Chapter Text
It happened so quickly.
The bones in his neck breaking under the force of his impact to the ground, his head cracking in two, his ribs and limbs snapping, his blood bubbling up to his lips blocking his ability to breathe, and then nothing.
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It had been nearly a week since anyone had seen Loki, and the royal family had started to become worried.
The royal family questioned Heimdall, the all seeing gate keeper, daily after the first week, and daily he replies he sees and hears nothing of Loki.
Soon another week passes without Loki, and the Queen begins sitting at her loom looking for any sign of Loki, but her prophetic weaving would unravel itself providing no hints on her missing son. The King would sit upon his throne using his magical sight searching for a glimpse of his fondling son, but could see nothing, and his not so secret search parties turned up nothing.
Even Thor, the crowned prince, who had spent the first week listening to his friends talk about the mischief Loki was possibly up to, began setting out every morning after the first week without his friends searching the areas that surrounds the palace for his little brother, but came back every night empty handed.
And still Heimdall was questioned daily, and daily he replies he sees and hears nothing of Loki.
For every month Loki remained missing, the royal family increased their efforts to find him, including hiring seers and hunters, and consulting oracles from across the nine realms, and still no one could find Loki. The royal family prayed to the goddesses begging for them to bring Loki home, and the family believed their prayers went unanswered.
But their prayers had been answered for Loki had been in the capital of Asgard with them since he first went missing they just didn't know it. For he wasn't himself anymore, but the living dead.
For you see the first day he went missing he died, cold and alone, hidden from view in a small, but deep opening in the ground.
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When Loki first regained consciousness he looked around himself in bewilderment, feeling his neck for he was sure he broken it in his fall. Yet, it felt unbroken.
Slowly he realizes he wasn't in the deep hole in the ground that he remembered falling into, but was sitting right next to it.
'Maybe I dreamt that fall,' thought Loki, as he peered into the hole. Though dark, Loki was able to make out the unmistakable mangled body that was his own. Strangely, it did not frighten him, though the voice that broke the silence made him nearly fall back into the hole.
"You're the first prince I know of to become a grim reaper." Said a tall blond man behind Loki. Though looking like a man about to enter his middle age, the man was dressed in a style that was popular among warriors during the time of his grandfather, Bor.
"Huh?"
That man laughed.
"Don't worry," the man offered Loki a hand, "Things will become clearer once you are no longer freshly dead."
_____
Garth, the tall blond man Loki met when he first woke up, took Loki half way back to the capital of Asgard when Loki realized that they just left his body in the hole. However, Garth just shrugged his shoulders and said someone would eventually find it.
Almost a year later after Loki's death, Garth wished he would have dragged his body back and dropped it off at the front gate of the capital, just he could have some peace of mind. If it wasn't Loki talking about his body, it was the bar wrench, the baker, or palace guards.
Unfortunately, Garth couldn't remember where Loki died just that it was deep in the forest West of the palace. Or possibly East of the palace, he couldn't remember.
All Garth knew was that Loki was the first soul he reaped in the 15,000 years he has been doing this to be giving him issues.
"Maybe I became a reaper because my body hasn't been laid to rest." Loki stated more than questioned over his cup of mead.
"I doubt it," Garth looked at Loki from over their table that they always sat at in the tavern they always visited.
To Garth Loki looked exactly how he did before he died, but to the non dead he just kind of looked like the missing prince. While his eyes were still green, they were not the intense green they had been when he was living. His hair was more a dark brown then black, his features softer, and skin had a sun kissed look to it that would seem off place if anyone knew he was about a year dead.
"You don't know," Loki replied slamming his drink down, "You said so yourself you are not sure why some reaper cross over and some don't."
"All reapers cross over," came a female voice, "We just don't know when it is going to happen."
The voice belong to Oddvegie, the owner of the tavern and a fellow reaper, and keeper of the list of those about to die in Asgard. Oddvegie was a homely looking woman with red hair and brown eyes, who would not tell Loki or Garth when or how she died.
"Here," she passed out little notes with the name and time of the person listed to die in Asgard.
Surprisingly, for the Realm of the Eternal home of the immortals, people died pretty regularly, at least enough to keep all three of them busy part of the day.
"I'm going to need both of you two to handle the tavern tonight," Oddvegie stated matter of factly. Both nodded, getting up to reap their allotted souls.
"And Lopt," Oddvegie called Loki using his new public name, "I don't want to hear you telling the guards were you think your old body is, you hear me? We don't need them asking questions."
Loki just nodded, thinking of ways to tell the guards without physical telling the guards because Loki just knew if his body was properly laid to rest he would cross over.