Contained

The war was lost. The Asgardians had taken the castle, Laufey had fallen. It hadn’t taken long for them to find the Jotun runt, whose protective barriers had collapsed, in a small room of Laufey’s palace. They overpowered the boy easily, one large man bashing him upside his head with the hilt of a sword.

The last thing he heard, as everything faded to black was:
“He’s too pretty to kill yet. Take him to the Allfather… he’d look good in a trophy room.”

Color exploded behind his eyelids, and he was gone.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He awoke to a dark dungeon, men hauling him up into a kneeling position. As he came to, he saw the man-recognizable by his crown, fine clothes, and eye patch-responsible for the destruction on his home planet, responsible for the situation he currently found himself in.

“Finally going to kill me?” He spat as venomously as he could, “Get on with it then.”

“Kill you, little prize? No. I’ve other plans for you, pretty thing.” Loki’s blood boiled. A gentle glimmer to his right caught Loki’s attention. In the hands of one of Odin’s guards was a collar, glittering gold and carved with runes. “Do it,” Odin’s voice was low and cold. The men holding Loki tightened their grip, and his hair was pulled harshly back, exposing the soft flesh of his throat. He attempted to bite, scratch, kick, anything… but guard holding the collar moved closer and closer.

Loki was thrashing the moment the collar was locked around his neck. His skin was suddenly too tight, too hot. He was screaming, cursing them, lashing out with his glossy nails… nails attached to hands that were changing from their natural blue to a soft, pale peach… the color of Asgardian skin. Nails that were now clear and weak. Nails that could do nothing against the men holding him down. He reached inside himself for his magic, but there was a barrier. He realized, with a jolt of horror, that his screams and curses were becoming inhuman howls and snarls, and the men around him were laughing. Odin watched, good eye gleaming.

“Muzzle him.” The old man growled, and metal surrounded his face, pressed between his teeth, forcefully closed his jaw around the bit. It was bitter, unyielding, and cold… cold? Loki, frost giant as he was, had never felt cold. His growls turned to whimpers behind the muzzle as he began to comprehend the white Asgardian skin he was now forced to wear, as he felt his magic drift out of reach, as he felt his mind begin to fade. A hand was stroking his hair, and a click was heard, as a leash was attached to the front of the collar, “Bind him.” Odin ordered, and with ever growing panic, Loki realized that the words were becoming difficult to understand. He was dragged to a wooden post at the far corner of the prison cell, and the leash was knotted three times around it. He flailed his head, desperately trying to free himself. This only resulted in the edges of the collar digging into his throat and causing angry red marks in his newly white skin. He fell into a huffing heap upon the floor and let out a low, pitiful whine. Odin smiled and stroked a hand through Loki’s hair.

“Be good, little Jotun. We will see you soon.” With that, Odin turned and walked away, his men following him and closing the heavy door to the dark prison cell, leaving Loki in darkness.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Loki was sure that it had to have been at least three days since the men left him. There wasn’t enough slack in the leash for him to do much more than lay down. He tried to take the leash off, but couldn’t seem to move the latch. When he tried to untie the knots holding him to the post, his once-deft fingers seemed unable to work properly, sliding over and under them, but never quite right. He tried to through chew the gag, but this resulted only in hurting his jaw after an hour. He tried everything he could think of, but nothing worked.Throughout the few days, he began to lose memories of before the collar, until his whole world became the cursed thing about his neck. He couldn’t remember his name, where he came from, even what he was. Somewhere deep inside of him knew it was the runes carved into the gold doing this to him, but he could do nothing to resist it.

By the time the door to the dungeon opened again, he was positive they were just going to leave him to die. His breath was loud and rasping, his lips chapped, his throat on fire. His stomach cramped every few minutes with hunger and he found it difficult to even lift his head. When the heavy door swung open and torch light filtered into the room, Loki cringed away from it. He recognized the man that entered as the person who had the collar put on him but could remember nothing about who he was. In one hand, the old man held a torch and in other a bucket that sloshed with every step closer to Loki that he took. A loud, pathetic whimper permeated the silence of the room and the man smiled, placing the torch in a sconce on the wall. He placed the bucket down close to Loki’s cringing form. He crouched down next to his prisoner and placed a hand in his hair and began to stroke. The gesture felt good, and Loki couldn’t help the whine that once again forced its way through his throat as he tried to lean into the hand. The old man smiled, seeming satisfied with something.

“Oh, little Jotunn, today is going to be a big day for you.” Loki listened to him with wide eyes, not truly understanding was he was saying, but appreciating the gentle tone. The man’s hand reached for the clasp on the gag and released it, gently pulling it from the boy’s mouth. He pulled the bucket closer to Loki’s face. His fingers looped beneath the collar and he hauled him up to his hands and knees. He gently pushed Loki’s head towards the bucket, until his nose touched the liquid inside, “Drink, little thing. I cannot have you dying of dehydration when you meet your new master.” Odin said, voice still the gentle, sweet tone. Loki didn’t hesitate as he began to greedily lap at the cool water, jaw pedaling quickly despite it still aching from the gag. The old man laughed at his eagerness and began to stroke his naked back. When the boy had drank his fill, he sat back on his calves, eyes drooping. He was still hungry, aching, and exhausted, and with one of his needs sated, he was ready to sleep. His captor stood, untying the leash from its post and looping it around his wrist and giving it a gentle tug.

“No sleeping yet, boy.” Loki straightened himself, trying to shake the sleep off for the moment. The man ran one hand through Loki’s greasy, tangled hair and grimaced. “I would bathe you myself, but… my son has a loving heart, and I do think he would prefer to do the grooming.” He began to walk, and Loki urged on by the leash and a soft click from Odin’s tongue, tried to keep up on his hands and knees. He hadn’t even thought to stand. Weakened and exhausted, he tripped over himself a few times in the tight corridors of the dungeon, whining softly when with one stumble he scraped his knuckles. After what felt like an eternity to Loki, they reached a set of large oak doors. The one-eyed old man swung them open, and Loki let out a hiss as he was blinded by sunlight.