...just had to get weirder...
Sep. 8th, 2003 09:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
btailweaverStill rainy, so that's good. Nice cool day.
-_- But I'm tired. My frenetically insane Idea Machine, dear little Brain-chan (whom we all know and love), decided to wake me up at four blinkin' o'clock in the morning with a plunnie. And had me tossing and turning the rest of my sleeptime away because I would not get up and write it, because Dammit I Have Work In The Morning.
Bleh. Needed lots of coffee. Still do.
But Brain-chan, insistent little snit that she is, ensured that it got written anyway, even if it wasn't on her timetable. So here it is. Skippy-doo-dah.
* * * *
Ragnarok Rewritten: A Trickster's Tears
She had always been, and always would be, faithful beyond all others.
She had stood at his side through everything, loyal though she had been hurt, though she had been lied to, though she had been cheated, abandoned, brushed aside, even banished for his sake.
She was Fated to stand at his side until the End.
But only until the End. No further--Ragnarok was to be their separation.
He was going to die the death of the End that not even a god could escape from.
She had no part to play in the End. The Norns had decreed it so. It was Fate.
But he was fine with that. He could die knowing she would not take part in the horrible battle of Ragnarok. She would remain apart--she would survive. She would live, and be a part of the world to come, the better world after the end of the selfish, corrupt old gods.
He had two regrets. One--that he would not live to see that world, that bright and open future where nothing was Written.
Two--that he had not been able to say goodbye to her the way he wished, with his own face and his own voice; to touch her, hold her one last time, and make love to her heart and soul in a way he knew he had never done enough in the past, before the Banishments...
Now it was too late. Ragnarok had already begun.
The long-awaited End of the World raged through Asgard, through Midgard, through all seven worlds of Yggdrasil's roots, and the World Tree groaned under its fury. Enemy fought against enemy, friend against friend, brother against brother. Aesir gods against ancient giants, immortals seizing this one chance to destroy their foes for once and all. Even those who knew they would die went out to battle with eyes alight, ready to go down in glory and take many with them.
The death of the End, of Ragnarok, is forever.
They rode out a mighty host; Odin and his fellow gods, and the souls of human warriors under his sway--the Einheriar. But equally mighty was the giants' army; the giants of frost and fire, of stone and sea. The hordes met at the Bifrost Bridge, and as the Watcher sounded his horn the battle was joined.
Amid the screams, the howls, the snarls and roars and battle cries, the weaker beings began to die. Lesser soldiers on both sides were cut down, slaughtered by the hundreds as age-old Fated enemies fought their way to each other, seeking one another like lovers through a crowd. The Tree began to tremble as the greater ones met, as swords and hammers and teeth and claws clashed with fury that would drown out thunder.
And at the spearpoint of the battle, at the head of the warfront, the guardian of Bifrost had waited for the one who led the army forth from Niflheim.
For theirs was a Fated clash as well.
Weapons crashed against each other as the battle raged on all sides--but ignoring it all, in the center of the bridge, the Watcher and the Trickster fought to the death. No quarter was given, nor asked, for both knew the result; both knew what was to be.
That didn't mean either of them had to go easily.
Death was dealt around them, by friend and by foe. Lesser beings were thrown aside by the force of their clash, burned to cinders in the tidal bore of their powers. Neither had given in yet--not yet, and the other Fated deaths could not yet begin; not until these two, the first to join battle, had killed one another at long last.
Powers peaked. The chaos had reached a maximum. Blows had been traded, wounds given, blood drawn. The first deaths loomed--and with them, the deaths of the rest of the Fated and the finale of the End of the World.
With twin battle cries the two Fated to die at each other's hands made one last charge, a final attack that both knew would see their end. At long last, it was Time. The final blow awaited.
But something went wrong.
A name, screamed in desperation. A gasp of shock. A spill of long pale hair. A brief small splatter of blood.
"Ma--masaka...!" Heimdall stumbled back, falling to his knees, bleeding profusely--but still alive. The deadly thrust of Loki's last attack had missed his heart; the wound was serious but not mortal.
Opposite him, two figures stood still as stone as if forgetting he had ever existed. Emerald eyes stared into soft magenta, stunned.
Her shaking grip on his coatfront slackening, Mayura looked up at Loki and smiled. A deep, relieved, painful smile, so happy, and only for him, as he stood there gaping.
She began to sink, her legs folding beneath her like rickety chairs; his weapon clattered to the ground and he caught her, his shocked eyes wide and helpless at the sight of the growing crimson stain at the front of her dress. He lowered her to the cold timbers of the Bridge, his own legs gone numb and his chest squeezing until he almost couldn't breathe. The thunder of Ragnarok faded into a dull tumult behind the roaring in his ears.
This was not real. This could not happen. This was never part of the Ragnarok.
But she was real enough as he cradled her, there on the frosty planks. Her soft gasping breaths tickled his face, her bright pain-filled eyes gazed into his. Her blood was warm and wet against the hand that supported her back; Heimdall's weapon had pierced her through.
Pierced her, when it had been meant for him.
This was not supposed to happen. She knew his Fate, but she did not know his true form and face. She should never have come here--she should never have known how to come here.
Yet still, she had.
His hands shook more and more as his heart twisted and his breath came in gasps as the seriousness of her wound began to sink in. The tightness in his chest, in his throat, the burning in his eyes was unbearable--because he knew.
There was so much blood, flowing over his arm, his legs, staining the frosty ground...
She was frail. Mortal. She could die so easily, and it was her very life that slipped through his helpless fingers in a crimson flow.
She was dying.
In his very arms, she was dying, and he could do nothing.
Yet even now, she was smiling at him. A smile in a face drawn tight and pale with pain; a smile of relief and joy as she gazed up at him, even as her life faded. Her smile sang You're all right! in silent tones of emotion; even now, what she felt was for him.
"Why...why...?" His voice cracked like a child's; his free hand fluttered, touching her face, brushing her soft bangs aside, unable to remain still--as if searching for some way to make this stop somehow...
Through her smile, through her pain, she answered. Her words were the faintest of whispers, with barely enough breath remaining to create them.
"Because...you're Loki-kun..." As close as he was she could just manage to reach him, her pale fingers brushing his cheek but once before losing their strength altogether. "...my Loki-kun..."
"Mayura..."
"I'm glad...I'm glad..." Her weakening breath hitched, her cloudy eyes dimming. "...ai...aish..."
He could see the light in her eyes going out, could sense her life fading to nothing like a flame with no fuel left. There wasn't enough time. This wasn't supposed to have happened. He couldn't tell her everything--didn't get the chance to tell her everything he should have told her long ago. How had he wasted so much time? Now there was none left.
She was gone.
"No...Mayura, no..." His voice hardly sounded like a man's; it wavered and broke with the force of the same emotions that squeezed at his lungs, that tore at his heart. "Mayura...come back...come back..."
But there was no coming back. The End here meant no return.
As a stunned, numb Heimdall looked on in shock, Loki clutched Mayura's limp form close, burying his face in her soft hair. Though his eyes were dry, something inside him was building--something dredged up by a horrible helpless rage, a hollow churning grief--as his rasping whisper begged her again and again to come back to him.
But death at Ragnarok was forever.
And as he realized this, through all his sorrow and pain...all at once, something snapped.
A cry rose up from Bifrost bridge, a single voice raised in a scream that drowned the din of battle and shook Yggdrasil to its very core with the sheer impact of its fury, its grief, its helplessness and utter, utter loss.
The Nine Worlds trembled.
And Fate cracked.
The path of Fate itself was shattered, scattered; the Norns were struck blind where they stood, the Written future they had known for ages vanishing in the space of a single breath. Now, nothing could be certain.
There was not an ear deaf to this cry; no warrior did not stop in his battle to stare in astonishment and dismay at this anomaly. All around, the rage of Ragnarok ground to a stop as the Fated saw what had happend and realization came. The passage of a Mythos was brought to a screeching halt, because something had happend that was not supposed to happen.
Someone had died who was not Fated to die
What had been Written was erased, and the future became the now.
* * * * *
I'll have to finish it when I can. *sigh* My current Rate of Writing Speed is substantially hampered by my crankiness.
And for those of you who prefer a bit lighter fare, the conclusion of the recent Loki funny-plunnie should be accomplished soon. Containing a few oopses, a few interruptions, and plenty of ice cream.
Hm. I want some too...
Do I sound excited? Heh. Blah. Am definitely matching my mood button. (*grouse grump growl*) Hopefully I will perk up before I snarl at anyone I actually know. >_< I hate being tired. Sure, I can stay up all night writing, but when I want sleep I want sleep. And when I don't get it, it shows. Snarkety snark snark.....
Hm. A small thought to send in
Icka's direction. Regarding the Norse Hell freezing over...I'm not entirely sure, but I think that Norse Hell, located in a part of Niflheim, is a place of eternal Winter.
Guess the Vikings in the cold north seas thought that freezing their a$$es off was a lot worse than...*ahem* warmer weather.
-_- But I'm tired. My frenetically insane Idea Machine, dear little Brain-chan (whom we all know and love), decided to wake me up at four blinkin' o'clock in the morning with a plunnie. And had me tossing and turning the rest of my sleeptime away because I would not get up and write it, because Dammit I Have Work In The Morning.
Bleh. Needed lots of coffee. Still do.
But Brain-chan, insistent little snit that she is, ensured that it got written anyway, even if it wasn't on her timetable. So here it is. Skippy-doo-dah.
* * * *
Ragnarok Rewritten: A Trickster's Tears
End
She had always been, and always would be, faithful beyond all others.
She had stood at his side through everything, loyal though she had been hurt, though she had been lied to, though she had been cheated, abandoned, brushed aside, even banished for his sake.
She was Fated to stand at his side until the End.
But only until the End. No further--Ragnarok was to be their separation.
He was going to die the death of the End that not even a god could escape from.
She had no part to play in the End. The Norns had decreed it so. It was Fate.
But he was fine with that. He could die knowing she would not take part in the horrible battle of Ragnarok. She would remain apart--she would survive. She would live, and be a part of the world to come, the better world after the end of the selfish, corrupt old gods.
He had two regrets. One--that he would not live to see that world, that bright and open future where nothing was Written.
Two--that he had not been able to say goodbye to her the way he wished, with his own face and his own voice; to touch her, hold her one last time, and make love to her heart and soul in a way he knew he had never done enough in the past, before the Banishments...
Now it was too late. Ragnarok had already begun.
The long-awaited End of the World raged through Asgard, through Midgard, through all seven worlds of Yggdrasil's roots, and the World Tree groaned under its fury. Enemy fought against enemy, friend against friend, brother against brother. Aesir gods against ancient giants, immortals seizing this one chance to destroy their foes for once and all. Even those who knew they would die went out to battle with eyes alight, ready to go down in glory and take many with them.
The death of the End, of Ragnarok, is forever.
They rode out a mighty host; Odin and his fellow gods, and the souls of human warriors under his sway--the Einheriar. But equally mighty was the giants' army; the giants of frost and fire, of stone and sea. The hordes met at the Bifrost Bridge, and as the Watcher sounded his horn the battle was joined.
Amid the screams, the howls, the snarls and roars and battle cries, the weaker beings began to die. Lesser soldiers on both sides were cut down, slaughtered by the hundreds as age-old Fated enemies fought their way to each other, seeking one another like lovers through a crowd. The Tree began to tremble as the greater ones met, as swords and hammers and teeth and claws clashed with fury that would drown out thunder.
And at the spearpoint of the battle, at the head of the warfront, the guardian of Bifrost had waited for the one who led the army forth from Niflheim.
For theirs was a Fated clash as well.
Weapons crashed against each other as the battle raged on all sides--but ignoring it all, in the center of the bridge, the Watcher and the Trickster fought to the death. No quarter was given, nor asked, for both knew the result; both knew what was to be.
That didn't mean either of them had to go easily.
Death was dealt around them, by friend and by foe. Lesser beings were thrown aside by the force of their clash, burned to cinders in the tidal bore of their powers. Neither had given in yet--not yet, and the other Fated deaths could not yet begin; not until these two, the first to join battle, had killed one another at long last.
Powers peaked. The chaos had reached a maximum. Blows had been traded, wounds given, blood drawn. The first deaths loomed--and with them, the deaths of the rest of the Fated and the finale of the End of the World.
With twin battle cries the two Fated to die at each other's hands made one last charge, a final attack that both knew would see their end. At long last, it was Time. The final blow awaited.
But something went wrong.
* * * * *
Death
Death
A name, screamed in desperation. A gasp of shock. A spill of long pale hair. A brief small splatter of blood.
"Ma--masaka...!" Heimdall stumbled back, falling to his knees, bleeding profusely--but still alive. The deadly thrust of Loki's last attack had missed his heart; the wound was serious but not mortal.
Opposite him, two figures stood still as stone as if forgetting he had ever existed. Emerald eyes stared into soft magenta, stunned.
Her shaking grip on his coatfront slackening, Mayura looked up at Loki and smiled. A deep, relieved, painful smile, so happy, and only for him, as he stood there gaping.
She began to sink, her legs folding beneath her like rickety chairs; his weapon clattered to the ground and he caught her, his shocked eyes wide and helpless at the sight of the growing crimson stain at the front of her dress. He lowered her to the cold timbers of the Bridge, his own legs gone numb and his chest squeezing until he almost couldn't breathe. The thunder of Ragnarok faded into a dull tumult behind the roaring in his ears.
This was not real. This could not happen. This was never part of the Ragnarok.
But she was real enough as he cradled her, there on the frosty planks. Her soft gasping breaths tickled his face, her bright pain-filled eyes gazed into his. Her blood was warm and wet against the hand that supported her back; Heimdall's weapon had pierced her through.
Pierced her, when it had been meant for him.
This was not supposed to happen. She knew his Fate, but she did not know his true form and face. She should never have come here--she should never have known how to come here.
Yet still, she had.
His hands shook more and more as his heart twisted and his breath came in gasps as the seriousness of her wound began to sink in. The tightness in his chest, in his throat, the burning in his eyes was unbearable--because he knew.
There was so much blood, flowing over his arm, his legs, staining the frosty ground...
She was frail. Mortal. She could die so easily, and it was her very life that slipped through his helpless fingers in a crimson flow.
She was dying.
In his very arms, she was dying, and he could do nothing.
Yet even now, she was smiling at him. A smile in a face drawn tight and pale with pain; a smile of relief and joy as she gazed up at him, even as her life faded. Her smile sang You're all right! in silent tones of emotion; even now, what she felt was for him.
"Why...why...?" His voice cracked like a child's; his free hand fluttered, touching her face, brushing her soft bangs aside, unable to remain still--as if searching for some way to make this stop somehow...
Through her smile, through her pain, she answered. Her words were the faintest of whispers, with barely enough breath remaining to create them.
"Because...you're Loki-kun..." As close as he was she could just manage to reach him, her pale fingers brushing his cheek but once before losing their strength altogether. "...my Loki-kun..."
"Mayura..."
"I'm glad...I'm glad..." Her weakening breath hitched, her cloudy eyes dimming. "...ai...aish..."
He could see the light in her eyes going out, could sense her life fading to nothing like a flame with no fuel left. There wasn't enough time. This wasn't supposed to have happened. He couldn't tell her everything--didn't get the chance to tell her everything he should have told her long ago. How had he wasted so much time? Now there was none left.
She was gone.
"No...Mayura, no..." His voice hardly sounded like a man's; it wavered and broke with the force of the same emotions that squeezed at his lungs, that tore at his heart. "Mayura...come back...come back..."
But there was no coming back. The End here meant no return.
As a stunned, numb Heimdall looked on in shock, Loki clutched Mayura's limp form close, burying his face in her soft hair. Though his eyes were dry, something inside him was building--something dredged up by a horrible helpless rage, a hollow churning grief--as his rasping whisper begged her again and again to come back to him.
But death at Ragnarok was forever.
And as he realized this, through all his sorrow and pain...all at once, something snapped.
A cry rose up from Bifrost bridge, a single voice raised in a scream that drowned the din of battle and shook Yggdrasil to its very core with the sheer impact of its fury, its grief, its helplessness and utter, utter loss.
The Nine Worlds trembled.
And Fate cracked.
The path of Fate itself was shattered, scattered; the Norns were struck blind where they stood, the Written future they had known for ages vanishing in the space of a single breath. Now, nothing could be certain.
There was not an ear deaf to this cry; no warrior did not stop in his battle to stare in astonishment and dismay at this anomaly. All around, the rage of Ragnarok ground to a stop as the Fated saw what had happend and realization came. The passage of a Mythos was brought to a screeching halt, because something had happend that was not supposed to happen.
Someone had died who was not Fated to die
What had been Written was erased, and the future became the now.
* * * * *
* * * * *
I'll have to finish it when I can. *sigh* My current Rate of Writing Speed is substantially hampered by my crankiness.
And for those of you who prefer a bit lighter fare, the conclusion of the recent Loki funny-plunnie should be accomplished soon. Containing a few oopses, a few interruptions, and plenty of ice cream.
Hm. I want some too...
Do I sound excited? Heh. Blah. Am definitely matching my mood button. (*grouse grump growl*) Hopefully I will perk up before I snarl at anyone I actually know. >_< I hate being tired. Sure, I can stay up all night writing, but when I want sleep I want sleep. And when I don't get it, it shows. Snarkety snark snark.....
Hm. A small thought to send in
Icka's direction. Regarding the Norse Hell freezing over...I'm not entirely sure, but I think that Norse Hell, located in a part of Niflheim, is a place of eternal Winter.Guess the Vikings in the cold north seas thought that freezing their a$$es off was a lot worse than...*ahem* warmer weather.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-09-09 09:32 am (UTC)That's gotta throw everyone for a loop.
Always thought of Hell as freezing cold instead of burning hot too myself... just made more sense. *Shrugs*
But Hel with a Cold it makes for a great pun! ^_^
... eh, need to re-write parts of that anyway, will do when we have energy again... ~_~
((GLOMPS!))
-ICKA!