(no subject)
My dearest brother,
If you are reading this, I have left our prison and hope to soon see you freed as well. Once I have recovered, I will work towards finding a way to rescue you so that you do not feel compelled to try the messier methods that I experimented with. Ever the optimist, I have attached substantial notes on my findings to this letter. I do not suggest you read it, but know that you'll be compelled to -- even when I'm trying to be helpful, I still end up hurting you, isn't that always the way?
Nevertheless, in the event that my boundless faith in my own ability to outsmart the rules of our petty and base existence has been misplaced and I will not be returning to lord this knowledge over you, then a few things remain between us that you should be made aware of.
First, if you had been able to find my mirror and look into it, your view wouldn't be that of a causal dreamer resting in the palace gardens, but but the never-ending vastness of the heavens. I did not keep this from you to hurt you. If I had wished to pain you, it would've been better to tell you the truth.
Second, in a petty gesture bound to end in suffering, Odin stole Laufey's own child to raise as Aesir. Such a cuckoo would've been stunted by the temperate climate of Asgard, ever running after his brother, and never able to keep pace. Read that again and ask yourself, what use could Glapsviðr have for this runt? A stalking-horse, a whipping-boy, a doggedly faithful companion, a piece of treasure to barter with? I hate to admit my ignorance, but I don't know. Tell me, brother, can you truly believe Itreker would let a bastard Jötunn advise you?
Lest you think I kept this from you too, I was unaware of my parentage until we went to Jötunheimr and the touch of the other giants did not burn me as it did Volstagg. Heart-sick, I confronted him and the All-Father confirmed my suspicions.
I can admit my own failings and perhaps it was cruel not to tell you this, but the world is heartless and works to break the unworthy. As a child, I remember pinning my hopes on some strange race of beings coming to Asgard to tell us that I was one of them, and that being bookish and quiet were gifts to be praised rather then survival traits worthy only of scorn and derision.
Finally, I offer you neither apologies nor regrets, but illumination. Know this: I may not have lived my life as I would've chosen, but I died by my own will and that freedom is awesome and worth every bitter drop of poison.
Loki
If you are reading this, I have left our prison and hope to soon see you freed as well. Once I have recovered, I will work towards finding a way to rescue you so that you do not feel compelled to try the messier methods that I experimented with. Ever the optimist, I have attached substantial notes on my findings to this letter. I do not suggest you read it, but know that you'll be compelled to -- even when I'm trying to be helpful, I still end up hurting you, isn't that always the way?
Nevertheless, in the event that my boundless faith in my own ability to outsmart the rules of our petty and base existence has been misplaced and I will not be returning to lord this knowledge over you, then a few things remain between us that you should be made aware of.
First, if you had been able to find my mirror and look into it, your view wouldn't be that of a causal dreamer resting in the palace gardens, but but the never-ending vastness of the heavens. I did not keep this from you to hurt you. If I had wished to pain you, it would've been better to tell you the truth.
Second, in a petty gesture bound to end in suffering, Odin stole Laufey's own child to raise as Aesir. Such a cuckoo would've been stunted by the temperate climate of Asgard, ever running after his brother, and never able to keep pace. Read that again and ask yourself, what use could Glapsviðr have for this runt? A stalking-horse, a whipping-boy, a doggedly faithful companion, a piece of treasure to barter with? I hate to admit my ignorance, but I don't know. Tell me, brother, can you truly believe Itreker would let a bastard Jötunn advise you?
Lest you think I kept this from you too, I was unaware of my parentage until we went to Jötunheimr and the touch of the other giants did not burn me as it did Volstagg. Heart-sick, I confronted him and the All-Father confirmed my suspicions.
I can admit my own failings and perhaps it was cruel not to tell you this, but the world is heartless and works to break the unworthy. As a child, I remember pinning my hopes on some strange race of beings coming to Asgard to tell us that I was one of them, and that being bookish and quiet were gifts to be praised rather then survival traits worthy only of scorn and derision.
Finally, I offer you neither apologies nor regrets, but illumination. Know this: I may not have lived my life as I would've chosen, but I died by my own will and that freedom is awesome and worth every bitter drop of poison.
Loki