Darkness There, and Nothing - CH.1 - Let Go of the Truth…This Is Just a Game

Chapter One
Let Go of the Truth…This Is Just a Game

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Thor studied his wan reflection in the looking glass of his bedchamber, wondering what he was doing. Was he really going to go back to see Loki again? He'd been to visit his younger brother in the dungeons every day for the last fortnight—ever since Loki's startling accusation that blood of someone, perhaps those Midgardians killed during the Chitauri invasion, was on Thor's hands as well as the pseudo-Æsir's—but Loki had said not a word since then. Thor had by turns pleaded, threatened, and cajoled, all to no avail. His brother would say nothing, do nothing, while Thor was present in the dungeon corridor outside his cell. The moment Loki heard Thor coming, he would stop whatever he was doing and sit, silent and immobile, in a chair staring into the fire.

With a sigh, the son of Odin's blood leaned back on the bench where he sat until his head touched the cold stone wall. He closed his eyes wearily. Only the distant roar of the sea and the chirp of crickets singing farewell to the day broke the silence of his bedroom. It gave Thor the quiet he needed to think. What could he do this evening that he hadn't done over the last two weeks? What could coax Loki into explaining himself?

A soft knock at his door pulled Thor from his musings. Smoothing a hand over his hair, he called, "Enter." At his entreaty, Odin's youngest son stepped into the room. Immediately upon seeing Balder, some of Thor's tension eased.

"Good evening, Brother," Balder said softly, his deep voice rumbling through the room.

It still surprised Thor how his littlest brother had grown up. He stilled remembered when it had been little Balder running on his short child's legs in a hopeless effort to chase down Thor, Loki, Víðarr, and Tyr in an effort to join in on the revelries of the older princes. Now Balder was a man—tall, fair-haired, broad-shouldered, having already been blooded in battle, with the strength and bearing of one of Asgardian's warrior princes.

"Good evening."

"Are you going to see Loki today?" Balder asked when Thor said nothing more. "Has he spoken again?" Thor shook his head, and Balder sighed. "Mother is certain you can do something with him where the rest of us have failed. What do you think?"

A small pain was beginning to throb behind the older Asgardian's left eye. Pressing his fingers to his forehead, Thor replied, "I know not what can be done with him, if anything. I don't even know if his words to me before have any bearing on his treachery, or if he seeks to play with my mind. I simply do not know. If Mother can get nothing from him…" Thor shrugged almost helplessly. "I don't know."

Balder nodded, rubbing his chin. His glacier-blue eyes darkened with worry. "Well, I know one thing—do not let Tyr near him again, or there may be bloodshed."

Thor arched an eyebrow. "He's in prison. And Tyr is not so foolish as to let Loki goad him into breaking into his cell in order to—"

"Loki is not the one goading Tyr," Balder interrupted. Thor's brow furrowed. "Tyr is attempting to get information from our brother by taunting him into a fit of temper. He will catch Loki drawing…whatever it is he is constantly drawing, or writing whatever he is constantly writing, and demand to know what it is. He will deliberately provoke him, yet Loki has yet to respond overtly. I sense trouble brewing if Tyr is allowed to continue his jibes."

"Have you spoken to Father about this?"

The younger prince nodded. "You know how he is. He does not wish to hear anything about Loki. Because of his guilt, you know…and his disappointment. For now, I think Father will let Mother deal with the problem of our wayward brother. And you know Tyr never listens to Mother."

The sigh that came from Thor then seemed to hold all the weight he felt down to his very bones. Things had been so simple that long ago day when Odin had been ready to hand the throne of Asgard to his eldest son—the son who, Thor could admit now, hadn't been ready for kingship then. When had the world become so tangled? Was it merely Loki's discovery of his true parentage? Or was it more?

Perhaps today would be the day his brother gave him some answers. Trying to hold onto that slim, flickering hope, Thor rose to his feet, bade his youngest brother goodbye, and went to visit Loki.

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Loki was drawing again. Thor had made sure to keep as silent as possible when drawing night his brother's cell this time, and Loki was distracted enough by his task that he didn't seem to notice Thor's stealthy approach through the shadows of the corridor. The prince took a moment to observe Loki from the safety of those shadows.

Every move his brother made was fraught with an electric, frenetic energy. His emerald eyes burned as they darted over the paper. His face was nearly bloodless, and a bright crimson drop stood out against Loki's mouth again. The hand holding the charcoal sketching stick practically flew across the page as if on demonic wings. Loki's breath came in half-choked little gasps.

Suddenly, as before, he stopped. He stared at the drawing as if searching for something, some miniscule detail on which hung the very fate of the cosmos. Wrinkles formed between his thin, dark brows as they knitted together. The pale lips moved soundlessly. It took Thor a long moment to realize his brother was mouthing the word "no" over and over again; that and another word he couldn't quite make out from the shape of Loki's mouth.

A look of helpless confusion flitted across his brother's wan face, followed swiftly by anger edged with what might have been despair. Loki dropped his face into the cup of one hand. He crushed the charcoal stick in his other; it broke in half with a muffled snap. The pieces clattered to the table top and rolled slowly over the smooth surface before slipping off and falling to the floor. Loki's empty fingers convulsed into a fist so tight his hand visibly shook. He pressed it hard against the table until Thor heard the wood creak.

At last Loki lifted his head to stare once more with broken eyes at the drawing. "Memory fades so swiftly," Loki breathed. "Why can I not remember something so simple? Something so vital? By Surtur's blade…why can I not remember?"

He clamped his lips together. Squeezed his eyes shut. His face contorted as if in pain. With a muffled, wordless cry he snatched up the picture and crumpled it into a ball. He surged to his feet—unsteadily, Thor noticed. Stalking to the sullen fire, Loki made as if to cast the drawing into the flames…but then he hesitated. With trembling fingers he unfolded the crumpled drawing; gazed down at it with a blank face, though his eyes were alive, alight with something like desperation.

Loki took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, with a shudder. He shook his head. "No," Loki said softly. "No. It isn't right. It will not…serve." With those opaque words, the pseudo-Æsir balled the paper up again, but he moved as if it were the hardest thing he had ever done. And instead of hurling the paper into the flames, he held out his hand, palm up, and let the drawing slip from his grasp to land in the fire.

While the paper crackled and burned, Loki leaned his forearm against the fireplace mantel. Swallowed audibly. Then he leaned his forehead against his arm. His shoulders slumped. He raised a fist and thumped it once against the marble mantel.

Thor could bear it no longer. As before, the prince stepped into the light. "Loki."

His brother didn't turn around, which Thor had half-expected, half-dreaded. He hadn't expected Loki to mutter, "Why have you come back here, Thor? What do you want of me?"

"Are you…all right?" He couldn't forget the haunted—and haunting—look on his little brother's face.

But to his incredulous irritation, Loki turned to him with that smirk twisting his features. He laughed openly at Thor. "Am I all right? Brother, I'm in prison. I mean no offense, of course, but that's a stupid question."

Fury washed through the prince. "Forgive my foolishness. Of course civilities are wasted on common criminals."

That smirk carved deeper across Loki's face. The once-anguished eyes twinkled with mocking amusement. Had Thor only imagined the sorrow in Loki's face before he'd burned the drawing? Surely not…but there was no trace of any deep emotion in the other prince now as he chuckled and replied, "Your arsenal of droll comebacks hasn't improved while I've been imprisoned, Brother. Is that why you've come today? To attempt to sharpen your rapier wit?"

In that moment Thor came to a decision. He'd avoided confronting Loki flat out about the drawings themselves, instead asking about the things he'd said the last time they'd spoken. He hadn't wished to see that look of vicious pain on his little brother's face again. But he would not stand here and be mocked for his trouble, either. If Loki wished to contest with him, Thor would strike at his heart.

"Were you not satisfied with this latest drawing, little brother?" Thor asked casually, striding toward the ensorcelled glass that separated him from his foster brother. "Did it not please you?"

The effect on Loki was immediate: what little color that had come back into his face while verbally sparring with Thor drained away, his eyes snapped wide, tension gripped his entire body, and his lips parted slightly as if he'd been stunned. Then he seemed to recover himself. Pressing his lips together, he glared at Thor. His gaze was like a cerulean glass knife.

"That is none of your concern."

"Oh?" Thor shrugged. "It was a simple question, Loki." When his little brother said nothing, Thor narrowed his eyes. "I'll get answers out of you eventually, little brother. You cannot put me off forever."

Loki scoffed. "Oh, can't I? Don't you have better things to do? Primping in front of the mirror for your little mortal, for example? I hear the Bifröst will be fully repaired in but a few months' time. Surely you want to look your best for her. Perhaps you should go and polish those feathers you call a helmet."

"Leave Jane out of this," Thor snapped. "You berate me for involving others in a conflict between us, then attempt to use her against me—"

"Hypocrite," Loki snarled softly. "So you're allowed to attempt to use my weaknesses against me, eh, Brother? But when I hit back with the same tactic, you cry foul?"

Through gritted teeth, the golden-haired prince said, "There is a vast difference between asking you a difficult question and threatening the woman I love. You will not harm Jane, Loki. So much as attempt it, and brother or no, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Eyes like sunlight through sea-green glass flickered. "A difference? No, there really isn't. Not in the end," Loki murmured, and once again Thor had the impression of trying to catch something precious but elusive in his grasp. Then his brother shook off whatever melancholy had softened his demeanor and smirked at Thor. "Besides, I never threatened her. I once said that I might pay her a visit, but that was merely to goad you into doing what I wanted. Even you should have been able to see that, despite your thick skull. And I wasn't threatening her just now, either. Merely proving a point—and proving it quite easily. I can put you off for eternity if need be. You may as well give up whatever futile quest you've come here on and leave me in relative peace."

"It was a simple question, Loki. Were you displeased with the drawing? Forgetting a detail, perhaps?" As Thor spoke, Loki's lips pressed tighter and tighter together. The cocky smirk had vanished like a ghost. "Something you can't remember interfering?"

Voice hoarse and strained, the pseudo-Asgardian hissed, "You were listening. Spying on me!"

Thor's shrug was completely unapologetic. "My only recourse," he said, "when you refuse to tell me what I wish to know."

Loki's face went blank. In a carefully neutral tone, the disguised Frost Giant said, "Very well. I was not satisfied with the drawing. It is difficult to draw something so detailed from memory. Mistakes are often made. Satisfied?" The last word was spat as if it were poison.

"What were you drawing?"

Loki's expression hardened. "Getting a bit greedy, aren't we?" Thor merely shrugged…and waited. He kept his eyes trained on Loki as his brother glared at him with that same icy hatred Thor had seen before, the loathing that frosted Thor's blood and squeezed his heart like King Laufey's own bitter-cold fist. Finally Loki said, "There is nothing in all the Nine Realms that you could offer that would compel me to tell you."

After a carefully measured pause, Thor asked, "What about your freedom?"

His brother laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. Only bitterness like wormwood. "My freedom is not in your power to give. Nor," he added sharply, "is it within the purview of the All-Father. Not my true freedom. No one can give me that." His voice dropped low, almost musing. "The fetters that bind me are stronger than any that Odin could devise."

"Why do you always throw your drawings into the fire?" Thor asked. He wanted to demand Loki explain himself, explain his words of fetters and guilt and innocent blood. Explain why nothing was worth his giving Thor the information he wanted. Instead he focused on the subject that seemed to draw Loki out of himself the most. "Why not keep them? Surely you do not despise your failures so much that they must be destroyed. I remember your skill with pencil and brush from when we were young. Even with small mistakes, the work would be well-done."

A sneer twisted Loki's face. "Because I know you want to see them, so I make sure you cannot. I delight in vexing you, Brother."

Thor scoffed. "You're acting like a child."

"Do not speak to me of children!" Loki roared suddenly. The fury blazing like viridian fire in his brother's eyes, electric-blue lightning crackling at the back of his gaze, the hatred searing in his voice, nearly made Thor step back. Taking a shaking step toward Thor, Loki shouted, "How dare you?"

"If you don't want me to call you a child," his older brother replied scathingly, using acid to mask his sudden unease, "don't act like one." Why, Thor wondered, had the juvenile insult enraged the pseudo-Æsir so much? Here was another of those mercurial shifts in temper Loki had begun to display. What about the comment had enraged him this time? Was it simply that he was so proud, looked down on his elder foster brother so much, that he took grave insult if Thor said anything negative about him? It made no sense…

And Loki didn't reply to Thor's latest retort, either; only spun on his heel in a whirl of loose black material to glare at the fire as it slowly began to die. Silence stretched taut and heavy between the brothers. Finally Thor sighed. "Brother…I do not wish to fight with you. Why must you make this a battle?"

It took a few moments for Loki to respond. When he did, Thor was surprised by his words. "Do you know what it is to fight every moment of every day of your life? To see battles looming when others tell you there's nothing there, that you are merely imagining things? And then you have to fight them, knowing that nothing you do will ever end that conflict?" Loki shook his head, never taking his eyes from the flames. "When you live on a battlefield, you do not willingly remove even a single piece of your armor."

Thor took another step toward the enchanted glass barrier. He could feel the magic of it as soft prickles along his skin that made the golden hairs on his arms stand up, as a dull ache in his teeth. Ignoring it, he took yet another step. He took a breath.

"I have never harmed you, Loki, save in these recent battles. Why do you think I seek to hurt you?"

"You've already dealt the fatal blow, Thor. Ever since you defeated me back on Midgard, I have been bleeding to death from it. I suppose it's too much trouble to mourn my death a second time," Loki added bitterly. "You've already held my funeral once. Why waste time with a second? What do you think Odin and Frigga will do when I die of this wound, hmmm? Throw my corpse to the pigs?"

Bile rose in Thor's throat; he swallowed it back. In a carefully neutral voice, he said, "If you died, Brother, our mother and father would surely mourn, as they did before. Mother was inconsolable after you fell from the Bifröst. She wept for days. And if you were wounded, the healers would tend you faithfully…if you allowed it."

Loki's laugh was almost poisonous as it rattled in his chest. "Tend me? This is not a wound that can be tended, Brother. You have carved out my heart the way the deaths on my conscience have carved into my bones. As a heartless monster I now stand before the crown prince of Asgard, vainly trying to remember what it was to possess a heart capable of breaking. You have killed me as surely as I killed Laufey. Yet I forgive you for that."

Noting his younger brother's emphasis, Thor asked, "If you forgive any injury I've done you, then what is it you despise me for, Loki? Whatever wrong I have done you, I am sorry. But it was not wrong of me to stop you from conquering Midgard."

"Well, whatever helps you sleep at night, Brother," Loki snarled. "Are you blind? You come here and ask your questions, and in the same breath deny the answers. Why should I tell you anything? It will not cleanse your conscience, or mine."

"You cannot blame me for the deaths of the Midgardians who were killed in the invasion," Thor snapped, losing patience. "Nor can you blame me for the guilt you supposedly feel over their blood."

His brother turned to sneer over his shoulder. "Right on the first point, but not the second. I don't blame you for their deaths…but you are the reason their deaths were in vain. If you and your pathetic band of 'heroes' hadn't attempted to thwart me—"

"You blame me because the invasion failed?" Thor demanded, incredulously.

"Yes."

"And because it failed, those who died, died in vain?"

"Yes," Loki hissed.

"And your guilt stems from that and that alone?" Thor asked. When Loki hesitated, Thor's heart gave an odd lurch in his chest. A knot of confusion, anger, and concern twisted sharply in the pit of his belly. Thor shook his head in bewilderment. "Loki…what is it, exactly, that you condemn me for?"

Jade fire smoldered in his brother's eyes. "Their deaths."

Thor remembered that Loki always chose his words with care, even when in a fury. Their deaths. He had already said he didn't blame Thor for the deaths of the Midgardians, just the futility of them. So…"Who, Loki?" Thor asked softly. "Whose deaths?"

As if emerging from a dream, Loki blinked. His eyes darkened from that strange cerulean back to vivid jade as they focused on Thor again. Loki shook his head. "No. No, you'll not pull that confession from my lips. You don't deserve to hear their names."

Stunned, Thor gazed at his brother with wide eyes. Didn't deserve…? Someone Loki actually cared for? For a moment, Thor wondered if Loki meant a woman. But no, he'd said their names. But then, who could he mean? Thor shook his head. "How can I answer your accusation if you do not tell me their names?"

"Their names would mean nothing to you. Do not seek to try and refute my claim, Thor, for I know well where the blame for their deaths lies. Yes, with me, and I will carry that guilt for the rest of eternity, even unto and beyond death. It lies with that monster, Thanos, and his lieutenant. But most of all, it lies with you, Thor Odinson, and damn your soul to the bowels of Nifelheim!" Ashen, eyes glistening like wet emeralds with what might have been the gloss of savagely enraged tears, Loki cried, "If not for you, they would yet be alive! Damn you!"

Then it seemed as if all the life drained from Loki's body. He fell to his knees on the floor, then sank down until only the wall kept him upright. He dropped his head against the cool stone. Closed his eyes. His breath came in great, heaving, shuddering gasps. His fingers knotted into fists so tight the knuckles burned white against the flesh. Thor watched Loki unclench his hands finger by finger; the pseudo-Æsir ran his hands over his face and sighed.

At last Loki merely sat there, his hands clasped atop his head, elbows bracketing his face, eyes tightly closed. He did not move an inch. Did not make a sound. He only sat like that, and Thor could almost see the walls of ice that had so recently come down building up around him again.

Moved by instinct, Thor said softly, "Loki…I don't understand. Please, explain it to me."

Loki simply sighed. "Why should I bother? You won't listen."

"I will."

"You won't believe."

"I…" Thor hesitated, then pressed on. "I will try." When his brother said nothing, Thor added, "Loki, we used to trust each other. We used to protect each other. Love each other. When did that change? It has not changed for me. You're my brother."

A small laugh. "I'm adopted, in case you've forgotten."

Thor scowled. "Do I look as if I give a damn?" To his surprise, Loki chuckled. "Loki, if I have earned my brother's enmity, I deserve to at least to know why. Tell me!"

Loki sighed again, then opened his eyes. Dropping his arms to rest on his updrawn knees, he stared at the floor. His brow furrowed in thought. Was he considering Thor's offer? The Asgardian prince didn't wish to get his hopes up…but then Loki looked up at him. It felt as if someone had jabbed a needle of ice straight into Thor's heart. Slowly, Loki nodded.

"Yes…I suppose you deserve at least that. But it's late, Brother. So I will give you one reason, and you may come to collect the rest on the morrow." Loki closed his eyes again. "I suppose the guards have told you that I do not simply draw, but that I also write?"

Nonplussed by the abrupt change in topic, Thor nodded. "They did."

"Did they tell you what I was writing?"

"They claimed not to know."

A ghost of a smile curled Loki's mouth. "I would imagine so. I'm careful enough. But I shall tell you, since you wish to know what sins have condemned you. I write letters, Thor. Letters to the dead. And I burn them because I was told once that if one wished to send a message to someone who has passed, the best way is to burn it, and the wind in the chimney will take the pieces up into the heavens." Loki's voice was soft, musing, with a weight of sadness that seemed to drag at his brother like iron shackles. "I know not whether it actually works. I can only pray so."

Thor swallowed, afraid of breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen over his little brother, but at last he spoke softly. "I think, if the Creator is merciful, such tactics work well enough. But what has that to do with me?"

"Do you know who I'm writing to?"

"The dead," Thor replied, frowning. "You've said that."

Loki shook his head slowly. "Such a thick skull. It's a wonder you've lived this long. Which dead, Thor? All the dead? A handful? One in particular?" The other prince could only shake his head helplessly. A faint crease formed between Loki's brows. "I write to the ones whose deaths I lay at your feet. They are the ones I draw. But I said I would give you but one reason today, and so I shall. I will give you a name. And you can think upon that name, turn it over in your mind, feel it settle around your heart as the guilt seeps into your soul."

There was a long silence. Thor could count his heartbeats, loud as war-drums in his ears. He watched as Loki's forehead wrinkled as if with some great strain. His eyes, closed and relaxed until now, squeezed tight. His fists were so tight, Thor's hands ached in sympathy. There would be bloody crescents in his little brother's palms later.

Finally Loki opened his eyes. To Thor's utter shock, his eyes were damp with tears. A single teardrop spilled from the corner of Loki's eye and roll down his pale cheek to drip off the end of his chin. He seemed paler than ever. Pale as death. His voice, husky with emotion, trembled.

"Her name was Thea. Now leave me in peace."





　

Darkness There, and Nothing - CH. 0 - Mea Culpa, Sea Culpa

Author's Note: so this idea came to me in a dream, which normally doesn't work for me, but this time it did. Yay! So here's the first chapter of my Loki fic. Just so we're clear, although no obvious female love interest appears in this first chapter, I just want to be clear that this fic is not slash. I'm trying some very new, very different things for me with this fic. So the female protagonist and love interest is more of a secondary character and my main focus will be on Loki's point of view (and Thor as an outside observer looking in). I hope you guys enjoy what I've got planned. Let me know what you think. Hugs!

Soundtrack: I got the idea for a soundtrack from the genius Alydia Rackham. I don't normally tell people what I listened to for a fic, but it worked for her, so why not? For the first scene, I listened to "Knowing You by Heart" from The Little Princess (1993) and "Love Theme" from The Dark Crystal. For the second scene of this fic, I listened to "Here without You" by Three Days Grace, "Dark Waltz" as sung by Jackie Evancho and Haley Westenra, "First Snow" from the film The Fountain, and "Skyfall" by Adele (not necessarily in that order).

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Darkness There, and Nothing…

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Prologue
Mea Culpa, Sea Culpa

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Thor strode to the long table in the currently empty Great Hall—empty, that was, save for his mother. The lamplight burnished her long hair as it tumbled about her shoulders, reflected off the slender golden chain about her throat. The moment Thor's boot-steps echoed off the smooth stone floor, Frigga turned to her firstborn with beseeching eyes.


"Well?" His mother asked softly when the Asgardian prince settled onto the bench beside her. She reached out and clasped his large hand with her slender one. "Did you learn anything? You two have always been so close; did he say anything to you?"


The prince bit back a sigh. His mother and brothers had asked him to take on the heavy task of spying on Loki, his foster brother, in an attempt to discern something in regards to what Loki had done on Midgard and before, in Asgard, during the king's time in the Odinsleep. After receiving bizarre reports of the second prince's behavior, the king and queen had deemed it prudent to discover more—if it was possible. So they had sent Thor.


"He…spoke to me," Thor murmured. Which was fairly astonishing in and of itself. Loki hadn't said a word to anyone in the six months he'd been imprisoned in Odin's dungeons, except to make a few innocuous requests of Frigga. "But the things he said…" Thor shook his head. It's your fault, damn you! Yours…and mine…"I did not understand him."


Frowning, Frigga took both her son's hands in hers and gently squeezed. "Tell me what happened, dearest. Perhaps I might be able to make sense of things."


Loki had always been close to their mother, Thor acknowledged silently. Perhaps she had the right of it. Clearing his throat, Thor began, "I went to the dungeons as we'd agreed. All was silent, except for the sound of a pencil against paper…"



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Scritch-scritch-scritch.


The gentle scrape of charcoal against parchment was the only sound in the vast corridor, save for the crackling of the torches in their wall sconces and the snap of flames in the hearth of one of the cells.

Most prisoners of Asgard's king couldn't lay claim to a fireplace, or a sumptuous, four-poster bed draped in emerald and black, or a table with a blown-glass oil lamp. Most prisoners weren't given books, sheaves of paper, bottles of ink, the finest quill pens, and sticks of charcoal to amuse themselves with during the long days of their captivity.

But then, most prisoners weren't Loki Odinson, second prince of Asgard.

Thor watched Loki from the shadows beyond the torchlight. His younger adopted brother bent industriously over the black-wood table, sketching something. Dark brows knitted together, lips pressed into a thin white line, Loki worked almost feverishly at a drawing his brother couldn't see. Pale fingers grasped the stick of charcoal so forcefully that Thor was surprised it didn't snap in his grip.

Loki leaned closer to the table, his hair spilling like ink over his shoulders and across his brow. The Asgardian noticed that his younger brother had actually bitten his lower lip so hard in concentration that a pearl of blood had risen up on the flesh.

Suddenly Loki stopped, jerking to a halt as if frozen. He stared down at the sketch, brow furrowed, face utterly bloodless. Emerald eyes blazed with something that might have been madness…or anguish. The charcoal pencil fell from his fingers to hit the floor. He swallowed audibly; Thor heard it even from where he stood. A trembling fingertip stretched out to caress down the length of the parchment in a strange pattern.

Thor frowned. The guards had spoken to Odin and Frigga about this odd behavior, and neither king nor queen could account for it. Balder, Tyr, Víðarr, and Hermod had considered it Thor's duty—as the eldest—to investigate. So here he was, and the utter desolation on Loki's face astonished him. The guards had said nothing about that. What was the drawing of—what could it be of—that it moved Loki this way? Thor was about to open his mouth to call out to his little brother, forgetting momentarily the need for silence and secrecy, when Loki lunged to his feet, snatched up the drawing, and making three quick strides to the hearth, cast it into the flames. Then he half-crouched, half-fell before the fireplace to watch the paper burn to ash and smoke.


"What do they know of darkness?" Loki rasped to the fire. One hand lay on his knee, gripping so tight his knucklebones stood out stark against the flesh. "What do they know of the choking blackness of the void? What do they know of isolation? Nothing." He bowed his head. A tremor shivered through his tall, lean frame. "Nothing at all."

"Loki?" Thor could remain silent no longer. Stepping from the shadows of the prison corridor into the sienna light of the flickering torches, he approached the transparent ensorcelled glass that separated his younger brother from the outside world.

Loki's head whipped around. Something savage flashed across the pale face before the pseudo-Æsir smoothed his features to careful blankness. He rose slowly to his feet. The blackness of his shirt and trousers, with only the deep emerald green tunic to alleviate the darkness, made him seem even paler than normal. Almost sickly. Loki arched one knife-thin black brow at his foster brother.

"Come to keep me company, Brother?" A small smile played at the corner of Loki's mouth. "Come to ease my loneliness?"

Thor scowled. Any touch of sympathy or concern he'd felt evaporated like night mist in the morning sun at his brother's words. "Do not mock me, Loki. I came merely to see what mischief you might be getting up to."

Slender but powerful shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug. "Another coup, as you can plainly see," his younger brother replied with a familiar—and irritating—smirk. "Even within the walls of the stoutest prison, a man can conquer the world." A shadow appeared to flit across emerald eyes. Loki's arrogance seemed to falter, and the smirk wilted at the edges. "Yes…with loyalty and conviction, or even merely with desperation at his side…or perhaps madness…"


"You're not clever," Thor snapped. There was something about Loki's words that left him unsettled. He let that unease morph into anger buzzing like hornets in his blood. "What would you know of loyalty?"


With another mercurial shift of temper, the other prince spun on his heel with a wordless snarl and paced the length of his cell. Every movement snapped and jerked with edgy tension. Thor suppressed another surge of unease. Until his incarceration here in Asgard, Loki had never been so…changeable. So quick to spin from one mood to another. When rage had taken him in the past, there had always been a build-up, some signs of warning. Not this rabid fury that seemed to spring from nowhere.
Perhaps the Midgardian known as Banner had been right all those months ago when he'd claimed Loki was mad. Like a bag of cats, he'd said. And mayhap Loki had truly succumbed to actual madness…


Desperation…or perhaps madness…


"What do I know of loyalty?" Loki asked softly. Rage—and something else, something dark and cold and terrible, something Thor did not wish to examine too closely—gave the mild words a razor's edge. "When have I ever stolen something truly precious to you, Brother?"


"You tried to kill me, Brother. I deem my life very precious, thank you."


To his amazement—and fury—Loki scoffed at the accusation.


"Let us say I did," Loki hissed, reminding Thor that his brother had never actually admitted that he'd tried to kill the crown prince during his exile to Midgard. "What of it? It was a conflict betwixt the pair of us, no one else."


Now it was Thor who scoffed. "So those innocent people whose homes you destroyed—"

Loki held up a sharp finger. "Homes, you said. Was anyone killed?"


Thor lifted a brow and folded his arms across his broad chest. "I was. The Destroyer's blow broke my neck. If not for Mjölnir's returning to my hand, I would have died. What say you to that?"


"I say that my point has been made: I attacked you, and no other person. The Destroyer only attacked Sif and the Three because they sought to interfere with it, which you allowed. I kept the combat between the two of us. I never killed someone in an attempt to get at you. I kept it between the pair of us, involving no one else!"


"I involved no one else!" Thor protested.


"Liar!" Loki roared suddenly, with enough venom that Thor actually stepped back from him. The guards shifted restlessly. Thor tried to speak, but now whatever words had been festering inside his brother spewed forth, and would not be halted by anything Thor could do.


"It's your fault, damn you! Your fault the Chitauri…" Loki dropped back against the white stone wall of his prison and slumped to the floor, defeat etched in every line of his face, every angle of his body. "Your fault…and mine. The slaughter, the pain, all that innocent blood…all of it for naught, and all because you couldn't let me alone."


Thor took a single step toward his brother. His shaking hands convulsed into fists. Rage and disbelief twined together in a thorny tangle in his breast. "Let you alone? Let you alone?" Thor's voice rose to a leonine roar with every word. "Let you butcher helpless Midgardians, slaughter countless innocents, so that you, in your arrogance and callous disregard for life, could rule Midgard? I should have let you destroy an entire world, all so that you could be their king?"


"No!" Loki roared back, surging to his feet. Wild-eyed, the prince yelled, "I was trying to save them!"

"Save who? The Midgardians? You mowed them down without a thought, without one regret!" Venom had been building up in Thor as well. He didn't know how long it had been fermenting inside him—since learning of Loki's betrayal? His attempt to steal the Asgardian throne? Since he'd murdered Coulson?—but he would spill that poison now, and let Loki drink it to the dregs. "You're a liar, a murderer, a traitor! You attempted to save no one except yourself, Laufeyson!" Loki jerked, recoiling as if he'd been stabbed. "Who were you trying to save, and for what?" Thor demanded, voice dripping derision. "Hmmm? Answer me if you can! And tell the truth for once!"


At first he thought Loki would fly at him, attempt to hurl some spell despite the transparent shielding protecting him and dampening Loki's magic. For several heartbeats, a twisted expression of half-mad—rage? Pain? Turmoil?—twisted Loki's face. His eyes burned green as rushlights at twilight. But he didn't try to attack his foster brother. Instead, he merely trudged back to the table and slumped heavily into the chair. He dropped his head into his hands. Sighed.

"Yes…I know I am a murderer, Brother. How well I know it. Do I despise myself for it? Do I mourn the blood on my hands?" Loki lifted his head, draping his arms across his thighs. His hands dangled limply between his knees. He scoffed softly at his brother. "You've already decided that. What hope is there of changing your mind? I tell you there is none. And a liar…so is the man you and I both called 'Father,' yet you don't hold it against him. As for treachery, well, my loyalty belongs to another. That's all there is to it, I'm afraid."

"To who?" Thor demanded. "To Thanos?"

A bitter, humorless smile twisted Loki's mouth. "No. He will die one day, by my hand, for what he did to…" The anguished expression he'd worn when studying the burned drawing returned. Something cold pulsed like an ache in Thor's chest. What made his little brother look like that? "…to them," Loki concluded in a voice that was nearly a whisper.

Baffled now, the anger draining away to leave him slightly numb and out of breath, the golden-haired prince demanded, "To who, Loki? Who are you talking about?"

When Loki lifted his head to look at Thor, Thor found himself speechless. The look of bitter, icy hate in his brother's eyes was like a blow to the belly. Even in the midst of their battles on the Bifröst and Stark Tower, there had never been this deathly-cold loathing in his little brother's eyes.

"Your ignorance excuses nothing," Loki spat. "Their blood is still on your hands. On the hands of Thanos and his Other. And," here his voice dropped to a broken rasp, "and on my own." Turning from his bewildered audience, he added softly, "I know my sins well. They are carved into my flesh and bones. Go from me, Thor. Torment me no longer."


"Loki…" But his brother did not turn back. Feeling as if something vital was even now slipping from his grasp, Thor murmured, "I will be back to finish this later, Brother. I will expect an answer to my question." With an oddly heavy heart, the crown prince turned and strode away.

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Bewildered, Frigga listened to her son's recitation to the end. Shook her head.

"I…I don't know what he could mean, who he could mean." Tracing the silky smooth grain of the table with the tip of one finger, frowning, she shook her head again. "I cannot fathom what Loki means, except that…perhaps he somehow blames you for the deaths of the Midgardians during the conflict."

Thor scowled. "It was hardly my fault he decided to invade with an army of savage Chitauri ready to slaughter anyone they came across. He'd have to be mad to blame me for that."

In a voice as soft as falling snow, Frigga murmured, "Perhaps…perhaps he truly is mad."

The scowl melted from Thor's face and he sighed. Pressing his mother's hand in tender reassurance, he said, "Don't worry, Mother. I will go back to him tomorrow and see if he'll speak to me again. Maybe we can discover something."

"What hope is there for Loki, Thor?"

He didn't know. But if there was hope for his brother, Thor vowed silently that he would find it.

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Author's Note: so…that's my prologue. What do you guys think? Let me know! I love reviews/critiques, and I love to hear from my readers. Have a nice day, you guys! Hugs to everyone!


Concerning the Titles: The chapter title refers to two things—the song "Hellfire" in Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and the Latin phrase used in that song. "Mea Culpa" literally means "my mistake," and "sea culpa" means "your mistake," but it can also be translated as "my fault"/"your fault." So the title of the prologue is literally "My Fault, Your Fault." The title of the fic is a quote from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven." It actually goes something like, "Here I flung wide the door…Darkness there, and nothing more."

Pokemon Ivory - Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Loyalties Engaged

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Not only did Professor Juniper walk Ivory home, but she helped Ivory's mother clean the deep scratches and other injuries to the sixteen-year-old. Apparently, Nora Nox and Sakura Juniper had long been loosely acquainted. Once Ivory was disinfected, patched up, and bandaged, Nora ordered the teenager to go lay down before she fell down.

"It's not even dusk," Ivory complained. "The sun's still up!" But her voice was strained with weariness, so her mother ignored her and motioned for her to go upstairs. With heavy legs the teenager climbed the ladder to her attic room. Only after the trapdoor fell shut did Nora turn to the Pokémon Professor.

"What happened? She didn't look like she wanted to talk, but if something happened, I need to know." Nora dumped the bloody paper towels in the trash can and wrung out the wet, blood-stained wash rags before dumping them in the hamper. Finally, she put the first-aid kit back in the cabinet and sat down on the sofa. "Spill it, Sakura. What happened to my girl?"

"Rabid Liepard," the scarred woman replied. "You got any soda around here?"

"Bottom drawer in the fridge," Nora said. "Help yourself. So, what happened? Your Serperior kill it?"

"Yeah. Didn't even have to give her an order, she just jumped right in between Ivory and the Liepard. But your girl was ready to take on that Liepard with a stick. She's brave. Brave and stupid. But I was impressed, I'll give you that. She impressed my Serperior, too."

Nora arched one delicate eyebrow. She knew that Professor Juniper hadn't planned on even considering Ivory for the position of Pokédex Researcher, due to the identity of her mother. Sakura Juniper didn't consider Nora to be a real Pokémon Trainer because Nora, at nineteen, had made her way to Victory Road, failed to defeat the Elite Four, and gone home. And furthermore (and this was the thing that really rankled the battle-scarred Pokémon Professor), Nora Nox had managed to get through her time as a Trainer without losing any limbs, or even any fingers. She'd come home to Nuvema without more than a few superficial scars. Unlike Professor Juniper, who had returned with her right pinkie and ring fingers permanently crippled, a piece of her ear missing, and barely-healed acid burns on seventy percent of her left leg.

Yet somehow, Ivory had managed to acquire Juniper's admiration. "Does that mean," Nora asked, careful to keep her tone politely interested, "that you're considering her for the Research positon?"

"She's got fire. Out of the three kids I've considered, she's the best. The other two don't have drive. Cheren Gozen is too intent on the rules and regulations of the game for him to care about the experience. And Bianca Noire..."

"Her father's an idiot," Nora said shortly, scowling. "If he'd raised her differently, she'd be just like Ivory."

Juniper shrugged. "Be that as it may... how long has your girl wanted to be a Pokémon Trainer?"

"Seems like since she was born."

"Good," the half-blind woman replied. There was a smug smile stretching across that scarred face. "If she's going to do what my Serperior thinks she's going to do, then that's good."

Nora raised a laconic brow. "And what exactly does your inestimable Serperior think my girl's going to do?"

"Your girl is going to take one of my boys all the way to Victory Road. You mark my words. And it all starts tomorrow morning, because I'm bringing the Pokémon. I'll make sure Cheren and Bianca know to be here."

Upstairs, in the twilight-cooled attic room, Ivory stretched out on her futon, a smile on her face. Her mother didn't realize she could hear every word of the very interesting conversation downstairs through the vents. So, through the age-old technique of ventilation-eavesdropping, Ivory Nox learned that Professor Sakura Juniper, one of the most famous Pokémon Professors in the world, was going to offer her a job filling the Pokédex. And not only that, but tomorrow, the Pokémon Professor would bring a Starter Pokémon for not just her, but her two best friends.

I wonder, the sixteen-year-old thought as exhausting pulled at her, if I'll get a Snivy. I'd like to have a beautiful and deadly Serperior as my partner one day, just... like... Professor...

And Ivory slipped easily into dreams of battle and adrenaline, of razor-edged leafy whirlwinds and Victory Road... and eyes like the blood of ancient redwood trees, framed by ferny lashes. The most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen in her life.


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Don't wake up, Ivory ordered herself the next morning, rolling to face the shadowy wall so the blinding sun lancing through her bedroom window couldn't attack her eyes anymore. The early autumn heat - an unwelcome farewell gift from summer - prickled along her skin beneath her thin blanket. She ignored the discomfort and kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Don't wake up. Go back to sleep. She planned to sleep until she was positive the Pokémon Professor had deposited the gift-wrapped box on her nightstand. If she had to be conscious while waiting for it, Ivory was fairly certain she'd go crazy.

She began to drift off again.

Something rattled. Her eyes flew open, then scrunched shut against the sickly yellow glare of the autumnal morning sun. Had Professor Juniper been here already? And why was her bed positioned right next to the window?

The trapdoor that led to the rest of the house flew open and Cheren climbed up. "Ivory! Get up! Jeez, what is wrong with you? Professor Juniper left the Pokémon on your nightstand!"

Groaning, Ivory rolled out of bed and scrubbed a hand over her face. Sleep crud crusted her eyes. Drool whitened the corners of her mouth. Spitting into her hand, she wiped it over her mouth to clean her skin and then scraped the grit from her eyes with half-numb fingers. Then, finally semi-conscious, she peered blearily up at Cheren, who looked down his long, tapered nose at her with friendly disdain. If she knocked his glasses off, she wondered, would he go away?

"Dude, first day after near-death experience," she informed him in a mumble, shoving hanks of brown hair out of her face. "Morning off. Go far, far away."

"Pokémon, Ivory!" Cheren grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet.

She tripped over the super-long legs of her black, yellow, and pink plaid pajama pants and grumbled, "I hate you, Cheren. A lot." But since the box was there, she let the faux-hate fade away under the sparkles of red, white, and black wrapping paper. Now they just had to wait for Bianca, and they could choose their Pokémon.

"Am I a little late?" A soft, cooing voice snagged Ivory's attention. She and Cheren turned to see blond, frothy Bianca pushing through the trapdoor. Seeing them looking at her, the sixteen-year-old twisted her green beret in her hands. "Oooh. Sorry about that!"

"Jeez, Bianca! We've known you for more than ten years and you've never managed to be on time!" Cheren growled. One jabby finger shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Ivory ignored him; she only had eyes for the prettily wrapped box on her bedside table.

"Sorry," the blonde said again. She wiped her hands on her silky, pumpkin orange top. "I had to sneak past my Dad. Are they here yet?"

The three of them gathered around the shiny, wrapped box. Stillness gripped them tightly. Anticipation hummed under Ivory's skin, sizzled through her veins. Without a second thought, she pulled the loose end of the bow, untying the ribbon. Her hands shook as she lifted the lid.

And there they were: three gleaming, full-sized poké balls. One half gleamed like the red of candied apples, the other like white ribbon candy. The center buttons glowed a soft rosy color, indicating the poké balls were occupied. Each ball hummed with the power of its captured creature. There were no labels, markers, or anything else to indicate what kind of pokémon were inside the poké balls.

"Maybe we're supposed to let our hearts guide us," Bianca mumbled. When Cheren gave her an exasperated look, Bianca merely shrugged. "Just a thought."

"This one," Ivory blurted. She reached for the one on the left. The poké ball sent tingles through her fingertips when they brushed the smooth titanium sphere. Tiny sparks sizzled up her arm. Whatever was inside called to her on a level she couldn't even describe. A sweet ache filled her chest as she laid her palm against the cool metal. Holding her breath, she scooped up the pokéball with a trembling hand. Warmth seeped into her palm. She suddenly smelled the sharp spice of pine sap and the sweet green of grass after heavy rain. "This one," she repeated, her voice soft as wind blowing gently through trees.

The other two picked their pokéballs, but Ivory didn't pay much attention. Instead, she cradled her poké ball to her chest. Her heart beat hard against the metal through her skin. She almost didn't want to press the button and open it. What if the pokémon didn't listen to her? What if it didn't like her?

But she had to do it. She had to.

Candy red and ivory gleamed. The rosy glow called to her. With bated breath, she pressed the button. The lid of the poké ball flipped up, the sphere cracking open, and there was a flash of silvery light. And there, right there in front of her, was a small, sleepy-looking Snivy, huge liquid brown eyes framed by incredibly long, fern-like green lashes. It blinked, amber eyelids sliding slowly over its eyes.

"It's a Snivy," Cheren said softly, as if afraid of startling it. "Male, by the plumage." He gestured to the long ferny lashes, the elegant cresting collar of golden scales around its neck, and its tail shaped like a palmate leaf. The little Snivy glanced at the boy, turned up his snout. Then he studied Bianca with a cocked head for a long moment before turning up his snout again. Finally, he waddled over to Ivory, who knelt down in front of him.

"Hello," she whispered. Those fathomless eyes of russet and gold studied her face, roving over her every feature. Ivory swallowed hard. Her heart thudded against her ribs like a hammer. The whole world seemed to fall silent, listening to this one moment. She just didn't know what to say. So she simply held out her hand and murmured, "I'm Ivory."

Very thin, sharp teeth closed over her fingertips, but didn't pierce the skin. She didn't tense up or cry out. Only met the Snivy's challenging eyes. Her heart thumped once, twice. Three times. Each possible choice reflected in her heartbeat. His teeth pricked the pads of her fingers. She felt blood well up.

Then the Snivy blinked slowly, the light shining off his golden eyelids, and released her from its tiny jaws. Crimson lightly smeared her fingertips. Calm acceptance filled those golden brown eyes. He chirped softly, as if to say, "You'll do, human." And then the Snivy tentatively brushed its smooth, scaly nose against her palm. Slender vines, covered in soft green fuzz, reached out from beneath his arms and caressed her wrist with tiny leaves as soft as velvet.

"Hello, dearest heart," Ivory said. She breathed in the scent of aloe gel, pine needles, and forest green. Fern-lashes tickled her palm. The tip of the pale green nose nuzzled the inside of her wrist. She had never, she realized, loved anything on sight as much as she loved this little Pokémon. "Hello, my brave warrior. What should I call you?"

There was wary acceptance in those russet eyes. He would answer to whatever she decided to call him – as long as it wasn't something absolutely ridiculous, like Fluffy. Which meant she'd have to choose carefully. Ivory knew the Snivy would eventually evolve into a Serperior, a regal and aristocratic emerald snake monster. What name she chose would have to reflect his final form – noble, strong, elegantly lethal, a creature of the forests.

"Galen?" She asked. One of the young, handsome forest gods in the mythology of the Tuatha region, a brave warrior and one of the six consorts of the Tuathan dark fertility goddess. When she explained that, the Snivy blinked again. Chirped. Tightened his grip on her wrist with his fuzzy vines and nodded slowly, regally, as if to say, "It will do."

"Galen," Ivory murmured softly. Caressed one his eyebrow ridges. He gave an encouraging little hum. "Hello, Galen."

"A Tepig!" Cheren yelled. "Mine's a Tepig!"

Bianca didn't say anything. She watched Cheren lightly rubbing the top of his little fire pig's head as the Tepig oinked and grunted in pleasure. Watched Ivory melding her mind, her heart – her soul – with the small, slender, incredibly arrogant grass serpent. Then she depressed the button on the poké ball she held. Silver light flashed. And before she could even blink the spots from her eyes, something soft, furry, and warm shimmied up her leg and rubbed against her shoulder, purring like a cat.

"It's an Oshawott. The Sea Otter Pokémon," Bianca murmured, stunned by the vigor of its affection. Cheren's Tepig was enjoying being loved on, but wasn't really doing much loving in return. And Ivory's Snivy... the thing had barely spared his trainer more than a second glance, though it was wrapping vines around her arm now and demanding the human girl pet his scaled eyebrow ridges. As for her Oshawott... it purred, rumbling with pleasure, and butted its head against her chin.

"What do we call them?" Cheren asked, scratching under the Tepig's chin. "We can't just be like, 'Tepig, I choose you! Fire Brand Attack!' Some other pokémon might get confused and could totally throw off a match."

"I doubt it," Bianca replied.

"This is Galen," Ivory murmured. "My Galen." The Snivy deigned to spare the other two humans a glance before returning to his task of utmost importance: forcing Ivory's hand to continue petting him while he hummed in pleasure.

"Mulan," Cheren said after a moment. "Mine's a girl."

"Starter pokémon are never girls, though," Bianca objected, momentarily distracted from Oshawott's head caressing her cheek. "Are you sure?"

Cheren traced the heart-shaped tawny splash on the little fire piglet's snout, the little heart-shaped bit at the end of the curly tail. Male Tepigs had oval-shaped facial markings and spherical tail-ends. "See?" No doubt about it, the little pig was female. "What about you, Bianca?"

"Um..." She looked into the sloe-dark eyes. Her fingers combed through the sleek, white head fur. Tiny, pearl-white paws patted her cheeks. Then the Oshawott patted the razor-edged tawny clam-shaped scalchop shell on his pale, blue-furred belly. She knew that the Oshawott would eventually evolve into Samurott, the Forbidible Samurai Pokémon, and would become a great sword master. His name should reflect that.

"I know!" Bianca cried suddenly. "Yoichi."

"As in Nasa no Yoichi?" Cheren asked. "The samurai from the famous hanging scroll in the Watanabe Museum?"

"Yeah. It's perfect. He'll be a fantastic samurai pokémon," Bianca said. "Won't you, Yoichi?"

Ivory wasn't listening. Galen had wrapped his tiny, leaf-like arms as well as his slender vines around her wrist, chirruping happily as he forced her hand to move back and forth over his head. She was surprised his arms could reach that far. Now she was busy combing through the leafy tufts of "fur" on Galen's head with gentle fingers. Her heart had melted into syrup at the first sight of those crimson-gold eyes, and the Snivy was lapping it up, though he still eyed her warily. She knew it would take him a while to trust her. That was all right; she could wait her entire life if she needed to.

"So," Cheren said after long moments of silence punctuated by happy pokémon sounds. "How about a Pokémon battle?"


TBC
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Author's Note: so here's chapter 3 of Pokemon Ivory. I'm trying to get better about updating this fic regularly. One way to help with that is me getting great Pokemon art from the internet and looking at it for inspiration. Right now some of my favorite peeps on DeviantArt are: all0412; rannylk; aya-mei (I think that's her name); Hapuriainen; yuzahunter; and kiwchu. They rock my socks super hard. =) So check them out on DA, yeah? And of course, reviews are loves. Huggles! And Merry Christmas and happy... I can't spell Haunahahdka. *fails* But happy that, too.

- LA Knight

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Concerning the Details of Snivies: I don't really know if Snivies have fern-lashes or "fur" that's really bits of plant matter, but I want a lot of details and there really aren't any. My non-cannon changes in this matter are mostly because I don't know if Snivy is a reptile (it says he's a grass snake, but his tail is literally a leaf and can do photosynthesis, so I tried to combine traits from living plants and reptiles, hence the "fur" and "eyelashes"). I really want to show what it's like to bond with a Pokémon the way it happens in the games. I mean, obviously the Pokémon doesn't automatically think you're the best thing since sliced bread, but you've basically been given a baby Pokémon (they're only level five) so they're going to either love or hate you. I want to really show the bonding process. For that, among other things, I need physical details.

About Tepigs: As for Tepig, the gender-markings are inspired by the difference in Pokémon Pearl between male and female Pikachu – a male's tail is shaped like a lightning bolt, but the end of a female's tail looks like... well, a valentine-style lightning bolt, I guess. The end is heart-shaped. And the reason I made the Tepig female was because Tepig is supposed to be of Chinese design, so I wanted a Chinese name, and the first one I thought of was Mulan. So I made her a girl. If Ash Ketchum can have a female Snivy (which he caught in the episode Snivy Plays Hard to Catch), then Cheren can have a female Tepig.

Where is the Tuatha Region?: The Tuatha region doesn't exist. Galen is (I think) an Irish vegetation god. Since they don't have continents and countries in Pokémon, I came up with the name "Tuatha Region." The Tuatha de Danaan were, in Irish mythology, the first inhabitants of Ireland. Most English-speaking countries know the Tuatha de as fairies.

Pokemon Ivory - Chapter 1

Chapter One

The First Proving Ground
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Two years and four months earlier...
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Crap, crap, crap!


Ivory bolted between two thick hawthorn trees, but the furious shrilling from behind her didn't stop. Something large and angry hurtled through the tall grass, intent on its prey. She already knew how intent from the deep scratches bleeding into the back of her torn t-shirt. At least it hadn't bitten her. But that hadn't been for lack of trying. Only a quick swipe with the club she usually carried to and from school had saved her from the rabid Liepard's poisonous bite.

Not that I'll be safe for long, she thought as a stitch knifed her side. Especially since I dropped the thing like an idiot. Ow! Crap! Home, she had to get home! People in town had rifles. They could shoot the stupid thing! Before it bites me!

Perspiration streamed down her forehead, plastering her hair to her face. More sweat dripped from the ends of her bangs into her eyes, blinding her. Heart screaming in her chest, adrenaline pumping, Ivory fought the burning pain in her side and tried to keep running. A thorny ebony branch sliced across her face. Narrowly missed her eyes. And behind her, the maddened Liepard raced after her, intent on ripping her to pieces.

They're not supposed to get this big, she thought desperately, leaping over a fallen log. That thing's the size of a freaking Rhyhorn almost! Ivory glanced behind her, trying to spot the Pokémon that had been slavering after her. She could still hear it crushing foliage as it chased after her.

Not looking was a bad idea. Right as she was turning back around, a tree banch caught her in the face and slammed her to the forest floor. The air exploded from her lungs. She nearly forgot how to draw breath. Her head thumped against the mossy ground and she saw blinding stars. Ow. What? For a minute she could only stare up at the forest canopy, blinking stupidly. Then she heard the furious growling and snarling.

The Liepard! Ivory tried to roll over and pain exploded in her head. She tasted copper and spit blood onto the loam. When she touched her fingers to her nose, they came away coated in red.

The Liepard growled again, and she rolled onto her hands and knees. Pushing to her feet, she stumbled dizzily and smacked against a tree, unable to stand. Gray eyes locked with the glassy emerald gaze of the Liepard. There was nothing but insane hatred in those glass green eyes. The leopard Pokémon stalked toward her, its hungry gaze never leaving her face. It's long, pink tongue licked at its froth-speckled lips.

If it bites me, she thought, if it so much as nips me, I'm going to die. There was no hospital or Pokémon Center near enough for her to get the rabies booster. Unlike with Pokémon, humans could only get the shot after they'd been bitten, but it had to be within twenty-four hours. Otherwise... Otherwise I die. And no one in town has a car. I can't let it bite me. I can't let it touch me at all.

Ivory watched the rabid Pokémon's hindquarters coil and bunch. Watched it ready itself to spring at her. Her fingers bit into the rough bark of the tree trunk as she eyed the Liepard with a racing heart. Fear was an icy poison sliding coldly through her veins, freezing her in place. She could smell the thick musk of the angry cat monster. It would spring any minute. In just a second, it would be on her, ripping at her face and throat with razor sharp claws the size of kitchen knives. Struggling to gnaw at her throat with its needle-sharp, vicious teeth. Hungry for the hot blood of a fresh kill. And the only thing that stood even somewhat between it and its all-too-vulnerable prey was an oak tree.

Tomorrow is my birthday, Ivory thought, nearly choking on her pulse. I'll be old enough to be a Pokémon Trainer. I'll finally be old enough to leave home. This isn't how it's supposed to happen. And on the tail end of that thought came a sudden surge of fury. No. No, that's not how it's supposed to happen. That stupid Liepard isn't going to do spit to me. I won't let it!

Ignoring the throbbing in her skull and the sweat and blood trickling into her eye and mouth, she reached up and grabbed one of the oak branches. The wood was somewhat rotted. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Ivory wrapped both hands around the branch and yanked as hard as she could. It ripped away from the tree with the wet cracking of wet-rotted wood.

The Liepard stared at her, obviously puzzled. This little hairless thing was prey. It wasn't supposed to be doing... whatever it was doing. It should be trying to hide, quivering in terror as the huge cat stalked toward it, intent on the kill. Adrenaline lacing its hot blood, adding flavor. Fear in every beat of its terrified heart. And when the Liepard sank its teeth into the back of the creature's neck and snapped the spine, it would scream once and die. Instead there was anger in the thing's eyes. Anger, and determination.

The Liepard spread its paws and screamed, the shrill and furious screech of a hunting cat.

"Shut up," Ivory snapped, clutching her branch tighter. Part of her was clamoring that she turn and run. But if she turned her back on the Liepard, it would pounce, and she would die. Terrifying. Unacceptable. So instead, she tightened her grip on the oak branch until splinters bit into her fingers and her knuckles bleached white. And she waited for the thing to leap at her.

When it only stared at her, snarling its hunting cry with fury in its eyes, she yelled, "Come on! Stupid thing! Just do it already! I'm not scared of you!"

Big lie, the girl thought with a faint kiss of hysteria. Big, big lie.

With a sudden scream of fury, the Liepard launched itself in the air. Before Ivory could even swing her club, a huge, dark shape leapt between her and the rabid creature. The big cat's hunting shriek cut off abruptly. Ivory stared up at the looming, sinuous thing in front of her with wide eyes. Dark jade scales glittered in the weak autumn sunlight filtering through the canopy. Golden banding accentuated the slender shape of the thick, scaly body. And when the thing's gold-crested head turned to look down on her, she found herself trapped in the oldest, wisest crimson eyes she had ever seen. Gossamer-thin viridian lashes blinked once, but those eyes never looked away.

Serperior, Ivory realized. Final evolution of Snivy.

"Excellent work, Serperior," a cool, brisk voice said, and those blood-red eyes finally broke eye contact. Ivory shook herself and realized she still held the branch, now stained by tiny streams of red from her bleeding hands. She dropped the club and fell back against the tree trunk. "Very effective. If you're going to eat it, though, you should probably take it somewhere our young friend won't see you. She's had enough of a fright for one day, I think."

The Serperior shifted its slender, pale jade head to look once more at Ivory. Then it turned and leaned down to lift up the dead Liepard carcass.

"Oh, it's rabid!"

"Stop, Serperior!" Now the woman came into view. Tall, with light brown hair in a tight braid down her back, a thick scar slashing across one sightless, milky blue eye, Professor Sakura Juniper stepped forward and looked down at the carcass. Ivory noted with almost clinical detachment that the cat's head had been rotated almost a full one-hundred-eighty degrees; probably thanks to the Serperior's vine whip attack. The jewel-like serpent Pokémon peered down at the Liepard as well.

"Rabid, eh?" Professor Juniper added. She didn't seem to notice the blood splashed across her blue jeans, or the ragged tears in her tank top and field lab coat. "Well, that makes you twice as stupid. And twice as brave. You're lucky my Serperior and I were doing some field research, or you'd have been cat's meat."

At the words "cat's meat," Ivory fell flat on her butt on the ground and closed her eyes. The sudden absence of adrenaline made her eyes sting, but she refused, at a day short of sixteen years old, to cry like a baby in front of the legendary Professor Juniper, one of the only female Pokémon Professors in the world. She would not cry in front of a woman who, at eighteen, had killed a man-eating, child-searing Charizard with just a pistol, a severely burned Oddish and a level-five baby Squirtle. But Ivory's trapped sobs made her shoulders heave.

Professor Juniper asked, "Hiccups?" The sarcasm was a gentle nudge.

"N-no, ma'am." Then Ivory clamped her teeth together so that their chattering wouldn't make her bite her tongue. The scarred Professor glanced at the girl before plopping down next to her and slinging a muscular arm over her shoulder. Ivory noticed a shiny patch of skin on the inside of the older woman's arm that looked a bit like melted wax - an acid-burn scar.

"Well, welcome to the wonderful world of Pokémon, my dear! I'm Professor Juniper, though you probably knew that already." The Pokémon Professor's carefree tone of voice helped push back some of the fear still clawing at Ivory, and she nodded. "I'm the Pokémon Professor, obviously. Pokémon have mysterious powers. They come in many shapes and live in many different places. We humans live happily with many Pokémon! Living and working together, we complement each other, blah-blah-blah and all that bullcrap they feed you in school. Also, Pokémon are dangerous, most of them are highly toxic, they eat each other and screw to make babies just like people, they will kill you if you're not careful, and some of them will not only kill you, they will crack open your bones to suck the marrow." For some reason, the totally off-hand way Juniper said all this not only dispersed the rest of the post-trauma panic, it actually made Ivory laugh. "Anyway, that's enough from me... what's your story, kid?"

"Um... I was walking home from school and that Liepard attacked me." She pressed a hand to her forehead. The cut from where she'd run into the tree branch had clotted with congealed blood, and the pain in her head was swiftly fading. Now she just wanted to go home. But she didn't think she could manage walking just yet.

Juniper arched the eyebrow over her blind eye. The thick, purple scar bisected the slender brow and carved deep into what would have been a supermodel-exquisite cheekbone. The regard of that strange, sightless eyeball gave Ivory the distinctly uncomfortable impression that the milky eye could see right through her skull. Could see how terrified she'd been that the Liepard would rip her to pieces. See how desperate she was for a chance to become a Pokémon Trainer - and better, to be a Pokémon Master. But all the Professor said was, "That's it?"

"Well, yeah." Ivory picked up a fallen acorn and popped the cap and stem off to fiddle with. "I mean," she added, staring intently at the acorn, unable to meet either the blind eye or the opposite, sparkling green one. "What else do you wanna know?"

"I'll take your name."

"Oh." Duh. Feeling like an idiot, the sixteen-year-old extended her free hand to shake. The Professor pumped it once before letting it go. "I'm Ivory. Ivory Nox. I live in Nuvema Town." Professor Juniper lived in Nuvema, didn't she? Ivory couldn't remember ever seeing this battle-scarred woman in person before - although Ivory's mother had all of the Pokémon Professor's interviews and documentaries on DVD - but somehow she was sure there was a Professor (or maybe it was Doctor) Juniper in her little town.

"Ivory Nox of Nuvema Town. Lemme guess: you're friends with the somewhat difficult but always honest Cheren Gozen, he of the coke-bottle four eyes and the massive brain, as well as the flighty but dedicated, not to mention sweet-tempered Bianca Noire, right?"

At the thought of Cheren and Bianca, Ivory grinned and nodded. Wait till they heard about this: being chased by a rabid Liepard intent on disemboweling her, being rescued by one of the most beautiful Pokémon she'd ever seen in her life, and then sitting down to talk to Professor Sakura Juniper herself. It had been scary as the Devil's own personal nightmare, but with the famous - and reportedly lethal - Professor Juniper seated beside her, the fear and panic were (almost) a distant memory. But Ivory said only, "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me 'ma'am.'" But the Professor was smiling warmly now. "Anyway, I think you three have potential, so I'm going to give you a very, very unique opportunity, Pop-Tart. You're sixteen tomorrow - I keep track of the kids coming of age in the nearby towns - so you're old enough to have your own Pokémon starting tomorrow. You're going to fight your way to Victory Road, aren't you? And you plan on being League Champion, don't you?"

Ivory nodded, hands clenched into fists. Yes. Yes, that was exactly the plan. She would fight her way through the Gyms to Victory Road, and she would kick butt, and then she and her Pokémon would be Champions. She would be a Pokémon Master.

"Excellent." The approval in Professor Juniper's voice was warm as spring sunshine. Her unscarred green eye shone with something that might have been delight. "The moment you choose the Pokemon that will accompany you on your journey, your story will truly begin. During your journey, you will meet many Pokemon and people with different personalities and points of view. Most of them will be hapless morons, of course, but don't let it get you down.

"I really hope you find what is important to you in all of these travels. Befriend new people and Pokemon and grow as a person! Things will be tough - really tough. If you think you can't handle that, don't even bother trying to get to the first Gym. Only Trainers who can handle the tough stuff should bother to try. But you're tough... aren't you? A teenage kid ready to fight a rabid Liepard with a stick. You can handle it. Come on."

Juniper got to her feet and hauled Ivory to her feet. "I don't think you've got a concussion, but I'll walk you home anyway. C'mon, Serperior. Let's find some obnoxious Watchogs to fight on the way."

Pokemon Ivory - Prologue

Pokemon Ivory

Prologue

Death-Match

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Everyone always said that setting out on the journey would be the greatest experience of any Pokémon Trainer's life. From that first instant of looking into the starter Pokémon's eyes, until the moment when the Pokémon League Champion was forced to conceded defeat and they interred your name forever in their records as a fellow Champion – it would all be worth the trip. It would be the dearest and most treasured part of life. The bonds forged, friendships and rivalries begun, experiences gained:　that　was the point of setting out at the tender age of sixteen to become a Pokémon Master. At least, that's what people always said.
 

But no one ever talked about the pain. Blistered feet from hours upon hours, days upon days of walking. Shoulders that ached from the weight of the pack ladened with potions and elixirs. Eyes burning with the sand and grit from Route Four. Sunburn so hot it sizzled from the Skyarrow Bridge, where there had never been any place to seek shade. The ravenous hunger, like the razor fangs of an angry Gyrados, raking at the belly when camped out in the icy winter grasslands of Route Six, without enough money to feed either Trainer or Pokémon. Thorns and poison barbs were always a danger in Pinwheel Forest, painful shocks and even electrocution in Chargestone Cave.

 

 

After suffering near-frostbite in Driftveil City, the red-hot-needles feeling of life returning to frozen limbs could never be forgotten. Nearly drowning in the crystal-clear waters of Undella Bay, trapped in the sucking tentacles of an Octillery intent on murder-by-bludgeoning wasn't a memory likely to be forgotten, either. No one talked about the tears, the biting cold of winter in the wilds, the searing heat of high summer, the pangs of homesickness that were nearly as strong as the hunger pains. There was never a mention of the heartache as a Pokémon died in its Trainer's arms.

 

 

In point of fact, all anyone ever　did　talk about was the bright side of the journey to Victory Road: fame and glory, friends made, whimsical romances enjoyed, tourist attractions photographed, battles fought and won. But the path to the Pokémon Championship was impassible, unless a Trainer was willing to wade through blood for the chance to fight the brutal League. There was a reason – a very good one – why Pokémon were often called "pocket monsters." And mastering the monsters demanded something that many were never willing to give. Those that were, were rarely willing to speak of it.

 

 

No, those who had gone before never spoke of the pain. There was no hint that loneliness and starvation, fear and bloodshed stood between home and Victory Road. They never warned young Trainers that the road to the Pokémon League was full of danger, pain, and loss. That every turn in the path could mean death for a Trainer... or for a beloved Pokémon.

 

 

But Ivory knew of pain, and danger. She knew of death. And at this moment, she and death were locked together in fierce battle. Even if death did not yet know that it was coming for her, it didn't matter.　She　knew. After two years on the road, battling trainers and gym leaders and wild monsters, coming through scarred and battered, but triumphant and unbowed, Ivory Nox knew what death looked like, smelled like, felt like.

 

 

Blood soaked one leg of her cutoff jeans, darkened part of her once-white shirt. There was an acid burn on her left cheek from a Joltik attack. Harsh ventilation from the air conditioning abraded the raw flesh across her cheekbone. She'd lost her vest in one of the brutal battles on the way to the throne room, and her bag with its potions, berries, and healing elixirs. Without her first aid supplies, everyone had been taken down – Draculina, Elvis, Rebakah, even Lilo. She only had two Pokémon left. Just her, the indomitable Shaggy, and the elegantly lethal Galen; three against a madman. A madman who still held a piece of her heart hostage.

 

 

"You're out of your mind," Ivory whispered. Every second of looking into his eyes was like a gush of blood from a heart wound. Every moment ticking by left fear oozing icily through her veins. "You're completely crazy."

 

 

She clutched the last of her Poké Balls in one hand. Blood and fluid trickled from the blistered burn on her right arm and leg. Only Shaggy's quick shove had saved her from a painful death at the fiery claws of N's vicious Reshiram. The Scrafty had scored his own bad burn as payment for his efforts, though only a first-degree affair. Even now though, pain throbbed from the human girl's seared flesh, and the Pokémon's. The Scrafty shuddered with the searing agony of it that he could feel emanating from his Trainer. Ivory wondered if her wounds actually pulsed in time with those of her injured partner, or if it was only her imagination.

 

 

"You still willfully persist in seeing me as the villain, Ivory," the boy she squared off against said with a slow shake of his head. "Why?"

 

 

"You want to take Pokémon away from humans."

 

 

"That's always been the goal, Ivory." The boy grinned disarmingly. Phantom pain lanced her chest. Another intangible gush of heart's blood. This couldn't be the same boy who'd taken her on the ferris wheel... could it? "We're trying to free Pokémon from bondage, don't you get that?"

 

 

Shaggy growled at N, lifting his massive, scaly fists in obvious challenge when the boy took a step toward Ivory. The noxious stench of a sludge bomb waiting to form filled the throne room. N only smiled.

 

 

"I must commend you, Scrafty, for wanting to defend your Trainer. But you don't need to stay with her. Join Team Plasma. Be free of her. Be free of all humans."

 

 

Her Scrafty, nicknamed Shaggy all those months ago when he'd been a shedding little Scraggy Pokémon intent on kicking butt and being the best Fighting Pokémon in Unova - back when he couldn't even keep his pebble-like skin covering his little tummy - glanced her way with reptilian eyes that only practice had given her the ability to read. He didn't　want　be free of her. He didn't want to give in. Fire burned in his gaze, urging her to keep fighting.

 

I know you're hurting,　Shaggy's eyes seemed to say.　I　know　it hurts. I　know　you're tired. But we're strong. We　must　keep going. We　must　keep fighting. You　know　we must.

 

Pain and hunger made Ivory dizzy. Maybe she ought to give in. N wouldn't abuse her Pokémon, that was certain. Though perhaps his goons would. She'd seen the way they'd beaten the little Munna in the salvage yard nearly to death. But everything hurt... and she still had to fight Ghetsis. She only had two partners left. If she gave into N, they wouldn't have to be hurt. He'd probably even heal her other Pokémon. That possibility pulled at her heart the strongest – if she held out, and the fight took too long, the others would die.

 

 

Eyes like the blood of ancient redwood trees suddenly filled her vision. Galen – her very first Pokémon, her elegant and deadly, jewel-like Serperior with his razor-edged vines and loving eyes – trilled inquiringly in her mind. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Yet Ivory imagined she could feel one of his vines lightly caress her cheek. Ivory stared into phantom pools of liquid sunset before closing her own eyes, drawing a deep breath to steady her resolve. Galen knew every Pokémon she'd ever captured. He knew them even better than she did. He would know what they wanted her to do.

 

 

"Shaggy and Galen don't want to be free of me. We're partners." A bit softer, she added, "We're family. We love each other." Gray eyes snapped open, sparking with fury and determination. She clenched her fists – both to steady her resolve, and to keep from fainting from the pain. There would be no backing down. "We won't give in. We won't give up."

 

 

N frowned. Was that sadness in his eyes? For a moment, Ivory thought she saw the glimmer of memory: a Ferris wheel at night, the lights of Nimbasa city lighting up the dark like a thousand stars, and the golden glow caressing their faces as they talked. Then N blinked and the image was gone. Without a word, he summoned Vanilluxe and Carracosta. When he looked at her, it was like looking at a stranger. "Very well, then. The battle continues."

 

 

The battle continued? This battle with death. Were the others alright? Were they still holding on? Draculina, her precious Swoobat; Elvis, her gentle but determined Gigalith; Rebakah, her swift and reliable Unfeazant; and Lilo, her hydro-pumped Simipour. They'd fainted. She had to get them to the Pokémon Center before they succumbed to their wounds and... and...

 

That means,　she told herself, clenching her fists tighter,　I've got to beat this guy and Ghetsis quick, so we can get to a Center. So we can get help. So suck it up and fight!

 

"Yeah," she said aloud. There was no hesitation in her voice. No fear. Only the barest quiver in acknowledgment of her wounds. She was pretty sure Shaggy would have smiled at her if he could have, so she smiled at him. "The battle continues. Galen! Come on out! Shaggy! Galen!　Attack!"

 

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Explanation of the Purpose of This Fic:　My husband told me about a (funny?) fanfic he read once called "Emphasis on Monster." The concept of it really struck me – Pokémon are monsters. They probably eat each other. When wild Pokémon fight, or when evil trainers attack people or wild Pokémon, they probably kill or seriously injure their opponents/victims instead of just making them faint. Traveling around what is basically Japan before urban expansion is difficult, especially when you're, what? Fifteen? At the most. Ash is voiced by a woman, so I don't think he's hit puberty yet. My friend who likes Pokemon says he's like, 10 when he starts in season one.

 

Pokémon and humans get sick, hungry, cold, tired, injured. Yeah, there are Pokémon Centers, but what if you're not close enough to one? What if, when Squirtle and Onix are fighting, Onix breaks Squirtle's shell (a big deal for a real-world turtle)? What if Pikachu eats a poisonous berry? Or Blue Trainer slips on the mountain path and breaks a leg? Or gets seriously burned by an angry Ponyta? Falls in a hole? Trapped in a blizzard?

 

 

So this fic is based off of Pokémon White's game play (minus the random level-up battles and other such boring tedium) as played by a girl, with all those things in mind, as well as the emotional development of a kid on the road, alone, taking care of themselves and their Pokémon for an entire year or more.

 

Preemptive Notation on Artistic License:　Because the world of Pokemon is, by necessity, 2-dimension, we lose out on a lot of sensory information about that world. We lose out on more information due to the fact that the show if for children. For example, what does a Lilligant smell like? Do Servines have eyelashes? If an Onix broke a Squirtle's shell and you can't get the Squirtle to a Pokémon Center, will the Squirtle die? If Arbok bites a human being, will the human die? Can Sawk take off its gi? What does roast Unfeazant taste like? Does Whimsicott make a good pillow? Do Snubble have dog breath?

 

 

We don't know the answers to any of these things (well, we might have the answers to a couple, but not all of them). Hence, I am warning you now, there will be some details in this fic that are purely from the author's imagination because I can't find information on these things (like whether Snubble have dog breath). I just want everyone to know. In the Author's Notes at the end of each chapter, I'll tell you what things I made up.

 

 

Have a nice day!

 

IC#16: Always Another Girl

Author's Note: this poem won HarperCollins and Inkpop's short romantic fiction contest back in 2010.

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Boy Meets Girl

He saw her in the library in winter and

Only laughed when a rumor slipped out of her big mouth

Because he knew she was actually sorry if his feelings were hurt

He smiled at her at Christmas because she was alone

And she just smiled back at him because

She thought he was a nice kid

He talked to her over break when the snow fell like monsoon rain

About cake and ketchup and music and boys

And she was sad because their opinions were so similar and so different

At the same time

He welcomed her back with a hug when school began

Because she thought maybe they’d become friends

Through the web of cyberspace

When she fell in love with a loser

He wished her luck anyway because he wanted her to be happy

And when the loser ripped out her heart

He picked it up and gave it back to her with sympathy

And some snappy retorts for the abuses of the other guy

And didn’t even say “I told you so”

When she was alone and hurting

He told her funny stories and made faces

And even put up with her little sister’s teasing

Until his mother showed up to keep her company so she wouldn’t be lonely

Boy Gets Girl

When they finally got a class together

She didn’t sit with him right away because

Boys need their space but

She always gave him a smile because he always made her happy

Whenever she was on the computer

She’d drop him a line and say hi and sometimes

He’d stay quiet but when he talked it usually rocked her world

When she cried he never offered a shoulder

But he always made sure she was okay

Before he left to avoid the aftermath of her tears

When she bought him a secret birthday gift he knew it was her

But he didn’t say anything because

He knew she wanted to surprise him

And when she went on for her last show ever

He hugged her to stop her shaking and nerves and

She knew she would be okay

Girl Loses Boy

And then the other girl came into the picture and everything changed