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Magic was a subject so vast, so varied, and so constantly in a state of flux that it simultaneously demanded and decried categorisation.
Some books tried to separate by spell type - illusion spells, conjuration spells, transformative spells, restorative spells - the problem was that for each type of spell, there were at least a dozen ways to achieve the same result using a different type. Some seidr users had argued for different forms of magic, but a 'battle' fire spell could light a fire just as effectively as a 'hearth' spell, so that was pointless.
Some elves had tried a more esoteric classification system, different coloured 'schools' of magic, but inter-school sharing quickly collapsed that idea. Plus, in the end, there was only one person whose opinion really mattered, and the All-father had his own, very exacting way of categorising magic. It was a very simple solution to an age-old problem, it left no room for muddied explanations or intangible labelling.
There was magic that he approved of, and there was magic that he didn't. No middle ground, no grey area. And the magic Loki was performing right now? That was definitely the latter.
—
Odin's idea of justice was retributive, especially when it came to his second son. Where Loki was concerned he was very much a 'don't spare the rod' parent, and following the nightmare of the past few years his hand had only grown heavier. The coronation, the Bifrost disaster, the invasion of Midgard - all of these were certain to extract a heavy toll on their own, and of course, one could never forget to account for Loki's oldest crime - the crime of not being normal. Not being Aes. Not -wanting- to be Aes.
Knowing Loki as he did, on Thor's return he had instructed the guards to incarcerate him before trial. Some would argue such a severe jail, in the deepest hole that was available to the All-Father without actually digging a hole deeper, was a punishment in and of itself but how else was their king supposed to ensure that the trickster God didn't use his magic and wiles to slip away before the trial?
The cell that Loki had been put in was impregnable by external magic, and the weighted metal collar that entirely covered his throat and forced his chin up and his head back was inscribed with layer after layer of magic absorbent runes. So much as a thread of magic to itch his nose caused the collar to warm uncomfortably hot as it stole away the seidr and tightened and thickened.
Just in case that hadn't been enough, the half-facial gag that Thor had first put on him in Midgard was still in place, and now also wrapped delicate ears in biting metal, silencing all sound and cutting off the second Prince's hearing. Thick, black, rough cloth wrapped around his upper face in a way that was designed to blind and induce feelings of claustrophobia, cutting off the user from the world.
Loki was left blind, deaf, gagged, near-smothered and bent in an incredibly uncomfortable way. He was left waiting in one of the most highly secured cells in the dungeons of the Golden Palace, under some of the most powerful spells known to magic users. Left imagining the fate that would befall him tomorrow, when he would be presented to the all-father for judgment.
Over the years he had suffered innumerable punishments from his father, from the simple denials of freedoms to public and private lashings to his lips being sewn shut to curb his lying tongue. He did not doubt that this time would be worse than all of them put together, It would be agonising, it would be humiliating, it would be -
It would be much worse than the pain that came from his twisting his wrists in jerky, back-and-forth saving movements, rubbing his already too-thin skin raw. He'd done this from the moment the metal cuffs had been clapped on him because as soon as he had been caught he had known there had been only one way to escape - one last boundary he could push past. One last rule to break.
Bound as he was, wrist to ankle and forced to his knees, silenced, deafened and blinded, he had no way of knowing when or if his plan would work. Due to the thrice-cursed collar his own siedr was contained, and being siphoned off little by little. There was no normal spell that could save him here, but because blood magic had been outlawed for millennia - two kingships long at least - all Loki could hope was that Odin had long forgotten that there was an inherent amount of seidr in the very blood of a master of the craft.
Centuries of casting and imbuing and imbibing magic made his very life force a magical ingredient that, with the right array and circumstances, could be harnessed and used to make yet more magic. It was incredibly powerful magic at that, and spells that called for it were only more powerful when given freely. It was no wonder the practice had been outlawed.
The danger was that without an arrangement, without planning and preparation, Loki had no control over what beings might come for his blood when it finally spilt. Such undertakings usually involved intensely complicated charts, and long drawn-out rituals, and they were needed there because Monsters would come for a taste of seidr-master blood.
It was quite possible that Loki would just summon a Devourer. Still, at least that death would be quicker than the one he was destined to meet come the dawn. So he sawed his wrists back and forth against the metal cuffs that held them fast to his ankles, and he mentally chanted the summoning spell he had secretly read and learnt centuries ago but never used. And finally, he gathered up the sharp, jagged pieces of his psyche and tried to make some form of mental defence against anything more sinister than something called a Devourer.
Back and forth, back and forth. Burning pain combined with the ache of his position and the unremitting agony of his battle wounds, where he had been beaten out of mind control like a fucking ragdoll. A crescendo of fear when his fractured mind imagined footsteps growing closer, or the jingle of keys he would never hear.
When the panic would overwhelm him he would freeze in place and pant desperately against the gag, saliva spilling out past the jut of metal that viscously pinned his tongue down. He would beg the universe 'not yet, more time' and try to breathe past his racing heart and constricting threat. His accelerated healing would undo some of his hard work but eventually, the imaginary guards would laugh at the pathetic state of their charge and the phantom footsteps would move away. And Loki would experience just the tiniest, weakest spark of hope.
Himself was all Loki had faith in these days, anyway.
—
He felt it when the spell finally worked, and something hunted him down.
One breath he was alone, the next there was someone in the cell with him, something old and powerful, and made of many things, some of which Loki only had the barest reference to. The tang of molten metal, the sickly sweet smell of decay, blistering heat, blood, sand, oil, something sharp and biting that might be gunpowder. Not a Devourer, then.
His spell finally faltered in his mind and he sat there, slumped under the weight of his injuries and fear, and waited for judgement. He didn't need to wait long.
"It's been eons since one of my kind was called to this place. And just as long since so much effort has been put into a calling."
The voice was strangely familiar, and Loki fought to place it but his mind was just too splintered at this point to adequately recall anything but pain. He thought he might have whimpered behind his gag, but it wasn't like he could hear it so... Wait. There was something wrong with that thought-
"Honestly, I didn't think my ancestors had been serious about the sheer amount of gold. Turns out they were underestimating it. Now, what to do about you?"
In his head, oh norns it was in his head! The voice might be smooth and gentle, but it was in his fucking head and Loki had never been more scared in his life.
Every seidr user worth their salt could send simple messages to the minds of others. Telepathic discourse wasn't a new thing to Loki, but this wasn't a message composed and sent off like a letter. This was someone sharing his body and reading his thoughts as they formed. Someone capable of puppeteering him far more effectively than Thanos did.
Thanos could use the mind stone to affect free will or use torture and sadism to break down a person's desire to fight. He could fill every waking moment with sonorous droning lectures about his personal philosophy. He could cause untold pain to make you do as he wished to escape it, but he could never just implant himself in a captive's body and unmake what they were.
This thing was everything Thanos wasn't. It was capable of locking everything that was Loki away in a box and using him like a fucking glove. Owning his memories, his preferences, and even the way he felt at the feeling of sunlight on his skin. Everything he knew and everything he had ever thought would belong to this creature that kid in him now.
This was the literal worst-case scenario for someone attempting a summoning and it was all his fault. Because of his fear of the dawn, his terror at his father's judgement, he had performed a fucking blood summoning without any mental defences to protect himself. Thanos had ruined centuries of carefully crafted walls, magical, mental and emotional, and as a result when the creature had answered his call it hadn't been a prepared, powerful seidr master that had greeted him and fought him into submission.
The wolf had come to the door of the grandmother and had found it wide open, with a trait of treats leading to grandmother bleeding out into a dog bowl, opened up neck to belly for the wolf to climb in and wear as a coat -
"Fuck me you're a mess."
The whatever-it-was was trying to be careful but every brush of its power against Loki's mind was like brushing up against a raw nerve. In the cell Loki's eyes rolled in his head, spasming in a pain that, for all it was metaphysical, was awful in its intensity. He was flayed before the creature, having been peeled apart layer by layer by a mad titan and left to burn apart -
"Shh. Fuck, this is... Shh. I'll help, hush, you must be calm. I know you know this. I know it's not easy, but you've already chummed the water enough to let me through the palace wards, you've got to calm down..."
Loki wanted to scream, probably was screaming - maybe he'd never really stopped since Thanos took him - when something wrapped around his shattered mind in a blaze of gold and red, folds and creases and ropes that looked all the realms like a cloak swooping around the broad shoulders of a warrior. He could see it in his mind's eye, writhing and twisting as it wrapped him in layer upon layer of protection until finally everything just... stopped.
For the first time since Thanos loosed him on an unknowing Midgard, he could actually feel himself breathing in rapid, shallow gasps. He could feel how dry his mouth was, feel the weight of grease and grime in his hair, and see the blackness of his blindfold. He hadn't even realised just how stripped raw his mind had been until it was sheltered, and the second prince of Asgard would have keeled over in relief had a body not been at his side to shore him up.
"That's better, huh?" The voice in his head spoke again. "You're insanely lucky, you know that? Such a powerful seidr master attempting a summoning without any mental defences at all? You're basically a walking host for something much less kindly than me."
If he hadn't been gagged, and if he had anything left in his stomach at all, Loki would have vomited at the idea. He had already been so violated by Thanos, the mind stone, even the void that thinking about being taken away again by something he'd been stupid enough to allow through was completely nauseating.
His whole body shook in fear, and he tried to plead to whatever had come forward to keep the protection it had placed steady. It was distressingly shameful for someone of his power to rely on the protections of another, but with the alternative being so much worse he just took the blow to his dignity.
Loki's guest 'tsked', clicking its tongue in unhappiness.
"This just won't do at all. But we're stuck like this til dawn, you and I. Alright. Let's try... "
Hands slid down Loki's upper arms - the God counted four fingers, a thumb and a palm so at least it was at least partly familiar, physically. Still, he flinched from the contact at first but the demon paid no mind, it just ran its hands up and down his upper arms idly and made no comments that the limbs were as thin and fragile as firelighters.
Up and down, repetitive and always the same speed, and while at first he'd expected pain at every pass gradually Loki latched on to those steady motions as his skin began to warm to the contact. When he was younger and sick, Frigga would occasionally rub slow circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. After a while, when she inevitably stopped, the area would tingle fiercely as it waited for more comfort and his mind would fixate on the loss of contact. This felt a lot like that used to, only the demon never stopped the motions.
"This is how I'll chase the madness away."
The monster murmured to him in his mind, little undulations of the gold and red cloth shield that followed its words. Loki could have wept from the gentle way the words touched him, and the way they were soft in their delivery but iron-clad in their certainty. Loki wasn't sure of anything anymore, but he had the dull idea that while this demon held him and protected his mind he didn't need to be. Not when this being could be certain for him.
"The same way it was planted. Madness is just an absence of rationality, and an absence of rationality is something we are trained into. Your previous master promised that touch equalled pain, but there is always touch and so you learnt that there is always pain. It is a crude but effective way to cultivate insanity. Still, step by step I shall undo it. "
He didn't know what kind of animalistic, hysterical noises must be being muffled by the gag, and frankly he didn't want to know - his pride couldn't take it, and who'd have thought that Odin's wickedly excessive bindings would actually help him? There was no need for sight or sound here, all he needed to know was the steady movements on his arms, and the torso he had been tucked against, and that for the first time since he fell nothing hurt.
"That's it. You're doing very well, my Prince. A little more now."
A hand started to trail slowly up and down his bowed back and he thrashed, his moment of calm burned away by a fear and anticipation of pain flaring so violently his body responded by bucking as a mount would - because how many times had Thanos threatened to cut through the skin and reach the column of nerves and snip away any of Loki's resistance?
How many times had he followed though, til the God was a mind trapped in a stringless puppet-shell?
How many times had he promised to not let him heal it, one day?
But the hands didn't stop, despite his writhing and whatever noises escaped him now in fear. - They just continued their unchangeable course, down his spine, over every vertebrae and back up again to slip across the plains of his shoulders then down once more. Up and down, up and down, Until his breathing fell into the same timing.
Eventually, just like before, he stopped thrashing away. He was so weak by now that he couldn't physically keep up his struggles, but even if he could - it didn't hurt. It wasn't like before. The hand that petted him was gentle and smooth and did the same path over and over until it was just like his arms had become - half dependent on gentleness.
Dully, he noticed the rhythmic stroking of his arms hadn't actually stopped. Not an entirely human form then, if the demon had more than two arms...
"Just so. Well noticed. Well reasoned."
A bright spark of warmth bubbled up inside Loki at those words. The praise was as agonisingly perfect as the soothing contact and it swallowed him under like a wave. He felt there was something he could do to better his position and like a spark on dry tinder, the idea took hold and almost swallowed him. Suddenly he was fighting the fear response Thanos had carved into him, in order to find new information to get that voice to praise him again. To be good. To do right. To earn this comfort.
The demon was willing to help him, it gave Loki countless opportunities to reason out its clothes and its hair and its facial hair, anything about it physically until Loki was able to produce a rationalisation with hopeful excitement, and it helped chase away his need to struggle against the soft, comforting contact if it had been earned through good work rather than given as acts of random kindness.
—
At some point during the night, Loki had been carefully maneuvered to be half lying in the lap of the demon while a multitude of arms provided grounding comfort. Hands carded through his greasy hair, and massaged his shoulders, and stroked his back, and touched the features of his face with gentle caresses, and a few other soothing motions beside, and the touches were the reason he was breathing steadily and was no longer a ball of anxiety and pain.
Being starved of gentle touch for years only to now get it on had all but melted the God when he'd been laid down, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from sprawling bonelessly over the legs of the creature. All active thought had been silent for a short time now, too, so it was difficult to coax his sluggish brain into wakefulness when the smooth, reassuring voice spoke into his mind again.
"It's almost dawn." The demon murmured, almost apologetic as it carefully stroked a few wayward strands of hair from Loki's face. "I won't allow you to be hauled before the court, not when I've done all this work to calm your mind. But I need your eyes and ears and mouth unbound so that I may make our contract, and only one has the power to do that. So I will summon him here. "
The thought of Odin being near made Loki curl against the form beneath him, fear beginning to thrum through him but it was hushed by the demon who incredibly, inexplicably, incomprehensibly, began to hum a cheerful tune beneath his red and golden cloak.
"Sun is shinin' in the sky, there ain't a cloud in sight, it's stopped rainin', everybody's in the play and don'tcha know? It's a beautiful new day. Hey."
It had been so long since anyone had sung to him, that for a moment Loki actually thought he was making it up. He didn't think even Frigga had done so since he was an actual child, the idea that an entity from outside of reality was doing it was mind-boggling. It wasn't until a forehead pressed against his, lips moving silently against his hair that he realised no, it was real. And it really was for him.
The tears fell freely again - he'd cried so much that night he might actually run out of tears to shed soon.
"Hey you with the pretty face? Welcome to the human race! A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky's up there waitin', and today is the day you've waited for."
Thumbs rubbed gently over his cheekbones to chase away the wet trails that ran down them, and Loki, by the Norns, actually nuzzled the hands (much to his internal embarrassment).
"Better. So good. Well done, my Prince."
The song was hummed through twice before finally trailing off mid-way through a chorus and Loki had almost forgotten what was coming next, but the trio of pounds that felt like fists banging on a table followed by the feel of a name whispered against his mind reminded him someone needed to join them. He jerked slightly at the sound but the singing had done its job - he felt far more prepared for what was coming now.
Bang bang bang
"Yggrtýr."
The demon spat out the name and Loki was confused because as far as he knew that wasn't his not-fathers name, but three more blows followed.
Bang bang bang
"Viðurrtýr."
Bang bang bang
"Valdr galga."
Bang bang bang
"Valtýr."
"Þrasarrtýr."
"Tvíblinditýr."
"Skollvaldr."
With each new name, the beats came faster, til there was barely a name that didn't overflow into the next trio of knocks. Loki listened to them all with an academic fascination - he had heard of the magic the demon was performing but had never cast it himself or seen it cast before. This is what was called a 'knocking' summon, where a name was called out and all those who had a claim to the title were alerted, then another name was called and any of the first group that also held the second name were alerted again, then a third and so on until only the intended recipient was left hearing the summons.
It was an ancient bit of magic, not difficult but long forgotten and a shameful calling if the names were negative. Which all of these were, and all of them were unfamiliar to Loki, so this being must know the all-father well, and of old, to know so many of his forgotten mantles.
"Ófnir, Járngrímr, Hrjóðr, Hrani, Hnikuðr, Hjarrandi, Herteitr, Haptaguð, Hangi, Grímnir, Glapsviðr, Ginnarr, Bǫlverkr."
There couldn't possibly have been anyone left in the running after the sixth name, but the demon persisted in reciting names so negative they were surely insults until, with a crash that Loki felt rather than heard, the door to his cell was thrown open. He pressed his face into the demon's stomach, to hide away even though he couldn't see the fury that must be pouring from the All-Father at such a shameful knock.
A new hand rested on the back of his head, holding him and letting him hide.
"Odin Borson." Loki's demon finally finished, sounding altogether smug and entertained. "I was only halfway down my list. Ahah! Don't speak yet, not everyone involved can hear you. Before the sun fully crests, the one who summoned me has to make his request and accept or deny my offer. Otherwise, I am free to run amok until someone else summons me. And I'm so rarely called forth these days, you may be dealing with my particular brand of entertainment for some time."
That was true of course, and Loki didn't need his hearing to imagine the angry words Odin Allfather shot back. Still, a few moments later strong hands were in his hair removing the gag with a rough tug, and the magical darkness that had blinded him lifted. He could hear, he could see, and his voice was his own again. The overwhelming relief nearly floored him.
"Loki! What have you done?"
Somehow he rather wished the first words his uncovered ears would hear would be that of his demon. Still, the paternal disapproval made Loki scoff with a confidence he had been utterly lacking hours ago. The red and gold cloak that still shielded his mind seemed to pulse in a reflection of his own irritation, and the reminder of the demon's presence caused Loki's strength to surge in response.
His fabled silver tongue and desert-dry wit came to him in an instant, and there was a fire in his eyes when he stood on steady legs and spun to glare at Odin.
"Has the trial started already? When should I begin my confession from? Birth, childhood, or just the true Asgardian Prince's coronation?" He knew he shouldn't really provoke the king, but he could see a few strands of his hair in his not-father's fingers, and he felt so angry at his treatment that he couldn't help himself.
"If I get a vote, can we put a moratorium on anything earlier than the coronation? We're on a time limit."
Finally able to see, Loki span back around as his heart clenched in excitement and trepidation, to finally look upon what he'd summoned.
The first look at his demon had his mind reeling, and he swore softly.
"What in Hel?!"
Anthony Stark gave him a smug grin and a chuckle.
"Surprise! Well, it was a surprise for me anyway. Eh, not really - first blood summons coming out of Asgard in at least five millennia? Of course, it had to be you! I was surprised by your accommodations however, I was sure you'd been cleared by now."
Loki gaped at the end of the word vomit coming from the man who'd waved him off with Thor what could only have been a few hours ago, and tried to make this whole situation make sense in his mind.
"You're mortal." He asserted at the same time as Odin snarled "Cleared?!"
Anthony, the midguardian warrior he had defenestrated through a norms-damned window, laughed. It was a nice laugh, a normally silent voice in the back of Loki's head commented. Gentle, smooth, without malice. Loki firmly ignored it.
"Rude." Anthony pointed at Odin. "And wrong." He pointed at Loki. "But the wrong can wait Rock of Ages, because we have to make a deal in the next ten minutes. As for you, All-Bastard - why did I say 'cleared' you ask?"
Stark turned to Odin, and was it Loki's imagination or did he look confused? Odin gave a thunderous glower back, hand tightening on his spear as if the not-midguardians presence alone threatened him.
"What do you mean why?" Stark said incredulously, "He reeks of the void!"
To Loki the worlds had turned on their heads as he watched the demon scowl at Odin in some sort of showdown, and as Odin growled back. Such insolence from anyone else would usually be grounds for Odin to kill them where they stood, which Loki realised must mean that the demon was more powerful than even he had counted on, but honestly? Loki was still stuck on the fact the demonic entity had previously offered him a fucking drink.
"Irrelevant."
Odin spat out and Anthony spluttered - genuinely, as if he'd choked on something. The viscously spoken word did galvanise Loki though, who rolled his eyes at the predictability of it all.
"Ah, of course, a Jotun is guilty as a matter of birth, yes? That explains -"
"I'm sorry, did you not hear me?" Anthony (rudely) interrupted. "He has been in the void. Voooid. V-O-I-D. Inhospitable to organic life? Home to eldrich horrors that like to body surf their way back into the Nine? A literal hole in the fabric of space where things can fall in but never fall out? We are both on the same page here, yes?"
"And yet here you stand, once again flouting the laws that have kept our people safe for millennia! Blood magic, Loki? The darkest, most depraved forms of magic - why am I even surprised that you are staining your soul and putting us all at risk just to escape your due punishment. Again."
Too riled up to try and figure out why Odin was talking to him rather than the demon demanding answers from the damned All-Father, Loki just shot back.
"Perhaps because you are referring to my trial - whereby my guilt has to be determined - as a foregone conclusion and we destined to be guilty? "
"Do you deny your actions? That you purposefully and willfully-"
"My point is that it wouldn't matter if I did when my judge has already planned out how I am to be tortured this time!"
Asgard's second Prince was just beginning to work up a good head of steam when a small heavily calloused hand pressed insistently over his mouth. He went to direct his fury to the demon who had to stand on fucking tiptoes in order to interrupt him again, only to see snake-like eyes glaring at Odin with a cold fury that the second prince had only seen reflected in others when it had been aimed at him.
If there had been any doubt that Anthony Stark had been the demon he had summoned, it was gone now. No mortal could carry that much cold anger, or contain a magical presence strong enough to be felt in the presence of the King of Asgard.
"He's deflecting," Tony said, voice eerily calm. "From what? He wants you to be enraged, insensate, why? Because..." The demon tilted his head suddenly and smiled, and unlike the laugh, this was all malevolence. There were a lot of shadows in Asgard's deepest dungeon, but there suddenly seemed more - or like what shadows there were, were coalescing and thickening, filling the stone-walled dungeon with oppressive shade.
The display of power was strong enough to make Odin shift as though he wanted to step back, but suprisingly Loki didn't feel stifled or intimidated. The red-gold cloak lightened around him protectively, instead.
"Because what I said didn't surprise him. Because he already knew."
The realisation washed over him like cold water and Loki stared at Odin in horror.
"You...knew."
He whispered, half mindful of his heart suffering another break because yes, he hated Odin, and thought that Odin had never loved him, had never been his father, but this? Never had he imagined a betrayal like this.
Odin clearly felt the sparking of barely contained emotion and drew himself upwards. He exuded restraint, paver and disinterest and dear fucking norns the demon was right. He'd known.
"It was knowledge I could not act on. I could not reach into the void to return you."
As those words rang in his head Stark spat - physically spat out black phlegm onto the floor of Loki's cell, just in front of Odin's feet. It glittered strangely in the low light of the dungeons and reminded Loki all too much of the void.
"Lie." The demon accused. "You know the location of the Tersseract. You put it on Midgard. You know it has been used frequently for the last five years. You could have put your hand on it at any time, and it could have easily saved him so why didn't - Because you did not wish to draw attention."
Tony's eyes narrowed, but this Loki could explain at least.
"You left me with him." The God tried to hiss but instead, it came out as plaintive - childish even. Heartbroken before his not-father once again. "You left me there knowing what he was, what he wanted."
"When the time comes, Asgard may be the only thing that can stop him! My duty is to the Nine Realms!"
"Who... Oh!" Tony threw back his head and laughed, bitter and angry. "Of course! Who else would make Odin the Warmonger cower behind his throne? Honestly, I should have guessed the moment I saw the mind stone. But you could have used the power of Asgard - ah but then you would have to sleep again, and who would rule in your stead? Not Thor, who you believe incapable, nor your wife - Frigga may be too cowed to oppose you directly but she does still want to protect her children and if she knew, she'd rescue Loki, damn the consequences. And there are no mages to share the burden because you've made it all but impossible for anyone to truly master magic as you once did. Nothing like pulling the ladder up behind you to make sure no one follows, huh?"
Loki only dimly heard what Stark was saying, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
"You knew?" He repeated again dully, the information refusing to sink in.
"You nearly destroyed-"
"Oh fuck off." Tony sighed, and it was so rude, so incredibly mortal, it knocked Loki out of his stupor. "Just say it, Odin. There are only us three here to bear witness, just say 'you were not important enough for me to rescue and I didn't care enough about your suffering to risk trying to stop it.'. Give the poor man some fucking closure and let's make this deal."
Odin didn't say it, however. Unsurprisingly. The demon's words were enough to get through to Loki though, who straightened. Anthony was right, and with it, there was nothing left to discuss. In a way, that was a bit of closure of its own.
"I called you forth to answer my need," Loki murmured, feeling the magic settle in his words and wrap around them like a blanket. Odin turned to him again and unsurprisingly glowered.
"Loki do not-"
"I came to your aid on the promise of reward greater than I would have found alone."
Stark replied, eyes glowing in the first rays of the sun. It was an ancient call-and-response spell, the words having to be exact and their meaning clear. And now Loki had to decide what he could succinctly ask for, what he needed. Briefly, he entertained the idea of telling the demon to run the Allfather through where he stood. Odin clearly expected it, he was ready to defend himself at a moment's notice. Loki though...
Loki was just fucking tired.
There was pain and exhaustion set deep in his bones, his mind was still dangerously fragile, his seidr core weak and near empty. Grief and betrayal and horror clung to him, and killing Odin would not actually fix any of that. The only cure for those ills was time, and he didn't have that rather with the Mad Titan surely wanting to hunt down his head. Unless...
"I seek Sanctuary." It was an old word to go with the old spell, a request for safety and security, food, warmth, clothing and a place to lay your head. Comfort and company. The demon would need to do everything in his power to keep Loki not only safe but healthy mentally, physically and emotionally. "In your hearth and in your heart."
Stark blinked at him as Odin pulled in air through clenched teeth. There would be no trial if his request was accepted, the demon would not permit it. Loki hoped the court fucking burned the bastard for letting him escape. There was still Stark's requirement to get through first though, and after a moment's thought the demon spoke.
"I demand your obedience, and the knowledge you have gained of your previous master, until such time as he is dead and can harm no one."
Stark phrased back, as careful with his wording as he could possibly be. It was a good deal, but clearly Odin thought he would refuse. Loki had, after all, never been obedient to his mind. More fool Odin - to Loki, obedience was something earned. And Stark had earned at least some for his care during the long night, and if he fulfilled his vow of sanctuary he would earn what he asked for.
"Your terms are accepted."
As the sun finally crested the horizon, the magic he'd invoked finally snapped into place around the two of them, the oath binding them to their word. Loki sagged forward slightly, finally able to accept that he wasn't going to be tortured by Odin today, on top of everything else.
Hands gripped his shoulders and held him upright, taking his weight with ease.
"Let's get out of this place." Stark murmured, shooting Odin a murderous look.
The one-eyed God was almost shaking with impotent anger, but he could do nothing without risking the wrath of the Norns for breaking such a powerful covenant. It was done. Loki nodded listless, closing his eyes to his not-fathers disappointment. Grief was his overwhelming feeling, but there was nothing more to be said between them now. They were done.
He curled a tired hand around Anthony's wrist, face twitching at how thin the fingers were and how feeble his grip was.
"Take me from here." He had half ordered, half begged, and in a flash of red and gold, the dungeon vanished.