7The rattling of the road barely bothered her now, the cold and the mist nothing against her skin as it freely rolled through the iron bars masquerading as a wall.
She was chained to the ground, numb to the movement. Numb to the jostling and the cold and the stares of all they passed by. What was a prisoner cart, after all, but a spectacle, driven through towns and communities so they could see what Niflheim truly did to its criminals. A threat and entertainment all in one.
Look, it said, look what we will do to do, what we have done to these souls, if you wrong us.
You will be taken from your homes, stripped of your pride, and thrown to the pits of Hel.
When they'd left Asgard, hundreds had flocked to watch them pass. To see the disgraced future queen of Asgard, slumped and bruised. To the Asgardian people, it was a rarity to see prisoners being shipped to Hel. Even more so, a rarity to see a Royal disgraced so thoroughly. But she'd been there, left, ripe for the picking and the blame.
Usurper.
They'd yelled the word through those bars and she'd just…watched. Numb to it all, still wide-eyed in the shock of her loss.
Traitor.
Bitch.
Unworthy.
Murderer.
The golden Asgardian guards no longer flanked them though, and she was no longer alone. No, they'd passed through the barrier into Niflheim and the guards had stayed on the other side, and her parents had left without a second glance, her sister the only one who twisted to watch as she'd ridden away, tears glistening in her eyes. Aela hadn't remained alone for long, not as they passed through outlier villages and towns, as they collected more strays and convicts, each and every one shoved into the now cramped wagon and toted through those villages that she used to ride through with pride. The villages and towns that used to greet her and the Bjornlings with reverence.
Not that they knew who she was, of course. Not now, without her bears, without her…She blinked, going back to simply…watching. Not allowing herself to comprehend what she'd endured over the past few days. She leaned back against the wooden wall and simply observed - chains hardly long enough to allow her to stand after all. A few months ago she'd have snarled and spat at them for daring to talk to her in such a way - but her fire was entirely dimmed.
Why had she allowed Loki to control the plans alone? He'd been so confident, so insistent.
It had gone so, so wrong.
Gone was the gold armour, the intricate leather and carved runes; in its place only plain, ill-fitting trousers and a linen shirt that had been plastered to her skin for days now. She'd refused to cry as they'd doled out her punishment, mind simply replaying the events of the bridge in a neverending loop as she was ordered to strip, to re-dress. As she was pushed to her knees in the Asgardian throne room, Thor watching from the side with his fists clenched against the arms of his ornate chair. As her father held the shears, rough fingers uncaringly cleaving the intricate plaits that had fallen loose during her time in the dungeons.
As those strong fingers pulled, as the weight of the coiled locks fell about her, all she'd remembered was the tent by the lakeside - the feel of a different set of fingers as they'd twisted her hair. The love in his touch, even then. The way he'd looked at her on their wedding night as she finally, finally, removed the fastenings, letting warm, auburn strands unravel and fall past her navel.
There was nought but fuzz now. The cutting had been ceremonial, the loss of what made her Nilf.
A traitor's punishment.
Aela didn't care though.
She'd found herself entirely unable to. She didn't care that the gold had been removed from her horns. Didn't care about the hair that had been taken from her, or for the gilded fastenings she'd lost. All she saw when she closed her eyes was the sight of her husband falling from that rainbow bridge. Eyes locked on hers, hand outstretched. They'd allowed her to keep the God's tooth she'd kept so dear, and the small locket that now resided upon it, a cut lock of his hair held within. Her mother had cut that one. Whilst most of her memories felt loose, hazy around the edges, she recalled with perfect clarity her mother's fingers, gently untwisting the Asgardian plait she'd been given on their wedding day. Loki's black hair, snipped and twisted alongside a shortened portion of her own. Done by his own hand, as she'd done his. Bound together in an old, Asgardian custom.
The loss of a partner was one for life, in her culture. The bond of marriage was sacred. Even when tried for the worst crimes, the locket would never be removed. She could see a few others, iron and pewter, silver and tin, tied around the necks of the criminals she travelled with.
Cast out, just as she was.
They'd be allowed that small comfort, that token of those that they'd left and lost, no matter what they'd done. Her hand slipped to it, as it often did, fingers running along the worn surface of the tooth and the new, golden surface of the locket.
Gold, as if she wouldn't stand out enough, already. She'd seen a few glances at her horns, large for a Nifl. At her tattoos, ornate as they were.
They'd be gone, soon enough too.
Uncaring, the convicts opposite laughed and joked, acting as if they were heading towards a holiday rather than the front lines. As if they expected the journey to end in sandy beaches and warm sun, instead of a horrifying haunt to the cracks in her world where the denizens of Hel slipped through. She knew their type. Mercenaries, who loved and lived for the violence. Who bragged to the quiet wagon of their conquests, the raids and missions and beasts they'd slain.
A few months prior and she'd have been with them. Loud, boisterous…Eirik or Isla by her side. She didn't want to talk now though, too sore to attempt the words, too numb. Days before, they'd tried to include her, tried to interact. One had sidled close, hands moving to touch her legs, palm pressing for a mere instant against the toned muscle there before she'd…removed him. They'd tossed his corpse from the rear some days ago.
No-one had attempted the mistake again. Even unarmed, even numb and tired as she was, she had her skills. She had her horns, her talons, should she wish it. She hadn't felt the rush of her borrowed Asgardian magic in some weeks, not since it had failed to reach Loki in time…not since it had failed her - her legs too slow, his descent too fast.
The pit in her stomach threatened to open and she quickly cut the thoughts off, tried to block the looping memory.
Her father had said one thing to her, whilst attaching those chains, whilst putting her in the cart. A whispered an order into her ear; but she couldn't think of it, couldn't focus past the burning grief that consumed her. She had been able to feel the Bjornlings at first, their touch upon her soul as familiar as her own thoughts until the blocker had been added. It was the first time in a long time she'd had silence, true silence. Then fire had burned through her soul and their voices had vanished. They'd shouted their love for her both verbally and within her mind, making the sudden silence as the magic had taken effect even starker. As stark as the moment Loki's connection had blinked out of existence.
They'd all felt the moment Loki had been lost to them, the chasm he'd left behind in their mental network. He'd been quiet down the bond, but his presence was still felt. And once it was gone...They'd all felt the absence keenly, as they'd been escorted away, as the Asgardian guards had attempted to separate them. Her bears had refused to leave her side, snarling teeth and keen claws the only greeting for any soldiers that threatened to even try and approach.
They'd gone into the Asgardian dungeon cell beside her, and she'd never forget it.
Unfortunately, that hadn't worked with the Niflheim soldiers. Her fathers own people, Eiriks parents amongst them. All had been commanded to separate, to leave the young Queen to her father's hands, to her punishment.
Conspiring against a known royal
Attempted murder of Thor Odinson
Attempted murder of Odin, the AllFather.
Attempted coup and takeover of Asgard
She'd known little of Loki's plans, though it was of no matter. She'd known he had plans, and there was no denying the love between them. Not when her grief was impossible to hide; not when the Bjornlings wept alongside her, all feeling the hollowness that came with losing a bond-mate.
Eirik's father had been right there, alongside the Nifl leaders. They'd felt the bond, they'd seen the grief and knew what it meant. The silence in the court had been resolute when Eirik's father had stepped forward, asking why Loki had been in their mental bond, and how long had he been able to hear their thoughts and join in.
Sif had taken the stand, testifying that she'd stumbled upon the two after the wedding. Her face was russet but strong, her glare resolute. Any friendship they'd had was gone; for who would believe she'd been in the dark? Who would believe Loki would keep his plans from her?
She'd told the entire court, the families, Odin himself, that she'd gone for air and had seen Loki and Aela locked in an embrace, pressed tight against a column, Aela's skirts rucked up and Loki pride of place between them. That there'd been laughter there, passion, love. Thor's voice had cracked as he'd stood, not caring for protocol, and had asked how long this had been going on? He'd encouraged their closeness out of a pure desire for his brother to have a…to have a friend.
She didn't need to answer. The Asgardian servants gladly answered for her, their hatred practically palpable. They gleefully told of her entering his rooms via the window, climbing up the side of the palace, how Loki would pass by her rooms multiple times throughout the day, observing but not entering. How he had gifts commissioned, days out planned, their evenings before the fire with drinks and books.
The bedding, regularly washed. Regularly ripped, mussed, discarded. The way the bears would enter his chambers freely, how one or more could occasionally be found sleeping before his fireplace, rather than Aela's.
The indents her horns had left in his wall, his bookcase, his headboard.
Things she could have done without her parents having to hear.
She'd recalled the shock on the Asgardian faces as they realised the friendship between Loki and herself had been much…much more.
And in turn…her family had come under fire. Loki's hesitation had been too carefully crafted when Astrid had suggested he wed Aela in Thor's place. Aela's sister's suggestion had seemed…sensible at the time, to Frigga and Odin, but it now cast suspicion back on the Nifl ruling family. Had they known? Had they been…part of the plan?
Without the Prince there to defend himself, to defend her, to defend her family…
It was damning.
Before she went numb, she could barely speak through her sorrow and anger, tears like hot brands against her cheeks. Her gown had been in tatters, her weapons gone and her happiness alongside. The Asgardian cell was bare once the Bjornlings were taken from her and she let the tatters of her heart show in the ruin she made of the space; her dragon's blood allowing her the talons with which to mark the walls, deep gouges taking all semblance of order from the carefully laid tiles. Her bears had been moved to the one opposite. Able to see, but not touch.
Watch, but not comfort.
Frigga had come down once and had simply stared at the savagery Aela had left of the room. The broken woman, heaving with her grief amongst the ruin of the place.
"I can see it, looking back, his love for you"
Aela hadn't responded, choosing instead to stay silent. To let the pause speak for her.
"He was always mine. Regardless of parentage. I never cared what he was, only who he was. Thor followed his father like a shadow, but Loki was always mine." She'd conjured a chair, the show of power so reminiscent of Loki that it had furthered the lump in Aela's throat.
"Is this a confessional?" Aela had asked, letting herself stalk forward, the predator, even in her cage.
"You could call it that, my dear. I have lost my son, my youngest...and hoped to grieve alongside you"
"We all grieve here" Aela had responded, her voice a growl from the screams she barely bothered to contain. It softened though, as she took in the tears that welled in the queen's eyes. The Nifl raised a hand to the forcefield, letting it rest there as the pained whimpers from the bears filled the space behind. They hadn't reverted to their human forms for days, more comforted in these forms. "And you are always welcome"
Frigga waited there for some time, simply watching, breathing. "Did you intend to kill my husband, my eldest?" she finally asked, voice as soft as it had always been.
"No" Aela responded, honestly. "And I don't think Loki was either. At least, not before he found out about Laufey. I know no-one believes me, but he refused to tell me his plans. He wanted me to be safe" she spat the word, angry, "if he was ever discovered"
The Queen hummed. "Do you ever think about fate, Aela?"
She nodded. "I do. I have always believed that things happen for a reason, with a pattern. I've found the pattern hard to recognise as of late, though"
Frigga had nodded. "I believe the hand of fate was at play here. For my son to find someone to love, who loves him in return...who can touch his frost giant skin without fear, without pain. I often wondered what would happen, if he were ever to find out. How I would handle it, how Loki would handle it...I should have told him myself, far before that point"
The Nifl didn't mince her words. Didn't hide the rage that they'd both felt when he discovered his parentage...in the way he did. "Yes. You should have"
"I have many regrets in life, my dear. This shall haunt me for as long as I live, and I hope that sorrowful truth will bring you some comfort. To know my pain. To hear my apology, for what has happened, and is going to happen"
Aela knew the truth in the words and the fate that would be coming for her. "You have decided my fate, then"
"You knew what would happen when your father was called. You will be given a Nifl punishment"
Aela had simply nodded. "I will be killed"
Frigga hadn't acted surprised at the revelation. "Will it be swift?" she asked instead.
Aela looked the woman directly in the eyes as she answered. "No. It will be slow, and painful. I will be sent to fight the agents of the dead. To give my life to protect the nine realms amongst my fellow criminals"
"Or to survive. To rise triumphant"
"Or to claw my way to life, yes"
"Aela, wife of Loki, daughter of Niflheim. I bless you with a long life. I bless you with Asgardian strength and valour, Niflheim ferocity and flame. Come back to us alive, prove your worth"
Blessing or Curse, Aela wasn't sure. She'd felt it settle alongside her god-given gifts, no end date given. Dooming her to a life of fighting alone. Her bjornlings wouldn't live as long as an Asgardian would, no…the only person who could have been able to stand by her side was gone, slipped away into the darkness of space.
She'd have no Bjornlings by her side, warming her body and soul.
No Loki, warming her heart.
She was a being of war, made and crafted purely for violence.
The cart stopped, its shuddering becoming a lurch, slipping slightly on the soft, uneven ground.
The doors opened, and a figure loomed in the darkness. Cold permeated, feeling almost endless against the dark. No warming rays to cause their eyes to squint, to illuminate the dread in their faces. Just darkness, bleak and cold outside the cart as it was within. The shackles between her hands clinked and shifted as a burly man filled the gap the door had left and wrapped the collection of thick, partially rusted chains around his ham-like fist, not needing to move much to bring the prisoners to their feet. They'd had more slack, more ability to move before she'd wrapped her own chain around the neck of the interloper who'd attempted to move towards her, to rest his own hand upon her knee. Who'd felt the points of her claws as they'd ripped into the meat of his cheek. He unceremoniously tugged, lurching the 5 prisoners forward and pulling them from the cart. She'd grown used to the stink of the cart but it wafted anew as they were moved- bodies pressed together, chains too short for anything else.
She didn't bother to resist as the brute dragged them from their confines, as she automatically took in the camp around them. It was enormous, stretching far into the distance - tightly packed, mostly occupied with large, patched tents. Whatever colour they'd started as, it barely lingered now, giving the entire area a bleak, bland appearance. Combined with the encroaching mist and lack of nature it painted a stark image, feeling like a prison, even without the dungeons she'd grown used to since that fateful moment on the bridge. It was bustling, busy, but without the energy of war camps she'd been in in the past. Warriors littered around the place, different cultures and peoples and genders intermingled; sitting alone and in groups, eating and sleeping wherever they dropped, by the looks of it. The first aid tent looked to be spilling over, injured warriors littered around the outside holding themselves and each other up. The smell in the air was thick, and for a brief moment the burn of the fire, the smell of cooking meat and the sound of clashing weapons brought Aela back to herself. A flicker of light, of fire, within her core.
This was a place of survival, and that's exactly what she'd do.
Survive.