Following Our Own Script

Chapter Two

Loki had drifted off to sleep. Heimdall was baffled how he could knock out so easily after seeing the clouds come in. Being cooped up in the boat was the worst type of cabin fever. Sleep at least left room for dreams which left room for internal adventures.

Not that he knew. Heimdall didn't dream. Didn't think he ever had one. Just another gift the glorious Loki had.

Huginn slept as well, wing over his face, tucked in Loki's arms. He looked like a child holding a stuffed toy. Despite being a man, Loki barely looked older than an adolescent. Especially when he slept curled up like that. Heimdall reached across, pulling the furs higher over his shoulders.

The wind was starting to pick up. Heimdall had been used to the cold nights by now. This wasn't anything new. It was being violently thrown in the freezing water he was trying to mentally prepare for. Storms didn't have intentions. He couldn't make out what the next few hours would bring besides the general feeling of foulness.

They were traveling triple their regular speed and still no sign of land. If Huginn somehow screwed up directions.... We'll, nothing. They were fucked either way. The raven was their only lead.

Heimdall wasn't tired. Bored, always, but he had mastered disassociating for hours on end due to his patrols.

Patrols on walls that were forever gone. He still couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Loki was right. He had helped. Heimdall had sat back and witnessed The All-Father's death. A mercy kill, he saw it as. Because even in the end, Heimdall believed the old man tragically lost his way. Years of built-up fears and doubts could do that. Odin carried himself as proudly as Heimdall did. He was a God to the Gods. Heimdall hadn't realized he was capable of feeling lost as all other Asier were. Seemed they were really no better than mortals.

The old man had lost himself to his thirst for knowledge. The All-Father who created the Nine Realms had died long ago. Heimdall had ignored the signs, choosing not to believe this reality. The All-Father who raised him, who made him who he was, Heimdall couldn't accept that man was false.

As soon as he fell to Kratos, he became a broken pawn. Heimdall still could have been useful. He could have helped turn the tide in battle. But no, he was as good as dead. Anything that distracted Odin from the damned mask lost all meaning. He had compared his son's crippled state to the loss of a dirty dwarf. The old man was annoyed, furious that he lost something of his. But not sad that his most loyal son might have been killed. The All-Father did not mourn him. Didn't so much as extend a hand to help free him when he saw Heimdall was alive. Wanted Loki at his side, right up until the end.

Heimdalls chest ached. He'd run this thought over in his head time and time again. His destiny had been clear since he came into his gift. Heimdall spent his life serving, wanting nothing more than to be useful. What had he amounted to after all that time? He had no family, no friends. Not that he considered anyone to fit those roles. But the people of Asgard were his home. He had his space, his duties. Now, he had nothing.

Since his capture, his hair had grown just past his shoulders. His once shining white robes had been replaced with a dirty, ill-fitting, gray tunic. With how filthy it had become, gray was a compliment. His bracers were worn, his boots scraped to all hell. His golden teeth would look rotten to anyone who didn't know who he was. His jawline hid underneath a lush, golden beard. The hairs were long but curled into his face, extending no more than half an inch.

Even in his worst days, Heimdall had never been anything below visible perfection. Now he was indistinguishable from a street merchant. A handsome but disheveled street merchant.

Loki's inability to grow any facial hair was hilarious. Physically, there were no resemblances to him and his father. The boy's hair had grown out into a reddish bush. What was once a tuft of hair had now covered his scalp, landing around the center of his ears. Heimdall wondered if he'd eventually go bald. He then wondered if he, himself, would eventually go bald, and dropped the thought.

Resting against the side of the boat, Heimdal stared up at the sky. The clouds had covered the stars. The air was beginning to dampen. He'd let Loki sleep for another half an hour.

Heimdall watched as the only two people in the world who even remotely cared about him slept peacefully for maybe the last time.

Despite everything, he lived today because of Loki. Kratos spared his life on the battlefield but Loki kept him alive and well after he awoke. Loki reassured his friends that Heimdall was no longer a threat, even as Heimdall verbally assaulted everyone within earshot. He promised them death and torture. He graphically described how he'd defile each one of them.

Loki genuinely believed them to have been friends. Heimdall had beaten the ever living shit out of the brat and he still looked past it. Through the harassment, the little shit took everything Heimdall did as a quirk of his personality. That Heimdall only saw the worst in people, so of course, he'd treat them like the vile beings they were. Loki was right, and once again, Heimdall hated him for it.

Through their stupid redemption arcs, they had kept Heimdall imprisoned behind a bookshelf, tied in a basket leading to a cellar where Draupnir once lived. They'd lower food to him like a lion in a cage. With Frigg's enchantment restraining him from using the Bifrost, Heimdall had no way to escape. The echoes of their squabbles plagued him for weeks.

And now Heimdall sat, concerned if both he and Loki would make it to morning. What a pathetic God he had become.

Time seemed to only pass quickly when Heimdall wanted to relax. The darkness of the night had been replaced with a haunting glow before the storm. He nudged Loki with his foot. "Raise and shine, princess."

Loki stirred, shoving his face deeper into Huginn before slowly sitting up. Stretching, he peered around the waters. "Still nothing?"

"What does the word 'days' mean to you? For all I know, we fell off course while you two slept."

Huginn cawed, ruffling out his feathers. The raven tapped around a bit before returning to the skies. He confidently took the lead ahead of the conjured birds.

"I had an idea," Loki began.

"Just say it."

"I can conjure a deer. I think we could ride him across the waves."

"Is that how that works? You've just mastered the ability to run across water on your little spirit friends now?"

"It's worth a shot."

Heimdall rolled his eyes. "Yet another amazing tactic you've failed to test."

Loki stood, adjusting his attire. "We've lived through worse."

Thunder finally caught up to them. The waves were beginning to toss them. They'd go airborne, only for the conjured birds to attempt at setting them back down gently. The rain had just started and they were already struggling to keep water out. Heimdall grabbed the remainder of their rope, tying it to the mast and himself. He used his teeth to pull the rope taught before tossing it to Loki. "Even if the boat flips, we'll have enough slack to make it to the surface. If it starts sinking, cut yourself loose."

"Let's tie one to each other, then." Heimdall sneered at the suggestion. Loki raised his hands in defense. "Same concept. If one of us is going under, we cut each other off."

His reasoning was a lie, of course. Loki wanted to make sure they didn't separate. It wasn't entirely selfish. Just naive, as usual. Heimdall didn't feel like arguing.

The first strike of lightning sent Huginn flying back to the boat. He took refuge in Heimdall's forearm. This was the first time the bird had dissolved into him. His skin itched where the tattoo formed. "Coward."

Loki tied his bag to his back. Inside held spare arrows, his journal, a few meaningful treasures, and a change of clothes for both of them. Heimdall had nothing of importance left.

Gathering his hair, Heimdall tied it in a knot behind his head. The wind fought him on this, but Heimfall wasn't in the mood to lose this early.

Gritting his teeth, Heimdall hissed as he conjured his Birfrost arm.

"Grab onto the side, sunshine. It's here."