Archive of Our Own

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"Do not fret, my son," the queen said to the crying prince. "All children feel this way for a time. You shall grow out of it, I promise."

"But what if I do not?" Loki asked. "What if I am always an outcast? What if Thor and his friends never accept me?"

"Listen to me, my boy," Odin said. "You will not be alone forever. I can garauntee it."

The boy lifted his eyebrows hopefully. The one eyed king smirked, raised his staff, and spoke clearly,

“By the power of Odin, I command the voice of whosoever is worthy of Loki to enter his heart and for his voice to enter yours, so that you may find one another…”

A pregnant pause followed these powerful words. Lady Frigga smiled and tucked Loki's greasy hair behind one ear. "There now."

The boy remained perfectly still, waiting to hear this voice. Nothing. Hello? He thought tentatively. Hello, can you hear me?

Still nothing. Perhaps it had not worked...

"Give it time." Odin commanded. The king and queen offered no further words of comfort. Loki excused himself from the throne room and went to bed.

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Is somebody there?

The corners of Loki’s lips tilted upwards in a slow, dazzled smile, and he dragged open his eyes. It had not been words in the literal sense, nothing heard by ear, no definite form of letters in his mind, merely the specific, intense twist of curiosity and question within, a certainty that one was not alone mixed with the uncertainty of strangeness.

Loki looked about his vast, empty bed chamber and saw not but stacks of books. He swallowed loudly and sat up in his large bed, finding that his heart was heavy with hard beats against his breast bone. So Father had done it after all…he had called forth Loki’s potential soul mate. Someone was out there, meant for him!

Excitement gripped the young Asgardian prince like a fist closing on him head to toe. His spine straightened, his ribs narrowed. He closed his eyes and willed every last modicum of energy into answering the inquisitive tug. He was not sure of how to do such a thing, and knew that speaking aloud would be pointless, but he could not help it, so desperate was he to answer quickly,

“I am here. I am here.”

…Who are you?

“Yours,” Loki answered instantly. And it swelled out of him like a soap bubble hardly with his own consent, a rush of certainty unlike anything he had ever known. “We belong together.”

Where are you? It came quickly, almost instantly. As if to whom he spoke was standing before him. Loki gasped, a thrill tingling his fingertips, a laugh falling past his lips.

“My room,” he uttered softly, though within his head it was a scream, a palatable substance that he pushed away from himself and toward—toward the feeling of the Other, the presence that was somehow inside of him. “The palace. Rainbow City. Asgard. The Realm Eternal.” There were no instant answers to any of this, and Loki feared that it was too specific to translate into instinct, so he generalized, “I am looking for you.”

A warm vibration from the center of his soul rippled outward, and Loki shuddered with pleasure, giggling, for that had felt like the echo of thrilled laughter. “Are you looking for me?”

Yes. I shall find you.

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Thranduil knew not how it was possible. But so it was. There existed another linked to him, a heart. It was hidden in the unseen, yet bound to him for the eternal. That heart… oh, that shining silver jewel of sweetness burned hot as an ember in his chest. He had never felt such a thing in all the years since his ancient birth.

After the initial confusion of this awakening, he meditated on this Jewel, relishing for hours in the constant stream of I want you, I want you, I want you, which rolled off that new heart into his, the same way the heart of the ocean pounded against a cliff in waves.

He did not sleep.

Walking through curtains of moonlight falling from the Greenwood trees, Thranduil kept his face turned upward for glimpses of the stars through the foliage. He wondered if the Jewel was looking up at these same stars.

He ardently hoped so. But more than this idle wondering of romantic whimsy, Thranduil had a greater question.

The elvenking closed his eyes and turned into the rush of new light within him.

How can this be?

He wished to know this more than anything else at the moment. The question circled endlessly through his mind with no hope of an answer. There was no record, no knowledge, of such a in all of Arda. He would have heard about it before now, without a doubt. Perhaps they knew of it in the Uttermost East, across the East Sea, in the Land of the Sun… Was his second heart there?

Where are you?

No answer but for… perhaps… Thranduil stopped walking, head cocked slightly to the left. A smile. The answer to his question was a smile. He felt it as surely as the wind, though nothing like that brush of breath on the skin. It was more like a string tied on each heartbeat, tugging each one up a little higher than its usual reach so that his pulse seemed to prance proudly though his veins rather than its usual liquid race.

“Do I amuse you?” Thranduil asked, out loud into the peaceful night. He chuckled and, shaking his blond head, continued his walk. Still, the Jewel funneled a lifetime of desire into their connection. So long it seemed to say, I have waited for so long. Now I can know you. At last. At last. At last.

As ever, Thranduil’s gaze drew upward. Those stars… perhaps he had gone mad but it seemed as if the Jewel lay up there among them...

They were connected over a great and cold distance, and, frankly, the beauty left no room for doubt that this came from the heavens.

“You are Unseen,” he said aloud, if only to further cement the vow. “But you shall not be out of reach forever.”

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One Thousand Years Later

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WHERE ARE YOU?

Loki felt the question shoved on him like a shield pressed over him, blocking out the sunlight and forcing him onto the ground—figuratively of course, for Loki was sitting in the library and not physically pushed at all.

It did distract him from study.

Loki sighed, breath wafting over the many parchments spread out before him. By now, he was more than accustomed to this Other’s forcible nature and impatience. After a thousand years and still no luck, Loki knew only two things. This Other was not a woman. And he was not in Asgard.

Beyond that, Loki was lost. His only option was to look further, wider, harder. Magic was the key; of this he was certain. It had been Father’s magic that forged the bond, and magic wove the nine realms together—it stood to reason that magic would lead the way.

His devotion to this end had made him pale and thin from lack of outdoor exercise, for almost nothing could pull him from his mission to unite with this enthralling one bound to him. Except the Other himself.

I am looking for you, Loki answered calmly after a moment of silence. He did not like to reward such rude behavior with an instant answer.

He resumed reading and ignored the familiar prickle of annoyance from his soul mate. He had just come upon something interesting. He ran a long finger beneath the words as he reread them to be sure but… why, if this theory had any merit, then there were other paths out of Asgard….unseen….

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Incensed, Thranduil paced before his throne in the throes of yet another tantrum due to worn patience and growing loneliness. He needed know where the Jewel was, NOW. Time had run out. He could not put it off for any longer. He was pressured from all sides to wed, to produce an heir.

Only one—one—in all of existence was worthy of such a role, yet could not be found. The previous link did not but reassure, from across untold distances, with infuriating calm, I am looking for you.

This did nothing to prove the search for one another was as desperate on that end as here.

How dare he?

Thranduil paced.

Do you not long for me as I do you? DO I MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?

Patience, came the smiling reply.

Getting lectured on the art of waiting whole millennia only fanned the flames of the elvenking’s ire. YOU SHOULD BE HERE!

Thranduil frequently forgot in these tantrums that even if the Jewel could be delivered to him, the immediate problem would not be fixed. The king would still have to wed another.

This he knew well. Over the last millennia, Thranduil had tasked his most trusted Elves with an unobtrusive study throughout elven realms and this effort had born no fruit. So, then, he had to admit that the darling Jewel was not Elven.

This, Thranduil could not help it, had been a blow even with the possibility of another race. (In his wildest fancy, the Jewel was of the Ainur, a holy spirit of great power and beauty, awoken into existence straight out of the mind of Iluvatar and sent specifically for Thranduil the Elvenking of Greenwood. And in his most sobering moments of doubt, he worried that the Jewel was the heart of a mangy dwarf.) Such worries were mere trivialities. Because, regardless of outer appearances, he knew he would surrender to and cherish whomsoever this precious treasure may be.

Imagine it, there he was willing to overcome the impurity of coupling outside of the Elven people, and yet the Jewel remained out of reach at precisely the time that it had come for him to marry and produce an heir. It was not fair.

How could he love someone so much, feel so much, yet open a new part of his life without this person at his side to share in it? Marriage and a child. Fatherhood. With some lesser, unworthy—albeit beautiful—Elven bride.

I would rather it be you, my love. He thought closing his eyes and letting his heart bleed. I would rather it be you.

This was met with feelings of mild confusion and curiosity, understandable as the details surely did not make it the whole way over their link, but then came an overwhelming sense of I will be with you someday.

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Many Centuries Later

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…Can you feel this?

Loki felt the guilty question distantly, along with a pleasant sensation filtered like a light shrouded by a veil.

His Other attempted to hide something from him, but could not stop thinking about him at the same time. Loki smiled. He knew what his soul mate was up to. He was not an idiot. Loki was even fairly certain that the Other was not doing it alone.

This had become fairly common communication between them over the last hundred years or so ….first would come this feeling of deep pleasure and satisfaction (usually cloaked like this) followed by tinges of guilt and shame that always bled into the usual frustration at their separation.

At first, Loki had been unsure whether or not it was duty or sheer weakness. Now, Loki understood from his Other’s varied feelings that it was strictly duty, but not unpleasant duty, and thus the source of the guilt.

Loki did not mind. In fact, he admired the fortitude it took. And furthermore, the only duty that required a marriage was something like his own duty here in Asgard—or rather, the duty he might one day have should Father decide he be worthy to rule (and really, how could he not?)

So this promised two things. 1) Loki was bound heart and soul to a prince or a king and thus someone far easier to find, and 2) his Other would forgive him for his own duties if (when) Father gave him the throne.

When the guilty pleasure tickled him within today, Loki happened to have a free afternoon and slipped away to his rooms for some privacy. With the click of his lock, he leaned into that fiery touch like one might knock on a door.

May I join you?

The veil whipped away with a flourish.

Loki was consumed there in the middle of the room with the most syrupy, delicious sensations of pleasure and wilderness.

He became momentarily blind and totally breathless. He stumbled to his bed and collapsed there with thrilled laughter as he undressed quickly. As his own physical pleasure began to blot out all else, the Other pushed back, billowed at Loki in gusts of passion swirled with shyness and apology and greed. It lasted several minutes before something sparked and flared inside of Loki, bringing the most shuddering release that had ever rocked the prince’s body.

As it faded, Loki became increasingly aware of the chill in his room, the emptiness of his bed. His eyes pricked, but he kept the water in them from falling. His heart wrung heavy. He closed his eyes and said to his soul mate, I wish I was in your arms.

Me, too.

“It’s not fair,” Loki said dully to his ceiling. “I thought when we were linked that I would see you soon. Now the centuries just keep rolling by.”

Trust in us.

Loki put a forearm over his eyes, which had started to sting again. I do.

Patience.

Loki snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

The Other smiled. I can wait for all eternity if I am promised but one day with you at the end.

“No.” Loki laughed. “I’ll need more than one day with you when I find you.”

Hurry up.

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Not long after that

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Thranduil paced to rid himself of nervous energy.

From above (or within), a frown of intrigue tugged at him from the treasured heart.

Thranduil bit his smiling lips. He had not meant to alarm the Jewel, but his anticipation had crossed the connection and betrayed the vast importance happening here. And how true that was…if only there was a way to explain it all more clearly… The king had been trying these many moons to convey to the stars this monumental occurrence, but to no avail. His Jewel no doubt felt mounting trepidation and indecision but could not know the source.

“King Thranduil." A musical voice broke into his thoughts respectfully. The she-elf bowed, her face glowing with happiness.

Thranduil held his breath. This was it. All that he had wrestled with and all that he had hoped converged inside of him as she delivered the news.

“You have a son.”

You have reached a decision at last, the Jewel observed with amusement. And it is good.

Yes, Thranduil returned, equally amused for he had not decided to have a son, but had merely learned that the gender. It is the most wonderful…most humbling… Thranduil knew not his own feelings, let alone how to convey them to another.

He conversed breathlessly with those around him as they moved with measured pace toward his wife’s chamber where he would meet the new prince. He could hardly wait, but certain decorum had to be met with as well.

Inside the room, the king laid eyes upon his wife where she lay weakened but smiling in a clean bed. In her arms was the smallest elfling Thranduil had ever seen. Pausing just inside the door, he asked, “Isilwen, do you feel well?”

She nodded and motioned for him to come closer. “Come here.”

He promptly lost his breath and moved with swift grace to their side. A large smile spread across his face as he got a closer look at the little face resting on her shoulder, the tuft of blonde hair that stood straight up on the crown of his head.

Laughing in ardent fondness, the king ran his fingers lightly through this silk hair and felt how soft and warm the little head was. His heart seized and love so strong it hurt cut through him. It was unlike any love Thranduil had ever felt; unlike the distant light from the Jewel or the learned behavior between himself and Isilwen. This was real and present.

“What shall we call him?” Thranduil asked in a soft whisper. He could not stop caressing the child’s incredibly small, velvet head. Even as he spoke, the Jewel made himself felt with a pushy question--

Where have you gone?

With one ear respectfully on his wife as she mused aloud options for a prince’s name Thranduil assured silently. I am here, my love.

You feel….different. With it came fear and uncertainty.

Thranduil closed his eyes to will such fears away. There is nothing to fear.

What has happened?

Thranduil opened his eyes and stared with wonder at the little form beneath his hand, resting on its mother’s heart. All at once, explanations were simple.

Life. I have given life.

Understanding blossomed like a volcano bubbling out of the ground without an explosion. The joy that accompanied it eased Thranduil like nothing else, and he felt his shoulders relax as he crashed fully into this blessing.

Yes. Yes. It is good! I have a son. I am a father!

“What about Legolas?” Isilwen asked.

Thranduil smiled, leaning closer to peer at the tiny eyes that had opened at the sound of the name. “Yes,” he purred, glancing happily at her. “Legolas.”

“Yes." She shifted the infant to better see his face for herself. Together, the new parents sat smiling and gazing in wonder at what they had created together.

“…have you shared the news?” she asked lightly.

Thranduil wrapped his hand around hers quickly, for he still found it difficult to discuss the Jewel with her in such blasé tones. She met his eye with a knowing smirk and the king confessed, “I could hardly hide my joy. I think now he understands….he is happy for us.”

“Then I am happy." She stroked her son’s smooth cheek. “…A child should be loved by all his parents.”

Thranduil kissed her forehead in gratitude for her deep understanding, and perhaps there was a throb of real love for her somewhere, tied closely to his feelings for his son but apart from it and only for her. A heavy sigh swelled Thranduil’s chest and rolled out of him at the thought that he had stretched his heart quite full already.

Should he ever meet this promised Jewel, then he could not survive it.

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Sometime after that…

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“BECAUSE NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU CLAIMED TO LOVE ME YOU COULD NEVER HAVE A FROST GIANT ON THE THRONE OF ASGARD!”

The Allfather collapsed. Loki rushed to his side. Odin lay crumpled on the stairs, so unmoving Loki feared touching him and feeling a cold corpse.

His heart rang with the pain of this uncovered secret about himself (--a frost giant, a monster, and one so pathetically puny they  left him to die in the cold--) and the fear of Odin’s health (--so still, too still, this can’t be how it ends, I didn’t get to say goodbye--) that as he finally laid fingers upon his weak, fluttery pulse, the power of Loki's relief returned his voice. He cried out for help.

As others rushed in and took over the care of the unconscious king, Loki fell off to the side. His breaths still wrestled with great difficulty into his lungs. His stomach hurt, the wound to his pride bled so profusely that he felt overly drained and too thin to live another moment.

A frost giant.

Not one of them at all, so of course it should have always felt he was different. Of course. Because he did not belong. Of course. Thor was always going to be king. He, Loki, never had a real chance for it. They never thought he had it in him to be anything but the pet monster.

YOU HAVE ME

The sentiment seemed to have beaten itself bloody against the tide of sorrow surging from Loki’s heart, struggling like a fish upstream to reach the center of Loki’s soul. It burst clearly through Loki’s whole body, an emphasis on the ME, as if to say I know you feel as if you have no one, but I am here.

Also packed around the reassurance was a great deal of worry, along with the most haunting, ethereal lament for his happiness. It felt as if a dozen sublime voices joined in chorus to mourn the loss of his smile.

Loki closed his eyes and thought as hard as he could. I NEED YOU HERE. I NEED YOU NOW.

Tears slipped from beneath his lashes. No matter how dearly he prayed for his beloved to somehow, somehow, traverse the staggering distance between them in the blink of an eye, it could not be.

Please don’t cry, the Other whispered across the cosmos. Think of me. You have me and I you. One day we shall be together. One day. One day, my love.

“Could you love a monster?” Loki murmured.

The question was too specific. All he got in return was I do love you. You. You. Only you.

Loki wept freer, for once not believing that voice in his heart. Not trusting it. He, whoever he was, could not love a worthless giant.

Do not give up. Alarm vibrated through the connection and energy, too, as if the Other was in action, half frantic with urgency. We shall be together. We shall. I SWEAR IT.

Drying his eyes, Loki regained control of himself but only for the sake of his love, who was innocently suffering by proxy. I believe you. He sent back with soothing tones.

I’ll find you. The simple, resolved promise was one that had drifted to him in the sweetest of lullabies for over a thousand years. Its presence now, a comforting weight of heat and sincerity in his chest, eased Loki like nothing else could ever achieve. Its succor allowed the tension in Loki’s gut and spine to relax finally.

I’ll find you that cherished heart repeated, this time even less than a whisper. A soft caress over galaxies unknown.

Remembering the many unseen paths he had yet to explore, Loki smirked. Not if I find you first.

The Other’s smile tingled down Loki’s spine, a soft thrill; a feathery dance of delight.

“Loki?” someone cut into Loki’s thoughts as he basked in the joy of his love.

The woman’s brow was knit and Loki realized it was because she had discovered him sitting at his father's bedside with a twitching smile of satisfaction on his face. He smoothed his expression into something more solemn.

“Has word reached my mother of this?”

“Yes,” the maid answered stiffly. “She makes her way here now.”

Loki dismissed her with a motion of the hand and turned his attention on his father. With Thor exiled, there was no one else to rule…

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“You are burdened,” Thranduil said aloud, troubled. He looked up through the foliage at the stars.

Beside him, Isilwen knew he spoke not to her, and kept her attention on the elfling walking ahead with his little practice bow and arrows. The three of them had developed a custom of walking this path every evening as a family, the guards keeping their distance ahead and behind. Night always fell before they reached home, so that the king may see the stars.

He was silent for a long stretch of the walk as if listening. He even kept his ear turned toward the heavens, the sight of which always drew a crooked smile across Isilwen’s lips. The king drew to a stop with a look of devastation on his face, his breathing altered.

She caught Legolas by the quiver strap and returned to her husband’s side to take his hand. Thranduil gazed upon her in something like horror and sadness.

“I believe he has given up looking for me.”

“How could he?” she asked, truly aghast.

“He does not wish too,” Thranduil translated. “He is apologetic—greatly so—but he feels a duty… he has simply run out of time at present…. one day perhaps …but no time soon….”

“I am sorry,” she said sincerely.

Legolas stood staring silently up at his parents. His brow bore one wrinkle of confusion as to whom they could be speaking of. The mystery did not last long on the elfling, who began practicing his draw again.

Isilwen touched the king’s face, hoping to offer comfort. “You still have the link, and you have us. What is another hundred years or more? In the meantime, your son shall grow tall and strong and that will be enough to deal with.”

Thranduil remained mired in gloom for only a moment longer before her words reached him.

His eye lit upon the growing child. He reached for Legolas, who allowed himself to be swept off the ground and into a spinning hug. Father and son laughed happily at the dizzying sensation.

But when the twirling stopped, and Thranduil resumed the trek home, he did not share in any more careless laughter, and seemed distant.

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“I could have done it, Father! For you! I could have done it for all of us!”

“No, Loki,” Odin said.

Selfishness. That had been all this was. Loki saw that now. He had wanted his soul mate and the throne. As he looked up into the Allfather’s gaze, it suddenly became clear that Loki had been denied the throne for the simple reason that he had been gifted with a king of elsewhere---but of course.

Loki was not to bring his Other here. He was to go There, wherever he was. His sorcery had but one purpose...

“Loki, no!” Thor shouted, reading it on his brother’s face the decision not to climb back onto solid ground.

“Loki,” Odin said—but he said no more. The rest was in the gaze.

Sorrow that it had to be this way, hope that it would be better where he was going, and love. Just love.

Loki accepted such a goodbye, summoned the magic he would need, and released Thor’s hand. His brother screamed for him until the portal closed behind him and all that had ever been Loki’s life was left far behind.

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Thranduil had been listless in the life he led in Mirkwood. Not quite weary of Isilwen, and never bored of Legolas, but undeniably uninspired by all of it.

After such steadfast promises from the Jewel that they would find one another, Thranduil had never let himself consider what was now clearly evident: Just as his own duties anchored him to this forest, similar duties kept the Jewel far away…It seemed they were both imprisoned in their own kingdoms…

If this was to be the extent of his life for who knew how long (perhaps always) then what purpose be there of the soul bond in the first place? Why gift him with such a treasure only to deny him of it? These questions had filled the king with an impenetrable strop, broken at last by the singing joy that flashed into his dreams now.

Essentially, the Jewel had chosen him over his realm.

Flattered beyond measure—in all honestly frightened by such devotion, for he could not return it---Thranduil now sat alone in the dark, his eyes wet and his fingers trembling at the a volley of Show me the way Show me the way.

Thranduil meditated on the forest.

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Loki fell…or more like sank, for he was not in space. He was wrapped in a cocoon of magic that wormed him through the very weave of the universe, into every crack and crease and it was rather like sinking through a gelatin of some sort. He sank toward the Other.

Loki followed the pull as best he knew how, hoping against hope that he was not imagining it when the connection felt strongest in this or that direction. A steady tide of love and longing guided him, so full of hope itself that it felt like the most delicate of crystal, breakable. Loki touched and prodded with care, and in doing so, began to imagine…. Trees, of all things. A forest. Ancient and steeped in raw magic.

Is this you? he sent it back, these random musings of a woodland. The rush of positive excitement goaded him on, and he dared sink further, squeeze into smaller cracks, and squirm toward the light whether there was a path or not. Loki made the path.

As if birthed through a pinhole, Loki emerged triumphant into a new world. He managed to land on his feet, and was only slightly out of breath. It could not be helped that his ego swelled to new heights.

Damn, he was good.

Chuckling in self-satisfaction, he dusted his sleeves, and took his first bearings of the world where he would find his Other.

Shadow shifted over him, and Loki looked upon the scaly hide of a startled dragon.

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Thranduil's heart raced. At last, they had done it, somehow.

“You are in Arda." He paced the room filled with such nervous energy that he could not sit still. The king ascended the stairs that carried him above ground to his personal garden, where the stars filled the night with white fire.

There was no one there, though it felt as if there should be. The Jewel was closer than ever before—as if only in the next room. The night sky held no intrigue now. The pull was…to the north? Yes. North. Unable to slow his feet, Thranduil searched all over the palace as if he might still find the beloved stranger.

The things that came to him now were sharper and easily confused as Thranduil’s own emotions. He gazed upon his home with brand new eyes. The Jewel was here!

It was not long before the overwhelming wonder of the world gave way to more complex feelings—that of alarm, and fear, and ferocity...survival. With these abstract thoughts came pictures.

Thranduil’s blood ran cold. Dragon country.

Be cautious, my love! Fire serpents are highly dangerous.

I’ve gathered. The words formed in Thranduil’s mind as if he had read them off a page, full of character both familiar and new; a voice out of the dark. Well… it mused, your people are fierce. I had not anticipated this.

With the words came the most bewildering twinge of horror before it was quickly drowned by acceptance.

Thranduil stopped and leaned on a tree, so relieved that the matter of race was so easily swept aside. But he, this outsider from an unknown world, would not be so easily accepted in Greenwood… especially if he was not tall and slender….

Trepidation tickled Thranduil’s resolve.

What do you look like? Thranduil asked tentatively.

There was a long pause. Fear not, I shall be like you. And with this came images of the fire drakes.

I am no dragon!

Well, I must say that is a relief, the jewel returned, smiling. Where do I find you?

You have come, Thranduil said with the subtext of relieving a heavy burden from weary shoulders. (The Jewel had done quite enough after giving up a realm and finding his way here. Thranduil wished to do his part to close the gap.) Rest. I shall find you now.

I don’t want to rest, I want more of you. All of you.

As do I. It is better than I had dreamed. You are no longer a ghost.

Hmm, yes, you are tangible…. A shiver not his own coursed Thranduil’s body and made his blood rush. He stuttered for breath, surprised, as the new voice whispered, hmm, if your VOICE feels this good, just think how it should feel when…

Enough of this, Thranduil said with all his will power. I have work to do to save you from the north. Hide yourself and know that I will be there shortly.

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His soldiers readied for departure in great haste. Thranduil stood still as servants dressed him in armor. The queen arrived wearing the same.

“No, Isilwen, I go alone.”

“With all due respect, my king… I cannot let you. Not alone. And you would aid me were our roles reversed, would you not?”

Thranduil gazed upon the courageous face of his wife, the mother of his child. “What of Legolas?”

“Precisely my concern. I will not have his father dead when my bow might have saved his life. We will return before we are even missed, and Legolas will have gained a parent.”

The king’s jaw slackened and his eyes filled with wonder. “You are truly….” There was no word to encompass all of her virtues. She turned a twinkling eye upon him as she was handed her long bow. “I know.”

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Loki stretched his leathery wings and soared around a dark heavy snow cloud. The frigid temperatures of the north could not penetrate his scaly armor, and the view from such vaulting heights was truly breathtaking. The whole world, it seemed, glittered with a thick blanket of white snow, and nothing moved. It was as if only he and his Other Half occupied this realm.

Though of course that was not true.

The dragons Loki had stumbled upon were vicious, greedy creatures, whose entire purpose it seemed, was to destroy and plunder, wreak havoc and bask in glory. They amused him, to say the least.

He spent weeks teasing them with his magic, frustrating and bewildering them by taking all kinds of shapes as he scurried from one hiding to the next.

As he played, he never ceased to encourage the swift arrival of his Other Half, for Loki could not wait to at last meet him, whatever small, helpless little creature he might be.

Loki's flight carried him far and wide as he honed in on his beacon of love. Loki had sensed it when his Other had entered dragon territory—the disgust and fear and anger the Other felt for such beasts. It had made the most sense, then, to take a safe shape and fly to meet him all the sooner.

The sun had burned out of the sky, and Loki’s dragon eyes were still adjusting to the murky twilight when it began. Loki knew his Other was in a battle and offered what strength and support he could while flying faster. Then--

Pain, unlike any Loki had felt in the whole of his life, consumed the Other.

With a dragon screech that rent the air, Loki fell from the sky, sharing the agony. It was fire. Loki could feel the scorching heat and the flames as if it had somehow crawled beneath his fire-proof scales.

He hit the ground hard enough to make a crater and there he lay until he had managed to veil the Other’s pain, keep it apart from himself. Then it was no more.

Loki stood on shaking legs, fearing the worst and unable to face the possibility. He shook out his wings and took to the air with more urgency than ever before. He knew exactly where his love was thanks to that searing pain; he had felt him like a needle point stabbing into the map. He flew straight there.

..

..

..

Loki found a despairing sight.

Crumpled in a heap, a frail body in fine armor, singed blond hair obscuring the face, it was him! An ugly dragon stood over him.

It was a matter of minutes and magic before that beast was a lifeless heap of meat. Loki morphed back into a man midair so that he landed on his feet and ran straight to his wounded soul mate.

So near him, near enough to touch, Loki felt as if they were magnets with a very real force between them. He was almost afraid of touching the man--wouldn’t it burn?

Kneeling beside him, Loki made out pale skin, fine golden hair, regally pointed ears, perfect hands and fingers ringed with precious stones in silver settings. He was dressed in rich fabrics, and crowned with leaves. He had been holding a sword, its craftsmanship foreign but surely matching if not surpassing that of Asgard.

The entire left side of his beautiful face was charred to the bone, up into the hairline and over one of those strange ears. His fire-blackened teeth were showing out of the side of his head.

Loki thought he was going to be sick.

Others like the king were crispy heaps nearby. The one nearest was a beautiful woman, burned to death from the chest down, green lifeless eyes looking up at the sky. She wore a crown to match the first. Loki surmised that she was the mother of his soul mate's child.

Regret, cold and heavy, weighed in his stomach and he cast a look quickly around, terrified at the notion that the child had grown enough--how quickly did they age as children?--in these past centuries to have come along on this joyous adventure.

Alas, the other bodies were burned beyond recognition, seemingly haven thrown themselves in front of their king and queen to protect them. Tears fell freely down Loki’s face and he had never been more sorry.

He had usurped the throne, hurt his brother, disappointed his mother and his father, and all of that was nothing to this. He should not have let them come into dragon territory for him; he should have insisted that he could get himself out.

Burned flesh and hair was rank in Loki’s nostrils. When he dared touch, the flutter of his soul mate’s pulse was weak against Loki’s fingers.

The pain they had shared through the connection had ceased with his love’s unconsciousness and Loki did not wish him to feel that again, so as a precaution he placed a sleeping spell on the injured beauty. Then he returned to the shape of those hideous beasts and lifted him in his claws.

Outside of dragon country, Loki had to stop being a dragon or risk being killed. He paused at a stream and cleaned the wound as best he could. The king felt so fragile in his arms. Why did it have to be this way? Was Loki worthy of anything unspoiled?

But this could be fixed, if he hurried.

He made himself look like the king's race--the same pointed ears and long soft hair and the same colored armor, before running as swiftly as he could to the nearest village. Once there, a simple spell helped overcome language barriers. All he had to say was that “my king has been injured--help! He needs help!”

The people were mere men, yet no one asked Loki for a name, and no one asked and which king would that be? They looked at his pointed ears and their eyes went round.

“What has happened to King Thranduil?”

..

..

..

Thranduil, the Elven king of Greenwood, father of Legolas--these things Loki learned as he stayed by his love’s side in the village, keeping the sleep spell upon him.

The men at first was alarmed by the golden sphere encasing the king, but Loki insisted they work to heal him as if the Odin Sleep were not there and soon enough they did so.

Soon, they were joined by Elves who took charge. The company journeyed to Greenwood in a great regal state of horses, banners, and weapons. It felt appropriate for what Loki knew of his kingly soulmate. He would be comfortable here--once this horrible accident could be forgotten. 

Many questions were put to Loki regarding his identity. They knew he was neither Man nor Elf, but he staunchly refused to answer the inquiries.

He replied only that explanation would be given by the king when he was healed. Loki did not know how much Thranduil wanted to tell his people. A king’s strength was often his secrets.

Loki sensed their distrust in him, but either they could see he would sooner die than let further harm befall Thranduil, or they had been given prior instruction to welcome a new face no matter how strange; regardless, the Elves allowed Loki to stay among them.

Some even followed his orders.

He studied these people quietly and found that their species was thin and ethereal, ancient and strong. Everything they did was with grace, deft skill, and silence.

Their language twisted the tongue yet every other word ended in airy open shapes. They rarely raised their voices. In disagreements, their eyes did more damage than their swords.

Everyone in the company was blond, making Loki’s long dark tresses stand out starkly among them. He had started to think that all Elves were fair, but upon crossing into king Thranuil’s territory, they were joined by what seemed to be an army of dark-haired archers.

Loki quickly determined that these elves were “common” and not as revered. What an interesting dynamic that placed upon them.

All at once, the gliding stretcher came to a stop. Loki looked ahead and dropped his jaw.

He had to crane his head back to admire the vaulting height and sheer size of the trees around him. This is your kingdom? It is mystical. It is beautiful.

His grin faded when his comment was met by nothing through the link. He looked down at Thranduil, so pale, so still, so charred and ruined. Did the sleep block the link, or did some things make it through into the slumber?

Just in case it could work, Loki focused with all of his might on sending a message through to him. I love you, and I am here. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but I will make it better. I will heal you, and you will wake, and then I will show you such love and devotion. I love you and I am here…

The palace (partly underground, on the ground, and in the trees) far outstripped Odin’s palace in Loki’s opinion. Its elegance was profound, the design exquisite, yet displays of wealth were muted. Décor was simple: green, green, green, wood, wood, wood, some marble and a touch of silver. And the atmosphere of the whole place seemed hushed to the point that the very ground felt almost sacred.

A youthful elf with the same blond hair and pointed ears as everyone else was the first to meet them at the palace entrance. Loki recognized the blended features of the lost queen and fallen king. This had to be Legolas.

The boy was the age Loki had been when Odin first blessed him with the soul bond. On the very cusp of maturity, awkward and miserable in his own right. Now he had this new burden.

Legolas never spared one look Loki's way, for no one directed his attention to the strange common elf.  He kept wide eyes locked on the charred face of his father, and asked many questions, which were hesitatingly answered in loving, gentle tones. The boy shed profuse tears over the loss of his mother, as expected, and fled. Some weeks would pass before Loki saw him again.

The king’s chambers provided great comfort and safety. Loki sat at his bedside night and day, sleeping in a chair--not daring to climb in next to him, though he longed to do so. He did not wish to find out what would be done if someone walked in to find the stranger, the mysterious dark-haired elf Loki, spooning their wounded king.

Upon his request, puzzled servants brought him parchments and maps to read, long histories of the world. Loki made it all his constant study. This was his only home now. He learned that more than dragons, Elves and Men inhabited Arda, and that evil sank its claws into this world as easily as anywhere else. Knowledge of science was limited, even when cloaking it under the category of magic.

They did not understand enough basic physics to properly explain what they knew to be true, and thus Loki had to sometimes squint in order to see how they made a connection between one thing and another. Sometimes, he couldn’t follow their logic at all. Their magic was in some ways extremely rudimentary, raw and unwieldy, but in other ways so concentrated into their very beings as to make what Loki had studied all his life seem like superficial parlor tricks.

Thranduil’s wounds were extensive and slow to heal, but over the next several weeks Loki’s keen eyes saw progress. He sent word to young Legolas, hoping that it might convince the boy to visit his ailing father for the first time since seeing him so ruined.

Within the hour, the elven prince slipped carefully into the room, green eyes flashing.

“You are him, aren’t you?”

Loki, who had been reading quietly at Thranduil’s side, snapped the book closed and dropped one knee over the other, smirking in surprise and pleasure. “He told you about me?”

Legolas nodded. “He told my mother, too. She said when you arrived here you would be our family, a father to me as surely as he was.”

“As he is,” Loki corrected, stomach dropping and he huffed. “You have a father, still. He will wake soon.”

“He would wake now if you would take that strange magic from his mind.”

Loki shook his head instantly and reached to smooth the hair over Thranduil’s ear. “I want him to be healed before I wake him. I do not want him to feel that pain again…” The memory of it swamped him, terrified him, and he inwardly flinched away from it.

The boy entered the room, studying the golden light around his father curiously, head tilted. “It is strange magic. Unlike all I’ve seen in Arda… he said you are from a different place, a place among the stars.”

Loki could not contain his wide smile. So Thranduil freely shared the details with his wife and son, how charming. “I am from Asgard. It is a glorious realm.” Sorrow panged sharply through his heart, he vividly recalled the love in his father’s eyes as he let him go, and he cleared his throat. “But I live here now.”

The boy tilted his head, studied him for just long enough that Loki began to feel uneasy. Then the young prince asked, “How did you get here?”

“Magic," was Loki’s instant and impish answer.

“What sort of magic?”

“The Allfather's will coupled with a makeshift transportation spell induced a wormhole through the very fabric of the universe.”

This was met with a puzzled expression, and Loki chuckled, reached for the terminology he had learned to use through his readings. “Our love pulled me through many veils.”

“This cannot be your true form; there would be no Silven Elves in Asgard.”

Loki laughed outright, and beamed at the boy, wagging a finger at him. “You are perceptive, Legolas. I am not sure I enjoy that about you.”

He smiled. “He will be happy that you can look like us. He was worried how you would be received if you did not. Our people are not fond of outsiders.”

“That is a common problem throughout the universe.”

“May I see your real face?”

Loki froze, eyes lifting from Thranduil’s injured face to the precious boy. His heart beat quickly as he considered how to answer such a request.

Then, with a little smile, Loki spoke.

“I was born in a horrible, dark place; a lightless one. But I did not belong there. The gods marked me to die young, and I would have, only I was taken from that place to Asgard where I could survive. It is called the Realm Eternal and it is the source of all light. My face was changed then too so that I would fit in. I grew up there, and learned the magic that brought me here where my face has changed for the final time. You gaze upon the only truth that matters. I am where I belong. Does this answer satisfy you?”

“Not really…but it’s okay.” The boy smiled so broadly that his little nose wrinkled and Loki felt an alarming rush of fondness for the child.

“What is that you carry? A bow?”

“My mother gave it to me.”

The way the child hugged the weapon to his chest said everything Loki needed to know. He sat aside his book.

“I wish I could have known her. I know that she was beautiful and beloved.”

Legolas looked at the ground, nodding mutely.

Loki retrieved his dagger from his boot. “My mother gave me this. I am never going to see her again either, and I miss her so much I even sleep with this thing.”

The boy giggled.

Loki winked. “What a pair we make, hm?”

Understanding aglow in those young, piercing eyes, Legolas eyed the knife. Loki turned it in his fingers, allowing it to catch the light. “I would let you hold this special dagger if you let me test that very important bow.”

After a pause, the elfling slowly extended the weapon, and Loki happily tossed his dagger up, caught the blade deftly, and presented the handle to the boy. Legolas’ eyes flashed with awe at the small, thoughtless display, and he all but snatched the knife from Loki’s hand.

“Careful,” he chastised lightly. “If you cut off a finger or toe your father will wake from this enchantment and kill me.”

Legolas grinned again with such careless freedom that his chin dimpled. Already, he tossed the blade as if he had been born with it in his hand. “It has good balance.”

Loki huffed, amused, as he took up the small bow. It was the perfect size for the little elfling at his current height, but that would not be so for much longer. He plucked the string, felt the vibration through the old strong wood of the handle. Its essence was heavy; the same raw magic of the forest, unshaped and unspoiled. Clay ready for molding.

It took but a moment and then the bow whispered in his hand.

The boy’s soft blue eyes popped round, and the dagger he had been attempting to balance on one finger clattered to the floor with a melodious ring of metal. Legolas lurched for his cherished weapon. “What did you do to it?”

Loki surrendered the thing instantly, hands in the air. “I only wanted to help.”

“It’s…it’s…”

“It is awake. It may feel different in your hands, and for that I am sorry, but it will age with you now. You shall never outgrow it.”

A fat tear rolled down Legolas’ face. Suddenly, he threw his arms around Loki’s neck. The Asgardian barked with alarm and then huffed.

Awkwardly, he patted the elfling’s silken hair. “This way you may keep her forever close to you.”

“Thank you, Loki.”

“You are welcome.”

..

..

..

The king’s face would never be the same again, but the wounds had closed, and the cartilage of his face--though bare--had regrown. It was time to wake him. Loki nervously double checked his appearance in a looking glass, and ended the spell.

..

..

..

Through the stillness of the abyss, welcoming warmth enveloped the king. Thranduil had not been cold--he had not been anything but at peace--but the new cocoon felt like a balm to raw skin that had been blistered by the cold. He turned into it, sensing for the first time the corners of his own mind, the depths of his own heart. He thought of the green trees of home, of Legolas’ smile, Isilwen’s company, and the Jewel. The Jewel!

I am here, that velvety instinct touched Thranduil’s mind and it from that cocoon which had tempted him out of the abyss. I am here, my love. My Thranduil, I am here.

Hearing his own name in the link excited Thranduil’s pulse into a race and he replied frantically--still unaware of his own body, only aware of his heart---yes, yes, yes, I am Thranduil! You know me! You know me at last!

I do. The Jewel smiled. I know you. I even see you. Right now, I am feasting on the sight of you. You are divine. My love. My Thranduil.

You see me? The thrill of this prompted Thranduil to remember the notion of light, and eyes and, with that, the existence of his body. He found it stiff, weak. Unmovable. But I cannot see you! I--I-- I cannot move!

Easy, love. Remain calm. It is okay. You are safe. You will move soon, I promise. Let your body shake the Sleep. It has been many weeks so your limbs will not be free of the lingering magic as quickly as your mind.

What is happening?

Silence met this. Thranduil became aware of a throbbing vein of sorrow in the tender cocoon; a wailing lament, and the Jewel only asked, do you remember what happened in the north? With this came the urgent and terrified whisper, Fire-serpents!

As if a door had opened in the darkness, Thranduil remembered.

..

..

..

Loki knelt at the side of the bed, holding Thranduil’s thin, alabaster hand between both of his own as their minds touched again for the first time in months. The familiar tug of Thranduil’s haughty impatience, his selfless wonder, and his kingly arrogance, humbled Loki to tears. The salty water ran hotly down his cheeks as he tenderly guided Thranduil’s mind back to the land of the living.

And when the king remembered the horror of the dragon attack and the pain of it, Loki cried out for him, giving a voice to his despair.

On the other side of the bed, Legolas held his father’s other hand. “What? What has happened? Is it working? Is he waking?”

Loki nodded, lips trembling, putting all his efforts into soothing his beloved. “He is distraught--he is remembering her last moments.”

Legolas choked and began crying as well. “Did she die quickly?”

Loki nodded, glad at least that he could offer that small comfort to the motherless boy. He turned his mind back to Thranduil.

 Your son, Thranduil, your son is here. Legolas. He mourns her with us.

Legolas? The question came sharp and eager, and so filled with pain and worry and love. My son! My son!

He is well. He misses her, but he is strong. Like you. …He still needs you as much as I.

I am here. Tell him I am here.

Loki chuckled through his tears. “Your father longs for you to know that he is here for you. That you still have him.”

The boy smiled.

He says he loves you, Loki related. He is a bright and kind boy, my love. He and I have become friends.

I must wake! I must wake! I must speak with my son!

The urgency of this prompted Loki to assert his mind over the king’s with a firm command. Rest! Legolas is well. Fighting the last wisps of Sleep will only wear you out and make you sleep longer. Hush now. Rest. Rest in the embrace of my heart; it is here forever as your home.

Loki eased off when he felt Thranduil’s mind relax back into the cradle of their link. He smiled and sent fond feelings, and relished in the nudge and tickle of that fondness sent back in new colors.

..

..

..

Thranduil was unaware of time passing, but it did.

A day or two went by, maybe three, before he became aware of the heat of a palm pressed his, fingers intimately tucked among his own. Unlike any hand he had ever held.

It felt white hot, but cool. The sensation of this flesh against his was more than it should be. It was alive and it was poignant.

When at first he had felt this intimate tug heavenward, and then more powerfully to the north, he felt it now directly within his grasp. The link--that astounding scope and power stretched over untold distances--was condensed into this touch of two hands.

You’re holding my hand, he said to the Jewel in amazement. He had been sure this day would never come. He had not realized how much hope he had lost over the centuries.

And, of course, in that moment when the dragon turned its fiery breath in his direction, he had been certain to his core that it was the end of all things.

A smirk met this remark. The soul which he could sense in more detail than ever before (a velvety mass of love, trickery, magic, sarcasm, heartbreak, anger, regret, arrogance, and books) teasingly replied.

I would hold other things, but we are not alone in your chamber, my lord.

Laughter came to Thranduil, like a powerful spring breeze lifting his hair from the back of his neck. As if from another lifetime, eons ago, humor swamped him and made him lighter, made him younger. With this rejuvenating emotion came other feelings which the joke elicited from him. He suddenly recalled his manhood and the thrills therein.

Soon, the Jewel promised him and the grip tightened reassuringly. Soon we will be one in flesh as we are in heart. Until then I am content just to be here with you. Thranduil, Thranduil, Thranduil, I am here with you. You…. you are more beautiful than I could have hoped….

What had been a stream of devotion halted and stumbled and the last part of it--well it was not exactly a lie, the Jewel did believe him beautiful, but there was more to it. The emotion Thranduil felt over the link was not simple reverence for his form. It was also…. acceptance…. tolerance… a feeling like I love you and believe you are beautiful despite it all.

All at once, Thranduil realized. There is something you are not telling me.

Silence met this.

What is it?

The question was met only with hesitation, love, longing, regret, and fear.

Thranduil’s skin woke in goose pimples as the Jewel’s fear became his own. Dread filled the elf so heavy he felt he could sink back into the abyss. It was beginning to make sense suddenly, why he was Sleeping at all.

Somehow he hadn’t thought to ask.

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME?

Hush, my love. All is well again. You are well again. You will be strong again.

WHAT HAS HAPPPENED?

Do you not remember?

All he could recall was the wall of screaming fire slamming into him. And pain. Such pain.

You were badly burned. It is your face, Thranduil. And with this came an image, a horrific, frightening image of Death. His face, incinerated on one side so that only charred bone remained.

Quickly following this image was another. The same wound, but healed. The black flesh had turned to ruddy scar tissue. There was little muscle left on his jaw and no cheek to speak of. White bone, white teeth, pink gums and pale cartilage showed through the side of his head. His left eyelid was gone, the eyeball a useless white orb. His ear was badly mangled by scar tissue, and his hair line did not begin on that side until nearly the top of his head.

With this picture came the knowledge that the wound would never look any better. This was his new face. Forever.

I am hideous.

Loved. You are loved. And fear not. Please, fear not. I can mask it with my spells. You will look as you once did when you wake, I swear it.

How could you love this face?

It does not matter how, it only matters that I do. I do, Thranduil. I love you as you are and I always will. Now--and here came that familiar surge, that force that was the Jewel taking command--you must rest.

..

..

..

Thranduil’s sleep was filled with mourning, for both his wife and his face. The first was a deep and bleeding wound that would heal, the second was a suffocating blanket of bitterness which only helped the sleep imprison him. Loki knew Thranduil did not mean to let him know, but frequently through the link, Loki sensed Thranduil’s certainty that he was a monster unworthy of love.

Loki spent the next few days perfecting the spell he had promised. He created a bit of magic which would mirror the unmarred side of the king’s countenance. When he applied it, he marveled at the sight. Such beauty.

He sent the image through the link and basked in Thranduil’s answering relief and gratitude.

I can feel your touch.

Grinning, Loki ran the pad of his finger down the center of Thranduil’s inner arm. “You can feel this?”

I heard you! With the echoing exclamation of thrilling excitement, Thranduil’s face moved a little and his fingers twitched. I am waking!

Loki calmed him and encouraged that he relax and let it happen without fighting the pace of the magic, least he tire himself out. When Thranduil relaxed and fell back into the peace of sleep within Sleep, Loki withdrew his hand and stood.

For months Loki had not left the king’s side, and so crossing the king’s chamber to the door felt strange. He paused there and looked back. Thranduil was as still as ever in the bed, but the last wisps of Sleep were falling away and within the hour he would be sleeping only under his own power. Soon he would open his eyes and move about.

It was strange then that Loki chose now to leave, but he had thought long and hard on it.

Though determined, it was not easy to put distance between them. He lingered longer at the door than he would have liked; half tempted to go back to Thranduil’s side. But he found his second wind and stepped through the door.

The servant girl waiting outside surprised him. She leapt to her feet and bowed. Like the others, she had been informed by Legolas that Loki was now the king’s betrothed. Since then those who had come in to administer to the king’s needs had treated him like royalty. He smiled kindly at her when she worriedly asked if all was well. “The king will wake soon. Bring Legolas as quickly as possible.”

She was gone in a flash.

He took her vacated seat, having never intended to travel too far from Thranduil. When Legolas arrived shortly after, Loki begged him to go on in and wait for his father to wake. The prince eagerly took the handle of the door but paused and tilted his head. “Won’t you came in and wait, too?”

Loki smiled. “A father and son have a special relationship that no one else should ever intrude upon. You and he have much to discuss. I will wait here.”

Legolas smirked. “But, wait, won’t you know what all is said anyway--through your connection?”

“I will only know what he feels. Not what you feel, or what is said. I will not intrude on your privacy, Legolas. We are friends.”

With a grateful smile, the prince slipped into the room.

..

..

..

Waiting just outside the door, Loki first heard cries of relief and greeting, and felt over the connection an intense wash of a father’s love. Then came fresh grief over the loss of Legolas’s mother. It was crushing, enough that Loki himself shed some tears as sounds of sobs drifted from under the door.

Loki waited with somber patience, his eyes closed, offering strength to his love. Thranduil accepted it but questioned him. Where have you gone?

I am near.

I sensed as much, but you are not near enough.

Your son deserves your full attention at this time.

He has had it. Now it is your turn.

Patience, my love. Do not dismiss him so quickly in favor of your own pleasure. He needs you.

His needs have been met and you will allow me to dismiss my son whenever I so choose. Come to me now.

Loki grinned crookedly and idly polished his nails on his tunic. I am not your dog to be called to heel for your every whim. This impertinence was met with the blunt force of a king’s outrage. Thranduil’s commanding voice boomed from the chamber and through the link.

“I have felt your touch and heard your voice, but I have yet to see your face or learn your name. You WILL come to me this instant!”

Loki smirked, cocked his head towards the door. “Or what?”

The door opened so suddenly he gave a start. Then found himself eye to eye with young Legolas slipping from the room. The boy elf grinned at Loki. “He does not like to be teased.”

Loki grinned as he rose gracefully to his feet. “He will learn to.”

Legolas tilted his head and blinked puzzled blue eyes, and Loki realized then that perhaps his comment had been inappropriate. The boy was quiet young and surely the concept of delayed gratification was just out of his reach.

Clearing his throat, Loki quickly picked a new topic of conversation. “I apologize for distracting him. The two of you should have more time to mourn your mother.”

“He need not mourn her alone. She died to bring you to him. Do not let that be in vain.”

“And it shall not be. By my word.”

Thranduil’s son glanced back at the door he’d gone through. “I like that you don’t jump at his every command. Even my mother did that. I think you’ll be good for him.” And with that, the young elf raced away.

Loki stepped into the room. His heart was thumping at a dizzying pace.

..

..

..

Incensed by the Jewel’s impudence, Thranduil attempted to leave the bed. His body was so weak, he couldn’t manage to lift the heavy quilt from his wasted form. When the door opened and a figure moved through, Thranduil’s heart was fit to explode out of the cavity of his chest.

Tall, dark, and so, so gorgeous; who was this divine creature? His pink lips were curled impishly and long lashes shaded emerald eyes. His black hair was shorter than most elves wore it, barely reaching his shoulders. He looked like an elf, his ears tapering into fine points.

When their eyes met, it felt to the elven king that all of the power of the Unseen unfurled within his veins. The connection thrummed like a plucked string and the glory of the stars faded in comparison.

“What is your name?” Thranduil whispered.

“I am Loki,” came that sonorous, blood thickening voice, and that grace filled body moved near and sank its weight at the edge of the bed so that Thranduil could not deny that he was real. “I am Loki, and I am yours.”

“And you are here.”

“I am here,” Loki scooped up the king’s hand and kissed it. Those pink lips blistered across Thranduil’s skin in a pinprick point of ecstasy. “I am here at last.”

“At last,” Thranduil could only echo, heart pounding so hard and so fast it choked his voice. “My Jewel…”

His attempt to squeeze Loki’s fingers was feeble at best and Loki moved swiftly into the bed to lie by his side. Thranduil eased back into his pillows and marveled up at Loki who was on an elbow over him.

He smirked. “A jewel. I rather like that.”

“You are the most precious treasure." Thranduil said, brows lowering a fraction. “What other name for it is there?”

No answer. Loki gave up searching for one, as his curiosity in Thranduil outweighed the need for idle words. He combed gently through the elf’s white gold hair, the silken locks so weightless they slipped from his fingers nearly undetected so that he had to do it again and again before it registered with him that he was touching something physical.

Thranduil lay still, surfing the profound wonder funneling into him, and relishing the feeling of Loki’s brushing fingertips--strangely calloused, wickedly deft, and surprisingly cool to the touch.

“…I fight with blades, magic, and truth,” Loki intoned in a soft whisper, answering the unasked inquiry of his rough hands. His speech was slow and drawn out, as he fell backwards into memory and chose words idly. “Weapons have made me strong…magic has made me the best… and yet the truth ever limits me.”

“What truth?” Thranduil demanded, turning his heavy head into the touch as a pensive Loki stopped stroking him.

The corners of those pink lips quirked, and he resumed stroking Thranduil’s hair happily for it was rather like playing with light (something he had always dreamed of doing as a small boy, bending the sun beams to his will.) All of this Thranduil somehow understood as if it were the lyrics of a favorite song whispered in his ear.

In this way, they both read one another and learned as they talked and didn’t talk.

“…If I tell you, you would find me abhorrent,” Loki whispered when Thranduil’s interest in the matter would not subside. His inner turmoil on the subject broke through his words, making him stutter slightly. “A-and yet if I conceal it then a piece of me, however small, will forever be unknown to you.”

“Then tell me.” Thranduil demanded again.

“My origins are… unsavory.” Loki’s eyes fluttered closed, and his skin frosted over.

Thranduil hissed as the warmth of the bed was sapped to oblivion and the body beside him became blue with cold. When Loki opened his eyes, they were as red as dragon fire and the king could not help but shudder.

“A world called Jotenheim--a world of monsters. It is the shadow of Asgard.” As he spoke the name of the second world, the frost vanished, his skin returned to a warm cream, and his eyes reverted to the color of summer. His ears had remained pointed throughout, giving the king the suspicion that they were not naturally so, only a stubborn new statement. (And a much appreciated gesture in Thranduil’s opinion.)

Loki continued. “But they raised me as a prince of Asgard, and the Allfather, King Odin, granted me the wish of true love. He gave me you--and then absolutely nothing else. I did not understand until now--until I found you--that he could not afford to give me anything else. One cannot have this gift and the throne as well.”

One eyebrow crawled up the elf’s face. “Oh? Am I to hand my throne to someone else before I can keep you?”

Loki grinned. “One little forest on the map of the universe, darling, you may keep yourself occupied as you see fit. I had had hopes of ruling worlds.” He touched their foreheads together, and over the bond came the rush of an entire ocean crashing down, an ocean of stars and celestial bodies so vast they had no name or shape, and so many worlds--countless--subject to the crown he had wished to wear. It was enough to squash out that little weed of indignation Thranduil had felt to have his kingdom belittled.

For a moment, they lay in one another’s arms, contemplating the vast reaches of the universe (the distance Loki had traveled.) The flicker--for it was brief --of true astonishment that rocketed through the elf made Loki smile and nod slowly.

Thranduil lifted his chin and pretended that the universe in its full glory measured equally with his kingdom and his duties as the king. His silver green eyes sparked defiantly. He was sent by Iluvatar to rule this Wood, after all!

Loki’s face split into a wide, brilliant smile and his laugh echoed loudly through the room. Thranduil’s skin woke up and tried to lift with the sound, to dance, and his laughter mixed with it. He found that he possessed the energy to lift his arms, to shift his weight. He sat up, slowly, but strong.

The way his hair fell unevenly around his shoulder was the first reminder since Loki had entered the room. The dragon fire. His face. With a shaking hand, Thranduil touched the scarred side of his head as if it might still be hot. He found marred flesh, and the burning prickle of sensation too similar to the bite of fire. The phantom pain consumed the king and caused his breath to stutter.

Then suddenly, Loki’s hand closed on his, and that cold touch of other-worldly skin dragged a grateful gasp from Thrandiul’s lips. The king placed the hand instantly on his now scorching face. Loki’s fingers brushed the hurt away, soothed it like the resplendent night sky after a hard day of unforgiving sun.

He felt Loki’s elation to be so useful, so needed and appreciated for his ice. Then Thranduil felt an instant vow that, come what may, Loki would be within arm’s reach to perform this simple task for the rest of his life. Thranduil pushed back through the swell of emotion his own swamping instinct to keep and protect, to spoil and learn from, this gift from the heavens.

Perfectly soundless and indestructible promises, given in the life of a heartbeat; in that moment they were wed. Their souls clothed one another in unbreakable ties of companionship, love, and commitment.

They rested their foreheads together again. Loki held his mismatched ears, Thranduil rested his hands on Loki’s collar, toyed with the interesting texture of his hair (soft, but thick quite like fur, almost.) Their minds spilled into each other’s and their hearts entwined.

When next they knew of a world beyond their own shared skins, the torches had burned out. Thranduil felt again some heaviness in his bones, the need to sleep warring against a desire to never close his eyes again.

Loki stood from the bed only long enough to pull away his layers. Thranduil feasted upon the exposed shape of his back and shoulders, the pale skin stretched over firm muscle, the long sweeping spine and the high prominent wings of his hips. As he bent to pull away boots and stockings, the soft trousers he wore wiggled down his hips enough to give Thranduil a thrilling peek at back dimples and hint of a crevice. Then Loki returned once more to his place in the bed, and made himself comfortable beneath the blanket.

Heart beating quickly, Thranduil could not have hid his reaction from his soul-sharing husband. Loki’s lips sloped sideways in a grin but he sank into the pillows and made no further movement. After but a moment, the king lifted to an elbow, brows closer together. “Is it the way of Asgard, to sleep half naked?”

True intrigue tickled the king via the link. “Do you mean you have never done so?”

“Why--no; sleeping in not but your skin is for animals and--dwarves, and the like,” he scathed, nearly laughing.

Loki did laugh. “You had been married nearly five hundred years and never once you fell to sleep without less than a shirt and trousers?”

Thranduil sniffed. “You imply my lady and I shared a cold bed.” The inaccuracy of this assumption rang between them. In the following silence, jealousy, love, understanding, grief, and acceptance permeated the pair of them.

Loki lowered his eyes and his voice as he spoke of the departed. “I am simply struck by the custom to dress afterwards, every time--as if it is but an appointment to be filled, an errand to clear from the list.”

The first whispers of doubt were like clouds between them as the way of elven people confused the Jewel profoundly. “Is that the way you wish it with us? Do you intend to have me and then send me to my own bed?”

“Whichever is the more comfortable for you,” Thranduil responded diplomatically, inclining his head, smiling as he sensed that Loki’s answer was to sleep here in his arms.

The smile did not linger, for there was a problem with such a hope. Sleep.

Thranduil closed a hand over one protruding hip bone and felt Loki shiver from the unexpected touch that ignited their blood. “However, I do intend to take what is offered. To see one so undressed in my presence can be nothing else but submission. If you must only sleep, then wear a shirt.”

The king watched color collect gradually beneath that alabaster skin, and Loki rolled closer with his lip between his teeth. “I had hoped to let you rest but if the sight of my bare chest has implied a promise, then by no means shall I break it.”

..

..

..

“You have so much to learn of this place,” Thranduil mused as his fingers traced lightly from Loki’s hip to his ribs.

Like the king’s hair, his fingertips were ethereal and Loki hardly knew if it was happening or if it was mere fantasy.) He had imagined such fingers countless times with such desperate longing that he had almost felt such a ghosting touch before.) Perhaps there was more to the caress, but Loki was distracted from the physical by the subtext of the king’s mild statement.

Laced within it had been equal parts amusement and trepidation that he could be so different and unlearned in the preferred ways. Too different.

The words whipped from Loki’s tongue in a tumble of pain. “I have learned much and understand more daily. Soon, I shall be as one of you to the very last detail--”

“Do not change yourself too greatly,” Thranduil ordered.

In the silence that his voice commanded, endless acceptance and love radiated from the king, retracting the brief inclination to the contrary. He fished Loki’s hand from beneath the pillows and again placed his palm over the charred cheekbone.

“Your secrets and wonders humble me, Loki. It is your mystique and puzzling nature that I have always adored, and I had even begun to fear that in the flesh your strangeness would cease and you would become boring--but now I know that is unlikely to ever happen. Learn to fit in on the outside, but in these small ways and in private, never stop opening my mind to the alternative ways of the universe.”

“I hereby promise, Thranduil of Greenwood, to teach openness every night,” Loki teased.

He watched it flash in the elf’s eyes, and felt it quiver in his hands and soul. His wicked words had woken a deadly desire to ravage--or was that his own desires washing back at him? Loki did not know anymore and hardly cared.

“Fuck,” he gritted hoarsely, rolling to cage the king to the bed. Their cocks mashed together, hardening rapidly against one another. The obscene human word was foreign to the regal elf, whose mind put forward a question mark but nothing else because Loki humped against him. The pleasure was like a sponge in their bond wiping away everything but light. “I need you.”

“So long,” Thranduil moaned hungrily, bucking back against him; fingers now clawing down Loki’s bare back. “So long we have waited.”

Rocked by every pulsating wave of pleasure ricocheting between them, Loki felt as if he was a leaf caught in a tornado, and in the frenzy clutched at the bed clothes to orient himself enough to continue rocking his arousal against Thranduil’s.

Theking’s wanton words swirled with every thought and feeling in his heart as their bodies clashed haphazardly for the first time. Loki had barely nodded his head in agreement before the acute flutter of excitement tipped him over the edge.

He plummeted--finishing into his trousers as if he had been alone in his bed like all the previous times, only the mess was far bigger and infinitely more embarrassing.

He cried out as it happened, a shocked and defenseless sound as he spilled his seed before he meant to. Below him, the king scrambled, letting loose a low guttural sound of primal satisfaction before shuddering and gasping. Loki understood that he had dragged Thranduil over the edge with him. Whether or not it had happened far more quickly than either of them had intended, it had been by far the best release in the history of their long lives.

As they rested against one another, heads spinning and breathes shallow, Loki tried to imagine how it could have been any better with their bodies as merged as their minds. He shuddered again, and Thranduil chuckled.

“I do not think we would survive it,” he said. “To merge any further would rend one or both spirits from the flesh--and once removed I do not think it can be put back, not without dark magic anyway.”

“We would be lost,” Loki agreed.

He nosed at Thranduil’s stomach, where he had collapsed with his face buried in the king’s soft bed shirt. He rucked it up to kiss flawless, glowing skin. Thranduil's body went taut beneath his lips, flashed with heat and color, and the skin rippled with bumps of anticipation. It was enough to make Loki hard again already, and he felt dizzy. “But oh the temptation.”

Thranduil made a noise in his throat, a shapeless command as he tugged at Loki’s ears and dragged his head up. Their lips connected in their first kiss.

Lightning popped between them, jolting them together, burning their lips with cold fire--and then it was over.

Even with his lips caught firmly between the elf’s, Loki felt suddenly alone in a storm of confusion.

Thranduil,  likewise, felt as if he had finally succeeded in slamming shut a door and sealing himself away from uncontrollable chaos. Peace and tranquility at last.

“Darling?” Loki cried, lips smacking from the king’s. His eyes flew wide, terrified, his body seized. Thranduil clutched at him in alarm. “Here. I am still with you.”

“What happened--it has closed--how--why?” even as he asked those questions he knew the answers.

The kiss.

Allfather had never intended for the bond to be a permanent fixture, merely a means to an end. Its purpose had been to bring them together, and in doing so, was now done. He saw on the king’s face that the elf was smart enough to have concluded the same thing.

They lay together in the quiet and marveled at how, though they were in one another’s arms, it could feel as if a canyon had opened between them.

To Loki, Thranduil was quite suddenly an ethereal enigma. All at once, he was forced to acknowledge that though he knew Thranduil’s heart better than anything in the cosmos, he had not yet learned the subtleties of the elven king’s facial expressions. Simply put, Loki could no longer read his lover and thus knew not what Thranduil was thinking or feeling.

Likewise, Thranduil was suffering. Loki’s alien origins were more apparent than ever now that the familiarity of the jewel was taken from him. In his arms now was an elf unlike any other. The stranger schooled his face into one of regal mystique. His hair was thick and styled to a curious length. His eyes--his eyes held power and darkness, too.

“You have been a literal presence in my heart for so long,” Thranduil whispered, giving voice to the yawning cavern in his chest. “I feel so…. so lost with out it.” Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes and within the space of two breaths he was sobbing.

Loki clutched him, held him close, and his own tears slid from beneath his perfect dark lashes. “I know, I know,” he murmured against Thranduil’s skin. “I feel the same. But you are not lost. You never shall be. I am here.”

Yes, Loki was there. His body heat, the loving grasp of his arms, his heartbeat under Thranduil’s hand. With intense desperation, Thranduil consumed Loki’s moist, supple lips, sucking Loki’s tongue into his mouth with fervor.

All he knew was that he wanted him in, wanted to consume him. More than anything, Thranduil wished to curl Loki up and store him in his rib cage so that he would be as close as he once was.

“Now it is more important than ever to me that you should never leave my side. I miss you.”

Loki plundered Thranduil’s mouth hungrily, evoking a shudder. “Let me in,” Loki gasped between kisses.

A frantic fumble to remove the king’s clothes made Loki huff with laughter. “Have the merits of sleeping in our skins occurred to you yet?”

Thranduil’s eyes flashed but he grinned as he wiggled free of his trousers finally. Loki lowered between his rising knees. The elf’s thighs were thick, powerful limbs as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Loki bit his lip to keep profanity at a minimum.

“Hairless? How divine.”

A smile twitched at the corner of the king’s wide mouth. “It is a sign of the anointed, our purity from Iluvatar. Are not the anointed of Asgard marked in some way?”

“With strength and foolishness, nothing so magnificent-- hmm, your skin, Thranduil--hmm, your skin is perfection."

He kissed and suckled the king’s chest and neck as his hands greedily roamed over fleshy curves and jutting bones. Thranduil’s hands likewise clutched at his back and raked through his hair, ankles hooking behind Loki’s knees.

Oil. Loki lifted one corner of his mouth in a little smirk as he decided to demonstrate his otherworldliness here in the privacy of their bed, as instructed. A simple spell had the stuff in his hand in but a little flash of light.

Thranduil’s chest expanded, his eyes widened, and his lips twitched before he laughed. Loki had the oddest surety that, had the link remained between them, the laugh would have been the melody of a bewitching lyric, one he had heard sung across the worlds for so long: I love you and need you now, right now.

A short laugh broke out of Loki, but he hadn’t the breath for more sound. He shivered, gulping. Thranduil’s fingers touched his chin, lifted his face.

Their eyes met as Loki made his first, slick intrusion and held, playfully, until the king was stretched and Loki sank his burning cock into the ring of muscle. Long blond eyelashes dropped, plump lips parted with a light gasp, and Thranduil clutched Loki’s shoulders.

Loki’s eyes fell closed as well. In the darkness, he felt his lover again; the depth and heat of it astonishingly close how the link had felt, only silent now.

A softly whispered prayer slipped out of Thranduil.

Loki shivered again, heart thundering, and his voice would not work. But what were words anyway? Mere tools of manipulation unnecessary here at the physical heart of truth. Loki made eye contact again—found something to hold onto—and began to move.

..

..

..

Outside, in the dusky light beneath the canopy, Legolas sighted his target and let fly an arrow. As the feathers zipped over his thumb, the sentient bow sighed (thrummed) in his hand and the sound of his father laughing carried up through the air shafts. Legolas tilted his head toward the strange sound, but would come to know it like the leaves of every tree in this garden. Home.