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Chapter Text

Jotunheim wasn't supposed to be like this. It should have been a confrontation, maybe a short skirmish. They would teach the Frost Giants the folly of creeping into Asgard and then go home. That was not what was happening.

It was a battle and they were losing.

After the funeral, Sif was too stricken herself to notice for several days that she hadn't seen Loki. At first, she thought he'd buried himself in the archives as he usually did when he was upset, though when she wandered in there, she didn't find him. He must have hidden himself elsewhere. It wasn't until a grieving Frigga asked her with fading hope if he had said anything to her that Sif realized that he was gone.

But Loki hadn't told her he was leaving. He hadn't said anything to her since the quest to Jotunheim had gone so terribly wrong.

He'd said no words, and he'd shed no tears. He'd stared with a blank numbness through the return to Asgard and the funeral. He'd launched his sphere of light to the heavens, his face tight and pale in the silvery light. His chair had been empty at the feast afterward, and no one had seen him since.

Neither his parents, nor Heimdall could find him. There was no trace in Asgard itself. They widened the search, though the Bifrost had been closed for the funeral, and still found nothing. He had fled and hidden himself with magic. No one wanted to speak the worst possibility: that he couldn't be found because there was nothing left to find. Had he returned to Jotunheim to avenge his brother and also bled out on the ice? No one knew, and the losses weighed heavily. Asgard's brightness faded.

Weeks and months passed and the grieving king could fight the Odinsleep no longer. Yet in that sorrow, hope sparked as Frigga found her missing son at last through her arts. His own had frayed, letting her glimpse him, yet alive. She asked Sif to go to Loki and bring him home.

Heimdall put her where the queen directed, though Loki was still hidden from his sight. Sif found herself on Midgard, on a mountain peak high above any civilization where the air was thin and the sky overcast to leave only a grey dimness on the snow in daylight. It was cold, if not the brutal cold of Jotunheim, and the world felt vast in all its deep ravines and peaks of granite and ice to the horizon. She might never have found him, despite being near, if not for spying familiar boot prints left in the crusty snow.

She tracked him to a cave which was barely more than a crack in the old glacier. Settling below a low ridge, she watched, waiting for him to emerge.

When he did, she wished she'd never come. His leathers were ragged, untended, his hair was a windblown rat's nest of black tangles on his shoulders, and his face had turned gaunt, eyes sunken. He looked more like a wild animal, creeping out of his lair, as he turned wary eyes up to the sky and searched around him, as if he felt a predator's eyes on him.

None of it looked right on Loki, who always was conscious how he looked and preferred pretense over allowing anyone to spy weakness. Was this grief? Or some worse madness?

She stood slowly, arms spread so he would know she meant no threat. "Loki?"

He recoiled from the sound, gaze darting to find her as he stepped away from her, back toward his cave. He didn't greet her, and his eyes dropped away from her, not wanting to look at her.

"Loki, it's Sif."

"Go away." His voice was barely audible, as if so unused to speaking he'd forgotten how.

"Loki, your mother bids me bring you home."

He flinched and shook his head negative. "No, no, I can't. I can't go back."

"Please, they need you. We need you," she corrected. "The King fell into the Odinsleep, Loki. Asgard needs her prince."

"Asgard lost her prince."

What was he talking about? She stopped, trying to think what she could say. This seemed more than grief. "Your mother needs you, Loki. She's all alone."

"Because of me!" he shouted at her abruptly, eyes wild. The anger shifted as his expression crumpled and his eyes gleamed too brightly. "She lost Thor because of me. I didn't mean it," he told her, "I never meant it to happen, but it did. I killed him."

"What?" she blurted, almost a laugh, she was so incredulous. She had seen it with her own eyes: the Frost Giant ice spear had hit Thor. But Loki seemed genuinely to believe it he was responsible, somehow. Sif shook her head and softened her voice. "Loki, no, you didn't. There was nothing you could do."

She saw the spear fly true and Loki shouted a warning, but Thor didn't hear or didn't heed it. The ice spear hit Thor square in the back, emerging through his chest plate two hand-spans. Thor looked down, shocked and surprised at the impalement, and fell to his knees, Mjolnir dropping to the snow from fingers that couldn't grip her handle. Crumpling to one side, he breathed his last.

Loki screamed his name again. "No!" He started running toward Thor across the icy field, and Sif followed, yelling at him to stop. There was nothing he could do; the blow was mortal, and this would only risk Loki being hit as well.

The same giant stepped closer to Loki, grinning with the opportunity to kill another Aesir as he formed a new ice blade in his hand.

But Loki formed fire in his. This was not the usual gold and green magic fire he wielded that was more force than flame. This was a blinding brilliance like the core of a star, and Sif felt the heat on her face ten steps behind him. Expression wild with rage, he launched it at the Frost Giant, setting him ablaze, like a new form of fire demon. His ice spear vanished in the heat and he screamed, burning.

Loki hurled the fire at two more before the rest fled in terror. The screaming stopped, as death took them, and the ice transmuted to steam in the incredible heat, leaving bare stone beneath them. Sif stared, aghast at the power she'd never seen him wield before, but as she was about to yell at him to stop, it ended: charred bones dropped to the watery stone, and the glow winked out from his hands. Loki staggered, exhausted, before going to his brother. He fell to his knees, splashing in the water and Thor's blood. He gathered Thor's body against him, whispering, "I never wanted this. Thor, please…"

The king arrived, Gungnir streaming with power, but too late to save his son.

"You tried to save him," Sif said, hoping he would listen. "I did, too. But that giant hit him in the back, and we were too far away to help." 

But Loki heard none of her words and his voice when he spoke was strangely calm, as if he'd rehearsed this confession. "The Jotunn in the treasury was my doing. I lured him there to be taken by the Destroyer, to interrupt the ceremony. I knew Thor would want to attack them, because of course he would. He was such a reckless, stupid fool it was easy." His voice cracked and he had to gasp a new breath. "But not as reckless and stupid as I am. I killed him, Sif."

She stared at him, unable to breathe past the sudden stone in her chest where her heart had been. "Loki…" she started but didn't know what else to say. He had brought the Frost Giant inside Asgard? The invasion Thor had sought to punish, had been Loki's doing all along?

"If you want me dead, I won't fight you," he murmured. "I deserve it, I know." A dagger appeared in his left hand, and he held it up before his eyes. "I should do it myself, but all I do is look at it. I want it, but my hand won't move. I am a loathsome cowardly monster," he snarled in utter disgust, "and I can't do it. But you can."

Kill him, he meant. He had sat on this icy planet and contemplated ending his life in grief and guilt, and now he wanted her to kill him."No, Loki, no, I can't."

"You can. And you should," he said, with a disturbing enthusiasm.

"No," she shook her head, firming her resolve. "No, I won't take the queen's last son away from her."

She should have known he would react to that, but she was still thinking he was rational. Until he attacked her.

"Loki!"

Teeth bared, he lunged. He said nothing and listened to nothing she said. He didn't feint, this was no pretense. Instinct put her hilt in her hand as he forced her to fight. He had a dagger in each hand, and he was fast, fleet on the ice. He attacked and sought blood, except it was not her blood he truly sought. She countered, whirling her blade to try to disarm him. He attacked, she defended, and she was not lured into a counter-attack. He was determined to provoke her into an attack, and she was equally determined not to do it. Her skill with a sword and familiarity with his tactics kept them both safe. It was only a matter of time before he tired and she could strip his daggers from him. He was already slowing, and she wondered if he'd eaten at all.

In the moment's break in her attention, as she settled into complacency, he made his move. He might not be her equal with a sword, but he was certainly her equal in tactics. He had her blade exactly where he wanted as his dagger was suddenly not where she expected and he stepped into her attempted block.

She saw him move the wrong way and tried to stop, but it all happened too quickly. The blade sank into his side, and the feel was terrible as the edge cut through the leather deep into the soft flesh at his waist. Frantic, she pulled back and hurled her blade to the ground. "No, Loki!"

He actually smiled, the bastard, in that moment before the pain hit him and the smile dropped away. His knees buckled and she darted forward to catch him.

"You fool, you idiot," she told him. "Loki, don't you dare die on me." There was already blood coating her left hand from the wound, as she lowered him down.

He looked in her eyes. "I'm glad it's you," he whispered. "The only valkyrie who ever mattered…"

"No, don't think that." She shook her head in dismay. The sharpness of her blade had done its work, cutting deep into his side. There was blood on the ice again, just like Jotunheim. She ripped the bottom half of her cloak off to wad it against the wound. He jerked, choking out a cry. She held the cloth tightly, trying to stop the bleeding, and he settled again, looking paler. "Loki, it wasn't your fault."

"It was, Sif, it was," he denied, panting. "I ruined everything."

"No. Listen to me: Thor didn't have to disobey the king," she told him urgently. If he didn't fight to live, her hand growing slick with his blood would make no difference. "He didn't have to stay there and fight. That was his choice."

"I knew he would. I didn't stop him."

Her eyes prickled with wet heat and she had to bite her lip to find her voice, even as she choked a laugh. "And how were you going to stop him, Loki? He didn't listen. At least you advised him to leave which is more than I did."

Her words seemed to have no weight for him, as he brushed them aside as if she'd barely spoken, intent on his own anguish. "But he would never have been there… if not for me. How do I -- how can I bear that?" His hand set over hers and his fingers were frigid and trembling. "Just let me go."

Ancestors, he was going to die. "Loki," she bent over him, face next to his and her hair falling against his neck. "How do you expect me to bear your loss, too? Do you want me to beg? I will. Please don't do this. This is just your pain, what of ours? What of the Realm? Your mother? Please, to lose you also will kill her. And what of me? You're putting the guilt for your death on me-- how can you do that to me? Knowing what it feels like?"

His fingers tightened on hers, as his brows drew together in a troubled frown. "I absolve you," he said. "It is not your--"

She lifted her head sharply to implore him, anxiety and impatience making her voice tight and loud, "Then how is it your fault? At least I wielded the blade…"

He closed his eyes, thin face drawn even more tightly. "But it hurts, Sif, it hurts so much," he whispered, and she knew he wasn't talking about the wound. For the first time since Thor's death, tears gathered at his lashes and slid from the corners of his eyes. "I killed my brother. I am no one without him, just alone…"

With her other arm, she lifted him, hoping some of her warmth could help him. He was a slight weight against her chest as if grief and guilt had worn him to nothing but bone. "I know, Loki," she murmured, kissing the side of his face. "I know it hurts. I am so sorry he's gone. But you're not alone." Her voice faded to nearly nothing, "You have me."

When the words slipped out, she hoped he might be unconscious, since his eyes were still closed and the pallor of his face was nearly as white as the snow, so maybe he hadn't heard. She hadn't meant to say it, but knowing he might die had pulled the words out of her. Thor had died, without knowing how much he'd meant to her, and she would not let that happen with Loki, too. But old habits of silence and secrets, and fear that he would mock her affection, made her want to call them back.

But he heard. His eyes flickered open again, surprised, and his lips parted to draw a shallow breath to whisper, "You?"

This was no time for secrets, and if this one could help, then she had to try. "You. Is there anyone else in all of Asgard who enjoys a good fight and a good book, too?" Her hand smoothed his tangled hair. "There could be so much more, Loki," she murmured. "If you opened your eyes and looked at what was before you."

"I saw you," he whispered. "I always saw you. But you were for him."

Wait, was he saying-- he'd had feelings for her all along? She'd buried hers, time and again, unwilling to weaken herself against him when he was barely friendly to her. He'd believed she had feelings for Thor? Suddenly everything she had seen took on different meanings: the way he'd held himself apart, the way he'd provoked arguments… Not because he disliked her, but the opposite. "Oh. Why didn't you see I never wanted more than friendship with him? You silly goose." She smiled as she bent her head down to kiss his forehead. Then she tilted her head back and called, "Heimdall! Open the Bifrost, bring us home!"

Loki stirred as if he wanted to object, but she shook her head once at him. "No. You are going home, and they will make you well."

He opened his mouth to deny that would happen, but she laid a finger across his lips. "Hush, save your strength. Hold on for me," she urged him. "Don't let go."

She had only a moment's warning to tighten her hold as the Bifrost slammed down and snatched them back home.

tbc...

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

It wasn't supposed to happen, that she would outlive her child. Thor should have thousands of years left to him, far beyond her own. As he grew to manhood, it seemed an impossible nightmare that one so strong could ever be harmed or lost.

Yet the Bifrost had brought Frigga the body of her eldest son, lifeless and cold, and she knew she would be living that nightmare forever.

Frigga waited on the platform, her mantle pulled around her arms, as the boat landed from the Observatory. Eir and her assistants waited with her, since Heimdall had sent word that they would be needed and time was short.

Time should never be short, not for Aesir, and yet now it seemed each second either dragged without end, or passed too quickly to be counted.

Sif was bringing Loki back from Midgard where he had fled in grief after his brother's passing. She'd thought it was hopeful news that he was found, after he'd been missing so long, but if he needed Eir so desperately, she didn't know how hopeful it could be.

Please, please, I cannot bear Loki, too.

Most days she was unsure she could bear Thor's loss and Odin's slumber, but the thought of all of them was too much. She had refused to accept that Loki was lost, but now, it seemed she might have found him too late.

Had he also been wounded in Jotunheim and told no one?

Had something happened on Jotunheim to reveal the truth? No, surely not. Surely he would have confronted her or Odin if he'd had any hint. No, the secret must still hold. It had to hold; she needed him to take the throne. He could do it; he could learn to be king. He needed wisdom, but that was only gained in time.

He needed first, to live.

The boat landed with a gust of air and a rising hum. The door panel opened and two Einherjar helped Sif bear him out to the floating platform.

Frigga stirred herself to go to the side of the platform. He still lived, but she could see the lifeforce within him at low ebb. And he looked so… desperate, ash pale and ragged. His fighting leathers on the left side were wet with his blood, a wound bound up in hasty bandages of a piece of Sif's cloak.

"Oh, my child, what has happened to you?" she whispered, feathering her fingers down his thin cheek. She stepped away. "Go, Eir, he needs your arts."

"My queen, he will be well." Frigga took comfort from the promise, as Eir and her assistants took Loki away. Sif moved as if to follow them, but Frigga held up a hand to stop her.

"We must let her do her work, Sif."

Sif looked after them, a brightness in her eyes and her lips parted to protest, until she reconsidered whatever she was about to say. She seemed anxious about him, which Frigga found interesting. She knew Loki had feelings for Sif for a long time which he'd never believed she shared. But the look in her eye suggested that was not entirely true.

She gestured Sif to accompany her inside. "Thank you for returning him, if not as I hoped. Would you tell me what occurred?"

Sif seemed to need the entire walk inside the palace to gather her thoughts. Frigga didn't press, waiting patiently. It was plainly difficult for her.

It was difficult to hear, as well, as Sif told her what had sent Loki into his spiral of grief and guilt and why he felt responsible for Thor's death. Hearing it, Frigga's steps faltered, and she clutched her hands together. She shut her eyes, overwhelmed by the pain. The Jotunn in the treasury had been Loki's doing in deliberate attempt to provoke Thor into attacking Jotunheim.

Jotunheim. For one insane moment, she wanted to laugh at the absurdity. He didn't know they were his people. He didn't know the king there was his blood. He knew none of it, only that they were a good target for his brother's reckless rage.

She swallowed hard and opened her eyes, finding her voice again to ask, even though she knew the answer already, "And his injury?"

"He attacked me. I knew he was trying to lure me into a deathblow, I knew it, and I fought defensively, but he arranged it too well. I could not pull my strike in time and he walked into my blade." Sif dropped to one knee before the queen and bowed her head. "My queen, I offer myself for whatever punishment you wish for striking him. And if he dies, my life will be forfeit."

"Oh, my dear," Frigga's hand set lightly on her hair, "there will be none of that. Loki put you at a profound tactical disadvantage. I will not punish you for trying your best to save him."

Sif bowed her head again. "I thank you, All-Mother."

Frigga moved away to allow Sif to stand again and stood in the breezeway, looking blindly out to the city beyond. He had tried to trick or force Sif into killing him, in a suicide by proxy, and though Frigga had to thank the ancestors that it had not succeeded, she feared Loki might attempt it again. How to ease that guilt that had so damaged his spirit into longing for death? Yet he had not fallen so far as attempt it by his own hand. Was that a sign that he was caught between his guilty death wish and a desire to live that still burned? And how to tip that balance back toward a fire of life?

As she turned away from the city view, Frigga saw Sif waiting politely and knew the answer. How else but Sif?

In the archives Frigga came upon Loki in one of the smaller rooms at the end of a side corridor. This room was devoted to mortal poetry collections that few read and smelled of centuries of mildew and neglect. Lit only by the crystal lamp beside the door, Loki stood surrounded by a chaos of scattered books and torn pages. It looked as if some great hand had swept them off the shelves and hurled them to the opposite walls and the floor with great force. "Loki!"

He started violently, having not sensed her coming near, and relinquished the flickering green fire on his fingers, tucking his hands behind his back as if he hadn't been about to burn anything. He didn't lift his head to look at her, and his voice was pleasant, carefully under control. "Mother. Good afternoon. What brings you so deep in the archive?"

She ignored his conversational gambit and picked her way to him, trying not to step on any of the volumes. Ancient books and scrolls, old datawafers and tablets, were all strewn on the floor. "Loki, what is this?" she asked."What did these books do to you?"

"Nothing." He scanned the ones directly at his feet as if he hadn't noticed the mess before. "I will attend to them. It was a reaction to a spell I was attempting. It unraveled rather… messily. As you see." He smiled, glancing up at her with hooded eyes, seeking to distract her with amusement and to lead her down a false trail of what had happened.

She wanted to shake her head, knowing better. "Loki, you threw them, and you were about to burn something," she corrected softly. "You're upset. Will you tell me what happened?"

The smile vanished as if his lips had never held one at all and he turned his head away from her. "What does it matter?" he countered. "You can't help."

She gripped his wrist and looked at him. She was still unused to his being taller; the image she held in her mind was of the youth who stood at the perfect height to tuck beneath her chin. "Loki… am I not still your mother? You need not hide from me."

He hesitated, seemed tempted, and then inhaled a deep breath. "I… this is so foolish, said aloud," he muttered, "but I saw… I was on the yard with Thor and Sif. And the way she looks at him…" His shoulders slumped as he gave a sigh. "One more thing he has without effort."

In that moment, she saw on his face the depth of his attraction and perhaps true devotion, feelings that not only were not reciprocated, but given to his brother instead. "Oh, my son…" She reached up to his face, but he ducked away, giving a bitter laugh.

"Well, they're both warriors, so it makes sense. They enjoy hacking about on the yard, and I don't. She has made it clear that she tolerates me for Thor's sake, so there was never anything there. There never could be. Best to understand that now."

He said the words like laying bricks in a wall, shielding his heart from the hurt of loving one who loved another.

After that, he had watched Sif from a safe distance of friendship and comrade-in-arms, but Frigga suspected he had not given up his feelings for her, since he had never seemed interested in another. So now she had to hope she was right and those feelings had only faded, not vanished altogether. She would use that thread to reel him back.

Frigga dipped her hands into the basin of the small fountain on its bronze stand, letting the water drip back down, off her fingers. "The wound in his flesh will heal, I suppose the question is whether the wound in his soul will."

"I will help however I can, All-Mother."

Frigga's gaze swung back to Sif, surprised by the offer made so soon. That seemed a confirmation there was something there. But Sif was stubborn and private, and the last thing Frigga wanted was to make Sif reluctant to be near him by being too forceful in her encouragement. So Frigga said mildly, "If you would stay near him, then, Sif? And continue to thwart him if he continues to be so reckless with his own life? I will spend what time I can as well, but there is much to attend to."

Sif bowed her acquiescence, and Frigga murmured, "Thank you, Sif. I am pleased someone will be there to help him."

"You're not… angry at what he did?" Sif asked.

"Perhaps later I will be, but for now? I am simply glad he still lives."

"I am, too," Sif agreed quietly.

Seeing Fandral lurking in the archway, Frigga knew it was time to return to her duties as regent, though it tore at her heart to attend to things of little importance when her son was in the healer's quarters.

"Sif, I must go. Eir knows to keep me informed, but if you feel Loki needs me, do not hesitate to let me know."

"As you wish, All-Mother."

Frigga joined Fandral, who smiled at her. "I heard the good news that Sif found him."

"Yes, though he was wounded. So it will be a little time before he can take up Gungnir."

He hesitated, smile fading. "You will give it to him?"

She slanted a glance at him as they walked. "You wish it for yourself?" She had been preparing him for the eventuality, just in case. Fandral, as Bor's grand-nephew, was next in succession.

"No!" he said firmly, and she knew it for truth. "Always I am glad to offer aid, All-Mother. And I would do my duty if it were required of me, but it is far too much responsibility!" he said the words as a jest, making her smile, but then he grew more serious. "No, I was merely wondering if Loki might want it too much."

"In the past, he might have," she acknowledged. She knew Loki's resentments better than anyone and had done what she could to help him. But in the aftermath of that resentment going so terribly awry, she doubted ambition would be his greatest problem. "But now? He fled the Realm, Fandral, and attempted to force Sif to kill him so great is his grief and despair. Rule seems the least of his wants right now."

Fandral's eyes widened in surprise at the news, and she was satisfied. Swallowing and turning his gaze to look blankly at the statues they passed as he remembered, he murmured, "Never have I seen the like of that vengeance he cast on the Jotunn. It was nothing like his usual tricks and illusions. They burned as if in dragon fire."

"There has always been great power within him. He will be able to wield Gungnir beyond even Odin's skill," she said, knowing Fandral would share her words. Making others aware that Loki had the strength to protect the Realm, even though he was notoriously not the mightiest or strongest at arms was all to the better. "I can only pray that this tragedy will teach him wisdom."

"How could it not? And I will do what I can to help," Fandral reassured her.

She found a smile for him and gripped his arm. "Your support has been invaluable to me, Fandral, and I thank you."

"Always, my queen," he promised.

I do not ask for 'always', but I do hope for 'long enough'. She lowered her eyes to her hands, and hoped dipping them in the water was recent enough that her ancestral spirits and the Norns themselves would hear her earnest prayer. You returned Loki to me, but let his return not tear us apart in civil war. Let my secret stay kept and let Loki seek life, not his own death. And most of all, let my Realm have peace. Surely that is not too much to ask in return for taking Thor from me?

Let his passing be the last of the tragedies to befall us, not the first.

tbc...

Chapter Text

The funeral was supposed to soothe grief and ease the pain of loss. Loki felt no consolation as he launched his light sphere to light Thor's way to Valhalla.

After, Frigga walked with Odin in slow procession to the feast but Loki wanted nothing to do with a hollow celebration. He sent a double behind them in his proper place, but did not stir from his rock at the shore. Frigga glanced back, noticing the Loki behind her was not real, but she did not see him, wrapped in his invisibility.

The gathered crowd dispersed, some to the feast, some back to their homes. Loki was vaguely pleased to hear the crying since he felt too empty for tears of his own.

Yet it was not sorrow that broke him in the end; it was the words of a stranger, standing unknowingly close to Loki and murmuring to his wife:

"If only it had been the other prince instead."

He knew before he opened his eyes that he was somewhere he didn't want to be. He knew that because he was somewhere; he wanted to be nowhere, and yet he was awake and aware. He felt his body, when he should feel nothing.

His fingers curled into soft bed sheets as he tensed on an urge to scream.

Why? Why had they brought him back? Why hadn't they just let him go?

He opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling of his sleeping chamber, the domed height and its projection of the sky outside, so it looked as if there was no roof at all. The blue perfection of it was sharply nauseating.

Asgard. No. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be, at all, but not here.

"Loki?" That was Sif's voice, coming from the reading chair nearer the balcony.

He closed his eyes, hoping if he pretended to be asleep again, she might leave.

Measured steps crossed the floor, approaching the bed, and Sif said, "I know you're awake."

He started to turn away from her, clenching his jaw on the sudden burst of fire originating in his stomach and radiating outward. His hand touched it, finding the flesh knitted, but still tender on the surface and sharper pains beneath in the muscles.

"Stay still." Her hand gripped his shoulder, pushing it down lightly. "Eir said you need to finish healing."

He didn't bother to try to fight her. He wanted to throw her hand off him, tear open the wound she'd given him, and lay in this bed until it was soaked in blood. For a moment, he could almost feel the blood against his fingers, enough to float away. But he did nothing, looking up at the ceiling. He roused enough to ask, voice still ragged with disuse, "Why are you here?"

"The All-Mother asked me to sit with you to make sure you did nothing else stupid," Sif answered, and her tone was probably meant to be a jest, but he understood. She was not here of her own will.

He should have known. What he'd thought she meant on Midgard, had been just his pathetic desire, wishing for something he knew was not for him. A fool who should know better. She would do as she was told -- fetch him, sit by him -- but of her own will she would rather be anywhere else.

But everyone else did, too, which made her whole trip pointless. "Why did you bring me back?" he whispered.

She made a little sound, like a gasp, and he had to look, to see her biting her lower lip, fine black brows drawn together, as she blinked rapidly. "I had hoped…" she murmured, "that you'd realize you don't want… that."

It was funny how she was so frightened to say the word, when he had no fear of it at all. He wanted to say it for her: Death. Dead. Gone. Away. Like Thor. But not with him, because he's where I can never follow.

"I want it to stop." He shut his eyes again. His abdomen hurt, but that was nothing compared to the weariness that sunk down to his bones. "So tired."

Sif said nothing, while Loki hoped he would fall asleep and escape all of this at least for awhile. But he knew she was there, and sleep didn't come.

"Rest then," she said finally. "You'll feel better."

He wanted to laugh, bitterly, that he would ever feel better again. That was not the end of this path.

He heard Sif return to the chair and he thought about telling her she could leave, that he wasn't going to do 'that'. He was too tired to bother. But he was also too tired to bother speaking, so all fell quiet.

His heart continued to beat, going on without his prompting. He'd already tried to will it to stop, over and over, but even with seidr, the spell faded as soon as he fell unconscious.

Footsteps approached from the other side, the tread heavy and confident, striding up to his bed in a familiar way.

"Loki, you cannot still be abed?" Thor demanded, his voice jovial and teasing. "Get up, and we'll go down to the yard. I will re-teach you how to parry, since you apparently forgot every lesson you ever had."

Thor was here, he was back. It was all a mistake. It was just a bad dream.

Smiling, Loki opened his eyes, to see Thor standing at the side of the bed. The sky behind him was black night, with only a few icy stars high above.

Thor looked huge, looming over Loki. The blue and silver of his armor was muted and dark, with a gaping hole through his chest and blood still trickling from it. Loki's heart seized in horror, and he wanted to scramble away from this revenant, but he was frozen in the bed.

Thor was not smiling, his mouth in a grim slash of disapproval, and his voice was no longer amused, but instead dry and cold. "You disappoint me, brother. Here you are, weak as a pup. I thought at least you would grab Gungnir and take the throne, since you wanted it so badly to kill me for it."

His scorn bit deeper and colder than any blade. "No…" Loki protested, voice scarcely able to get through his throat. He stared up at Thor's face, all trace of kindness stripped away from it. "I didn't. I swear."

"Lie to them all you want, I know the truth," Thor said. "You knew they would never love you, as they loved me. So you threw away a thousand years of brotherhood so you could take everything: the throne, our parent's affection, and Sif. All of it for you alone."

"No," Loki whispered, shaking his head in denial.

"Liar." Thor leaned down, his blue eyes like steel pinning Loki through the chest so he couldn't draw breath. "You were jealous and you couldn't abide that I was more worthy than you. You are a spiteful shadow, a liar, and a monster. You do not deserve to be alive, when I am dead."

"No," he whispered again, but this time in agreement. He didn't deserve to be still alive, when Thor was dead. He didn't want it.

"Loki!" A hand shook his shoulder, and Loki opened his eyes. At first he was disoriented, because he thought he'd been awake and Thor was there, only to realize Thor was gone; he'd been dreaming again.

The sound that came out of him was more animal than person; a whimper he couldn't restrain.

"Hush, my son, it will be well. Be calm," Frigga's hand smoothed his hair. She was sitting beside him, and he looked at her, tension easing from his heart at the familiar sympathy of her face. There was no one in the Nine Realms as beautiful, and her presence always comforting to him. She saw she had his attention, and she smiled at him. "I am so glad you're home."

The moment's peace dissolved for the chill reality. "No." He yanked himself away from her touch. "Don't touch me."

His skin felt cold without her hand on his head, but he couldn't bear the affection under false pretenses. He had killed her favorite son and she would loathe him when she knew. He would see the softness of her blue eyes harden to that same hatred he recalled from his dream in Thor's eyes.

"Loki, it was a dream," the queen said. "Nothing true."

He tightened a jaw but managed to say in a level tone, "The only lie in it was Thor was here again. Standing behind you."

She turned her head, as if hopeful to see Thor standing there, anguish briefly lining her face with the realization he was speaking of a dream.

Loki remembered words in Thor's voice: 'They'll never love you as they loved me.'

No, they never would. Because Loki would forever remind them of the one who had been lost. It was inescapable.

He pushed himself to turn over onto his side away from her. The movement made his wound burn again, but he closed his eyes and concentrated on the throbbing sensation until it might engulf him.

"We can sorrow together, Loki. You know your father fell into the Odinsleep, and I do not know when or even whether he will wake again. You and I are all who remain." She lay her hand on his shoulder, and though he twitched to pull away, she didn't let go. "I searched for you and I found you, so you could come home."

He could only shake his head once in refusal of her words. There was no coming home, not in the way she meant.

"My darling, Sif told me what you believe you did."

The careful words made him want to laugh. As if he was mistaken about what he'd done. Or maybe he'd dreamed it. Maybe Thor - the real Thor - was going to walk through the door any minute, because it was all in his mind.

If only that were true. He would gladly exchange madness for Thor to be alive.

"And I know that you feel this shattering guilt and grief for your brother, but, Loki, you have taken on too much," she said softly. Her fingers caressed the top of his shoulder and his upper back, soothing and gentle. "Thor would never agree it was your fault. He would want you to celebrate his life by living your own, not wishing it to end."

But Loki remembered his dream and knew that was a lie. Thor would hate him and tell him the useless one should have died instead. Just like everyone else believed.

"And I need you, my son," Frigga continued, and found the edge of his face to smooth back his hair. "I cannot endure your loss as well. Please, Loki, do not shut me out. We can mourn together."

He didn't mean to speak at all, but the words fell out, "I can't."

"Can't do what, sweetling?" she asked gently.

"Can't… can't bear that you hate me," he whispered.

"No, no, I would never hate you." She bent down to kiss his temple and embrace him as best she could, while he lay there and let her, even though he knew he should move away. "I love you," she declared firmly. "All of this darkness is only your despair shrouding your heart, my darling. It's not the truth."

"But--"

"No," she interrupted. "You have stewed in your grief and guilt so long you see nothing clearly. There is no hate, no anger, only joy that you are here again."

But he knew that wasn't so. There was no joy in her. Relief, perhaps, but not joy. Because there was no joy without Thor, not for his mother. And certainly there was none for Thor's killer.

He must have made a sound, or she just sensed his distress, because she smoothed his hair. "Oh my dearest, there is light. There is. We will find it together, I promise."

But when he looked up from the bottom of the deep well where his spirit had fallen, he could not see it. There were towering slick walls, too slippery to climb, and the glint of long teeth in the shadows all around, ready to shred him to pieces if he dared to move.

Thor had taken all the light with him, and left Loki only nothingness.

tbc...