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Chapter Text

What meaning does time carry for the one who holds its weight?

The quiet question echoed through the void like a stray whisper. Though only one was there to listen. A lone god, perched upon a throne of gold and stone, who huffed as he replied,

What is the weight of time compared to the life they get to live?

And thus the void fell silent. For how could time possibly matter to those with eternal blood?

This was now his duty. His glorious purpose that he fulfilled, as a ruler of one in a kingdom of none. 

Here at the heart of the world tree reborn, its roots stretched and coiled across the stone floor for miles on end. The fundament, as dark as obsidian yet strangely iridescent, could barely be seen beneath the bizarre greenery, just like the old ruins and rubble that surrounded his throne. 

Loki, the god of stories, sat motionless amidst countless thin, wispy vines that swayed in the air like a kelp forest underwater. Many of them were tightly wound around his arms, his back, his legs, and steadily pulsed with energy like blood would in a heart. 

Perched upon his raven hair was a crown, formed from twisted leafless branches, but he barely felt its weight, for his senses had long since dulled.

Alas, such things mattered little in the grand scheme of things. He was a god. He was divine. He was the heart of Yggdrasil. And this was but a small price to pay compared to the actions of the former "ruler". 

In this place, best compared to a black hole, past, present and future all occurred at once and drew upon his energy to ensure their continued existence, leaving him as nothing more than a spectator of the events beyond this world. 

And so, Loki did the only thing he could do in this timeless realm, and let himself sink deeper and deeper into every branch he touched. 

He watched his friends live their lives in peace. Watched his alternate selves repeat mistakes or create new wonders. Watched himself as a child, an animal, a president, a godking, a mortal or a father of three. He watched them fight, cry, be betrayed, cast away or live a happy life, and watched as they all assumed the fate laid out before them.

The time he spent as an observer became longer and longer until he could barely tell apart dream from reality. Yet sometimes, in rare moments of clarity, when the threads did not pull at his consciousness and threatened to drown him again, he wondered why he lingered so long in the timelines of others. 

Was it regret? Homesickness? To remember what his family looked like? 

Loki dared not think about the answer, as it would only bring more pain and longing for something he could not have. 

Slowly blinking, he felt the fog of yet another timeline clear up and found himself back in the tree, surrounded by the same, slowly moving threads as always.

His hair had grown again, he noted, and the darkness on his arms had spread another inch. Yet such details were easily overshadowed by a faint tug at his heart, one that could barely be felt beneath the constant ebb and flow of energy that coursed through his body. 

Another timeline. Another branch of Yggdrasil. Another reminder that his friends were safe and sound. That was one of the only things he did not regret. And with this thought, he reached out once more, far, far towards the youngest branch and grazed it with his blackened fingers. 

Familiar static enveloped him as he let his consciousness sink into the timeline 'til nothing but silence remained. And from this silence emerged muffled sounds that became ever clearer with each passing second until he could discern them again. 

Birds sang their songs, the wind brushed against the curtains, and the distant lilt of old Norse reached his ears. 

Groggily, Loki opened his eyes and slowly sat up from the soft bed beneath him. 

The room was painfully familiar, as it had been his childhood bedroom once. Gold, silver and various shades of green made up the interior. With multiple shelves and bookcases rowed up on his wall, each one packed to the brim with various volumes about history, spells, strategic tactics and more. 

It was a bit ironic to see that his room was so orderly that it bordered on being bland. 

For this was not something one expected from a god of mischief. 

In Loki's eyes, however, it made perfect sense. 

He caused chaos for others, but that had never included his own private space. 

Still sluggish from sleep, the body stood and walked over to the mirror. 

Loki, the watcher, was accustomed to this routine, though he couldn't deny the subtle disappointment when his appearance was revealed. 

In the mirror, his younger self stared back at him, with the same short hair, round face and calm composure that he remembered. An image of the perfect son and prince he once wanted to be. 

A knock at his door snapped him out of his musings. 

"Your Highness, the ceremony will begin in a few hours. Do you need help getting ready?"

The muffled voice of a servant spoke. 

Even beyond the wood and gold, he could hear the slight resentment of the person who offered their help. Though this was nothing new to him. 

In light of someone as radiant and pompous as his "brother", who would spare a glance at his shadow? Moreover, if said shadow liked to play pranks and cause trouble all around. 

"No need. I'll be there soon."

His voice replied smoothly, and he listened to the sigh of relief as the footsteps retreated again. 

With methodical movements –ones he had repeated for lifetimes – he dressed himself in green, elegant robes and the golden decorative armour, as was expected from him by the court. The crown, however, was nowhere to be seen, so he replaced it with the next best thing he had to offer. A wreath woven from the silvery branches of an ashtree. 

His body exited the room and began to wander the golden halls once more, if only to observe a home he'd never set foot in himself again. 

He walked leisurely along the grand, glittering halls. Taking his sweet time as his robes swished behind him and passed by the paintings and statues made in honour of gods or past heroes whose names would continue to shine in history for ages to come. 

On his way down, quite a few servants hurried past him with empty trays; no doubt on their way to Andhrímnir, who prepared the feast for today, and returned with elated expressions and arms packed full with food and drink. 

Some of them shot him nervous glances as he passed by with his head held high. But he ignored them. He had better things to do than cause trouble for the stressed. 

At last, he left the shiny halls and stepped foot into Idun's garden, where spring reigned eternal and the smell of flowers permeated the air. 

Loki felt himself relax almost instantly. 

This garden held a sense of peace that he rarely felt since he donned the crown. 

His feet carried him deeper and deeper inside, until he reached a clearing in its centre where the most important relic of Asgard gently swayed in the wind. 

The golden apple tree. 

Whose fruits exuded a soft glow that could still be seen beneath the harsh midday sun. 

What puzzled him, however, was that the tree was alone, with its goddess nowhere to be seen.

To leave the source of their immortality unguarded, Idun must already be present at the great hall. 

And just as that thought crossed his mind, the bell chimed in the distance and told all who still lingered outside that the ceremony was about to begin. 

It seemed that this Loki shared his reluctance to take the normal way back and be the source of gossip of all that saw him, and promptly used his magic to teleport into the hall. 

Unaware that this usually simple spell, had left behind a few ash-dusted leaves in his place. 

Stepping forth from the shadow of a column, he strode across the gleaming floor, unnoticed by the masses, and smoothly settled a step beneath his mother just as Thor made his grand entrance and cheers thundered through the hall. 

"Loki, where have you been? It's unlike you to be late." Frigga murmured, with her eyes glued to her real son. A bitter feeling tugged at his heart as the unwanted memories of her death invaded his mind, though he refused to let them linger. 

"I'm sorry, mother, I've lingered in the garden for too long." His mouth said instead and gave her a shy smile, reserved for only his closest people. 

His thoughts, however, took on a different turn, as he came to a peculiar realisation. 

Usually, his head would be more muted. Influenced by the feelings and actions that this body took... though for some reason, this time around it all felt remarkably clearer. 

Was he somehow influencing this Loki in return? But that shouldn't be possible, he would not be capable of sensing anything at all. 

Though before he could delve any further, his mother spoke again with an audible smile in her voice.

"Hm, you did love it there. But please refrain from doing so during your brother's Coronation. It does shine a good light on you, and I'm sure Thor would've been disappointed had you not shown up."

Loki almost rolled his eyes. Sure, the ever pompous Thor. As if he ever noticed his presence while his ego was still overflowing like the mead in his cup. 

Just look at him. Prancing around, with his freshly forged hammer like it's a toy and not a divine weapon. Grinning and laughing at the crowd and sending his regards to his close warriors, yet not a single glance was spared for him. 

Well, Loki mused, no matter the timeline, Thor seemed to never change. 

Once he knelt before Odin's Throne, the Allfather rose from his seat and silenced the hall in an instant. 

Loki did not bother to listen to the speech. Nothing new would come from the man who stole him from his cradle. And then, as always, Odin would halt just before he could hand the throne to his son. 

The hall waited and waited, and slowly unease broke out. Even Loki, the sole person who knew what was to come. Got goosebumps from the subtle chill in the air. 

Abruptly, Odin stormed off with his staff in hand and commanded the guards to follow him. 

Thor and Loki did not hesitate and immediately followed him into the depths of the castle, where the weapons vault lies. 

The rarest and most dangerous artefacts were kept here, tightly sealed and secure, where no soul could ever touch them. 

Now, however, the vault was covered head to toe in ice and frost. Proof that Jotuns had died here, with blood like liquid ice and skin as cold as stone. And how true this was, as their dead bodies were trapped within the very same water, that their blood had frozen solid. 

The winter casket. The very core that brought upon Jotunheim the eternal Snowstorm still stood at its place at the end of the vault, while Andvaranaut, Gambanteinn, Dainsleif and Laevateinn were all left untouched. 

Odin ignored the charred and frozen corpses and approached the casket with the calm of a still lake. 

Running his hands over its surface, beneath which the storm raged on, he found it unharmed on all accounts. 

"The Jotuns must pay for what they've done!" 

Thor growled from the left. His eyes filled with fury, he stared at the Giant's remains. 

"They have paid with their lives," Odin stated. "The Destroyer did its work, the Casket is safe, and all is well."

And the familiar exchange began anew. 

Loki was tempted to lean back against a pillar and summon his meal from upstairs, as they had no popcorn here, but reminded himself to stay composed and quiet. Drama was best enjoyed unnoticed. 

"All is well? They broke into the weapons vault! If the Jotuns had stolen even one of these relics-"

Thor burst out like the lightning he embodied. 

Odin, however, did not budge in the slightest.

"I have a truce with Fárbauti, King of the Jotuns. He will see to quell any other rebellious blood once I inform him.

"But he just broke our truce! They know we are vulnerable! And who's to say Fárbauti will actually do as you say?" 

"What action would you take then?"

Odin turned slightly, pinning his son in place with his sole eye. 

"March into Jotunheim and teach them a lesson. Break their spirits so they'll never dare try to cross our borders again."

His father huffed. 

"You're thinking as a warrior, not as a king."

"But this was an act of war! Just look how far they've got!" Thor thundered, growing ever more erratic and blinded by his rage. 

"We will find a breach in our defences and seal it."

"As King of Asgard-"

He began, but Odin's voice was louder. 

"But You're Not King!"

The Allfather shouted, the sound reverberating within the vault. 

"You're not king. And you won't become one today. Postpone the ceremony, as it will not happen until we've found our weakness."

Back on the balcony of his room, Thor raged on and on, tearing apart food and furniture as if there was no difference between the two. 

Over and over he'd mutter under his breath. Curses and complaints spilling from him like poetry from a skáld. 

Until at last his burning anger simmered down and he slumped onto the steps, exhausted. 

From the shadow of the column, Loki emerged and settled beside him without a word. 

"Why are you here, brother? It's not wise to be around me right now." Thor grumbled, with a hoarse voice. 

"Why is it so strange to want to offer company? Your grand day has been thwarted, and by Jotuns no less." Loki replied with a loopsided grin, though that vanished quickly once he heard footsteps approach. 

The warrior three halted at the entrance once they spotted him beside his brother and remained there, watching. Judging. 

Loki's skin prickled. An urge to leave hit him suddenly. To pull back from the timeline and continue with another, yet he held himself back. He had yet to see what caused this one to form. 

Ignoring Thor's friends, he leaned closer and whispered, "If it's any consolation, I think you are right. If they found a way to penetrate Asgard's defences, who's to say they won't try again?"

"Exactly." Thor whispered back, some of his fury returning to his voice. 

"But there is nothing you can do without defying father." And just like always, as soon as those words left his mouth, a dangerous glint entered his brother's eyes. 

"No, no Thor, no! Don't even let this cross your mind." He pleaded, like a concerned brother would, but Thor did not listen. 

"It's the only way to ensure the safety of our borders." He said, clasping his discarded red cloak around his shoulders. 

"Thor, it's madness!"

And finally, those warriors decided to speak up. 

"What sort of madness?"

Volstagg asked and very unsubtly eyed Loki from the side. Loki scoffed. 

They were all the same. 

Volstagg, Sif, Fandral and Hogun. 

Each one mighty on the battlefield, but barren in the minds. 

"We're going to Jotunheim."

Thor said in a tone that made it clear, how he would not back down from this decision. 

"What?"

Fandral scoffed. "This isn't like a trip to Midgard where the mortals worship you as a god. This is Jotunheim!"

"My father fought his way to Jotunheim, defeated their armies and took their casket. We would be doing nothing more than common negotiations."

Saying that so flippantly as if he ever had to fear for someone's life. Loki schooled his expression, lest his amused annoyance would show. 

"It is forbidden!" 

Sif cried, another voice of common sense. 

But as always, it fell deaf to Thor's ears. 

"My friends", the young god began, "Have you forgotten our glorious battles? Our adventures? How we prooved everyone wrong against all odds? Compared to those feats, this will be nothing. We will be in and out with our answers and back here before you know it."

And against all odds, his friends agreed, on the condition that they would not fight there whatsoever.

Loki already regretted this body's choice, yet could do nothing but agree when faced by his over eager brother and the ever displeased warriors at his side. 

If he went with them it would serve his plan. If he did not, they would only get suspicious.

So, he tagged along, even when the unease in him lingered. And Loki, who had seen countless world lines in his years, knew without a doubt that something here was going very, very wrong. 

Chapter Text

Long had it been since he'd last ridden on horseback, and Loki, though he loathed to admit it, had missed this feeling. Even more so, however, he had missed his steed. A beautiful black mare that was faithful to him only and obeyed his every tug and turn. 

Skygge, or "Liten skygge" as he called her, he had chosen in his youth. Enamoured by the feisty, prideful foal that bit everyone that dared to come near it. And perhaps, animals tended to obtain certain quirks from the gods that owned them, as Skygge too loved to cause chaos whenever she was bored. Hence her unchallenged title as "nightmare of the stables". 

As they rode through the city, Loki used the chance to look around and admire his old home once more. The tall, shining architecture and the sound of countless victorious souls above them brought a strange sense of longing to his heart. 

To be homesick in your own home, what a peculiar feeling. 

A hum left his throat, yet he did not acknowledge the questioning looks sent his way and kept his focus on his surroundings. 

At the front of their entourage was Thor. 

Sitting in the saddle of his pure white stallion, whose golden mane glittered in the light of the starry sky.

The horse was strong, prideful and rebellious just like its owner. So, fittingly, Thor had named it Feiging. 

The thought alone brought a smile to Loki's lips, for he had been the one to suggest it back then. And even though Thor had spent a whole week throwing a tantrum once he found out what it meant, the name had stuck. 

Next to Loki rode Sif, who kept her gaze locked on the horizon and did not spare him a single glance. The same could not be said for the warriors three that formed the end, as he could keenly feel the daggers they stared into his back. 

Were his pranks that bad? Were his jokes so unfunny? Was he that unlikable? 

He'd once wondered long ago, though such trivial thoughts barely mattered anymore. 

It would serve him just fine if they remained silent and did not bother him at all. 

The sooner he found the source of the branches' creation, the sooner he could leave and watch the people that actually knew liked him. 

Soon – too soon in his opinion – they reached the golden gates of Asgard and rode on the crystalline rainbow bridge across the infinite ocean, whose waters flowed over the edge of the world. 

Sharp jagged cliffs protruded from beneath the water, most hidden by the fog of the waterfall, and at the far end of the bridge, perched upon the largest stone, stood the Bifröst in all its golden glory.

As they drew closer, Loki saw the ever-watchful Heimdall standing guard in front of it. The strength he wielded and the foresight he bore made him into the perfect mix between the Aesir and the Vanir and thus the sole person who could bear the burden of the world bridge.

Unmounting from Skygge once they stopped, Loki bypassed his brother and stood before Heimdall once again, ready to negotiate.

Heimdall's starry eyes, which reflected the entire galaxy, moved to his face and faltered for just a second. 

"You're not dressed warmly enough."

He spoke, startling all who came here. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Do you think that you can deceive me? Think I cannot see it all?"

Heimdall continued, with his eyes trained solely on Loki, who gulped beneath its weight.

Thor, ever the impatient one, huffed behind him and promptly shoved his brother aside. 

"Heimdall, may we pass?" 

He asked gruffly, like a brute, rather than someone who almost bore the crown. 

Heimdall rightfully frowned, though it wasn't more than an upturn of the brow when his gaze jumped between them. 

"Never has an enemy slipped my watch until this day. I wish to know how that happened." 

"Then tell no one where we have gone until we've returned. Understand?"

Heimdall remained silent as Thor and his companions strode past him towards the Bifröst. Loki, however, stayed behind, pinned in place by a gaze that carried the weight of nine worlds within them. 

Those starry eyes roamed over his face, confusion palpable for those who knew where to look, until they stopped and stared right through him. As if he could see the real him. The one who sat on his throne, bound by his chosen burden. 

"Young Prince, pray tell why are you fractured?"

Loki froze. Unease hitting him with the force of a moon. 

"You carry a soul beyond your years, though your true soul seems to not have left you." Heimdall continued mercilessly. "Tell me, who are you really?"

His question was not to be taken lightly. Loki saw how his grip tightened around his weapon. How the metal glinted in the light. One wrong move, word or action and this body would die on the spot. 

Loki forced himself to laugh as he replied in a calm, persuasive voice,

"Heimdall, you seem to be mistaken. How could I ever be someone other than myself?"

"Truly?" The god scoffed, still staring right at him. "Then why do your eyes hold the crown of Yggdrasil? And why does this soul bear a weight as great as mine ?"

Before Loki could ask what he meant, Thor's voice called out behind them and urged them to move along, lest Odin took notice of their actions. 

Heimdall's all-seeing gaze shifted, and his body moved to turn.  

"Go on." He said, allowing Loki to pass him. "Join Thor on his quest for knowledge and reveal to me their ways. However, remember this, should you ever prove to be a threat, I shan't hesitate to kill you."

Loki had never walked this fast as he entered the chamber of the Bifröst and ignored all the snickering and snide comments made behind his back. No, such simple acts to rile up another in hopes of amusing oneself were not worth his time after the shock he experienced mere minutes ago. 

Heimdall saw. 

Heimdall noticed. 

Heimdall knew. 

And this was something unprecedented.  

Terror still held his heart in its clutches, and he dared not look back when the god slid his sword into the slot. 

"Be warned," he spoke, with his eyes trained into the distance, "I will honour my sworn oath to protect this realm as its Gatekeeper. If your return threatens the safety of Asgard, Bifröst will remain closed to you and you'll be left to die in the cold waste of Jotunheim."

"Rest assured. I don't plan to bring harm upon us."

Thor stated confidently. 

"None do." And as Heimdall said those words, he twisted his blade and sent them out to the realm of giants. 

They arrived with a sonic boom as the still winter air was forced apart by the bridge's descent. 

Jotunheim was as he remembered. A cold and desolate place, forever transformed by the piece they stole from Niflheim and unable to grow life without it. 

Deep, yawning chasms were carved into the earth, the darkness within them hiding its contents. While the cool, distant sun barely breached the heavy fog around them. 

Loki, however, did not share the awed fear of Thor's companions as he desperately tried to reign in his own. 

What did Heimdall mean by this? 

Did he truly see him, however impossible that might be? And what of his eyes? 

They were the same as always, were they not? 

Had he overlooked something in the mirror? 

Question upon question appeared in his mind, yet he knew no answer except for one simple fact. As soon as they returned to Asgard, he would leave this timeline alone. 

If Heimdall had noticed him watching, then this Loki would also be put in danger and could get killed before anything of significance happened. 

So Loki did what he always did. He pushed aside those tumultuous thoughts and focused on what was most important. Getting out of here alive. 

The icy wastelands, veiled in shadows, stretched on for miles ahead. Former grand buildings crumbled before their eyes, and the only sounds they could hear were those of breaking ice, howling winds and their own footsteps. 

The realm was also remarkably empty. Though for not a single second did they think they were alone. 

After they crossed the former walls and set foot into the ancient city, an unnatural quiet made itself known. A quiet that persisted until they reached the castle and thus the heart of Jotunheim. 

Half-crumbling walls and halls greeted them, still marred by the war the legends spoke about. A sight that sent a pang through Loki's heart; as perhaps, in a different time, this would've been his home. 

None of Thor's companions shared his sentiment as they eyed in apprehension the conditions of this place. 

"Where are they?"

Sif asked for the first time in a while, her wary eyes scanning their surroundings. 

Thor huffed in reply. 

"Hiding, as cowards always do."

It seemed that the Giants did not take his words lightly as a low hum rang through the air. 

"You've come a long way to die, Asgardians."

The king, Fárbauti, spoke in a voice that could shake the very ice they stood on. 

His silhouette appeared in a higher corridor, faintly lit by the frosty sun. 

"How did your people get into Asgard?"

Thor demanded to know as he stepped forward, looking up at the half-hidden visage of the king. 

Piercing red eyes gazed at them, straying from face to face until they locked onto Loki and widened for just a bit. He tilted his head, his eyes unmoving as they studied him with interest until they were forced back to Odin's golden boy. 

"I owe no answer to the kin of murderers and thieves." He replied cooly, his words drawing out the other hidden giants. 

Only warriors came forth, their frosty skin a tapestry of old scars and red eyes tired from the constant survival. Loki had been blind to such details in his youth. But could do nothing against it. He was just a spectator after all.

"Do not disrespect my father with such lies!"

Thor thundered, which only enraged them more. 

"Why have you come here? To make peace?" Fárbauti mocked him, " You long for battle. You crave it. You're nothing but a boy trying to prove himself a man."

Thor's jaw clenched, and his grip around his weapon tightened. 

"Thor, stop and think. Look around you, we're outnumbered." Loki murmured, all too aware of Fárbautis watchful gaze, and gripped the arm that wielded Mjolnir in warning. 

Thor all but ripped himself free from his hand. "Know your place, Brother." He spat and turned back to his enemy. 

Fárbauti sighed. There was no reason to be found in foolish youth. A strained, tired edge snuck into his voice as he turned away to face the old temple in the distance. "You know not what your actions would unleash. Go now, while I still allow it."

Loki grabbed Thor's head and forced him to bow, while they still had the chance. "We will accept your most gracious offer. Come on, Brother, no answers will be found today."

As they began to retreat, one of the giants, no doubt one from the younger brood, stepped forward and said loud and clear, "Yes. Go home little princess."

Which was the final nail in the coffin of Thor's patience. Smirking, he broke free from Loki's grip and showed all here why it was a bad idea to insult one of the most prideful gods in the realm that yearned for battle like a starved man.

In mere seconds, the fight was unleashed. 

Giants formed their icy weapons while the warriors unsheathed their blades. Metal and ice clashed against each other, neither side willing to give up. 

And Thor? Thor was relishing it. The thrill of battle, the ease with which he fought, the crumbling bodies of the giants, it all got his blood pumping. 

And so he fought, ignorant to his companions whose skin froze from a single touch. Not even when Fandral got stabbed clean through did it make his adrenaline wane. They called for him, begged to leave lest more casualties happened, but he did not listen and thus did not see the giant frozen monster that got unleashed from its cage.

Loki, who relied on his illusions and spells to survive, ran off with the others, desperate to get the body to safety while Thor endangered them all. 

The beast roared and trampled after them, its claws spearing through the ice. He feared his heart would get stuck in his throat whenever he felt its ice-cold breath ghosting down his neck or heard its fangs clashing against one another with thunderous sounds. 

In the distance, the crack of thunder was heard before all of a sudden, the ground crumbled beneath them and swallowed the beast whole. 

Though Loki knew better than to feel relieved. 

They ran through the icy wasteland, keenly aware of the Jotuns chasing after them, until they saw their landing point near the great abyss. 

No sooner had they reached it, did the ice shatter beneath them once again, revealing the same horrid beast that had chased them here. 

Frozen in shock, they could only watch as it stood on its hind legs, claws spread and ready to strike, when the sharp sound of thunder cut through the air. 

Thor had arrived, flown here by Mjolnir and crashed right into the monster's chest. 

The impact alone sent it down into the dark depths of the chasm behind them, yet relief was not yet to be felt. 

A bright light appeared before them, the radiant colours of the rainbow illuminating the foggy land and revealing within it the Allfather himself. 

Clad in armour on the back of Sleipnir, Odin stared at them in disappointment and turned to gaze at Fárbauti, who emerged from the crowd of vengeful giants and returned it with his own contempt.

"Allfather. You look weary." 

The giant king stated, though his voice betrayed his own exhaustion. 

"End this now, Fárbauti. Let them go."

Odin replied, clearly shaken despite his best attempts to hide it. 

The giant sneered. 

"Your boy sought this out."

"You're right. And these are the actions of a boy, treat them as such. You and I can end this here and now, before there's further bloodshed."

Fárbauti shook his head and gazed long and hard at his old enemy. 

"We are far beyond diplomacy now, Allfather. Your boy should've thought first before coming here. An embarrassment is he. A stain to the name of Allfather." 

Odin let his gaze drift to Thor's dumbfounded face. His eyes, tired and unmistakably pained, hardened once more, and he replied without an ounce of warmth. 

"That he is."

As soon as the world bridge closed and their feet were back on golden ground, Thor whirled around to face his father and exclaimed, 

"Why did you bring us back?"

Odin simply glared at him with the gaze of a ruler. 

"Do you even realise what you've done? What you've started?"

"I was just protecting my home!"

"You cannot even protect your friends!" Odin replied, gesturing at the still bleeding Fandral and the frost-bitten skin of the others. "How can you hope to protect a realm?"

"There won't be a realm to protect if you're afraid to act. The Jotuns must learn to fear me, just as they once feared you."

The Allfather scoffed, disbelief twisting his features as the others left for Asgard to get healed.

"That's pride and vanity talking, not leadership. You've forgotten everything I taught you about a warrior's patience."

"While you wait and be patient, the Nine Realms laugh at us." Thor retorted, his own anger rising. "The old ways are done. You'd stand giving speeches while Asgard falls."

With each word he spoke, Odin's face contorted further into rage. Rage, that bled onto his voice as he shouted, "You are a vain, greedy, cruel boy!"

"And you are an old man and a fool!"

Thor's yell rang through Brifrost like a slap in the face. Odin staggered a little and lowered his gaze as he realised just what had become of his child.

"Yes." He said quietly. "I was a fool to think you were ready."

Raising his gaze once more, Odin declared in all his authority, "Thor Odinson, you have betrayed the express command of your king. Through your arrogance and stupidity, you've opened these peaceful realms and innocent lives to the horror and desolation of war!" 

His blade inserted into the Bifrösts slot, crackling energy shooting out from it, as Odin descended the steps and approached him. 

"You are unworthy of these realms! You're unworthy of your title! You're unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed." Each sentence he finished by ripping away Thor's gauntlets and belt, leaving him without the tools to withstand his hammer's power. And then Odin stepped back and took from Thor his most treasured possession. Mjolnir.

With heavy heart and heavier soul, the godking declared, "In the name of my father and his father before, I, Odin Allfather, cast you out!" And pushed his son into the vortex, after which the godly weapon followed, its once boundless power now sealed beneath his spell. 

Chapter Text

No one spoke. 

Not to curse, not to rage, not to cheer. 

For how could they be anything but silent, when the brightest and loudest among them was gone. 

Seated on the cushions that surrounded the fireplace the warriors three, Sif and Loki, quietly sipped at their cups of goat milk mixed with honey – the drinks usually so sweet and mellow taste, no more than ash on their tongues. 

It had been given to them by Eir after she had patched up their wounds, under the condition that they would not do any strenuous activities until they'd fully healed. Thus, they were forced to spend their time at the fireplace and wallow in regret. 

After a while of stifling silence, the usually so cheerful Volstagg softly sighed and looked up from the swirling liquid.  

"We should never have let him go." 

He said, his words ripping his companions out of their equally depressive thoughts.

Sif, who sat closest to the fire, next to Fandral whose injured body occupied the entire couch, huffed and turned towards Volstagg. "There was no stopping him. You know his moods. His stubbornness."

"Well," Fandral chimed in, with a voice that knew not how to whisper, "at least he's only banished and not dead. Which is what we'd all be if that guard hadn't told Odin where we'd gone."

A hum of agreement rang through the room and Fandral, ever the attention seeker, preened from behind the rim of his cup. 

Loki on the other hand, scoffed. 

As the only one who returned with barely an injury, he chose the seat farthest away from them, near the window sill that overlooked the courtyard and garden in the distance. 

"He should've been faster."  

Loki muttered quietly. His words not meant for the ears of others. The hearing of godlike warriors, however, should not be underestimated as as soon as he said that, all turned to look at him in shock. 

"What?" 

"I said, he should've been faster."

Loki repeated harshly and finally looked back at them in earnest. Their eyes laid upon him like coals on a frozen lake, burning hot as if made to pierce his skin and reveal all his secrets. Shock, contempt and even gratitude were plastered on their faces for him to see. Without a pause, he continued. "I told that guard at the stables to go to Odin after we'd left. He should be flogged for taking so long. We should never have reached Jotunheim."

"You told him?"

Volstagg asked again. 

"I thought out of all of us, you would be the last to shy away from a chance to break a rule."

The disbelief and indignation must've shown on his face as Fandral – despite the shocking revelation – had to stifle a laugh. 

"I'm Mischievous. Not suicidal." Loki replied with a deadpan voice as he rose from his seat. 

"In any case, why so surprised?" he continued while slowly walking to the middle of the room. "Thor would never listen to me, so I had to get the only one who could put some sense into him. I had no idea that my attempt to save his life would end in his banishment."

Sif exchanged a glance with the others before she, too, followed his example and stood up from her seat. "Loki," she urged, sounding more desperate than he had ever heard her, "You must go to the Allfather and convince him to change his mind." 

Loki almost rolled his eyes. 

"And then what?" He asked, his tone sharp with thinly veiled frustration. "You know I love Thor more dearly than any of you, but you know what he is. He's arrogant. He's reckless. He's dangerous. You saw how he was today. Is that what Asgard needs from its king?" 

When his "dear friends" failed to reply, Loki took in their uncomfortable faces and huffed. 

"Thought so."

Without another word, the second prince turned heel and walked out of the room, leaving them and his untouched mug behind on the window sill. 

Sif sighed. The exhaustion of the day washed over her like a landmine as soon as he disappeared, and she sunk into her previous seat while her arm throbbed in its sling like a reminder. 

"He may speak of the good of Asgard, but he's always been jealous of Thor." She muttered and threw her one good arm over her eyes. Hogun's useless pacing was only making her head spin more. 

Volstagg, whose beard was traced with milk, set down his cup and looked at the others. 

"We should be grateful to him, he saved our lives," he spoke, for he was not someone to forget a life debt. Hogun on the other hand, was not so easily swayed and stopped to look at him. For he, a warrior of the Vanir had learned over years of hardship to question every word. 

In the past hours of constant thinking, Hogun had recalled the words of the Giant king and spoke his thoughts aloud. "Farbauti said there were traitors in the House of Odin. A master of magic could bring three Jotuns into Asgard." 

Such words, if spoken carelessly, could easily warp one's perception, though Fandral only scoffed in reply and turned back to the fire. 

"Don't be ridiculous." He said as he stared at the dancing flames. "Loki's always been one for mischief, but you're talking about something else entirely."

Far away from their conversation, Loki strode through the halls at a fast but unsuspicious pace. 

His annoyed expression spooked quite a few servants who passed him on the way, but he hardly cared. For he had only one thing on his mind right now. 

It was time to leave. 

Too long had he stayed here, without ever seeing the anomaly that caused this branch to form. And by now his presence clearly posed a threat to himself, which was all the more reason to leave this cursed place. 

He had had enough of this constant, poorly hidden contempt. 

Had he wanted to be judged or psychoanalyzed, he'd gone to Mobius instead. 

Consumed by his thoughts, his feet carried him on autopilot to his room and only when the door slammed shut behind him did he regain his clarity. 

A loud sigh tore from his throat – though it could be better described as a snarl. 

Tearing off the cape and golden armour, the boots and crown and other useless frivolities, Loki threw them onto the floor and approached the mirror. 

He did not know what drove him to do this. Pure instinct perhaps, or this body's foolish youth. However, the reason did not matter when his fist collided with the once so pristine surface and shattered it to pieces in an instant.

Only faintly did he feel the pain, when blood escaped his knuckles. The crimson liquid, much too bright as is pearled down the glass and gathered in the newly formed valleys. 

And within the fragmented reflection, he saw himself. A youthful face almost forgotten. A softness he hadn't borne in years and an expression of frustration, while his trembling lips and eyes betrayed what he really felt. 

Loki ignored his emotions and simply let them wash away, while his attention was captured by something far more dire than this. 

His eyes. 

Eyes that – as he'd been told – resembled jade or fresh foliage. Though now, they were anything but that. 

The iris was coloured from blue to green, while around the pupil, minuscule branches spread that resembled the top of a tree. 

Whichever way he moved, the iris would flicker and shift between this, and its usual colour. 

So Heimdall could truly see him.

And wasn't that a terrifying thought?

A borderline hysterical laugh spilled over his lips, as he brought a trembling hand to his mouth, uncaring of the blood that smeared on his face.

He did not care how or why – if anything, he'd never need to worry about this again. 

All he had to do now was leave and be done with this world.

Without further ado, Loki walked over to the neatly made bed and sat on the dark green covers that bordered on black. Closing his eyes, he took in the sensations of his home one last time before he let go and felt himself sink.  The sounds around him faded, growing lesser and lesser the deeper he went until all he heard was silence. 

Patiently he waited for the static to resurface. To hear the whispering vines again and the low hum of energy within him. Yet nothing happened. 

Slowly, light rose behind his eyelids and he blinked. His blurry sight could only make out a few objects, though the brightness was already clue enough to know that he wasn't where he ought to be. 

For a few seconds, he wondered if this was an afterimage or a memory. But his surroundings failed to fade and confusion arrived. 

What was going on? 

How was it that he had not left this worldline? 

Thus he tried again, over and over, yet despite all his efforts, the static remained just out of reach. Every time he neared the border beyond which his throne lay, his consciousness would stop and be pulled back into this reality against his will. 

It did not make sense. Loki was a mere spectator. And thus should not be bound to this place. 

Unless... 

He was the anomaly. 

And in that instant, as he became aware of what had transpired, sensations flooded his veins in a way he had not felt for ages. 

It was as if he took his first breath after death. The cool air within his lungs moved with each inhale, brushing over the inside of his nose. The Fabric rubbed against his skin, soft and much too regal for discarded royalty. The floor beneath his feet was uneven and the bed sunk beneath his weight. His hair shifted and brushed along his nape. His limbs moved per his every desire and the biting wound in his knuckles steadily dripped blood onto his clothes. 

It was overwhelming. Almost agonizingly so when the barrier between mind and body vanished. 

His only protection was gone. And dare he say it, he felt naked without it. At least the discomfort was first to vanish as he became accustomed to his new state. And so a question rose from his mind. 

If was well and truly here – in flesh and blood, yet not his body – had the original died? Was he now trapped here against his will? 

No. Loki decided. He wouldn't let this keep him here. And if he could not find an answer on his own, then he would simply look elsewhere for them. 

The grand library of Asgard was as he remembered, a maze of shelves and books that stood amidst the scent of ageless pages. As he walked among the towering shelves that seemed to reach the ceiling, Loki couldn't help but feel a strange feeling of yearning. As he knew that, in the not-so-far-off-future,  all this would be engulfed by the fires of Muspel. 

Dressed now in softer clothes, a simple green tunic and wool pants, he let his finger trail over the many scriptures that were written and preserved by gods and skalds alike. Though, unlike the many other times he had sought refuge within these quiet corners, today he'd come with a goal in mind that would not be easily achieved. As not many books talked about lost souls or other forms of possession. 

He combed through the books row after row, sometimes with magic, sometimes without, until, at last, he had gathered a sizable collection of various spellbooks and other tomes, which he carried over to a table near the windows. 

Gentle starlight spilled onto the pages written in blood, coal and ink, as Loki poured over the contents like a man starved. 

'Possessions of the mind.' 'Ghosts and demons.' 'Soul swapping.' 'Out of body experiences.' 'Astral travelling.' 'Parasitic minds.' And many other curious phenomena that could be linked to his dilemma. Though none of them came even close. 

The books piled up around him — beginning to range around more topics than just the mind; scrolls were brought and put away, and the table creaked beneath the weight until Loki's head fell onto the yellowed pages with a dull thump. A longwinded sigh left him, causing a few pages to flutter. 

Nothing. He found nothing. Expected, but disappointing nonetheless. 

Behind him, soft footsteps came ever closer 'til they came to a halt behind his chair. 

Like a fingerprint, one's magical signature was unique in the whole world and could not be replicated in any way. Thus, his shoulders subconsciously relaxed when he felt the unmistakable power of his mother that managed to envelop the room in an invisible light. 

Warm, like an embrace – both loving and protective, it seemed to curl around him on its own as if wanting to shield him from all the harm in the world.  

A smile formed on his face unwillingly, though he made sure it did not show. 

Her hand moved into his line of sight, calloused fingertips brushing over a title stolen from the ice giants long ago, whose tongue only few could read. Her touch was soft, hesitant almost as it moved over to his shoulder and gently rubbed circles into his flesh. 

Tired, oh so tired, Loki shook her off and sat up with his back straight and hands folded in front of him as if he were at a meeting. Friggas hand remained in the air, her eyes soft yet saddened as she watched him turn so cold and slowly let it fall back to her side. 

"How do you feel?" The Queen of Asgard asked gently as she took a seat on a nearby chair. Keeping a respectful distance. 

Loki frowned slightly. 

"You know exactly how."

"I see you found out then?"

Her eyes moved over to the frosty tome on a pile about ancient magic. 

"I don't understand why you hadn't just told me." Loki burst out as he had once in another time. His voice quivered much to his chagrin, but he did not let it hinder his pursuit of truth. "From the beginning. Why let me live a lie?"

"Oh Loki, this was never meant to happen." she sighed, her eyes trembling faintly. "Back then, when war still raged over the realms, fate was too muddled for me to do anything against it, and by the time I saw, it was too late."

Although unwilling to admit it, he understood. 

As he had always known what burden foresight carried. Now even more so than back then. 

Silence settled over them for a heartbeat before a question rose up from within him, that had plagued him for as long as he remembered. 

Quietly, tenderly even, he asked, 

"... did you know her? My real mother?" 

Frigga's breath hitched. 

A faint tremble went through her frame as memories engulfed her and gave birth to a soft yet radiant smile. 

"Your mother. Ah, she was a wonderful woman. Always a bright and playful soul. She came to me you know? Back then when she found out that she had you. She looked so happy, that all the foliage around her seemed to bloom. I truly thought that you were her greatest joy in life that she'd live to witness."

The fondness with which she spoke of the other goddess, brought a bitter smile to Loki's lips, who tugged at the skin near his nails. 

 "What happened to her then?" 

"Ah..." Frigga's smile dimmed as she averted her gaze. "It would be best if your father told you. And please believe me; he regrets what has happened even if it doesn't show."

At the mention of his father, a wave of shame and anger washed over him once more. For both himself and the other. "Then how do you go on? What am I supposed to do when I don't belong here, nor there?"

A pained expression settled on her face when she reached over to take his hand into hers. 

"Only you can decide what is the best course of action. I can only foresee the consequences of your choice. Just remember, that fate is never set in stone."

The warmth of her skin was blazing against his colder one though a welcome distraction from the emotions that threatened to spill out. 

Unable to help himself, Loki sunk into her arms and buried his face in her shoulder to stop from breaking down. He did not wish for her to see him in such a distraught state. 

Wrapped in her gentle embrace as his beloved mother hummed his favourite lullaby under her breath, his thoughts began to circle her last words. "Fate was not set in stone." That much even he knew, given that he was the one who decided it. But if this was really not a temporary thing if he was to stay here for more than just a few days. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to mend his regrets and change the story for the better... 

A spark of hope ignited within his heart. 

Carefully confined in its chamber lest it burned out from false promises. But still there. Waiting. Waiting for him to act. 

As he raised his head once more, it was as if a burden had fallen from his shoulder, even if only temporarily and glued to his face was an earnest smile. 

Her breath hitched when their eyes met, and she saw how his usually dull jade had transformed into a sunlit forest. The colours so achingly familiar that it pained her to even look. 

Loki did not pay attention to her turmoil as he swiftly cast a spell to return all the books and scrolls he had gathered to their rightful place. 

"Well then, I must be off." He said, knowing full well that the time had come to confront his father in the vault. "I wish you, a pleasant evening."

"Ah Loki, wait!" His mother called just before he could turn the corner. "Just know that if you ever need to talk to someone – no matter what ails you – know that I am here for you. Always."

A warm smile bloomed on his face as he nodded. 

And as the Queen watched him leave, a sigh escaped her as she wondered just what had happened to her child, for his fate to be nothing but a forest of green pulsing vines. 

 The stairs leading down to the weapons vault were eerily silent, without any guards to make their rounds. In some places, frost still clung to the stone, and Loki avoided those like the plague. 

A few wards lit up beneath him as he passed over the threshold – no doubt alerting Odin of his presence – and entered the floating chamber deep beneath the castle itself. 

The remnants of the massacre were still there, though in lesser severity, and Loki calmly approached the winter casket and touched its ice-cold surface within the piece of Niflheim raged. With mild fascination he watched his skin change into something that once horrified him. Pale blue, like freshly frozen ice, with smooth lines embedded into it, that crawled up his arm, higher and higher, until Odin's call ripped him from his daze. 

Startled, he let go of the artefact and turned towards his surrogate father, who stood at the far end of the hall, panting as he leaned against his spear. 

"Please, son, do not touch it anymore." The old King pleaded, the pain in his voice new and raw, though Loki refused to interpret too much into it. 

"Why?" He replied, keeping his voice dangerously calm. "Do you not want to see what you've stolen? What you've taken from his rightful place?"

Odin shook his head and slowly came closer on frail legs. "No, Loki, you do not belong there. In that cursed temple, I found you, yes, but you were so small for a giant's offspring. There was no way you'd have survived, left there like that, alone and suffering." 

"How could you be so sure." Loki spat, "What about my mother, would she have left me to die? Would my father? You were already so deep in Jotun's blood; why would you take me as well?"

"You know not what you speak of child."

"How could I if you don't tell me anything. Is it so hard for you to just explain what really happened instead of those glorified fairy tales of yours?"

Loki's voice cracked, distorting the echo within the chamber. The raw desperation was all too overwhelming as he yearned to hear his father's answer from his own mouth. 

For a few moments, Odin visibly wrung with himself before he sighed and lowered himself onto the steps, gesturing for his son to sit as well, which he declined politely. 

"Back then, when the war raged on and the battlefield became my second home. There was a goddess of the wilderness who was as free-spirited as nature itself and refused to obey the rules laid out before her. " He huffed out a soft laugh – a sound heard rarely and continued, "In a way, I see a lot from her within you, for she was just as much a trickster as you aim to be. 

"One day, while I was away once more and fought against the raging hordes, she somehow managed to meet Fárbauti and, over time, fell in love with him. I had no idea of this and thus did not see the peaceful end we could've had instead of this bloody truce. The day when we reached Jotunheim, the earth was bathed in blood and after many long hours, I managed to reach Fárbauti and was ready to strike him down. In that moment, Laufey threw herself between us and..." His voice failed him. As if shame was strangling him alive. After a brief moment, he took in a shuddering breath and forced himself to continue.

"A life was lost for this truce to be held. I was blind, drowning in grief and fear and took you and the winter casket with me, so that such bloodshed would never arise again.

"I thought," Odin continued still, his voice tinged with old sorrow. "We could unite our kingdoms one day. Bring about an alliance, bring about permanent peace. Through you."

Loki was shaking in place. The sheer volume of raw emotion threatened to overwhelm him again. 

He felt somewhat foolish that he reacted this way, for his days of youth were over but what could he do about it now that he was stuck? 

"I could've done so with my kin had you let me meet with Thor, perhaps have him as a friend and not as this favoured prodigy, whose shadow I must be." He replied in the end in a strained voice. 

Odin looked up at him, his tired eyes already drooping. "I have never favoured him."

"Do not lie." He snarled, his anger breaking from its restraints. "I was always much too different from the rest. This godly halfblood whose ancestor your kind once killed. You know just as well as I that, no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!"

That shout was as freeing as it was terrifying. 

Just like in the past, the body of his father crumbled in on itself and left Loki scrambling to catch it. 

An unpleasant sight this was, his once so strong father reduced to this just because he refused to sleep. But Loki had a role to play and thus cried out to the guards in desperation, whose footsteps he soon heard approach. 

Clutching the old man close to him, Loki leaned down and whispered quietly to no one but himself. 

"Don't worry father. I will take care of it all; just wait."

Chapter Text

His lips pulled into a faint grimace as he stared at the clothes in his hands. 
 
Clearly worn and soft like rags, they lacked in both quality and design, and were a far cry from what he was used to as a prince and future ruler of the divine. 
 
However, as of now, Thor had little right to complain, since they were not only better than that offensive strip of clothing he had gotten in that so called  'hospital' – a garment so flimsy and shameful it would bring Freya to tears – but his original clothes were nowhere to be found and thus he had to make due with these. 
 
Thinking himself adequately dressed, Thor stepped into the large, open room that the other three currently occupied and took this chance to look around. 
 
It had been quite a while since he last descended into the mortal realm, and as such, he would not waste this opportunity to familiarise himself with this world again. 
 
Turning his attention to the multitude of devices and blinking things lying around, he began to wander, fully aware that he was being watched.
 
One by one, he picked them up, turned them in his grasp, pushed and prodded here and there before moving to the next one. 
 
What crude objects they were, far more so than any prototypes he'd seen back home. But still, they had their own sort of charm, though he did not get to appreciate it in its entirety. 
 
After the fifth one or so, the kind-eyed woman who was reading some book swiftly approached and removed whatever item he was holding, whilst pushing him closer to the cooking space. A – in his opinion – laughable replacement for the good old fireplace. 
 
The woman was a nice-looking one, with eyes like a deer, deep and kind but also determined. It was clear as day that she had a goal in mind and would not let herself be stopped from achieving it. Good. He thought with a small smirk tugging at his lips. He liked such people.
 
However, there was one little problem that kept him from being fully pleased. 
 
Her lips moved, and clearly she was talking to him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not understand a single word. 
 
This language that she spoke was not one he had ever heard before. 
It was not elvish, nor dwarvish, but something lilting; reminiscent of melted sugar that was stuck to one's tongue. Noticing his silence, her tone changed into a questioning one, but the language barrier persisted. 
 
The two other people who had found him observed the interaction with mixed expressions. The elder man spoke to the kind one in a chiding tone, clearly exhausted and annoyed by something, while the dark-haired woman continued to stare at him with a searching gaze. 
 
Enough was enough, Thor decided and turned to her again. 
 
"I am sorry, fair maiden, but I do not understand your words."
 
At once her chatter stopped and she looked at him with wide, incomprehensive eyes. A look around confirmed that the old man was also perplexed, though the same could not be said for the dark-haired one. 
 
Shock painted her features, which slowly but surely changed to joy as she rose from her seat to approach him.
 
"Speak you ancient Norse?"
 
The woman's words were heavy and unfamiliar in her mouth. That much was clear.  
Even a child's first word was better than this, but Thor was not one to judge when the joy of being understood overwhelmed him. 
 
It had been a nightmare to communicate with the people in white, who all looked at him like some lunatic and even dared to try experimenting on him. Him. A god in the flesh! So to hear someone speak in words he was familiar with – however bad it might be – almost made him lightheaded from relief. 
 
Unable to keep his joy from showing, he replied with a voice like booming thunder, "Yes, ferocious one. I remember your attack. Quite bold of you to do so to a god, but still, I admire your courage."
 
Pure and unadulterated delight painted her features as she came even closer and revealed the deep brown eyes behind those glass pieces. 
 
"My Norse is not good, but uhm... This here is Jane, me is Darcy and over here this-" she pointed at the elder behind her- "is Erik. So, your name what?"
 
A few seconds passed before he replied, "I am Thor. I believe I told you already."
 
A stupefied look, followed by laughter, was the reaction to his words. 
He did not know what was so humorous about having a god before you, but he was gracious enough to let it slide. 
Fear did sometimes lead to laughter. 
 
"Ah, yeah sure. The god of Thunder. But truly, what called you really?" She replied instead, shattering all previous assumptions. 
 
Thor blinked at her. 
 
The plain amusement in her tone suggested that she did not believe his words, which would mean that the other two were also not inclined to believe him. Quite the upsetting, if not straight-up insulting thought. 
 
Before he could voice his displeasure, however, his stomach made a loud grumbling sound, announcing its lack of sustenance to the world.
 
A beat of silence passed, 'til low laughter replaced the quiet and made even the other two loosen up a bit. 
 
Still wearing that amused expression, Darcy patted his arm like a jesting mother and motioned to the entrance of their home, asking all to follow and get something to eat. 
 
 
Arriving in a matter of minutes at something called a 'Diner', Thor and the scholars sat down at a dingy metal table and ordered their food. Well, they did; he just pointed at the pictures and whatever looked interesting enough to consume. 
 
In his current condition, he couldn't afford to be picky, not that he was in the first place anyway. And so, as they waited, he – being the only true foreigner that could not tell them any tales – took to inspecting the new meals mortals had come up with, while the trio spoke among themselves. 
 
"So Darcy," Jane began, her tone sterner than when she had dared to taser her evidence. "When were you going to tell us that you speak his language?" 
 
"Moreover, that he speaks in ancient Norse!" Doctor Erik added, without averting his eyes from the blonde stranger. 
 
"Oh, I just didn't think it was that important," Darcy remarked with a flippant gesture and a shrug. "I mean, political science was boring enough, so I just picked it up as a hobby. It's not like I'm all that good at it, and when are you ever going to use a practically dead language anyway?" She finished with a light laugh. 
 
Had Erik been holding a pencil, it would've probably snapped in two, so hard was he trying to restrain himself. 
Jane, on the other hand, groaned – tempted to start a lecture about the Latin language, but decided to stay on the matter at hand. 
 
"Darcy." She said, forcing her to meet her eyes. "Every bit of skill is vital, no matter how insignificant you believe it to be. And while we're on that topic, you understood him right? Well, what did he say? What happened? How did he get inside that cloud?"
 
Humming softly, Darcy adjusted her glasses and took a moment to think.  
 
"Well... he did say something about me being brave for whatever reason... Oh, and he called himself Thor. Like that Norse god. But nothing more than that."
 
"...really?" Jane muttered and tapped her notebook with her pencil. "Delusions aside, could you maybe ask him about that?"
 
"Sure." Darcy turned to their wanna be god and opened her mouth. "Hey, Thor, I- Oh! Our food is here." 
 
Thor looked up from the menu just in time to see the woman with the pencil return, who carried an armful of plates with varying dishes. Each one only made his hunger worse as he took in the smells and new sights of Midgard cuisine, which made his mouth water like a slobbering dog. 
 
As soon as the table was fully set – which meant that its surface was barely visible – Thor dug in and practically inhaled the eggs, colourful pieces of bread and other various curiosities that he could get his hands on. 
 
Watching him with mild disgust, his mortal companions were so gracious as to offer up their plates and kept sipping on their mugs of dark, bitter liquid, which earned them a muffled thanks. 
 
Only after his frenzy was subdued and this weakened body had regained its strength, did Thor feel ready to answer whatever inquiries these good people possessed. 
 
Once again, he turned to Darcy, who opened her mouth to ask; when – for the third time today – they were interrupted by the ringing doorbell as two dust-covered men stepped inside. 
 
While their conversation was not of much importance to him, given that he could not understand them either way, the reactions of his companions were what caught his attention and urged him to pay it mind.
 
"Hey Izzy. Shame that you have to work today, you missed all the excitement at the crater."
One man laughed, immediately gaining Jane's attention. 
 
"Crater? What crater?" She asked, her pen ready for action. 
 
"Ah, didn't you hear?" The guy replied joyously, "The Feds that showed up and ruined the fun said that it was a satellite crash and something about radiation and that stuff. But if you ask me, it was shaped more like a hammer."
 
"A Hammer? Weird..." she muttered and jotted it down in her notebook. 
 
Upon seeing his inquisitive gaze, Darcy smiled and replied,
"Ah, they talking just about an crashed satellite and said it looked like a hammer. Nothing too important."
 
As soon as the word "hammer" fell, Thor straightened; his tall frame looming above them as his knee hit the table and caused the dishes to rattle a bit. 
 
All of their attention was on him instantly, while a slow, determined grin formed on his face. 
 
"Where is this crater exactly?"
He asked as he leaned forward, and for the first time since he got here, he felt a bit of hope. 
 

 
Quietly, he stared at the still visage of the Allfather, who lay beneath the golden dust, resting in silence while the cosmic balance slowly mended itself in his care. 
 
How could a god with the realms on his shoulders sleep so undisturbed? 
Many times, Loki had asked himself this when he saw his sleep in his youth. 
 
Back then, Frigga had always taken watch over Asgard and ruled as its Queen in his absence, though now, she rested here beside him and watched her husband sleep. 
 
"I never get used to seeing him like this." He muttered; his words a gentle echo in these walls. 
 
His mother sighed, her soothing magic flickering at the edges, betraying her worry when her face remained blank. 
"He's put it off for so long now that I fear..." she replied, letting her gaze wander from eye to heart in an invisible pattern. 
 
"How long will it last?"
 
"I don't know. This time it's different. We were unprepared."
 
"Then..." Loki started, his mind automatically switching to his more analytical side, "Shall Tyr or Freya guard him in your absence?"
 
Frigga shook her head. 
"No. They are needed at the borders to aid Heimdall in defending our home, should they seek to misuse his blind spot again. Besides, Freya also has her field of the dead to tend to and cannot stay here indefinitely."
 
"Does that mean that someone else will take the throne?" Loki asked, coaxing from her a small smile. "Who is it then? Perhaps Mimir? If so, I shall set out to fetch him from the well."
 
"No, my son. Do not be hasty. Wise as your father's friend and aide might be, a head alone cannot rule a kingdom. And before you suggest Forseti, he has already declined."
 
Loki fell silent at that and almost flinched when Frigga placed a hand on his shoulder, for he dreaded her answer to come.
 
"You know, " she started with a gentle smile, "I thought it was time that I entrusted this duty to you. I need someone trustworthy now that your brother is absent and repenting for his deeds, so who would be better for this than the one I've taught personally in all affairs of the royal court?"
 
Pride and shame bloomed side by side within him as he forced himself to smile. It warmed him that he had her trust, and yet he couldn't help the sorrow when he thought of the things to come. However, Loki knew very well that he did not have the luxury to wallow in his own misery after obtaining a fate-changing chance like this and thus forced them down as usual. 
 
For a few moments, he remained silent, his fingers playing with the dagger he kept in his sleeve at all times, until he let his hand drop and raised his gaze to meet hers. 
 
"I accept."
 
 
The coronation ceremony was a short and quiet one. With no fanfare or celebration. As per tradition, Loki knelt before the queen and accepted the heavy mantle and crown, which closely resembled a wreath woven from the branches of the divine apple tree. 
 
Around them were no family or friends to witness the occasion. Only the members of the court and the eldest gods were to be found. 
Freya and Tyr were both missing as expected, though that also included Idunn as she had most likely wandered off again, carefree and airheaded as she was.  
 
Once the ceremony concluded, a few pleasantries were exchanged before they swiftly moved on to the meeting, as they had more dire things to tend to and little time to waste before the announcement to the public was made. 
 
It took a while to go over all official business, to ensure that all affairs of Asgard were taken care of and that everything would run smoothly even if he were absent, but it was worth it when he finally descended the stairs to the stables in peace. 
 
The guards and servants bowed to him in passing, some offering their services to him even when he entered the Skygges pen, but he waved them off. 
 
It had something soothing to it, to do mundane tasks such as this with his own hands. And this calm persisted when he slowly led her to the courtyard and mounted her in one smooth jump.
 
Truly, the pair made for a magnificent sight. 
His robes, a deep, almost obsidian green that were almost as beautiful as Skygge's starry mane, sparkled with every step he took, while the golden plating shone underneath the cosmic light and threw specks of light onto the floor. 
 
And thus they set off, bypassing the bewildered warriors who were just about to enter the castle and rode towards the edge of the world.
 

 
Frosty air greeted him once more as his feet hit Jotunheim, and he let out a shaky exhale. 
Without needing to think, a spell washed over him and changed the regalia into his ordinary travel robes, with only a small golden insignia remaining on his wrist. 
 
Unwilling to bring his mare into the frozen wasteland, he had left her at Heimdall and began the long trek to the old capital on foot. 
 
Concealed as he was by the shadows, a whole different world was shown to him now that he was alone. The once-empty streets were full of giants. The old, the young and the women all scavenged for what meagre scraps of clothes and food were left. 
 
Unlike the males, whose bodies bore the darkness of winter and bottomless black of the frozen ocean – a trait was mirrored by their smooth black hair; the women and very young children had pure white hair and the lighter colours of frozen glaciers, which made them instantly visible in the otherwise shadow-stricken landscape. 
 
It pained him to see what condition the war had left them, which only strengthened his resolve to fulfil his original duty, even if only to prevent the bigger catastrophes down the line. 
 
Loki kept to the shadows as best as he could and watched from a distance as they weaved the mist to conceal their bright forms; a form of spellcasting that was drastically different from the male's manipulation of ice. 
 
The scholar within him was eager to learn both, but still, he needed to focus. 
 
Once he reached the heart of the old city, he entered the crumbling palace now unconcealed and stepped into the throne room. 
 
Upon the frozen seat, sat Fárbauti in all his tired glory and watched without blinking as his guards pointed their weapons at the uninvited guest. 
 
Plastering an easygoing smile onto his face, Loki raised his hands and looked the king in the eye. 
 
"Is that how you greet your son?" He asked boldly into the silence, causing those bright red eyes to flicker 
 
Fárbauti stared at him, as the grip on his frozen throne tightened till pieces began to break off. 
 
"Son?" Fárbauti echoed, his rage barely concealing the pain beneath, "I have no son. Do not mock me, Asgardian. We have enough trouble already, we needn't have any more."
 
Without waiting for him to speak, Fárbauti raised his hand and issued his command.
"Guards. Take him to the outskirts and strip him of his clothes, then throw him into the lake. Death shall await you for trespassing again and misusing my mercy."
 
Fearlessly, Loki waited for the guards to grab him before he spoke again in the same confident tone. "Don't believe me? Then see for yourself; I doubt anyone could survive a giant's touch so easily."
 
And his words held true. From where the guards had grabbed him, the pale blue colour spread over his arms and hands, and slowly covered his body until it revealed his original form. 
 
Interestingly enough, his skin colour matched that of a female giant more than the male, given how pale he was compared to the guards, but this was a thought for later.  
More importantly, he got the reaction he desired. 
 
The guards gasped in shock, while Fárbautis eyes widened as he shakily stood from his throne. 
 
"What is your name?"
The giant king asked after a tense minute of silence, with his eyes glued onto the stranger– no, the son he had missed and mourned for centuries. 
 
"Loki. Loki Laufeyson."
The surrogate king said and shook off the guard's weak grip. Almost by instinct, his usual appearance returned, uncovering the striking resemblance that had previously gone unseen. 
 
"Leave us. I wish to speak with him alone."
The father his father commanded after a moment of silence, and although the guards were reluctant, they still heeded his wish. 
 
Now alone, Fárbauti stepped even closer and carefully reached out to touch Loki's hands.
 
He, as the king of frost giants, was not given the title through blood alone, but because he was the coldest of them all. How else was he able to carry the casket without any repercussions, while others couldn't even hold it for longer than a minute. 
 
Thus, there was no better way to prove his claim than to see if he would die. 
 
Once more, the warmth of his hands vanished and gave way to frigid skin. Indeed, it was lighter than his by far, though even now his mother's features remained unchanged, even with the small pair of horns protruding from his forehead. 
 
Incredulous laughter rose in his chest, as Fárbauti set him free and brushed a hand over his oh so tired eyes. For perhaps the first time in centuries, his eyes returned to the usual white colour, and he let himself feel a glimpse of hope. 
 
"How long have you known?" He asked after his laughter subsided and looked at Loki expectantly. 
 
Loki managed to give him a somewhat earnest smile. "Only recently. A giant touched me during the battle, and at first, I thought it a trick until I could confirm it via the casket."
 
Fárbauti hummed. 
"Has Odin told you then what happened? Why you did not grow up among your kind? Your true family?"
 
"Only partially. I wish to hear your version as well."
 
"Very well," Fárbauti conceded and motioned for him to follow, "come, I know a better place to talk."
 
As they walked the desolate halls, in which cold wind blew from the various cracks, the giant king began to speak in a low, gruff voice. 
 
"Before I begin the tale of us, I need to tell you some of the frost giants' history, to better understand how it came to this point."
Fárbauti cleared his throat under Loki's curious eyes. 
 
"Well, as you know, many reasons for this war have been told over the realms, but only a few have bothered to tell the truth. 
Long ago, when our ancestors took a piece of Niflheim with them and transformed us and the realm into this, it came at the cost of food and clothing, as barely anything could grow in this ice-covered land.
 
"At first, we traded with others, for food or clothes, but as our population grew, it no longer sufficed our needs, and thus, they decided to use this world-changing power to conquer and take from others instead.  
With time, our power and wealth grew until we could rightfully call ourselves a kingdom, with a royal lineage of Giants that watched over the casket and used it to give way to new worlds. 
 
"I, too, was once a naive crown Prince and thought this to be the only course of action that could ensure our continued survival.
But... I was wrong."
He admitted with a sigh. 
"This, I realised the day I met your mother. Oh, how feisty she was, unwilling to bend to my command or any rules in general. She'd hunt me down, play pranks and jokes and hide when I thought I caught her. And before I knew it, the initial curiosity and annoyance had transformed into genuine love. 
Once I had explained our problem, she demanded to be brought to my realm and inspect it for herself.
 
"I thought her mad. How could she solve what we had tried for centuries? But yet again, I was proven wrong. In a mere year, she managed the unspeakable. To make plants grow that were immune to the cold and could thrive under even the worst of conditions. It was then that I knew I would be honoured to be called her husband and began to court her at once.
 
Fárbautis voice and face were tinged in bittersweet sorrow as they at last reached a desolate garden deep within the palace walls. The grass was frosted over, and the huge tree in its middle was all but withered and decayed. 
 
Yet, despite its fatal appearance, Loki still felt the faint traces of divinity within it, which faintly pulsed in his presence, causing the grass and leaves to faintly glow. 
 
"Oh, Loki, you carry so much of her within you. I can see it in your eyes, your smile, even the way you speak..." Fárbauti sighed, no matter the pain he felt, Loki needed to know the truth. "That day when the Asgardians befell us, she ordered the guards to hide you in a place no one would. Thus, the temple was chosen, where you were to be kept safe by the priests until we could come and fetch you. But this was not the case. She died in my arms and as her final wish, begged me to take care of you – the proof of our love. I had her buried here, and from her remains grew this tree, serving as my only memory of her existence. The following day, I rushed over to the temple, desperate to find you, but no one was there." His breath hitched, and the aged father rested his forehead on the faintly pulsing bark. 
 
"I thought I had lost you..."
He whispered into the cold. 
"That those Asgardians had killed you. Taken from me, my only child."
 
"But now... Now you are here."
Fárbauti turned to look at him with a smile as brittle as the frost flowers on the glass.
"I understand if you do not wish to call me father, nor if you want to stay at this desolate place, but I still wish to get to know you better and hear what kind of god you have become."
 
A shuddering breath left Loki as he took a moment to process it all. While he had seen many different lives with him as a frost giant, he had rarely, if ever, heard how it all came to be. Not that he had cared about it. After all, it was of little consequence for him as long as all world threats were taken care of. 
 
But now he had the chance to be what Odin had envisioned him to become. 
Raising his gaze to his real father's eyes, he felt a smile slip onto his face. A genuine one that made the other reciprocate the gesture instinctively. 
 
"I..." Loki began slowly, "I do not think I can call you father just yet. Maybe one day, but for now let it be known that I am thankful that you've told me the truth."
 
Bowing his head before the other king, he felt the frost giant's hand gently lift his head until they were standing as equals once more. 
 
"Of course, Loki," Fárbauti said gently and let the warmth linger until his mask as king returned.
 
"Now tell me, Laufeyson, what has brought you here, as the king of Asgard?"
 

 
 
It was late noon when the other giants watched quietly as this stranger left the king's palace and was swept away by the Bifrost once again. 
 
It was not yet known what had transpired in the time he had arrived, but it had to have been something serious, if the old council members were summoned for the first time in years. 
 
Word spread, from servant to guard to family and friends, that he had arrived to negotiate with them, though for what was yet unknown. 
A kindling of hope, however, still rose in the masses when they remembered the goodwill with which their king had sent him off. 
 
A smile on his aged face and a friendly wave of the hand was more than enough proof, as such reactions were thought to long have withered after their salvation and queen had died in his arms. 
 
Some servants that were bold enough to venture to the grave were in ecstasy to report that the once withering tree had begun to sprout again, with tiny white, star-like flowers adorning the crown.
 
But not all were happy about the news. 
 
Just like many of their kin, a group of young warriors, who were there when that lightning boy and his crew arrived, still harboured resentment towards the gods, no matter the reason that brought them to Jotunheim. 
 
Thus, they mingled around in the old ruins and watched the excited murmurs rise within the crowd with disdain. 
 
"Have you seen how happy our king looked?"
The tallest of the bunch grumbled, leaning against the wall with a half-broken horn. 
 
"Pathetic, isn't it?" The second-tallest replied and kicked a loose rock on the ground. 
 
"Our king is a fool. Why is he letting these gods walk in and out of our land when they should be buried within the carved voids like the rest of their kind!" 
 
Such sentiments were often found in those who were tired of seeing their king wither away like this. Especially the younger and bolder giants who grew up with only hatred in their hearts and the stories of the war. 
 
Affirmative grunts were heard in the group, supported by their unofficial leader, Api, whose heterochromatic eyes slowly wandered across the group. 
 
They were all still healing from the wounds that thunder twerp inflicted upon them. Some had their horns broken, others missed entire limbs. But it was of no matter, for Api had a plan in mind.
 
Slamming his palm onto the frozen ground beneath them, he silenced their jeers and proposed his idea. 
 
"Our king has grown weak, yes. But as much as I hate to admit it, the thunder boy was right. We cannot just stand by and watch as the rest of us scurry through the ruins like rats." He spat, hatred dripping from his fangs like acid. "And thus, if Fárbauti is not inclined to invade again, we just need to do it for him."
 

 
Tired, yet feeling light as a feather, Loki returned to Asgard with his shed disguise and wished for nothing more than a few quiet hours – preferably with liten Skygge – before going straight to bed. 
 
But of course, his life was of little mercy and dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder as soon as he bypassed Heimdall to get out and to his horse.
 
"I see your negotiations have gone well, young king." Heimdall began with his ever-so-calm voice, "Though I do loathe that I couldn't hear what you and the king talked about beforehand."
 
"If you could not hear it, then it was not meant to be heard." Loki smoothly replied without looking back. "The only thing you need to know is that I have found my answers."
 
For what felt like an eternity, the hand remained on his shoulder like a brand ready to burn, while the god scrutinised him to his very soul. 
 
"Very well," he said finally and released him from his hold, "I see that you harbour no ill intentions as of now. However, young king, I cannot help but notice that some of your fractures have faded a bit. Any reason why that is?"
 
Loki's back went rigid. Like ice in spring, the tiredness left him, and left behind a dangerous awareness like that of a hunting beast.  
With all the grace and power of a king, Loki faced Heimdall as his robes followed his movements like a comet's tail. 
 
Never had he looked more similar to the blurry person he saw behind the fractures than now. Heimdall thought and felt his muscles tense. 
 
"Gatekeeper. Who do you serve?"
Loki asked with a voice as cold as the rivers of Niflheim. 
 
Without hesitation, Heimdall replied. 
"The king."
 
"Then, as long as I am king, you are forbidden to mention this again. Is that clear?"
 
The sharp command echoed within the golden dome, and for a brief moment, Heimdall remained quiet. It bothered him more than he'd like to admit that the young prince was occupied by another. 
 
But no matter how he turned it in his mind, there was nothing he could do that wouldn't defy the king's command, and thus he was forced to watch as Loki rode off across the rainbow bridge and towards the heart of Asgard. 

 
Loki, once he reached the castle gates, thought the trouble to be over at last. The peace negotiations were underway, Heimdall was dealt with, and little else had to concern him for now. 
Though his peace was brief, when, as soon as he dismounted, the weapon-clad clowns appeared and circled him like a pack of wolves. 
 
"Loki! Why are you dressed in royal regalia? Why is Frigga not on the throne?"
Sif demanded with her one good arm and a strangely frantic expression. 
 
"Isn't it obvious? Or have the news not reached you yet?" He replied as he patted Skygge's neck. 
 
"Excuse them, my lord, I had told them, but they didn't want to believe it without seeing it with their own two eyes."
Volstagg jumped in with a placating smile and forced Sif and Hogun to bow their heads before him. 
 
At least one who knew not to lose their cool in front of those with higher power. 
 
"Well, since you have confirmed it, you can leave now." Loki dismissed them and grabbed the reins of his mare to lead her back to the stables. 
 
"Wait!- ahem, your majesty. Please listen to us." Sif called out and stopped him in his tracks again. "We ask of you to end Thor's banishment. It has gone on for long enough."
 
Loki's grip tightened as he slowly turned around to face them. Tiredness had painted itself beneath his eyes, but still, he held onto his kingly visage, if only to keep the status difference apparent. 
 
"My first command cannot be to undo the Allfather's last. And besides, even if I did, he would be unable to return as he was before."
 
Hogun scoffed. 
"Why not? How can you be so heartless in the face of your own brother? Do you want to see him suffer that badly?"
 
Every second spent with them made a brain cell crumble. The king exhaled sharply and turned to glare at Hogun instead. Hotblooded Vanir, why was he even allowed into Asgard? He should've remained with his kin in Vanaheim. 
 
"Is that what you think of me?"
He asked lowly and watched their expressions grow uneasy under his gaze. 
 
"Fools! Has your battle prowess eaten your brains? Why do you think I am against it? What do you think happens to a mortal that comes to Asgard?"
 
Loki continued his tirade, tiredness turning into frustration. Had none of them ever read a book? Or seen the Valkyrie bring back the souls of the fallen? Perhaps their desperation had eaten away the last of their wit. 
 
"Fine then, it seems that you truly don't know."
He said and forced their attention onto him again as his back was illuminated by the evening sun. With cold jade eyes and an even colder voice, he spelt out the obvious that all gods should know. 
 
"The only way for them to arrive here is through death!"
 

Chapter Text

The white room was as quiet as it was bland, with little else than a chair upon which its sole occupant sat. Hunched over like a broken puppet, he had become eerily quiet, only capable of staring into the unseen distance and blinking rarer still.

He did not sleep, eat or drink, and never spoke when spoken to, despite the frequent attempts. Even so, Thor's mind was still present, and knew of the strange man who visited him with questions on his lips. This "Son of Coul", as he called himself. However, the former god could not answer, as he knew not what to say to him. What good would it do anyway, if none could understand him? And few would believe his origin when he had no proof.

So he sat and waited. For a sign. A word. Something. Even dared to spare a few prayers for his father, though the only one who answered was silence yet again. Perhaps he was too ashamed of him to speak and acknowledge his existence, though surely this shame could not surpass his own.

He did not remember the passage of time, consumed by his thoughts as he was, and only faintly noticed the rise of the sun until its glare made the white surrounding him unbearable to witness.

Alas, his solitude soon ended, and he was not given any more time to dwell on his failings when one of those masked soldiers appeared and led him to the outside.

Passing through the billowing tube, Thor allowed himself a lingering glance at Mjolnir down below, which sat, unchanged as ever, within the clump of rock and dirt. The phantom sensation of its cold, unyielding metal beneath his fingers was as unforgiving as the guard's gaze, which prompted him to continue walking lest consequences would arise.

Within the smell of petrichor, the ground sank beneath his weight, each step splashing watery dirt against his legs, and Thor expected a lot of things. Execution, dismemberment, torture, perhaps another fight or even imprisonment. But certainly not to be greeted by a haggard Erik who swiftly led him away to his transport with a certain little book in his hands.

In a daze, Thor let it happen, watching the landscape change from desert to town amidst Erik's ramblings until the car stopped again and let him out in front of something called a "Bar".

Muttering curses underneath his breath, Erik grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside, revealing, within a dimly lit room, that faintly smelled of cheap booze and the sweat of other patrons. 

But for the fallen god, all this was barely worth acknowledging; thus, the blank look remained on his face.

He should've listened. Should've paused to think about what his actions would bring. But that had never been his nature, impulsive and hot-headed as he'd always been, with little care to think or plan. And only now did he learn regret when everything he cherished was far beyond his reach.

If only Loki were here… his oh so clever brother. Perhaps he would've found a way back home by now, or at least given him some words of encouragement? Or maybe he was already trying to reason with father – though realistically, the chance was quite low.

A small smile appeared on his face for the first time that day as he drifted off into his memories.

Even back then, in their long-gone youth, they had been different.

While Loki sought knowledge within books and dust and rejoiced in the lessons with his mother, Thor spent his time dragging him out of the archives to join his friends instead of gathering dust and becoming part of the collection. Hah, what joyful times they were when they frolicked out on Fólkvangr and listened to tales from the dead souls 'til Freya would chase them away, or told each other scary stories about giants and elves that snatched children away at night. And oh, he wondered what had happened on this road of a thousand years, that had made them drift apart like this, where Loki no longer confined in him like he used to.

Once more, the joy from those memories was dimmed by shame and sorrow, as he knew that he would most likely never see his loved ones again and die in a foreign land, as no one.

However, his spiralling mood was soon interrupted by a large mug that slammed down before him with a hefty clank. Erik, who sat a seat apart with the same mug, said a couple of words to him – not that he understood – gestured to the mug and began to drink.

The smell was a bit unusual, as were many of the edibles on Midgard, but Thor was never one to back down from new things and tentatively tried it.

Bitter, but rich and followed by the ever-present burn of alcohol, Thor downed the beverage in one gulp and quickly demanded another. A warm haze clouded his mind, which made his lips form into a dopey smile. Thus they sat and drank away their worries until the sun set, whilst sharing stories neither could understand nor wished to.

It was freeing in a sense and a good way to take the edge off; however, mortal pleasures were ever fleeting, and Erik was not the strongest drinker around, hence why Thor soon found himself unloading the elder in front of Jane's home.

Her worried fretting went unheard, as he strode past her, dropped him onto the bed, placed the book he carried onto the table and climbed onto the roof without a single word or glance towards her. All explanations could wait til tomorrow, of that he was sure.

Up here on the crude metal, the desert was quiet and cold and made for an excellent stargazing spot. The dark expanse went on for miles, and almost every star could be seen with what little light pollution existed on this stretch of land. Unable to sleep, nor truly wanting to, his blue eyes mapped the former skull of Ymir until suddenly he felt the familiar disturbance of magic to his right.

Thor could admit without shame that his forte with sorcery was almost non-existent; replaced by his prowess with weapons of all kinds and brute raw strength, which he loved to test against Tyr whenever the chance arose.

But even so, he knew that magic caused ripples within space and had, over the long years of his existence, learned to discern just who it was that used it. And this one he could never forget.

As fast as the lightning he once wielded, Thor's head snapped around and looked wide-eyed at the shimmering form of his brother. He looked tired yet lighter at the same time, as if a burden had been lifted off his shoulders. Still, he carried himself stiffly, with a certain awkwardness that said all too loudly that he did not know how to face him.

Thor felt a lump form in his throat as shame rose within him once more, but he tried not to let it show. This ought to be a somewhat joyous reunion.

"Hello, brother." He began, forcing a smile upon his face. "What… what brings you here?"

"I had to see you."

Thor almost let out a huff. "See him" And then he wouldn't even look him in the eye.

"But that's not all, is it?" He pressed on after a brief pause, "What happened? Is it Jotunheim? Or Father?"

His brother sighed. Shifting his eyes from the sky to him, Thor could see that he was tense and likely unsure what words to use with him. It was never a good sign.

"Father fell asleep and Mother entrusted me the Throne while you repent." He said and slowly lowered himself to sit beside him. "I am sorry that I cannot bring good news. I just wanted to let you know that you can't return."

He said this with neither joy nor sorrow, but a quiet resignation as if it had already been written by fate.

"Why not?" Thor asked softly, his voice raw with pain.

Loki's face mirrored this, torn even now as he moved to speak. However, the answer never came as his brother's attention suddenly fell upon something unseen and filled him with an urgency rarely present on his face.

"I have to go," Loki said and moved to stand. "But, Thor, know this. The way you are now will not allow you to reach home. Here, this should help you while you're here on Midgard. Goodbye."

With quick fingers, he traced a rune upon his flesh that glowed golden in his absence. It was hastily drawn, and yet, he felt its power flow through him.

His tongue and throat felt lighter, and his mind filled up with strange new words that he could and couldn't comprehend. As the sensation slowly vanished, Thor, with his arm outstretched and mouth open, hoped to give him a proper goodbye at least. But by then, Loki had already vanished and left him standing alone like a fool.

Thor let himself drop with a sigh and watched the stars once more. Wondering which one of them was his old home.

It irked him that Loki always kept so much to himself. What did he mean by "the way you are right now"? Weak? Mortal? Or something else entirely?

He continued to ponder the night away, watching the constellations slowly shift and vanish, yet a satisfactory answer could not be found, and once the first signs of dawn arose, Thor resigned himself to a brief and restless sleep, for perhaps his dreams could find an answer.

Asgard's palace was veiled in tense silence as the gods awaited the return of their king.

Only they had been informed of his plans in Jotunheim and the negotiations that would soon take place, and safe to say, they were not pleased. Under normal circumstances, such drastic actions would be condemned, as the mere thought of the king coming into contact with Jotun's was despicable. But given that they were faced with war, quick decisions – even when not fully approved by others – were a necessity that could not be avoided.

Thus Loki walked at a brusque pace towards the hidden passage, to meet the old council members and their king, Fárbauti, to forge peace at last between the two races before any unnecessary blood could be spilt.

Given the utmost importance of this meeting and the still uneasy citizens in his home, all servants had been banned from roaming the halls, and all guards had been sworn to silence. Additionally, despite knowing that his biological father meant no harm, Loki could not count on the other Jotuns and was adamant to keep them away from all the dangerous relics and most of all the golden tree.

His talk with Thor had been brief. Too brief for his liking, and given how little time he had to explain things to him, it could not guarantee his return. The Warriors Three and Sif were also a cause of worry, as he had not seen them since he explained the situation with Thor.

It was as simple as the sun in the sky. If his brother was mortal, he could only come here when he was dead. So he could not let him return until he regained his divinity. However, as worrying as their absence was, Loki could not be bothered to waste much time on them, as soon he felt the icy presence of his kin and prepared himself mentally for the long hours they'd need to discuss the treaty.

Meanwhile, not too far away, four pairs of hurried footsteps marched along the gilded halls. The tension was high and brought with it a certain annoyance, making it unavoidable for conflict to arise.

"Our dearest friend banished, Loki on the throne, Asgard on the brink of war, and still you manage to fill your stomach, do you have no care left?"

"Do not mistake my appetite for apathy!" Volstagg shot back to Fandral, carrying with him a leg that he gnawed upon.

"Stop it, both of you! Just stop. We all know what we have to do." Sif cut in, tired of their childish ways that had gone on ever since they left their quarters and continued to lead them through the palace in search of Frigga.

They needed an audience with her as soon as possible to figure out a way to help their friend. If what Loki said was true and not yet another of his deceptions, they could at least seek advice on what to do instead of twiddling their thumbs in their chambers, ridden with guilt.

However, this was easier said than done, as the palace was unusually empty and the guards remained silent no matter what they asked. No servants were around either, and where the other gods had gone off to was a mystery in itself. And so, they searched and wandered, in the hopes of stumbling upon someone who could actually lend their aid.

Sif, for days now, had worn a frown like everyday clothing, while her frustration grew.

What failures they were that they couldn't help their prince in his time of need. Able to do nothing but sit around and think up useless options.

Passing by a window, still grumbling about in her thoughts, her eyes flicked over, just briefly, like instinct, only to freeze on the spot from the sight.

Her abrupt halt caused the rest to bump into her as well, yet her eyes did not stray, as down there stood Loki, clad in his regalia, in the midst of bowing to none other than Fárbauti and the Frost Giants that flanked him.

The gasps that echoed behind her confirmed her findings, for she thought herself gone mad.

Treason. Despicable treason this was.

Helping the Jotuns invade Asgard's very core and in broad daylight as well! No wonder he did not wish to speak to Odin about Thor. No wonder he accepted the crown so willingly. And no wonder the halls were so empty, as no one could defy the order of a king.

Sif clenched her fists, rage, shock and betrayal rolling around in her heart. She had always known something was off about the younger, but to be so stricken by jealousy that he dared to commit treason against his own kin and family?! Unthinkable even for her.

A few tried to protest, to deny the reality, but Sif shot them down without remorse.

"Do not shed any sympathy for this vermin. He does not deserve it." She declared and set her sight on the edge of the world. "We must go. We must find Thor – injuries be damned. That's our only way to win back the throne and punish this traitor. Who knows what lies he has told the other gods."

Seated calmly at the Diner, Thor, surrounded by the scholars, indulged in one last meal together before he would leave at last.

There was little reason not to, as he now could understand this strange language they called "English" and surely, it would not take long for him to learn to speak it as well.

Descending from the roof in the morning and being greeted by words he knew was certainly a startling discovery, one that they were still trying to decipher as was evident by Jane's insistence on keeping his hand still to study the rune drawn atop it.

With every word she spoke, he felt the magic ripple in familiar twisting patterns, though now they resembled vines more than snakes. A curious change, but preferable as it no longer invoked the memories of crude childhood pranks.

Well, no matter, Thor was glad that their curiosity allowed him, if only briefly, to forget his burden and indulge in their company on this nice morning before it would inevitably come to an end.

And so it did, as the doors to the Diner burst open and four people strutted inside like they owned the place.

Shocked gasps and startled cries filled the establishment, yet Thor could not be bothered when he at last heard a voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"Found you!" Volstagg cried as he engulfed him alongside armour and leather in a bone-crushing hug. "My Friend! How are you faring? We've been worried sick!"

"I have been well, but how and why did you come here?" Thor replied, disbelieving laughter falling from his lips. Was this truly happening, or was he dreaming still?

The surrounding patrons still stared, but were less shocked and more disgruntled at this strange party of people that arrived. Believing it to be a wandering circus or actors, eccentric as they appeared.

Sif sighed, the relief fading from her face while Fandral kept an eye on Hogan near the door.

"We have to get you home." She said and straightened her posture as the air grew colder around them.

"You know I can't with the way I am now."

"We have no choice. Asgard is in danger, and we need your help. It cannot be saved without you."

Her words carried a certain tension that lay still like quicksand beneath one's feet. Even the scholars, to whom Darcy tried to explain everything, picked up on it and tensed.

"Why?" Thor asked after a beat of silence, unable to mask his worry. "Has something happened to Loki? Or to father?"

A grim expression formed on her face, which was followed by the distraught looks Fandral and Volstagg shared. With a cold, withering voice that quivered at the edges, Sif revealed the painful truth.

"Your brother betrayed us."

Thor stared at her, dumbfounded, before letting out a disbelieving laugh.

"Do not jest Sif. My brother would never do such a thing."

However, instead of brushing it off like a bad joke, her face grew ever more resigned, as frost formed at the edges of the window.

"Thor, he brought Jotun's into Asgard right into the palace walls. I saw it with my very own eyes. He is a traitor. You know I would not lie to you."

Thor scoffed. How could he ever believe such a ludicrous claim? His brother? Betraying his home and family after he promised to set things right? There was no way he would ever do such a thing. Not after helping him down here and delivering the news when everyone else was silent.

Raising his gaze to meet theirs, his bright blue eyes now cold as ice, Thor opened his mouth to demand proof when a distant boom resounded and screams filled the once peaceful town.

Rushing outside, their breath fogged in the air instantly as they set their sights upon the edge of town. Tall, hulking figures, some as dark as the sea, others as light as snow, came ever closer, while screaming civilians ran past or tried to foolishly confront them.

By instinct alone, Thor fell into a battle stance with his friends following suit. No matter where and when, he could never mistake a Jotun. However, despite his instincts and pride screaming at him to fight, he knew that his body would likely not withstand it. Not as he was now.

Thus, he turned to the scholars behind him and said, "You have to go. It is not safe."

"Why? What are those things?" Darcy replied, her throat tight as she kept looking over his shoulder.

"Jotun's. They will kill you on sight. Go, get the others to leave as well. I will help."

Despite wanting to protest, Darcy complied and began to guide the screaming townspeople to safety as best as she could, far away from the battle that was about to take place.

Thor too threw himself into the masses, and although words did not reach them, his gestures were enough to get them going as the first frigid spear of ice pierced the ground.

Dodging and weaving between the swings of the Jotuns as ice and steel clashed against each other repeatedly. The leader of the five, the one with dual coloured eyes, was especially keen on getting to him, so that it didn't take long for him to point the blade at a fallen mortal, frozen in terror as he was.

"Stop running away, you coward!" He demanded, his voice audible even over all the fighting. "Come out and face me! Or do you want even more blood on your hands?"

Thor stopped and turned, a conflicted expression crossing his face.

While he knew, in good nature, that there was little he could do given his lack of strength, he could not allow himself to fail someone again, not as a god, nor a prince or a friend.

Ignoring the pleading expressions of the scholars, who tried to make him turn away, Thor stepped forward and braced himself.

A low chuckle broke from the Jotun, who turned the blade away and pointed it towards his chosen foe.

"So this has become of you. What a waste of royal blood." Api sneered, slowly circling the former royal like a wolf. He had grown weak since the last time they had met, but while he liked a proper fight, it was not unwelcome to strike the weaker ones, as little else mattered in a world ruled by the strong.

"Silence." Thor gritted out, his muscles tense as ever. "Why have you come here?"

"For a rematch, of course. Quite disappointed I was to see you not in Asgard, though I do hope that you give me a proper fight even when you're like this."

The former prince glared at him, but did not move, not even when he felt the sting of ice against his shoulder. Do not show fear or weakness to the one who seek it out.

"It's not like I have a choice." With those words, Thor sprang into action, catching with ease the sword Sif threw at him and began the battle in earnest just like they had in Jotunheim.

His senses dissolved in a flurry of strikes and parries, as he did his best to stay in one place, keeping Api far away from those few still fleeing souls.

With each clash, the craze in Apis' eyes grew wilder, deranged laughter overpowering the ringing of metal as it clashed and hacked through the never-ending blades of ice. The sword beneath his hands grew cold, but he held on, for as much as he loathed it, Thor couldn't help but see himself in him. Arrogant and drunk on battle, keen only on revenge, the Jotuns' attacks slowly changed from precise to desperate as more and more anger bubbled forth.

By now, their surroundings had transformed into a frost-covered waste, and Thor's throat began to hurt while his fingers lost their feeling bit by bit.

"My strength exceeds yours, yet you still continue to fight. Why won't you yield already and save us the trouble?" Api asked at last with exhausted laughter atop his tongue.

"Better ask this yourself!" Thor replied mid swing, "Or have you not noticed how your friends have fallen ?"

And indeed three corpses lay crumpled across stone and rubble, yet Api only laughed again.

"Why should I? Their lives are their responsibility. I am only here for you! Though if you care so much about your friends…"

Grasping the icy blade tighter in his hand, Api turned, his teeth on full display and stabbed it straight at the closest of Thor's friends.

A pained gasp followed, yet not from the one he tried to hit. As between them stood Thor, the blade wedged into his shoulder as he returned the sentiment in kind. The metal pierced the frigid skin, drawing from bloodied lips more laughter, while Sif stood behind him, frozen in shock and watched as the crimson blood froze upon the ivy surface.

Api stared Thor in the eye, his face trapped in a grimace of madness. A mirror to what he could've become, had he never learned humility.

"You fool." He croaked as the metal sank deeper and creaking within from the cold. "Protecting those weaklings that cost you your life."

Yet Thor remained standing amidst blinding pain and replied as certain as the dawn each morning,

"If I can give my life for others, then that is the greatest honour I can earn."

With one last breath the Jotun went slack, his eyes like pearls milky and lightless as he slipped from the frozen blade, snapping it in half on the way downwards, while Sif caught Thor's crumbling form.

Her desperate cries went unheard as darkness grew in the corners of his eyes and he let out a soft exhale. At least once, he managed to do good for those he cared for… yet the expected darkness did not claim him.

Instead, power surged through his body as boundless as the sky. Vast and freeing, it filled his cells, his very being and stitched the wound close at last.

Once the onslaught of power faded, Thor blearily opened his eyes to the shocked and joyous faces of his friends. Who all, despite their injuries still managed to stand. In his hand lay a familiar weight, his Mjolnir that hummed softly as if satisfied with him. Armour and royal garb replaced the feeble mortal clothing, and for the first time in a while, he felt like a prince again.

Straightening his posture as was befitting of his status, Thor looked at his friends and nodded at them, before setting off to the Bifröst with a lingering chill following suit.

Chapter Text

Loki let out a long-winded sigh as the noisy discussion progressed and would most certainly devolve into shouting, arguments, debates and disagreements again until it returned to neutrality like an imitation of Ouroboros.

So, all in all, the negotiations were going well. This he could say for certain as they had finally laid out the first terms that would form the base of their alliance.

In exchange for the winter casket, with which the power and life of their realm would be restored, granting them a stable home after more than a thousand years, the Jotuns would bind their strength to them and lend their forces in times of need.

To ensure that this power was not misused and the treaty not broken, powerful runes would be carved atop the casket, so that anyone who took it with selfish intent would be incinerated at once.

Loki couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face as he thought about the future he was paving. This was… nice. To be able to fulfil the role foreseen for him, without any of the hatred he once carried for his heritage.

Of course, conflict and issues would always appear, but he never expected it to be simple. Everything would and could be resolved with time.

Yet sadly, this moment of bliss was cut short by a loud bang, when the doors flew open and a panting guard appeared. Sparing no time to be shocked at the sight of gods and Jotuns in one room, he exclaimed immediately,

"Your Majesty! Something is going on on the Bridge! Come quick!" Before he ran off, no doubt returning to his previous post.

Loki let his face go blank.

So the time had arrived after all…

He knew his interference was bound to bring change, yet it seemed that some moments were destined to happen either way. Thor's fall, the forming of the Avengers, the invasion and of course Thanos himself. An ugly feeling rose within him when he remembered the time spent within his thrall.

Yet time was of the essence, and unpleasant memories could await their turn.

"Resume the talk. This treaty is too important. I can manage this problem myself." He instructed the reluctant gods and swiftly left the hall.

Fárbauti followed not a moment later, with the excuse of needing some fresh air, even if everyone knew it to be false. The giant king had no reason to be here, yet he came along as well, a silent shadow that walked after him until they passed a staircase that led to the upper floors.

There, the giant king stopped and closed his eyes for a moment before a hum left his lips.

"It seems I sensed correctly. Some pesky younglings have followed us here and wish to bring harm upon your people." He said and tapped his chin as though in thought. His sly expression, however, told of something else entirely as he let a cruel grin slip through his regal facade. "This shall not take long. Go, take care of your people and leave these traitors to me."

It was as he had thought then. Good. If there was anyone he could trust with this, then it was his father. Against his better wishes, Loki subconsciously relaxed and nodded at him, a silent thank you for his aid.

And while he resumed his way towards the Bifröst, Fárbauti watched him with quiet pride before setting his sight on the staircase to his right.

There was little time to waste, no matter how sneaky those traitors thought they were. Both he and the sons of Muspel used magic much older than that of the gods. The primordial powers of Nifl and Muspelheim had given birth to their ancestors.

This magic, unlike the gods, failed to leave a signature behind, yet could still be picked up by those who knew what to look for.

Thus, he closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. A cold sparkling trail formed in his inner eye, one he immediately followed.

Even in the real world, the temperature change was most apparent the further he went up. Frost crawled across the floor, ice grew upon the edges, and soon enough, the king found the first battle scene where red and blue blood mingled in spirals on the floor.

The soldiers' corpses were half encased by ice, while his kin lay in pieces, overwhelmed by their own power with unseeing eyes. However, Fárbauti spared them neither respect nor sympathy and stepped over them as carefully as he could, to not sully the midnight robes he wore for this occasion.

Three in total had arrived, concealed by Nifl's mist that not even Heimdall could peer through. Yet he had only seen two on the way. Fools, the lot of them. Disobeying his direct order like this as if his word as king meant nothing. He would not let their deeds ruin his one and only chance at peace.

Laughable as it was for them to not immediately find their target, it also came to no huge surprise, as only the oldest giants, such as he, could remember the overwhelming presence of the Allfather that served as a beacon of fear and plight.

A few corridors later, and he at last found the third traitor whose fate he held in hand. A woman with a missing eye and arm stood in the mouth of Odin's chamber with a dagger in her hand and stared at the Allfather in quiet despair.

Fárbauti approached soundlessly, concealing his presence with experience far beyond her age and let his skin grow frigid so that not even she could survive.

Quicker than she raised her dagger to strike Odin's sleeping form, a hand encircled her throat and slammed her with the force of a glacier straight into the golden wall.

The Giantess stared, wide-eyed at the blank visage of her king, who looked at her with more disgust and contempt than he had ever given the Asgardians. Laughter bubbled in her throat, out of fear or resignation she did not know, but still she stared at him, defiant to the grave and said in a mocking voice,

"A my king and coward. Have you come to witness the end of our enemy as well?"

"Why take so long when you could've struck him down after we arrived?" Fárbauti asked in return, not granting her an answer.

"We were supposed to wait for the others to return, but, well, I got bored, you see, and I have waited long enough for this moment for you to ruin it."

Struggling futilely, she reached up to sink her dagger into his flesh, yet gained nought but a painted cry in return as the dagger fell to the floor and shattered into pieces. Fárbauti scoffed and let go of her broken arm whose bone jutted outwards from the force of his snap.

Weaklings. That's all that fools were in the end.

"No matter what you claim I am, this coward has found the way to peace again. Too bad you won't be alive to see it." We're the last words she'd ever hear, before her body began to twitch.

Pained screaming and groaning filled the quiet chamber as her limbs spasmed, then stiffened and grew numb from the cold, until at last she stilled and fell onto the ground like a rock. A corpse frozen solid with eternal terror carved into the face.

"May you find your answer in death."

He spoke and turned towards the entrance, where he was met with the Godqueen Frigga, whose magic continued to twist around her hands even as shock rendered her immobile.

Scoffing lightly, Fárbauti stepped around the obstacle and approached her in the doorway.

"Do not mistake this for forgiveness, Frigga. I am doing this solely for my son." Fárbauti murmured as he looked at her with a gaze hollowed out by the long years of silence, before walking past her without another word and leaving her to reach her own conclusions.

Meanwhile, far out in the Bifröst, Thor's arrival was not greeted by peace, but by biting cold and the shouting of Heimdall, who gave all of his strength to pull out the sword.

Thick, grotesque vines of ice, strong enough to even rival a god's might, twisted around it and prevented it from moving even an inch. And all this because of the blood of a frost giant that they had killed upon arrival, after realising that she had followed them into the stream.

The portal behind them remained open, surely eating away at Midgard bit by bit, as they tried their best to get the sword to move. But the ice was faster. Barely ten minutes after they arrived, the chamber was already encased in ice, slowly but surely closing the entrance and left them no choice but to flee.

They ran across the bridge, desperate to get away from the ever-growing ice and storm. And yet Thor could not let it stay this way, not when it meant endangering so many mortals.

Seeing no other way, he stopped running and stared at the bridge beneath his feet. Although it pained him, what else could he do? Raising Mjolnir high above, he let it crash into the iridescent crystal, again and again and again until the force caused cracks to form and grow wider.

He had nearly finished his task when a figure appeared behind him and paused his work with a desperate shout.

"What are you doing?!" Loki exclaimed, his robes billowing around him as Skygge neighed in the back, no doubt sensing the impending explosion.

"The Bifrost won't close! This is the only way to stop things!" Thor shouted over the icy wind.

"No! The Casket can control all cold! Don't waste your strength on this!" Loki replied, grabbing at his raised arms to try to lower the weapon.

"But it won't come fast enough!" Thor ripped himself free from his hold, fuelled by desperation. "Step back, brother."

That was the last warning he gave him as he inflicted one final hit upon the bridge. With a thundering crack, full of rippling energy in all the colours of the rainbow, the crystal shattered and sent all near it flying through the air.

Briefly disoriented, Thor slammed into the bridge, just barely able to grab his brother's hand as he dangled across the great below that led into the vastness of the cosmos.

"Hold on! Just hold on a little longer, I'll pull you up, alright?" Thor gasped out, hardly keeping himself upright; and yet he stayed put as tightened his grip on his hand.

Yet Loki did not look scared. Instead, he looked almost resigned, and returned his reassurance with a barely there smile.

"Please, brother, should we meet again, read between the lines and don't take my words at face value."

Loki said, cryptic as ever and then did the unthinkable.

A flare of burning magic clawed itself up his arm, gnawing into flesh and blood like bramble thorns. Against his best efforts, Thor let go and could do nought but scream in anguish as his brother, his dearest brother, fell into what remained of the gateway the Bifröst had created.

He screamed and screamed, his voice hoarse and raw and did not stop even when he was dragged away from the edge and carted into the healing ward.

And as grief once more consumed the hearts of sons, mothers, fathers and brothers, a green star fell ever lower through the World Trees' branches and roots.

It passed by the light-filled Alfheim and Shadow-stricken Svartalfheim. The ever-blooming Vanaheim and frost-covered Jotunheim. Brushed against Niflheim and Muspelheim and was even seen in the darkest underground of Nidavellir, until it at last crossed the ever-silent Hel, where the dead roamed in silence forever.

In that brief instance, as the green star gave light to this glum world, a pair of eyes, ancient and indifferent, locked upon the only colour they had seen in millennia.

Those eyes set alight with interest, traced its shining path far longer than it was actually seen and let their gaze linger there, wondering if it would ever see it again.

Only in the void did the green star stop at last, barely conscious with frost nipping at its skin. And yet it was not alone.

Not for long, at least.