A/N Chapter One. Redone.

It's been a long while, but I have finally gotten back to this story, and I'm very excited about about continuing it. Before I do so, however, I will be very throroughly revising what I've written so far, so it will be a little while before any new content comes out.

Also, this story is now being crossposted to AO3, under the same title, author Nokura.

As always, please drop a review, I love getting feedback.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. ;)

He had known, from the moment he stepped up onto the jagged cliff and saw Malekith watching them from below, head cocked as if somehow, inexplicably, he already knew, that this plan could only go horribly, horribly wrong. He had known, and yet he did nothing to prevent the unavoidable outcome. He played his part according to plan, the friend, the brother, the betrayer, and all the while dread coiled in his gut, thick and brooding.

He shoved Thor down the mountainside, and quickly followed after, boots sliding over debris, careful not to trip and ruin the perfect act they had put together. He heard the mortal woman scrambling down after them, calling out in fear for Thor, screaming insults at Loki. He took no joy in the contempt that she held for him, but rather felt it as a heavy weight around neck that he wished to be rid of, but could not dislodge. He was done with trickery and games, and false faces - where had they led him? Hated and shunned by all, a failure in the eyes of the realms, his mother dead, and by his hand. But he had made Thor a promise, ad so he would play out this last game, this last charade, if only for his brother's sake. If only to redeem himself, just a little, in the eyes of the man who had been his closest companion for so many years.

They reached the bottom, and Loki swung his foot brutally into Thor's face when he tried to scramble to his feet, the crunch of bones sending a twinge through Loki's stomach, and another through his now-sore foot. Thor was flung backwards, and in the moment it took for him to "regain his senses," Loki prepared the illusion spell. As Thor reached out to draw Mjolnir to him, Loki swung down his knife, the flash of steel disguising the flash of magic, as he cast his spell upon Thor's hand. Thor's scream was convincing enough to give Loki pause, but he soldiered on, turning to face Jane behind him. She cried out as he advanced, and he was careful to keep his face the mask of a triumphant maniac, hiding the turmoil conjured up by the terror so clearly sprayed across her face.

With a yelp she was whipped around to face Malekith, Loki's dagger at her throat.

"I am Loki, of Jotunheim, and I bring you a gift!" He managed not to stumble on the unfamiliar title, the word Jotunheim chafing against his throat. He threw Jane to the ground, strengthening his mask as he heard her gasp at the sharp rocks cutting into her palms. With distaste, he continued to weave lies, swallowing down bile as he stared down the man - no the beast - who had killed his mother, and pretended to be his friend. He hid the small, sharp feeling of satisfaction as the Kursed confirmed his animosity towards the Aesir, relaying that he had been a prisoner in their dungeons.

And when Jane was lifted of the ground, arms spread wide and eyes glassy with things unseen, he did not let his mounting terror and dread show, but kept up a calm, cool, smugly pleased façade, waiting for his moment to strike.

The Aether pulled out of the mortal, flowing and swirling, somehow hard and fluid and sharp and smooth all at once, spinning and weaving, and absolutely, entrancingly beautiful. Jane crumpled to the ground, like a puppet cut from it's strings. The Aether rose up, and hovered, hanging still in the air for just a moment...

A moment was all they needed.

At Thor's sharp "Now!" Loki turned, released the illusion on Thor's hand, then dove onto Jane's prone form, guarding her from the impending squinted against the brightness of Thor's lightning as he slammed it as hard as he could into the Aether. There was a burst of light and noise–

And then there was silence, calm, still. For a moment, Loki felt his heart slow, hope rising. Had it actually worked?

He and everyone else stood frozen, transfixed, the silence echoing around them.

Could it really have worked?

Slowly, the dread that had twisted into Loki's gut loosened, and he breathed easy.

And then the shards of the Aether began to rise.

In an instant, the dread rushed back, twisting Loki's stomach into hard knots of nausea, sending almost palpable pain shooting across his body.

It didn't work..

The Aether streamed together, whole, undamaged, and Loki fought the urge to be sick. It once again paused, hung still, before flowing into Malekith, who stood arms wide, welcoming and embracing it. And as the last glimmer of the Aether disappeared, absorbed into Malekith, he opened his glinting, silver eyes, and looked right at Loki.

And the dread that had been gnawing at Loki manifested itself into a certainty.

It didn't work, and we're all going to die.

Malekith's cool, disinterested gaze slid off Loki, and he turned towards his ship, casually tossing a black hole grenade behind him, as if it were a piece of litter into the waste bin. Loki quickly dived into Jane, shoving her out of the way. But the swirling drag caught him, and he was pulled back towards his certain, painful death.

Time seemed to freeze; his blood ran cold. He had thought he wished to die when he fell from the Bifrost, those two eons-long years ago, but now, faced with his imminent death, he knew he had been so, so wrong. He struggled, trying desperately to break free of the vice-like pull.

He met the eyes of the frail, weak mortal lying on the ground before him, and knew that every bit of the terror he felt was written a plain as could be across his face. He saw the same fear mirrored in Jane's eyes, his desperately calling out for help, and hers frantically staring back, helpless and terrified.

For him.

He froze, shocked, surprised, confused, and then the moment was broken as Thor slammed into him, knocking him free of the black hole's greedy fingers.

Loki pulled himself to his feet, shaken and exhausted from one of the longest seconds in his life.

He locked eyes with Thor, and a moment of understanding passed between them. Thor flew off towards Malekith and the Kursed, and Loki shifted, nervously fingering his knife, as he shifted his focus to the dark elves surrounding him, lining up his first few spells.

Let them attack first.

They came at him, and he spun into action, elbows, fists, and knife flying; jabbing, slashing, stabbing, spells firing from his fingers. It was over in seconds, in a fluid motion he spun the last elf around, slit his throat, broke his neck, and let him drop to the side. He stood breathing for a moment, then looked to see how Thor was faring.

Malekith and his ship were gone, and the Kursed was beating Thor into the ground. He turned to where the mortal lay on the ground.

"Stay–"

She wasn't there.

No, the fool of a mortal was staggering towards Thor and the beast, one of the dark elves' discarded spears clutched tight in her hand. Loki cursed and took off after her, stooping quickly to retrieve a pair of his knives, before breaking out into a sprint after her.

"Jane!" he screamed, voice all but lost in the winds whipping around them. He could see a dust storm building in the distance, and his heart sank lower. The odd continued to stack against them, and he was seeing increasingly smaller chances of them escaping alive. Jane did not look back, did not stop, and so Loki hastened his pace, reaching her just as she raised the spear to strike at the unsuspecting Kursed's back. The strike would not have succeeded, her hands too uncertain, her arms to weak and trembling, and Loki slammed into her, knocking her back and two the ground, the spear flying from her grasp and sticking upright in the sand.

Thor noticed them, and his eyes widened, and his lips parted to call out Jane's name. The Kursed paused, turned, and took note of Jane on the ground, a few fet off, and Loki, directly behind him, bracing himself as he shifted the knives in his hands. A feral sort of smile lit the Kursed's face, and he began to advance on Loki, who took a few hasty steps back, mind flicking through spells, trying desperately to come up with something he could do to defeat the menacing beast before him.

He drew a blank, and so with a terrified sort of resignedness, he shifted his stance, and struck out. He knew he was no match for the beast, he was too much brawn and fire, where Loki was quick wits and ice, but he fought on anyway. He could not beat the beast, but he could buy Thor and jane some time, time to get away, to escape with their lives still intact.

Thor, however, had never been one for smart thinking, and he rose up behind the Kursed, reaching his hand out to summon Mjolnir. Loki ducked and weaved and slashed out with his knives, hoping to keep the the Kursed distracted long enough for the hammer to come, but to no avail. The path of their battle had taken them by the spear, still sticking up from the sand, that Loki had knocked from Jane's grasp, and with a fluid movement, the Kursed reached for it, spun, and drove the spear through the thunder god's stomach.

Time seemed to slow. Mjolnir flew past its master and crashed into the sand, Thor's face contorted with pain and shock, and Loki's heart froze in his chest. But even as he screamed Thor's name, a flash of light at the beast's hip caught his attention, and he dove forward, deft fingers wrapping around the grenade, and pulling the pin to detonate it. He continued past the Kursed, catching thor as he began to fall, and dragging him away to where Jane still lay on the ground transfixed by horror. He spared no glance backwards, even as he heard the beast begin to scream. He reached Jane's side, and lowered thor to the ground, scrabbling desperately at buckles and laces and he tried to prise off the leather and metal of Thor's armor, and get to the wound beneath.

"Oh my god. Oh my god is he going to be okay?" It was Jane, voice high and frantic, but Loki pushed it aside along with all of his surroundings, focusing his attention solely on the angry red wound he had uncovered. Gathering his last stores of flagging magic, Loki places his hands over the wound, ignoring the blood that ran thick and hot between his fingers, and pushed.

He had never been one for healing magic, choosing instead to devote his art to trickery and deception, but now he poured everything he had into knitting back together the skin and muscle of Thor's chest, working on instinct and blind desperation. But even as Thor's flesh began to repair itself. Loki felt the touch of something else, something cold and creeping stealing through his brother's body, and he cursed. He had felt the sting of poison on the dark elves' weapons, but his magic had burned it away a soon as it tried to enter his system. Thor had no such protection, and the poison was beginning to run it's course within him. The wound in Thor's chest now as thoroughly healed as Loki could manage, he turned his attention to the poison, trying to burn it out within Thor's body as he did wit in his own, but his magic was too feeble and worn to win such a battle on foreign ground, and with resignation, Loki realised what he had to do. His magic could not eradicate the poison from Thor's body, but it might be able to burn it from Loki's own, and so Loki began to pull the poison from Thor into himself, shivering slightly and it began to fill his veins with an agonising mixture of ice and fire.

"Loki, what are you doing?" Thor's voice issued weakly from above Loki's bowed head.

The poison was very quickly taking its hold, and Loki could barely find the strength to continue drawing it from Thor's body, but still he managed to raise his head to smile at his brother.

"I am saving you, you fool."

Thor's eyes widened - he was not in tune with his magic as Loki was, but it still resided within his bones, and Loki knew that he could no doubt sense at least some of what was taking place.

"Loki," he began, struggling to sit up. "No-"

But Loki would have none of it, and with the last of his waning strength, he wrenched the remaining poison from Thor, and collapsed forward, gasping for air.

Thor, strength returned, was quick to lay his brother out on the sand so that he might breathe easier, worry lining his face as he ran his hands along Loki's body, searching for injuries.

"Loki," he repeated, his voice a low growl. "What did you do?"

Loki gave a feeble laugh, then grimaced as his lungs protested, flooded with stabbing, fiery pain.

"You were poisoned, you oaf. I did the only thing I could." He could already feel his magic eating away at the poison, but it was weak, exhausted. His vision began to swim, bleeding away at the corners, Thor's face, contorted with grief, the only thing still clearly in focus.

"No, Loki." Thor's voice was raw and trembling. "I have just lost mother. I cannot - I will not - lose you too."

Loki smiled, and tried to raise his hand to Thor's face, but his limbs felt leaden, and the motioned seemed infinitely difficult. His vision flickered, darkened.

"Do not worry, brother, I will be fine." Loki blinked heavily, his throat swollen and dry, and struggled to force out the words. "I need… I need only…" He could not finish, for his tongue, numb and heavy failed him, and his eyes slipped closed over burning, unseeing eyes. The last thing he heard was Thor screaming his name, and then all was gone, and Loki floated away into the blackness.