Chapter Text
Loki was a lot of things. With Laufey dead, one of them was the rightful ruler of Jotunheim. He was Thor’s brother, Odin and Frigga’s son, and a prince of Asgard. He had fought alongside his brother since they were children, and gone on so many quests that he could hardly recall them all. (Though remember them he could, for all that Loki was, a man with poor memory was not one of them.) He was a skilled conversationalist, able to make the truth sound a lie and lies seem honest answers. He was Loki liesmith and silvertongue, not only for his skill in talking to other people, but also animals. He was the god of mischief, always coming up with a plan to cause chaos or end it.
Most important, however, and often most forgotten, is Loki was a scholar, a sorcerer, who had studied magic for 1500 years. Someone who knew everything there was to know about seider manipulation, ancient artefacts, illusions, conjuration, restoration, magical creatures, and everything else ever written down in a tome pertaining towards the mystical and mysterious. He had visited innumerable worlds, delved between the folds of the universe, and practiced, perfected, more spells than many mages even knew existed, and he still couldn’t offer up a solution for this predicament.
He was staring up at his bedroom ceiling. That in of itself would not be so vexing, if Loki had not caused the destruction of his planet some odd days ago and this room had been destroyed along with it. If Loki had not been choked to death mere seconds ago. If he could stop coughing from a wound that seemingly no longer, or never had, existed. But, alas, all of these had come to pass, leaving the god frozen on the floor where he had collapsed moments previous.
Breathing, the most essential tool of survival. Loki focused on relearning that task first. Sitting up could wait till later. He tentatively called his magic forth, and it flooded from him akin to a river overflowed with rain water. He let out a small gasp at the power, the freedom, that he had not felt since before Thanos. His seider shivered at the thought of the protruding presence. The invasion that had crippled his magic so potent that it had been irreversible. Had been, but not anymore, apparently. His seider flooded through him, checking for wounds and finding nothing.
Briefly, Loki wondered if he was in Valhalla. He had just died. But that didn’t make sense, jotun didn’t go to Valhalla, did they? And it was far too pleasant for Hel. Loki decided to think on it later. For now he had to sit up. That proved more of a challenge than the combat veteran was used to, and saw himself leaning against his dresser an entire seven minutes later.
His eyes scoured the room, reassessing now that he wasn’t floor level. Papers were scattered across the tops of the table across from him, each depicting runes or magical concepts that he had once worked on, years ago. Before Thanos, before everything. Clear mason jars filled the shelving along the wall to his right, above a desk littered with scrolls, revealing the spices, herbs, and other miscellaneous ingredients Loki has used for spells. Various stones, healing and whetting alike, lay discarded on the end table that sat snug against his bed in the far left corner, boots tossed against the side.
The window across from him encompassed the middle third of the wall, its breathtaking view of the realm bringing in light nearly all day. The view had failed to take any breath from the prince in hundreds of years, so he ignored it in favor of scanning the artificial light coming from enchanted lanterns he had decorating the ceiling. The cool light brought his attention to the chair knocked over in the center of the room. His room may have looked messy to someone who didn't live there, but Loki had everything in a certain place, and a chair knocked over in the center of the room was never one of them. He must of been sitting in that, but why?
Loki was desperate to solve the mystery of his whereabouts with utmost haste, but he was also desperate to not smell like he had just finished a battle. In his confusion, Loki had worked up a sweat, and now his bed clothes, because oh, look, he was dressed in bed clothes, were sticking to him. Without having to look, Loki knew there would be a brush on the dresser he was leaning against, along with a comb and three jewelry boxes. Had he really had three jewelry boxes? As he stumbled to his feet, Loki faced the dresser. Indeed, one, two, three jewelry boxes. He eyed himself in the mirror that hung upon the wall. No bruising. And though his seider had already confirmed it, seeing the proof with his own eyes, that he was unharmed, relaxed him.
Loki brushed his hair, shorter than he remembered it being, before deciding he should bathe. But, being who he is, nothing is ever simple, so the ground took this moment to shake uncontrollably. If Loki wasn’t sure the bastard was dead, he might of thought Surtur was back. But no, it was not the fire giant. A tingling crept across his skin and the sky darkened. The smell of rain flooded Loki’s senses. No, this was not Surtur, this was Thor.
He scrambled out of the bath and back into his room, almost tripping over the rug, and hastily dressed in appropriate clothing. As he ran outside, the sky continued to darken. Thor was beyond furious. Assuming he had met the same fate as Loki, because what could he be other than dead, it was no surprise the Thunderer was upset. Hell, Loki hadn’t had much time to think, or more accurately too much to think about, that he hadn’t gotten around to how utterly livid he was at being killed by Thanos. But that was a thought for a later date, as was why Thor had not gone to Valhalla, or how Loki had, and right now Loki had to stop his idiotic brother from destroying fake Asgard, or wherever they were.
Loki let his seider guide him, pulled towards his brother by Thor’s own magic. The clouds gathering outside grew thick and Loki knew it would rain. He scrambled through long, golden corridors that the two raced down when they were children, past the training yard where they had spent so many days beating against one another, and into a field where they had learned to ride. There were no horses here now, only a group of concerned Aesir and their prince. His brother looked quite terrifying now, lightning rippling over his skin and armor in waves, eyes glowing with power, snarl on his face. It was raining. Loki would have been afraid if he hadn’t seen Thor use his powers like this during the battle with Hela.
The other Aesir, who Loki recognized now that he was closer, Hogun, Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, as well as some of the castle servants were trying to calm Thor down, but their words fell to deaf ears. Fandral tried to approach Thor, laying his hand upon his shoulder, only to be thrown several feet away. No second attempt was made. Thor didn’t realize where he was, that much was certain. Loki mentally sighed, leave it to his brother to not get the memo that he was dead. And he ignored the sharp pain in his chest that thought caused him.
Loki shrugged off his chest plate as he joined the group. It wouldn’t do to have that much metal pressed against him if he could help it. To spend all that time dressing up, just to immediately remove his clothes. “Ah, Loki! Thank the heavens you’ve come!” Volstagg commented. “We do not know what has happened. One moment we were preparing to leave for the celebratory hunt before Thor’s coronation, and the next he was screaming and this happened.” He gestured helplessly towards the prince. The rain had deepened already and had Loki not been so close, he wouldn't have been able to see Thor through the thick.
And there was a lot in what Volstagg said that didn’t make sense, considering they were dead, which is the only option Loki was considering because the alternative was too impossible and too convenient. But he would have to unpack that information later, priority one was getting Thor to calm the fuck down.
A hand gripped his shoulder and Fandral appeared, covered in mud, soaking wet like the rest of them, and wincing. “He also doesn’t seem to recognize us. Which is troubling... unless this is your doing?” The question was not hostile, more hopeful that whatever was happening to Thor was a harmless prank.
Loki scoffed as he finished removing his gauntlets. His hair stuck against his neck uncomfortably and he shook the phantom feeling away. He pushed them into Fandral’s arms and walked forward, muttering under his breath. “Trust me, if I was doing this, then there is no way I would be anywhere near here.” The second prince took a deep breath. He really, really didn’t like get electrocuted. “Thor?” Nothing. “Brother, it’s me, Loki. Can you hear me?” The first prince didn’t even flinch. His cloudy eyes not stopping their search for some unseen enemy. Loki took another step towards his brother, a hair shy of where Fandral had been. He made to take another, but saw Thor’s fists clench in warning or preparation, Loki wasn’t keen to find out, and stopped halfway through.
Loki tried another tactic. He summoned his seider forward and towards Thor’s own, hoping to calm him with his presence. The magic connected and had the opposite effect. Thor flew into a rage, flying toward Loki. For every step Thor flew forward, Loki took two back. He leaned away from the first punch and ducked to the side for the second, pushing Thor’s arm up. This left an opening that Loki ruthlessly exploited, punching his brother in the gut and following it with a left kick to the side. Thor caught Loki’s leg, having recovered from the first attack.
He moved to elbow Loki’s knee, and Loki rather favored not being a cripple so he wrapped his other leg around Thor’s midsection and fell down to his elbows, unbalancing his brother as they tumbled into the mud. As Thor fell forward, Loki used the momentum to flip his brother over him, planting Thor on his back, before straddling him and holding him down, placing quick, whispered wards to keep him in place. They wouldn’t hold for a prolonged period of time, but Loki was hoping that wouldn’t be necessary.
“Thor, wake up you imbecile!” His brother continued to thrash underneath him, electricity attacking Loki. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out, his voice more strained when he spoke. “I am not your enemy, you brute!” When Thor showed no signs of hearing him, Loki mentally promised to apologize later, before punching him in the face. Twice. Three times. Clarity was returning to the thunderer’s eyes, and the lightning that had been weaving between them trickled to a stop with the rain.
Thor blinked as the fog cleared. His brows scrunched together in confusion. Then two amber eyes met two green. “Loki? Wha- What happened?” He looked around. “Where are we?” Comprehension dawned in his eyes and he struggled to get up, the wards keeping him in place. “The Statesman! We have to-”
“Calm down, brother! There is no more danger.” Thor looked at Loki with a new light, understanding settling across his shoulders, tears filling the prince’s eyes. Loki wordlessly removed the wards holding his brother and Thor flew to capture him in an embrace. “It’s alright. You did your best. It’s alright.” Loki rubbed gentle circles on Thor’s back as his brother sobbed into his shoulder. The onlookers hovered awkwardly, and with a wave, Loki silently dismissed them. The warrior’s three and Sif got the message first, herding the rest back to the palace with scant glances sent back.
When Thor had calmed, Loki pulled back. The older prince’s gripped tightened momentarily before he, too, let go. The two stared, eyes searching the other’s face, for what, neither of them knew. Thor hesitantly reached a hand out, wrapping it around the backside of Loki’s neck in a familiar touch of 1500 years, afraid it had been tainted by the actions of one man. The fear, of hurting his brother or of his brother’s rejection, was clear in Thor’s eyes, and Loki was quick to assure him by leaning into the touch, that neither had come to pass, their foreheads pressed close. Loki closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, sorting through his memories and relaxing his mind.
The buzzing, ever present in the back of his head since a fall many years ago, quieted as he took in his brother’s presence. Too often they had fought and argued, but when push came to shove and either of them were overwhelmed, whether it be climbing into the other’s bed after a night terror, asking the other for help in their studies, or to reassure themselves that the other was alive after harsh battle, the two gravitated to one another. This time was no different.
Thor was a man of many things. With Odin dead, he became Asgard's rightful king. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say this was true after Hela's demise, but the sentiment remained. He was son of Odin and Frigga. Both blessed and cursed to be brother of Loki. He was a warrior who had slain more men than he could recall, who had journeyed to as many lands, and had lived for a thousand years.
And though he was a great fighter, he had been raised royalty first. Many would assume he was brash, thoughtless, and prideful and, had they been talking about a younger Thor, they may have spoke true. Thor was proud to say he had mostly outgrown his foolish tenancies. (He is not so arrogant to think he has rid himself of them completely.) What many don't see of Thor is this princely upbringing. The work that goes into preparing someone to rule nine realms. His study into politics, ethics, war, economics, agriculture, and diplomacy. Everything always returned to diplomacy. Thor envied his brother in that regard. He found words as easy as Thor found fighting. But Thor was not unlearned. Living with Loki had made that impossible.
But for all he learned, seider control was not among them. Thor did not have the talent for it. He could perform the barest of spells, and even those he struggled with. The elemental manifestation of his magic made all else near impossible.
He remembers Thanos. Remembers him leaving. Remembers holding a body, his brother's body, and crying. Remembers seeing the explosion that he is now sure killed him. He remembers seeing a web of magic, some strange twisting of seider that Loki would have been able to unravel the purpose of at a glance but for him he only knew to be an extremely complex spell.
Then he woke up, but he was on the ground, compact dirt and loose mud digging into his back, soaking into his clothes. He was staring at the rapidly clearing sky with two eyes. He was staring at his brother, his little brother, alive. A brother who was giving him a concerned look, but who was unbelievably, achingly alive. He could not help that he immediately pulled him into an embrace. He expected resistance, but Loki didn't pull back, he pulled closer.
They stayed that way, lost in their thoughts such that the sun began to dip and eventually slipped below the horizon. A bell rang and both brothers groaned. Thor lifted his head, catching Loki's eye and the two laughed at their identical responses. "Even in Valhalla there is no rest it would seem." Thor joked.
Loki did not respond and when Thor glanced up at him, it was to see his brother staring toward the stables with a thoughtful look. It turned definitive and Loki faced him. "We aren't in Valhalla."
Thor wanted to question him, the instinct was there, but the sure look Loki held stopped him. "Where are we then, if not Valhalla? This is certainly no Hel." He paused then, an idea came to him that seemed too self-serving and impossible. Too perfect. "Could it be…"
Where he trailed off, Loki nodded, his own eyes on the castle that called for their return to the dining chambers with the clamor of a bell. "Volstagg mentioned your coronation." He swallowed, clear hope and disbelief warring on his face. "He mentioned that it is tomorrow."