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Chapter Text

Loki was pacing in his cell. Walking in circles. Thinking. Brooding, his mother would say. It was not all that unusual for him. Hadn’t been for several months. There was little else to do in a room even smaller than the smallest chamber of a servant - not that he had ever been to one such room.

Solitary confinement had not sounded too bad at first. Better than the axe, certainly. It gave him time to recuperate and gather his thoughts. But the isolation and monotony had soon caught up with him. The mind-numbing tedium of being surrounded by the same voices, the same smells, the same light, the same four walls had turned gathering his thoughts into plotting. Plotting the demise of Odin and Thor. Of the Warriors Three and Sif. Of Heimdall. All of Asgard. In his mind, he saw Asgard burn. He pictured it in vivid detail. But to make his plans come true, he would first have to get out of his cell.

At first, he had thought it could not be that hard for someone whose command of magic and intellect were well above average within Asgard to break out of his cell. However, the cell had been designed by Odin, specifically for his wayward war trinket. A heavy cloak of magic surrounded the entirety of his small cell. It was holding equally strongly at all corners and in the center. Loki knew that because he had tested it almost immediately upon being deposited there. He had considered every possible angle, every conceivable scenario, but escape seemed impossible. He had barely any magic. He had no weapon. He only had his anger and his cunning.

Growing frustration further fueled his hatred. He would consider his options for hours. He kept devising ways to get the upper hand during the brief moments in which his meals were delivered. But careful consideration had led him to the conclusion that the best-case scenario saw him killing the Einherjar who brought him his meals. As much as he would have liked to show Odin and Thor that he wasn’t as weak as they fought him to be, it would mean taking a huge risk for little gain.

He had tried to use his illusions to draw in the Einherjar in the beginning. Illusions of inflicting pain upon himself to get them to rush inside. Illusions of an empty cell. But none of it had worked as a means to escape and had only resulted in the guards ignoring what was going on inside of his cell. He had briefly toyed with the idea of truly injuring himself, but the idea held little appeal and if the guards did not believe what they saw, he might wind up dead.

As he planned and plotted it became harder and harder to concentrate. The endless empty hours, nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to talk to – it was silently wearing away at his sanity and he knew it. Loki’s mind had always been quick and easily prone to restless boredom at the best of times. But now his agitated mind beat against the walls around him until they threatened to drag him into raving madness. His mood would often turn so sour that he could barely think of anything but the most vicious of deaths for his enemies, and he knew that his thoughts were spinning in circles and becoming obsessive.

Frigga’s occasional visits had helped at first. But once Loki started to let his terrible mood out on her, they left him feeling even more upset and agitated. And after the last encounter, he feared that he had lost his last link to the outside world and the only person who had not turned on him.

“He is not my father!” “Then am I not your mother?” “You are not.”

He had replayed the conversation in his mind again and again. She had been there for him. After everything, she had still been there for him. Still loved him. And he had shouted at her. He had hurt her. He had seen it in her eyes. The pain that he had caused.

But he was a monster. A parasite. Hurting those who nurtured him was in his very nature. She should have known that. Should have known how this would end from the day she had accepted him into her home.

Perhaps it was for the best that they should both stop fooling themselves. If this one sentence had opened her eyes to the truth of what he was, it was preferable to her ignorance. And better for Loki too that he did not cling to something that had never been real.

His restlessness had further increased after an attack on the dungeons had been launched, leaving him in his cell to observe the chaos. This restlessness, however, was different. He knew something had happened after a large part of the prisoners had escaped. Something bad, undoubtedly. The guards were looking even gloomier than usual, but they had yet to speak to him. If anything, they seemed to avoid Loki’s gaze.

With nothing else to occupy his mind with, Loki’s mind latched onto the incident, repeating it over and over again before his inner eye, pushing Frigga and Odin and Thor from the forefront of his mind. Analyzing it, again and again. Trying to figure out what had happened. Hating himself for not seizing the presented opportunity.

Loki truly abhorred being kept in the dark about as much as he hated missed opportunities. He could have been free had he played his cards right. He should have convinced the perpetrator, who, he concluded, most likely made it out of the prison alive, to release him as well. Perhaps tricked him with an illusion of his cell full of prisoners. Then he would be plotting Odin’s downfall and his revenge on Thor instead of despairing over the lost chance to escape imprisonment.

Loki could hear footsteps approaching. The loud sound echoing through the halls grating on his nerves immediately. A guard appeared in his line of vision, followed by several more Einherjar. Odin or Thor would probably arrive any second.

Loki was rather surprised when it was neither.

The guards all sank to the ground simultaneously, bringing their right hands to their chests, letting their heads sink in submission. Loki walked closer to the barrier that kept him from leaving. His mind was reeling from the sheer number of reasons for this odd occurrence and the opportunities that it might present for him. Had Odin finally decided to get rid of his disobedient war trinket? Or had Frigga persuaded him to lighten his sentence? Surely not, after the disagreement of earlier. Perhaps she had told Odin that she did not care for him after all.

Behind the Einherjar appeared another figure. Tall with dark hair and dark eyes, Loki immediately recognized him as one of Odin’s oldest friends and his counselor, second in status only to the royal family. A shrewd man whom Loki had always gotten along well with.

“Tyr,” Loki began, his eyes immediately travelling to Tyr’s left hand, which clasped Gungnir. His own voice sounded strange to him as he had barely used it for the duration of his punishment. “What is the meaning of this?” Had Odin fallen? Where was Thor?

“Odin has entered his Odinsleep,” Tyr said as he turned off the barrier keeping Loki locked in his cell. He hesitated then, his expression somber, sad even. He took a deep breath. “The Queen is dead. The line of succession falls to you.” At that, Tyr too sank to the ground, “My King.”

Loki just stared, unable to process any of the words Tyr, who was now kneeling in front of him, holding Gungnir so Loki could take it, had just spoken.

The words “the Queen is dead” were reverberating in his mind, everything else out of focus. His mind kept repeating them but were unable to grasp their meaning.

“What about Thor?” Loki finally asked. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that he should just take Gungnir and not ask too many questions, but he was unable stop himself.

“The Prince has,” Tyr started, but hesitated for a second, “it seems, betrayed and abandoned Asgard in her darkest hour.”

Loki gulped, feeling feverish, or half in a dream. His throat felt dry and there seemed to be a heavy weight on his chest, making breathing almost impossible.

Freedom was close. Loki could feel the power of Gungnir pulsating, urging him to reach out for it, but still he could only stare.

“The line of succession falls to you,” Tyr repeated, “your Grace.”

A cruel trick was Loki’s first thought, but it just did not seem to make any sense. They were freeing him. He knew without a doubt that what was in front of him was truly Gungnir. He could feel its power thrumming. The power of the Alfather, giving its owner not only the right to rule over Asgard, but over all the Nine Realms. Asgard’s king had no equal, he had absolute, indisputable authority. Bringing such a powerful weapon so close to him was too reckless for any kind of trickery.

Loki’s world was spinning, things were hazy, but he decided to just focus on what was right in front of him: Gungnir. Freedom. Yet again a chance to prove himself. Prove that he could be a good king.

But he had already tried that – proving himself, making who he had believed to be his family proud. After more than a millennium of failing to live up to his father’s expectations, an opportunity of unimaginable proportions had fallen into his lap, begging to be put to use. He had tried to show himself to be the most Aesier of the Aesir and that had not been enough. Odin’s reaction had been disappointment and rejection. What more could he possibly do? And although he refused to accept much of the blame for it, Midgard had been an utter failure as well. No, there was nothing more he could do to prove himself now, not the way he would have chosen to. Nothing, except wrest control from Odin permanently by utterly destroying him, taking revenge on both him and Thor.

His mind in a haze, Loki stepped out of his cell and reached for Gungnir. A giddy sort of excitement filled his stomach as his fingers closed around the spear. He immediately felt the power surging through him and allowed a small smile to tug at his lips.

Without another word he marched past Tyr and the Einherjar, and out of the dungeon.

Chapter Text

Loki strode through the palace, Gungnir in hand. No one stopped him. Instead, fists were raised to chests, people bowed, and he heard a murmured “My King” every once in a while.

But he did not dwell on this deference, too occupied with his next step. His first, rather practical thought after he had left the dungeon behind, had been that he had to dispose of the Allfather. Even though he had dreamt of the man’s death by his own hands before, the decision was clinical rather than emotional. It was the only sensible thing to do. It was only a matter of time before he would waken and send him back to his cell, or worse. If he woke up to find his Queen dead, Thor gone and the criminal son of his worst enemy on the throne, he might draw the wrong conclusions. And he had told him in no uncertain terms that Frigga had been the only reason he had been spared the axe. It was Loki or Odin, and Loki knew what his choice would be.

He sent the guards in front of Odin’s bed chamber away. They followed his order without hesitation. They did not question him. He had Gungnir, after all.

As soon as the golden doors were closed behind him and he was certain he was alone with the Allfather, Loki put Gungnir aside, summoned a pillow and stepped towards the golden bed of the true King of Asgard. It had to look as if he had passed in his sleep, so using a dagger was not an option. He was an old man who was in need of his special sleep more often now than he used to. And it wasn’t uncommon for the bereaved to follow their loved ones shortly after.

His gut twisted painfully at that thought. Odin would mourn. All of Asgard would. But had anyone mourned him? All of Asgard had believed him dead, but he was certain no one had truly mourned him. Thor’s first words when he had found him on Midgard and thrown him out of a plane had been, “Where is the Tesseract?” Odin’s, “I will speak to the prisoner alone.” They had cared more for a realm full of ants than for him. Thor had even cared more about Jotunheim than Loki, so even among monsters he seemed to hold a place of especially little value.

“I wish I could say it is nothing personal, but we both know that that would be untrue,” Loki smiled bitterly at the sleeping man, “and don’t we both just abhor untruths?” He laughed then, before he flinched and looked away, disgusted with himself. He was about to kill someone. Jests were out of place.

When he looked back at Odin, he still hesitated. It would be easier if he were awake, Loki thought. In the middle of a heated battle, perhaps. When he had fought Thor, he had been so caught up in the whirlwind whipping around him, he had not had the time to consider it rationally.

It was not as if he had never killed before. He had. It was unavoidable in battle. But he had never murdered anyone in cold blood. Not like what he was attempting now. Odin was sleeping. Even worse, he was sleeping in a bed Loki still remembered sleeping in as a young child. The disgust he felt at this cowardly move crept up his arms. He had spent many nights in this man’s bed, when nightmares had woken him or when he, together with Thor, had wanted to protect their father during the Odinsleep. He remembered now, how he and Thor had stayed up as long as their young bodies were able to, sharing stories and secrets by their father’s side. Frigga had always tried to dissuade them, but they had been unrelenting.

But those had been different times and the situation had changed. Loki now knew that he had slept in the bed of an enemy, one who had stolen him. It was time for the farce to end. It was not quite how Loki had envisioned it, not quite what he wanted. It was not glorious battle, nor a vicious fight. Not a death worthy of Valhalla. Loki was not even able to look him in the eye to let him know how much he hated him. Or tell him why he was doing it.

Loki breathing grew rapid and shallow as he stared at Odin’s peaceful form. So helpless, so ignorant. He tried to suppress the memories that image evoked. But when he closed his eyes, he could still feel the warm, calloused palm of Odin as he tentatively reached out for and held it after Odin had collapsed in the Weapons Vault. He could still feel the loathing and rage and resentment and indignation and pain… and worst of all: the longing. Longing so deep it hurt and hurt even more because he had to conceal it. Longing for the closeness that Thor had always had with him. For the trust he enjoyed despite having done little to earn it other than proving the physical strength he had been born with. To be considered worthy as Thor always had been outside of a three-day blip and as Loki never had been in over a thousand years – at least now he knew why. Why no matter what he had done, Odin would have never felt for him what he did for Thor.

That longing, that childish weakness, made him angry at himself, at Odin for creating and perpetuating the wretched circumstances in the first place, and at Thor for his ignorance and arrogance. There was plenty of anger to go around. Enough for many Aesir lifetimes.

“This is destiny,” Loki whispered, not sure if Odin could hear him. “You must have known from the moment you took me in what your decision would lead to. Glorious battle is for honorable men. I am not honorable. I am a monster, killing like all cowardly monsters do. Like… like Laufey.” His skin prickled uncomfortably at the last words.

He stepped closer, tightening his grip on the pillow.

“He would have killed you in your sleep. Without hesitation. Without honor.”

He pictured it, how he pressed the pillow down on his face and held it there until Odin’s heart stopped the fight. The thought gave him little satisfaction.

His hands started trembling. Loki looked at Odin again, all alone. No one at his side. No naïve children to protect him while he was so vulnerable. No loving wife to sit by his side.

The thought of Frigga’s absence hit Loki so painfully that the pillow slipped out of his hands and a pained gasp escaped him.

“Why couldn’t it have been you?” he yelled, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Why did it have to be her?”

A dam inside him broke, and he let it out with a primal roar and an aggressive wave of magic, which sent everything around him flying.

For what felt like an eternity, Loki was lost in the torrents of his emotions. His rage burned and his guilt tried to rip him apart. And above all, he was drowning, suffocating in grief.

He only came to his senses when all his energy was spent. When he had screamed his throat raw.

He blinked and saw what he had done to the room. It was utterly destroyed, burned away. It was a ruin, amongst which lay, unharmed, Odin.

Then he sank to the ground next to Odin’s bed.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to save her,” Loki muttered, and tears ran along his cheeks. He grabbed Odin’s hand, seeking comfort from a loved one as he wept, craving warmth and affection he would never receive.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, next to his father, crying, but once the tears stopped falling, he felt better.

Whatever desire he had had to see Odin dead, he did not feel it anymore. Whatever had driven him to let Laufey almost kill Odin, send the Destroyer after Thor and press that button on SHIELD’s helicarrier without a second thought, it was not there anymore. The anger and hatred he had felt towards them, he did not feel it now.

They were not his true enemies.

The only anger and hatred he felt now were towards whatever murderers had killed his mother.

“I will avenge her,” he said to Odin, before he grabbed Gungnir and left with new purpose.

Chapter Text

Thor, he thought, would be the logical next step, as he left Odin behind, ordering the guards to send servants into Odin’s bedroom to clean up the mess he had created. He just had to find Thor. So, naturally, his first stop was the observatory.

He and Heimdall had had their difficulties, and Loki fully expected that enlisting the gatekeeper’s help would take some work. But he was certain that they would reach an understanding. Heimdall would be no less eager for revenge than he was, of that Loki was certain.

Once he reached the observatory, however, it was not Heimdall who greeted him.

“Who are you?” hissed Loki.

“Don’t you remember?” asked the bald man, “I am Skurge. We fought together on Vanaheim.”

“Right,” Loki drawled, having absolutely no idea what the man was talking about. But his insolence drew on his nerves. “Where is Heimdall?”

“The dungeons, I suppose,” Skurge said, shrugging his shoulders.

Loki grit his teeth. “The dungeons? Why?”

“Well-“

“Never mind,” huffed Loki, turned around and walked back to the city.

What had happened to Asgard while he had been in his cell? Frigga dead, Odin asleep, Thor gone and Heimdall arrested? Ever since Tyr had appeared in the dungeons, the world had stopped making sense.

His next stop was, naturally, the dungeons. And what a weird and unpleasant feeling it was to be back so soon.

He found Heimdall rather fast, there were not many prisoners left after the breakout. But to Loki’s surprise, Heimdall was not alone in his cell.

“Come to mock?” drawled the voice of Sif. “Or gloat?”

Her voice had brought Loki to a sudden halt mid-stride. He stepped closer to their cell. Sif, Heimdall, Fandral and Volstagg were all together in one cell. All looking rather dejected.

He allowed the corners of his lips to pull up a bit. Many times, during his imprisonment, had he imagined them in such a situation. The dungeon was, in his humble opinion, where they belonged. They had committed high treason while he had been on the throne, and by Asgardian law such a crime demanded the axe. Imprisonment was the least they deserved.

“Sif,” chided Volstagg, before his wary eyes fixed on Loki, forcing a smile on his face. “Welcome back, Loki. It is good to see you.”

“Ah Volstagg,” Loki smiled at him, “if I did not know you so well, I’d suspect you did not entirely mean that.”

Volstagg’s smile faltered. “I do mean it. I am glad to see you well.”

“Oh, and I you, of course. We haven’t seen each other in a while, have we?” he said sweetly. “When was the last time? Oh yes – when you committed treason against me!”

Volstagg took a step back, Sif’s glare intensified.

“I suppose I should take comfort in your presence here,” Loki mused, “I thought your betrayal something personal at first, but it seems I’m not the only one you’ve committed treason against.”

“What can we do for you, my King?” asked Heimdall, ignoring Loki’s last statement.

At that, Loki’s head perked up and he looked at Heimdall. He was so subservient. Where was this behavior, this attitude the last time, he had been king?

“King?” huffed Sif, before her eyes settled on Gungnir. Her eyes narrowed. “How did you do it this time?”

Loki’s brows furrowed. He had never gotten along with Sif. And apparently, he never would “I did not do anything,” he hissed. “In case it has escaped your notice, I’ve been inside a cell for the last couple of months.”

“And we are supposed to believe that?” she spat.

“Believe what you will,” growled Loki. “I did not instigate this. Odin is sleeping, Thor is the Norns only know where, and m-” He stopped abruptly. He couldn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t afford to break down in front of them. He blinked rapidly, before his gaze settled on Sif again. “Apparently, the only one left to take charge was me, so the council chose to release me.”

“And this isn’t what you wanted from the beginning?” Sif asked, a challenge in her voice. “Thor gone and you on the throne? Perhaps it was you who freed the prisoners in the first place so you would get your hands on Gungnir!”

“I never wanted the throne!” Loki yelled, before he could reign in his temper. He looked at them, those who he had believed friends, who had betrayed him, breathing heavily. “You of all people should know that! I have fought beside you for centuries. I have saved your lives as many times as you have saved mine. Fandral,“ he turned towards him, “I saved your life the very day Thor was banished. Yet not a day had passed before you accused me of treason and betrayed me!”

Fandral took a step back, his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. But Sif was not so easily placated.

“You act as if our accusations were baseless, as if they were untrue-” she said.

“They are untrue!” he interrupted Sif. “I did not banish Thor. I did not know Odin would. I did not know Odin would fall asleep just then. I did not know Gungnir would be handed to me!”

To Loki’s surprise, it wasn’t Sif who replied this time. It was Fandral. “You let the Frost Giants into Asgard. You told Thor that his father had died. You sent the Destroyer after us.”

Loki turned away, trying to control his features. He would like nothing more than to leave and let them rot in the dungeons, like they deserved. But he needed to know what had happened if he wanted to avenge his mother. And there was a chance he would need their help in order to save Thor. If he enlisted their help, he needed to be able to trust them. He could not have them turn on him again.

He turned around again, facing Fandral. “Yes, I let the Frost Giants in. You know Thor. He wasn’t ready for the throne. He would have sent Asgard to war over a childish insult. He did send Asgard to war because he was called a princess. He cared little for anything but himself. And you encouraged it. I shouldn’t have been the only one trying to stop him from going to Jotunheim. I let the Frost Giants in to disrupt his coronation and show Odin how ill prepared to rule Thor still was. I knew the Destroyer would stop them from doing any real harm. That was all I had planned, but you seem to see in me nefarious intent and an ability to plan ahead to an extent which I simply do not possess. I never wanted Thor to reach Jotunheim. I did not know Odin would banish him. I did not know he would fall asleep right after.”

“Not treason, then,” admitted Sif, “but very poor judgment.”

Loki glowered at her. “My plan worked, didn’t it? Better than I had hoped, one could say. But I truly did not desire the throne. I admit I have been jealous of Thor in the past, but I only ever wanted what’s best for him. When Odin banished Thor, he had Thor’s best interest at heart. So did I, when I stopped his coronation.”

“But what about-“

“Let me stop you right there, Sif,” Loki growled. “I have let this pointless interrogation of yours go on for far too long. You are in no position to demand answers of me. I am the rightful king of Asgard and you are not. I am free, whereas you are in this cell. I owe you nothing. I have come here freely, not to mock or gloat, but to enlist your help in finding Thor. And getting revenge for…” his voice wavered, “for what has happened. Should you be unwilling… I have no problem leaving you in here for the rest of your lives.” He had a whole army to command now, he would manage without them.

Sif opened her mouth but closed it again without a sound escaping.

Volstagg put a hand on her shoulder and stepped forward. “I am sorry for your loss,” he finally said. “I know how close you were to your mother.”

Loki could only nod.

Sif’s gaze softened. “If your goal is avenging your mother, then I shall fight by your side until none of those who dared attack Asgard draw breath any longer.”

Loki looked at her. Perhaps this could work. “Can anyone tell me what happened? Where is Thor? Where is Hogun?”

The Warriors Two, Heimdall and Sif briefly looked at each other.

“Hogun is on Vanaheim,” Volstagg explained. “For your other questions, I am little more informed than you, I am afraid.” He glanced at Heimdall.

“A few days ago,” Heimdall started, “Thor came to me, asking about the mortal woman Jane Foster. But while we were speaking, she disappeared from my sight.”

“Disappeared?” People did not just disappear from Heimdall’s view. Even Loki had needed decades of trial and error before he managed to avoid Heimdall’s gaze. “Where to?”

“I do not know. When she reappeared, she had the Aether inside of her.”

The Aether? Another Infinity Stone on Asgard? Oh, the things he could do with two of those. Thanos would not stand a chance against him if he commanded Asgard’s army and was in possession of two of the stones.

“Loki?” Sif asked, interrupting Loki’s thoughts. “Are you still with us?”

Loki smiled at her crookedly. “Of course.”

“Do you know what this Aether is?” asked Fandral.

“Naturally. M… mother used to read bedtime stories about it to Thor and I.” And since then, he had learned a few more interesting things about it. “It is one of the most powerful entities in the universe. What happened then?”

“Thor brought her to Asgard,” Fandral answered. “They were in the Healing Room, but I know not why.”

Loki nodded. “A mortal’s body is ill equipped to handle such power.” But then he hesitated. “Whoever attacked Asgard, it was she who led them to us, wasn’t it?”

Heimdall lowered his head. “I suspect so.”

Anger bubbled up inside of Loki, but he knew that he could not let it take control.

“Then the Dark Elves attacked.”

“Dark Elves?” Loki asked. “I thought they were all dead.”

“So did we,” said Sif. “Many brave Asgardians fell in the fight against them. Your mother battled Malektih, their leader, and the Kursed from the dungeon. She died an honorable death.”

Loki swallowed heavily, the mention of his mother, even though he had expected it, hit him like a punch in the gut.

“They fled. Odin wanted to fight them on Asgard.” Fandral continued the story. “But Thor wanted to take the fight away from Asgard. They disagreed and-“

“And Thor went anyway, committing high treason in the process,” Loki finished. It was not unlike what had happened at his coronation, just this time, Loki had had nothing to do with it. 

The others nodded.

“As did we,” added Fandral.

“All of this because of a girl?” Loki sighed. “Why am I not surprised?” His gaze landed on Heimdall. “Where are they now?”

Heimdall stared into the distance. “They are on Svartalfheim still, my King. Thor and the Lady Jane are fighting Dark Elves. They appear to be losing. Malekith has the Aether and is about to attack Midgard.”

Loki sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Thank you, Heimdall.” Why did it always have to be Midgard?