone. I guess after all that, I deserved--"

"Don't say you deserved it," John interrupted. "I was scared you'd never see again. I was scared I could have killed you. That's a lot worse."

Roger always prided himself on being the easy-going, laid-back guy who everyone thought was a complete idiot. He liked to make people laugh. And he did! Of course, it meant he was a bully, which wasn't ever what he intended. And he'd driven a nice kid to cast a horrible curse. Of course Roger deserved what he got. "I'm sorry, John. I really am."

"Yeah, well, if we're going to be friends, can you maybe do that a little less often? The bear-harassing, I mean." Friends? Friends? Roger knew his face must be lit up like a Christmas tree. He didn't care, though. "You? And a stick-waving Oerris? This is so cool." He used the springiness of the horrible hospital mattress to propel himself forward, knocking John's bag to the floor, so he could wrap his arms around his new Vexxzus best friend forever. "Ain't no one messin' with me now," he said.

John tried everything to pry him away, finally gave up, and said, "You're going to have to stop hugging me at some point."

"That's a lie," Roger replied.

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #freddie mercury #fantasy #fantasy au #reversed #ck writes #not bestiary

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 67: Cauldron of Despair

Chapters: 67/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature Warnings:

Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go)

Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Has A Bad Time, But Like, Dude Did Some Bad Shit

Summary: It’s easy to forget what he did.

Thor circled the Frost Giant's corpse trying to decide what to do about it.

“Well. This is a mess.” He said, staring down into his brother's azure face. “And I'm not just talking about body cleanup.”

“She doesn't listen!” Loki seethed. “Why does she always go headlong into danger; does she not realize what it does to me? I have never run so fast in my life!”

“Mortal women seem blessed with an excess of virtues.” Thor shrugged. “Curiosity, courage, and responsibility among them. Jane was no different. You remember.”

“I do. I also remember that she managed to avoid getting badly hurt, because she knew how to run and hide!”

“Perhaps. But she also-”

“Norns, I don't care! Get this thing off me, you great oaf!”

“Temper, temper.” Thor chided, rolling the body over with his boot. “You're so angry, you've gone blue in the face.”

“I will kill you.” Loki snarled, squirming free.

“You were certainly insistent that she not see you. Still keeping that secret?”

“Shut up. We have to get this cleaned up. We have to assess the damage, and we have to check the tunnels for more. How did it get here? Is it a relic from the old war? How many are down there?”

“I will go check.” Thor volunteered. “You should go to the healing wing and try to calm things down. No doubt it's a little hectic there right now.”

Loki nodded, waiting the few moments it took to regain his milky complexion, then the brothers parted ways for opposite sides of the palace complex.

*****

“So he was frozen in here? Like some kind of cell?” Thor glanced around the scintillating bubble in the ice. There was a large slot in one wall, where the giant had presumably been sleeping. There were objects strewn about, covered in ice, that to Thor, looked like they could be a Frost Giant's version of a soldier's mess kit.

Thor knew that no humans had been down in these tunnels. The government of Iceland hadn't even known they were there. This Jotun must have been here for a very long time, sleeping in the ice. Perhaps a trapped soldier, perhaps a lost traveler.

His journey was over now. It was actually rather unfortunate, Thor mused. Even though they had invaded and killed many humans, a Frost Giant could do much good on Earth now. They could generate ice at will. On a world where important glaciers were rapidly disappearing, a Frost Giant ally could be quite successful.

How frightened he must have been, to wake up suddenly, alone, not knowing how many years had passed. Still in the mindset of a war that had long ended, surrounded by enemies. Everywhere he ran, more enemies, more unfamiliar surroundings, more fear and desperation.

Yes, he had killed people on his rampage, and yes, Thor had killed him. But, as a warrior, Thor sympathized. This was tragic, all around.

“We need to clean this area out.” He said. “Gather and clean all of these objects. Do not proceed with digging unless accompanied by einherjar. We won't know if there are more until I bring Heimdall down here.”

“What shall we do if there are more, my king?” One of the clean up crew asked.

“We dig them out.” Thor said. “Slowly. Under my supervision.”

“Could we not just...leave them there?” One ventured. “Stop digging and leave them encased in ice?”

“The climate on this world is changing.” Thor explained to him. “There is a strong possibility that the ice will melt no matter what we do, and free them anyway. Best to do it under close watch, where they can be subdued, and their situation explained to them.”

“Mercy, my king?”

“It is a new age, and we are a people reborn.” Thor proclaimed. “We can try doing things in a new way.”

*****

“She will be fine.” Bjarkhild assured Loki. “It turns out that our Blood Burn remedies are very effective on mortals. She will have sore spots on her arm for a few days, no more.”

“And Kolla?” Loki asked.

“Two broken ribs, a broken wrist, and a broken nose. She will have to stay under a Soul Forge for a week or so, but is expected to make a full recovery.”

“Very good. The messenger lad?”

Bjarkhild sighed deeply. “He will lose the arm. A terrible shame, but the damage was just too great. Perhaps if he had stayed laying down when he was hit, but pushing himself to go find you...”

Loki sat silent for a moment.

“We will Retire him.” He said finally. “It's the best we can do for him now. I will draw up the papers, if you will sign them.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Bjarkhild agreed.

Asgard loved it's heroes, and provided for them, whether military or civilian. A soldier had a pension, guaranteed care for if they were grievously injured during noble battle. A civilian, however, wasn't expected to put themselves in harm's way. For those that did, and suffered for it, there was the institution of Retirement. All of his needs would be taken care of; he would never be without food, home, quality clothing, or respect.

Bjarkhild was right. The messenger's arm might have been saved, had he simply lay still and waited for medics to come to him. But instead, he had found Loki, to warn him of the danger, which gave him the head start needed to reach you in time. This was a heroic act on par with any einherjar.

One day, they would have their technology up and running at the capacity Old Asgard once had. And if the man wanted it, a nearly seamless prosthetic could be offered. But Asgardians tended to cherish their battle wounds, which was why Odin never got an mechanical eye, and great-uncle Tyr never replaced his hand. They could have, of course, but they had earned those wounds in the defense of Asgard. It was a matter of personal pride.

“Shall I have you notified when I release her, or should I just send her to you?” Bjarkhild asked.

“Send her to me.” Loki said. “You need all your people here. How many are...”

“Beyond my help?” Bjarkhild finished. “Six. The other ten are in various stages of injury, but expected to pull through.”

Loki nodded solemnly. Six of their all-too-rare people.

He left the healing wing, noticing Gloa hovering anxiously in the corridor outside. He approached, and took her by the arm.

“Gloa, I want to thank you for-”

She whirled with a startled cry, and struck him across the face.

Loki quickly stamped down the stab of rage within him, watching the emotions fly across her features: Shock, realization, acceptance, and finally ownership over what she had just done. She jerked herself out of his grasp.

“Don't just grab me!” She snapped. “I don't care who you are, you don't have permission to lay hands on me whenever you want!”

“Gloa...” He growled.

“Don't talk to me right now. Not when your filthy kind has robbed me of yet another person I love!”

Loki flinched. Gloa's family had not come through Ragnarok whole. He knew she blamed him for it, for unleashing Surtr, and he didn't know how to explain that it had been Thor's idea without seeming like he was just passing the blame.

“Gloa, your father and uncle were brave warriors, and we honor them-”

“My father and uncle were heroes, and they died saving the people of Asgard!” Gloa interrupted. “I am satisfied for them. They rest in Valhalla with all those who died well.”

“Then why do you blame me?” He demanded.

“Not for them! For my brother!”

“Your brother?”

“You don't even remember. My brother was chosen as a guard in the Allfather's vault. We were all so proud.” Gloa scoffed bitterly. “The eve of Thor's coronation-the first one-he was guarding the Cask of Ancient Winters. He was murdered by invading Frost Giants, who sneaked in to steal it.”

And just like that Loki's throat closed, a fist of guilt squeezing his heart.

“I know it was you who let them in.” Gloa accused, tears rimming her eyes. “Maybe you didn't directly admit to it in that horrendous, self-aggrandizing play you had written about yourself, but I could read between the lines. The sick justification for your actions- all because you had decided that Thor was unfit to rule! That he didn't think things through, and he would get us killed through his bad decisions. But how are you any different? You were perfectly willing to sacrifice Asgardian lives-the very lives you claimed to have been trying to protect-for your own agenda! And it got you nothing! You shattered my family for nothing!”

Speechless, Loki stepped back under the sheer unexpected force of the tirade. What could he possibly say?

“You wanted to thank me for standing next to your little pet project? Pah! She is feeble, and brief, and weak, but she's not a coward, and she actually stood for our children. She may not be worth much, but she is still too good for you.”

Gloa stomped away, furious tears streaming down her face, leaving Loki stunned.

*****

Thor gazed over the objects arranged on the table before him. All the scattered debris from the frozen cave, cleaned and brought to him for observation. These definitely made up a soldier's mess kit, and perhaps a higher class soldier, if the quality of the items we an indication. There were dishes and cutlery, hewn from bone and ivory, carved with foreign designs-Frost Giant art. There was decayed leather bedding and bags, waterskins, and a pack for rations that had long since rotted away.

And, untouched in the ice near where the giant had slumbered, a diary. Velum and ink from the strange sea creatures of Jotunheim, bound in leather, with ivory plates, it was a precious artifact from a thousand years before.

Thor picked up a page turning stick and very carefully opened the book. The ink that the Frost giants extracted from their oceanic beasts was thick, so thick that it raised slightly from the pages, making the letters look carved, rather than written.

Thor was not familiar with Frost Giant writing; until recently, he would not have thought they were literate at all. He had to wonder if examples of Frost Giant writing had been more common before their defeat at the hands of Asgard's armies, before the claiming of the Casket. What kind of dark age had that defeat plunged them into?

As Thor gazed at the unfamiliar runes, they resolved themselves in his mind into something he understood as if he had been raised on it; it was simply automatic. He read a few pages, absorbing what they revealed, until he realized that he could, in good conscience, read no more. This was meant for someone else.

This was meant for Loki.

*****

Consequence. Every action set off a chain of events that never ended. Loki would never get the chance to be a good man again, because the fallout of his deeds would stretch out into forever. He would never actually be able to make amends. He could not restore Gloa's brother to life. All of eternity would pass without him. Without her brother, and without the other guard. He hadn't even considered their lives while he schemed. Hadn't known their names, nor attended their funerals. They really had just been a means to an end for him, acceptable casualties.

And he had considered himself more concerned with the safety of Asgard than Thor had been. What a fool! He had been exactly the same as his brother, only more secretive about it. Moreover, Thor's actions regarding Jotunheim, while irresponsible, had not actually cost any Asgardian lives. But Loki's actions regarding Thor's irresponsibility had. In a way, Loki had tried to play father to Thor, but he wasn't a father yet, and had failed in all of the ways he had blamed Odin for failing. And Asgard was poorer for his actions: Families shattered, people bereaved, grief and emptiness that would flow on until time ended.

Perhaps Gloa had been right all along. Perhaps he simply was the actual worst, undeserving of the happiness he had attained. Unworthy of you.

Certainly you had never done anything to endanger your world, or any others. You only had one murder under your belt, and it was not only self defense, but it had also been erased by the great reality reset. You were practically innocent. What had he actually done to earn your love?

All he had done was kidnap you and destroy your life. Take you away from your home and family, and force you into a new life and career, been rude, frightened you, kept secrets. Was still keeping secrets.

He shouldn't have yelled at you. He had been overwhelmed by fear, and adrenaline, the fog of war, but he still didn't have to yell. He had acted like an ogre to one of the few people who loved him.

His dazed wandering had brought him back to his only place of real safety; his bedroom, the black sheepsking rug in front of the faux fire. The place where he held you. He needed to hold you.

He ached for you. For your warm embrace, the comfort of you. Bjarkhild had said you would be released soon, mostly unharmed. He waited, wallowing in his torment.

He shot up to his knees the instant he heard you enter the chambers, hope suffusing him. He heard the door to your little room open and close, then nothing else.

His heart split and sank down, as he laid down flat on the rug.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader #thor (marvel)

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