A/N: EDITED-REPOSTED: 01/01/2018, now has approx. +3000 words

I wasn't entirely happy with the chapter as it was originally. It kept nagging at me and I thought I can do better - to express in a better way everything that I felt about this particular situation, so I kept at it. The gist of the story in the chapter is the same, it's the presentation that changed. Some parts have been rearranged, some rewritten and many have been fattened up. All in all, it's about the length of 2 chapters now. If you read the previous version, you don't have to reread it to know what happened. This version is my guilty pleasure and I kinda hope you'll enjoy it too!

Happy New Year!

Queens' Move

Peering through the vast distances that separated the worlds of Yggdrasil was not easy even for the greatest of magicians. Only Heimdall had the gift to see far into the reaches of the universe unaided by magic, and even his sight could be hindered and tampered with. However, the power of the All-Mother was nothing to sneer at either. Frigga had summoned vast amounts of magical energy to keep watch on her two sons – both so far away from her.

The queen detested being trapped on Asgard, now, when she had a desire to go. And while this was not the first time in a million years that travel became inaccessible to her, never had it chafed as much as it did now. For no portal could reach as far as she wanted to go, no ship could travel fast enough. All she could do was watch from afar. That seemed to be her destiny from the start.

Watching Midgard was simple enough – their days were fast compared to the slow dance of the sun and moon in Asgard's sky, but Frigga wove her spells in the small waves of water in her scrying bowl, and the images became clear and slow.

All-Mother could follow both of her sons on Midgard easily enough – Thor shone like a beacon and finding him took no time at all, and once she had found Thor, she followed him to find her youngest son. Loki shrouded himself in mists – no doubt to hide himself from Heimdall's sight – and that hid his form from Frigga too, but she followed his presence anyway. That is, she followed the emptiness that seemed to cloak and surround the bright nature of her son. She looked for him in reflections and in the eyes of the people around him.

And while she followed Thor's plight after his brother's rejection, unable to offer any consolation, it was the sudden flare of cosmic forces – magic that had the bright flash of an infinity gem – that drew her attention away again. Yet all she saw when she looked was a gray, barren room. One that was not fit to hold prisoners much less guests, and the emptiness of it rung true. Not a magical lie, then.

Loki had disappeared from the sight of those that cared about him once again.

It took Frigga some time to find her youngest son again after that. She could not see between the worlds – her eyes failed her in the blackness of the Void, but she did scry one barren rock after another searching for any trace of her child. It had been more of a hope and an educated guess than thorough search of the known cosmos that led her to look upon Vanaheimr.

Watching Vanaheimr was different than gazing at Midgard. Vanaheimr made circles around its sun more slowly than Asgard – watching the world of Vanir was like watching time fall asleep.

There were few beings in the whole of known universe that could watch but one world from a distance, much less two, much less make sense of what it was that was being seen. But it was not the practical improbabilities of achieving such a feat in the first place that bothered Frigga. It was the insolence of the queen of Vanaheimr.

The very minute she had the whole world of the Asgardian sister-race shimmering in her bowl of magic and water at her leisure - once she had finally caught a glimpse of her son in their throne room – suddenly the water in her scrying bowl bubbled and boiled. The magic twisted and withered into scalding steam and all the images disappeared.

Frigga coughed as she caught a tendril of the smoke in her lungs – the magic dying a quick death like a scrap of paper set ablaze.

How dare she?! How dare that little vixen use magic I taught my son against me!

Frigga seethed. Rage flared in her like a forest fire born from a wayward spark.

Fuming she rose from the table and moved out on the balcony. There was a burning sensation beneath her left breast, not from anger, but the magic she had inhaled. In fresh air it faded quickly. She judged the damage to her lungs superficial and easily healed – more of an irritation than a problem. A warning from Freyja.

Frigga had found her son. Yet before she could… Before she could even properly look at him – he had been taken away again.

She found herself uncharacteristically furious. Loki was her child. What right did Freyja have to burn the eyes of the queen to whom she owed obedience? If Bifrost were working, she might have dragged the Vanir queen before the throne of Asgard and demanded submission. All of the Nine worlds owed their allegiance to Asgard.

But as it was – the Bifrost was gone. Frigga took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hand on her heart. She tapped lightly as she called back to mind the single moment she had been able to glimpse her son.

It had surprised her to finally see him. He had been so carefully hidden on Midgard that even the reflections were dull – it had made her proud of his talent and sad - that he felt the need to protect himself so. Yet on Vanaheimr he had been a feast to her eyes – all magic stripped away, her babe uncloaked before her sight. And yet the scene had been a sorrow to her heart.

As far as she had seen – Loki was not well. Far from it. And as he had stumbled, a bright flash had blinded Frigga. Undoubtedly as Freyja had ejected All-Mother from Vanaheimr. Frigga could hardly decide if she felt more furious with Freyja for her insolence or with Odin. For hadn't her husband stood before her and assured her that their son was well? She now knew those words for the falsehood that they were.

She could hardly remember the last time Loki had been so graceless as he moved. It might've been as far in her memory as the time when terrible illness had struck him when he still had been a small child. Then Odin had bartered an entire world away to gain a cure that would heal their boy.

As angry as Frigga was at the act of defiance from Freyja, she couldn't help but feel grateful for it as well. As All-Mother she expected obedience from nearly all the worlds of Yggdrasil and all the peoples in them – be they stonemasons, farmers or queens and kings.

As Loki's mother, she was heartened that there were those that cared for her son enough to risk All-Mother's wrath.

The fact that Freyja had used a trick that Frigga herself had helped Loki master long ago – that told her that the dalliance, on which she had always looked unfavorably, was more than she had thought. She knew her son guarded the knowledge and skills he learned closely – not least because the things he knew could be dangerous in hands of any who didn't have full comprehension of what it is that they knew. The price of knowledge was the obligation to gain more knowledge. And the responsibility of keeping it.

But apparently Loki had taken the time and the effort to tutor the queen of Vanaheimr.

Frigga had never approved of Loki's entanglement with the Vanir twins, though she had kept her silence on the matter so not to escalate it. Her reservations had very little to do with Freyja and Freyr themselves and more with the history between throne of Vanaheimr and throne of Asgard. But she took comfort in remembering that those events had unfolded long before Loki came into the world, and the twins had also been but babes then.

She rubbed her temples gently. She had a headache born from the confrontation. Tension curled at the root of her skull and sharp stabs hounded her temples. Her bright eyes shone even brighter for the pain she bore.

It would be some time before she could attempt scrying again. Her energies were spent as was the water. She needed the water from an everlasting spring deep into Asgard's mountains. It had to be collected by the hand that would use it else the purity of it would be corrupted by another's intent. And Frigga had just used the last that she had had stored away.

There was a knock on the door.

Frigga voiced her permission for the door to open, and one of her handmaidens walked in and curtseyed, "There is an emissary here to see you, Your Majesty."

Frigga frowned, and her gaze turned to the tapestry that she had been weaving before Loki fell, she tried to see in it a hint of what was to come. The threads of the future lay unwoven and tangled. She had not touched it for the whole time she had believed her son dead. The answers to her questions eluded her. Whatever was coming – she was to have no warning of it.

"Who?" she asked even as she felt bile climbing up her throat. Frigga did not like surprises.

Who would come here now? There were ways to come to Asgard, of course. One could always take a ship and sail the stars – though that was a long and tedious journey. And then there were the other Bifrosts. Several worlds had those. Every single one had been installed as a part of a cease-fire agreement or after a full surrender to Asgard.

But all of those doorways worked only one way. They were capable of sending people to other worlds, but not plucking them from other realms. It was partially a mechanism of control and a method to enforce cooperation and trade relations between the lands - if a Bifrost worked only one way, then to come and go, the peoples needed to work together. Asgard had had the only Bifrost capable of two-way travel.

"The emissary claims to speak for Fárbauti, Queen of Jötnar."

Frigga suddenly felt faint. Events seemed to conspire against her; her sons were gone from her sight. Thor was on a rampage on Midgard – she didn't feel sorry for Midgard itself, but she dreaded to think how this destruction would affect Thor himself. Her son, for all his temper tantrums, always regretted the actions taken when in enflamed temper. And Loki, so wounded and in the hands of Vanir twins. Now this emissary.

"To see me?" she clarified. Not to see Odin?

"Yes, All-Mother. The emissary has requested formal reception."

Frigga nodded stiffly. For a short moment, she contemplated denying the emissary's request – but she judged that the tradition would protect her and her interests as much as it would Fárbauti's mouthpiece.

Absent-mindedly she gave precise orders to make rooms for the ambassador and their entourage. Courtly protocol was something she could perform as easy as breathing. She had been doing it for thousands of years. She gave directions to prepare all things needed for the rite of hospitality.

More handmaidens poured into the room. They led Frigga over to her dresser and the mirrors that surrounded it. They combed her hair and dressed her, requiring only the barest participation of their mistress to fulfill their tasks. The queen was lost in thought, searching for the meaning of this mysterious visit – she went through the motions of dressing as she had for centuries. Her handmaidens had never failed their duty yet.

What possible reason could Fárbauti have to send someone now, Frigga wondered. Months had passed since the attack. All missives out of Jötunheimr had assured them that there was no gearing for war. Yet maybe that was not true. What other reason could there be for this visit but war?

The only thing that had changed from dull beat of the last months was that Loki turned out to be living. But there was no way for anyone on Jötunheimr to know that. It hadn't been announced in Asgard yet – the news couldn't have reached anyone else. And Loki had been on Vanaheimr for less than a day – so knowledge couldn't have leaked from there either due to time difference between Vanaheimr and Jötunheimr.

Yet even if there was a traitor somewhere in the ranks of the All-Mother and All-Father, and Jötunheimr had learned that the King who attacked them lived – they had to know, they had to, that Asgard would never give him up.

An old fear nagged at Frigga – a terror that whispered that somehow Fárbauti had guessed the truth of Loki. That the emissary was here to ascertain it.

Frigga met her own gaze in the mirror and ordered the handmaidens to don her ceremonial armor. Even if her fears were to come true – even if somehow Fárbauti thought to know the truth – Frigga would not admit to it. There were truths she owed to her son. But nothing that she felt she owed to the monstress that ruled Jötunheimr. She could lie well enough if the occasion should call for it.

LOH

All-Mother walked into the hall where she had chosen to receive her visitor. Golden columns. Walls adorned in tapestries that told tales of the history of Yggdrasil, all woven by Frigga's own hand long before the events in them had taken place. She settled in her throne – less ostentatious than the one Odin sat on in the grand hall, but no less intimidating. She was the All-Mother of the worlds of Yggdrasil.

She took a deep breath and motioned for the envoy to be permitted to come before her.

And as they walked in, she suddenly understood why this wasn't done before Odin and the court. And she understood why ancient formalities had been insisted upon. Idunn!

"I bring greetings from Fárbauti, queen of Jötnar, All-Mother," the emissary bowed low and her entourage followed her suit. Idunn was a tall, fay-like woman. Sun kissed hair and delicate features. She had not the blue skin of Jötunn for she was not one of them.

"I accept and extend the hospitality of Asgard and the protection of the All-Mother to the one who brings the tidings," Frigga said formally, every word hard and biting. The surprise of the identity of the emissary was enough to topple anyone, but Frigga was the queen of Asgard – she contained herself. Even when those that should be long dead stood before her.

"I accept and offer myself to the pleasure of my hosts," the emissary replied equally formally and rose from her curtsey.

"Then drop the pretense, Idunn!" Frigga snapped once the ritual words had been spoken. "Since when do you speak for Jötunheimr?"

Frigga was renowned as a gentle and compassionate queen, just like Odin was renowned as wise and benevolent king. But as Odin has once been a merciless conqueror so Frigga had a history that did not match her reputation either.

"You would not even wait for the meal to be served?" Idunn asked, a sly smile on her thin lips. Food and drink was as much part of the tradition as the words they had spoken and with half the ritual already performed – she counted that the All-Mother would not back out now.

"It would seem that more than enough time has already passed," Frigga retorted, but didn't press further. Nothing was served best by rushing into things. She rose from the throne and they moved to the adjourning dining hall.

The meal seemed to drag on for centuries. Thirteen servings of food were passed around. Frigga barely nibbled on her food. Her chefs had outdone themselves, once again – it was a feast fit to be served at All-Mother's table. Yet she could barely swallow anything. She observed Idunn far more than she ate.

Idunn was of Vanir descent. She was the elder sister of Freyja and Freyr, in fact. The last true queen of Vanaheimr.

After Odin had made conquest of Vanaheimr – Idunn had surrendered her throne to Asgard to spare her people further bloodshed. She had also refused to keep the right of the courtesy title and right to local governance under Asgard's overarching rule. She had abdicated in favor of her newborn siblings, and disappeared.

Centuries later when she had resurfaced – it had been in the court of Odin and Frigga – as wife to Bragi, the chief poet of Asgard's court.

Idunn didn't seem to have the same trouble with food as Frigga. She ate and enjoyed her meal. But she watched All-Mother no less than she herself was being watched. Once the last morsel of food was gone from her plate, and the wine cup was dry – not to be filled again that night, she finally spoke, "I want you to know that I am empowered to speak for queen Fárbauti."

The meaning she conveyed was that she wasn't just in Asgard to deliver a message – she was here to strike a bargain if necessary.

Frigga did not like Idunn. Once she had felt sorry for the fair queen – one would have to have a heart of stone not to feel sorrow when the golden city of Vanaheimr fell, when it's gardens burned and the old king and queen with them. Leaving Idunn to take her crown in the middle of a war. Frigga had cried when she had woven the scene of Idunn surrendering her nearly unworn crown to Odin in her tapestries. But that feeling of sympathy was long gone.

Idunn had wormed her way into Asgard's court under false pretenses. Frigga knew that Idunn had charmed Bragi to have access to the inner sanctum of the palace. The All-Mother knew that the night before Idunn left – the fallen queen had glimpsed at privileged information from the War Council chambers. But whatever Idunn had taken – Frigga could not reveal for the thread of that betrayal had not yet finished its weave, and the All-Mother was bound to secrecy by Norns themselves – her gift was to see the future, but not tell it. Not until the deed was done.

She wondered if the ending of that tale was finally about to reveal itself.

Frigga wanted to ask about Bragi. She wanted to ask if Idunn thought of him at all and she wanted to twist the dagger and have the musicians play one of the songs that Bragi had composed – begging his goddess to return. But instead she snarled a different question, "Since when?" Since when did Idunn speak for Fárbauti.

"That matters not, All-Mother," Idunn shrugged and glanced around – noting the changes in Asgard since she had last been here. There were few.

"I decide what matters," Frigga replied coldly. She could imagine every charge upon which Idunn could call Asgard's fault, but she could also counter every single one with a betrayal committed against Asgard.

But Idunn acquiesced gracefully, "Since the All-Father laid waste to the Winter Palace," she answered, paused. Smirked, and corrected herself, "Since the first time that All-Father laid waste to the Winter Palace, that is."

Frigga did not let her emotions show on her face. The time that Idunn named was ancient history. The event had been early in the war with the Jötnar. Quite a while after Idunn had disappeared from Asgard's court. Centuries before either Thor or Loki had been born.

"Say your piece," Frigga ordered, braced for the worst.

"Queen Fárbauti asks for remunerations for the latest damage done," Idunn said, her gaze steady upon the All-Mother. "The actions of the crown prince and the last two Kings of Asgard have broken all treaties and any good will that had existed between our two nations. Jötunheimr will not stand to be subjugated this way."

Asgard may have conquered Jötunheimr once - and the frost giants had itched to be free ever since.

"Jötunheimr will be recompensed for the damage done during the unprovoked attacks. No dues shall be paid to the throne of Asgard for the next ten centuries. And we demand that Loki Odinsson be given to us when he is returned from wherever you have stashed him," Idunn let it be known that Jötunheimr was aware that Loki lived.

"Or?" Frigga merely raised an eyebrow.

"I would not be so rude as to threaten you in your own house, All-Mother," Idunn replied and a wide, bewitching smile settled on her face. "But you must see how anything less would not assure us that you hold Jötunheimr to be a valuable member of the Nine Worlds."

Frigga knew the answer to her own question. War. Again.

The All-Mother did not desire war. She had detested it when she had been a part of it the first time. And the second time. And all the times after.

The first conquests – the rage that had driven Odin after his father's death, that made him leash all the worlds of Yggdrasil to his will... The memory of it made her tremble even though universe had grown much larger and older in the time that had passed since then. Yet for all that – there was no way she would turn her son over to those who would see him punished. Every cell in her being railed against the idea. It burned in her as steadily as the everlasting flame in the vaults.

All the moral reasons for acquiescing – to avoid bloodshed, to avoid war; and all the logical reasons against giving in – Loki had the protection of the office of the King for he had acted when he had ruled as one… None of it matter in the face of the simple truth – Frigga would not give her son up. There was no circumstance where that would happen. She was the All-Mother and Fárbauti was a fool if she ever believed that Frigga would submit to any demand that harmed her children.

Once the Bifrost was complete again. It would not be the first time that Asgard went to war.

Frigga's eyes were cold. They had fought Jötunheimr before. They would subjugate it again.

"You must know what the answer is, regardless," All-Mother rose from the table.

"Aye, as surely as you know what that means in return," Idunn's green eyes sparkled in amusement.

LOH

Meanwhile now that Loki's thoughts had turned to Midgard – he felt something nudging at his awareness. It was akin to something alive, like it had sensed his mind shift and latched on to those thoughts to gain more ground. It was a creature similar to a leech in the material world, something that found a prey stumbling within its domain and clamped hundreds of tiny teeth in it to suck the very lifeblood out.

Magic glazed over Loki's eyes as he looked at the world with an entirely different sight to locate the disturbance. He raised his hands in front of himself – astonished. Aesir white as they were – they were bound. Thin, link-less chains, more like ropes, bound his arms – like vines they wrapped around him from this wrists to his shoulders and down his waist, growing thicker. Something had gotten a hold of him, and he hadn't noticed until it had taken root within him.

The magical binds held no weight or appearance in the physical world, but they bound him in more profound ways. They dug into his skin unseen and seared into his spirit – drank his power by laying hooks within him, and tried to skin him – bit by bit drawing his soul from its residence within his being.

He winced, involuntary. The first pain of separation of soul and body was annoying yet hardly insidious, like a fingernail pulled from nailbed. The chains around his hands wrapped tighter, pressing into his flesh – the sensation very real. It was confusing to feel like he was being squeezed to death, and at the same time pulled apart at the seams.

Apprehension marred his brow as he tried to pull the binds off himself. It felt like he had strayed too close to the heart of a sun - a red giant that in turn had circled too near a black hole. And instead of exploding the star was imploding in on itself, dragging him in its embrace to share its fate.

He grew more tangled by the second. He couldn't suppress another wince as the chains bound even tighter around his arms and then tightened around his chest too. A gasp of startled pain escaped him. The threads of magic burned him wherever they touched upon him and he couldn't shake them off. Magic didn't obey physical laws – his strength as a god was of no use.

For a brief moment, he wondered whether this was related to his affinity for the Tesseract, but just as quickly he dismissed that thought. As strange as it was to describe it so – the Tesseract felt different. When he used the space gem, or the mind gem – it was akin to learning to use a muscle he had never exercised before. The stones felt like a part of him while the magic that wound its way around his form now felt foreign and ancient. And sharp. It seemed to cut at the very edge of him on a line far more delicate than the one that merely separated skin and muscle.

The magic around his feet wound around his legs, and squeezed them numb. His pretense that the morning was proceeding normally was slipping along with his concentration. He grasped at the settee behind him to keep standing, ice flared under his hands, but he barely felt his arms – there was a cloud of pain from his wrists to his shoulders. His vision swam with unshed tears. Pain. He was altogether too familiar with that cruel mistress.

He didn't know if his condition was related to Vanaheimr, but leaving the planet seemed like the right move on his part. He wasn't sure how he had worked the Tesseract in the first place or how to replicate the effect – the harder he tried the less he accomplished. By now he'd been wishing to leave for a quite a few long moments and it meant less and less as time trickled by. With every second his confidence in his ability to move under his own power lessened.

Loki met his lover's eyes and was about to lie that all is well, when the binds around his legs eased. He took a relieved breath in surprise, but it was cut short. Mercilessly the magic ground into him with a renewed force - strong enough to shatter his bones. He collapsed on the ground. His limbs all but useless sacks of meat to the impulses firing in his brain. If he screamed, he was too deaf to hear it. The ice that had pooled and melted under his hands left puddles on the marble floor as the water slowly trickled down from the frame of the settee. He hardly felt the cold and the wet as he lay in it.

LOH

"Maybe breakfast first?" Freyja asked getting off the bed.

"I doubt Thor will wait for it. I ought to see if there is anything left standing on Midgard," Loki replied lightly, easily, even though it was hard to hear Freyja. The whole world seemed muddled and muffled.

"You would not want to witness the rage of that maniac," he continued with a joke trying to blink away the feeling that this conversation was not entirely real.

Pretense came easily to him. Besides he truly doubted that Thor was more than merely peeved that Loki had evaded him – it was an old trick. He did think it best not let any of the Midgardians die before time, though, in case Thor was truly enraged. Loki had plans for the mortals, after all.

"You care for Midgard," Freyr remarked over his shoulder as he moved to ring for servants.

"Perhaps," Loki lied dismissively wondering if it was just him or if Freyja and Freyr felt this strange too? Aside from that - he could admit to a strange sort of affection for Midgard. In general terms. Similar to how he cared for the inflection in Freyja's voice, for the light in Freyr's eyes.

"Or at least you need it," Freyja continued her brother's previous thought sagely as she threw open all the curtains to let the morning light in. Her breasts greeted the light of day proudly – as well as any who happened to glimpse so high in the tower. None of them had dressed yet. With her back to Loki, she did not see his growing distress.

"I presume I am free to leave," Loki ground out between his clenched teeth, suddenly changing the track of the conversation to where it had begun.

"Of course," Freyr's smile wavered, and concern darkened his features as he turned. The flash of alarm in his eyes the first thing that seemed to click just right – like a struggling musician that finally caught up with the rest of the orchestra.

Before a word could be said - Loki's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed.

LOH

He could not stop himself from shaking. He hardly knew what was real or not. A violent seizure shook him. It was like the Void again, only worse. He could feel the foreign magic corrupting his own. He felt his own power turn against him. His strength became his undoing. The curse, the creature, the thing - it wreaked havoc on his being. It twisted in his belly like a living thing making a nest of his insides. It clawed up his lungs and pulverized his bones – all without leaving a trace in the physical world. It tormented not his living flesh but his spirit.

He did not feel Freyr's gentle touch as Freyr carried him to the bed. He did not see how Freyja turned to her own magic and gasped in horror and then turned pale with nausea when she saw what was happening behind the veil of the physical world. He did not hear her send her brother for the Valkyries.

If he had – he'd have realized sooner what was happening.

Everything flashed dark before his eyes and suddenly it was like he was thrust into a world that he couldn't trust - the pain stopped. It was disorienting just like the conversation he had had with Freyr and Freyja before. It was like he was there. And yet he knew his body lay in bed in Vanaheimr.

He looked, but there was only darkness. He tried to hear, but there was silence. There was nothing. Only a bottomless pit where even death did not exist. Not the end of the universe – the absence of one.

He howled in horror for he recognized the place from a nightmare he hadn't remembered having until now.

And then the darkness softened like a curtain swaying in wind. It moved with an unseen breeze as if someone brushed it away as easily as swatting an annoying fly. It became lighter and lighter until it grew gray as a sheet of summer rain. And then there was a flash of light.

And suddenly Loki stood on the edge of a world. On the very arc of a nearly round planet. And he saw a storm like he had never seen before – it enveloped the world as far as his eyes could see. A whisper in his heart told him that it did not stop at the curve. He could smell it in the chemical composition of the atmosphere. He knew without knowing that the heavy clouds enveloped all the seas and all the lands.

At the center of it - he saw Thor.

LOH

He didn't fall. Between one breath and the next he found himself on the ground. A knee pressed against the road. The yellow line of a traffic lane division beneath his palm. He could feel the ground tremble in anticipation of what was coming. A shiver ran from his hand through his body as if he was one with the earth.

He glanced up tentatively. The buildings around him still stood tall. He recognized them. The street was full of cars, with doors thrown open – abandoned. And a hysterical mass of people ran past him for shelter that they had no hope of reaching. And though they could not see him – the desperate wave of humanity parted before him like ice in the river breaks with the coming of spring.

He rose slowly as the world rushed past him.

The sky wasn't just overcast. It was nearly black. And he knew the clouds had no ending – they covered the entirety of the planet. A sudden flash of illumination. A pale streak of lightning. Loki stared at that spot in the sky even after the light was gone. With his hand pressed against his chest, tapping a finger lightly - he counted heartbeats. Patiently. A quiet thunder rumbled. No one else heard it above the chaos of the crowd.

The heart of the storm was still hundreds of miles away.

And he waited. The swarm of humanity never seemed to lessen. In a city that housed millions no one was going to survive. He knew that Thor was finally near when the rain started. It was no soft drizzle followed by a heavier rainfall. It began suddenly. One moment the air was calm, and the next - rain fell like a sheet of white. Loki was drenched in seconds.

Yet he turned his gaze heavenward looking for Thor. The raindrops were blinding – they splashed against his face like a thousand slaps. The mortals were pressed to the ground by the force of it. It was like an entire ocean fell from the sky. When lightning struck – all who saw it became blind. The street cracked like a ceramic mug carelessly dropped. The sinkhole that the impact created swallowed cars and toppled skyscrapers.

Following his instincts, Loki jumped up before the road collapsed underneath him.

The wind caught him, and carried him easily as if it recognized him. He never had had the power of flight, but the storm carried him easily. The thunder that followed barely a heartbeat after the lightning tore apart eardrums of every mortal being within vicinity. Steel cracked. Window glass became dust. Silence reigned as blind and deaf, the people below forgot their own voices.

Loki could not spare them – and the realization stung. He found himself morbidly drawn to the carnage of the collapsing city, in vain he tried to pull his gaze away. Pity swelled in his chest.

For all his talk of war – he had not seen destruction on such a scale yet. He had been in countless battles, but not one war. He was too young – as gods counted the passage of time. He would have destroyed Jötunheimr – but he would have done so from billions of light years apart. He would not have seen it in its death throes.

And then – amidst all the gray and blinding white, and charred black – he saw a flash of silver an red. Thor – in full armor.

And Loki felt his heart sigh with strange sort of pain as he remembered something that he had always known yet had forgotten the meaning of – Thor's armor was made of star metal, but plated with silver. Not for endurance, but as a tribute.

There are two precious metals pervasive in all the worlds of Ygdrassil – gold and silver. Two constants that hold true for all the words – there are always suns, the stars that burn with warmth, and there are always moons that shine with light in the darkest of places. There is gold and there is silver. There are two princes of Asgard. The golden prince and the prince with the silver tongue.

Thor wore his allegiance upon his breast and vambraces.

Between one breath and the next a green light washed over Loki as he donned his full armor. Gold and green.

Distance became nothing as wind pushed him forward, and he caught himself by the breastplate of Thor's armor. Molded himself to his brother's side. Storm whipped their capes in a scene befitting gods – but there was no one to witness it. The mass of humanity was broken and crippled beneath them.

"Brother," endearment slipped from his lips as Loki forgot himself. His clutch at Thor more of a caress than anything else. "What have you done?"

Thor did not see him. Thor did not feel his touch. He tore the world apart with the same ferocity as sorrow ravaged him. He would not stop. He could not. He would not rest until his will was done. A god was lost as far as he knew, and a god was an entire world unto himself in a way that mortals could never comprehend. The depths of an immortal being – the preciousness of such a life… How could things that lived less than the time it took for a candle to light, burn and snuff out in Asgard ever understand the worth of such a life. He would take his recompense. He was his father's son. Yggdrasil would bow before his grief.

He should have been afraid – but Loki had never feared his brother's fury or anger. He did not release his claim upon Thor even as he watched a tidal wave loom over the city below them – a billion tons of crushing force that reared its head over the coastline like a hungry beast. The only glimmer of light in Thor's eyes was grim satisfaction as the city was washed away. The bright cerulean of his gaze was turned muddy dark blue. This was Thor as Loki had never known him before. Cold. Merciless.

"You would have been proud," Thor whispered as he surveyed his handiwork. "You will be avenged, Loki."

LOH

Before he could see the end of Midgard, he was pulled away by a will not his own. Dragged back into a body that believed itself broken – Loki screamed. And with the sudden rush of consciousness of his living flesh – he realized what this was.

He remembered the one ritual he had performed in recent memory. If he wasn't choking on his own tongue – he'd curse. The sacred fucking hospitality.

The ancient magic was stupid – it couldn't distinguish between shades of consent. The Tesseract had acted on his wishes, taking him away, yet it had done so without his expressed consent. The magic judged that his hosts had been negligent in their duty – that he had been kidnapped. And afterwards Thor had been the instrument that the fates had used to wreak their vengeance upon the world that had failed in its promise.

And yet the magic punished him as well, because he had failed too.

It's not supposed to be this strong. That was the one thought that rung clear through Loki's mind in his agony. When he had allowed the ritual, when he had felt the tendril of that magic latch on the barest part of him – it had been a feeble thing. He could have snapped it like a twig between one breath and the next.

And now it was strong enough to seek to break his mind. Piece by piece it pulled his soul from his body making him drift along the branches of Yggdrasil. His being becoming no more than the illusions he was so fond of.

As he opened his eyes for a moment he saw Freyja, frantic above him as she tried to keep him breathing, tried to keep more of his spirit from leaving his body. He heard the sound of chant above his own screams. The Valkyries surrounded the bed - seven women stood in a circle and kept him anchored to the world of the living. He guessed that it was them that pulled the pieces of him back from their wanderings on the branches of Yggdrasil back into his body.

And at the same moment he realized that all of what he had witnessed - had been real.

And his first thought was of Thor. Whatever he had seen happen on Midgard had to have happened days ago as time went on Vanaheimr. He had failed his part of the hospitality oath and unless he could fix it – the magic would not rest until it claimed his life. Not even Freyja and the Valkyries could stop that. The idea of dying was not new, but it was sobering.

But just as soon as the thought appeared in his mind – from a spark it grew into a wildfire. Loki heaved with breath as he knew what he had to do like he had always known. Like it was something he was made for. It was just like the moment before the Tesseract whisked him across the universe.

This time worlds did not whip around him. He saw the entirety of the universe and then he saw it shrink. Just a little bit. It contracted like a tummy, sucked in, to fit in a tunic. Like the most perfect clockwork mechanism – entire galaxies and within them star systems turned just a little bit back in their rotation. Cosmos shrank just a little smaller. A night turned backwards on Vanaheimr – entire days became unlived on Earth.

LOH

Loki opened his eyes. His body slumped in the embrace of Freyr and Freyja. His spirit whole. It took but one look to realize that they stood in the throne room. It was the very moment he had walked through the door and stumbled.

That had happened a night ago. It felt like an entire lifetime.

He did not need to look to know that the chains of magic were gone, though roots of the ritual spell still nestled within him. He felt them like splinters in his flesh

"Bifrost, now," he rasped. There was not a moment to spare.

Loki shook badly. Freyr and Freyja had to support him all the way to Bifrost. He knew exactly what had happened. He knew exactly what he had done. He could not give words to it in his own mind yet. He was terrified. Anyone with any sense would be. He mercilessly trampled down on his panic. Sentiment was not practical.

Tesseract – the gem of space, giving the ability to travel. The gem of mind – giving sanctuary for his sanity. The gem of time – that made an entire universe stand straighter and pull its stomach in.

The Bifrost flashed.

Mjölnir returned to Thor's hand. "Enough!" he growled and prepared to strike.

"Stop!" Loki cried. He, Freyja and Freyr landed on the landing strip of Helicarrier.