There and Back Again: A Jötun's Tale
By Rey

Loki dies. And then he lives again. In somewhere totally unexpected. With memories intact. – Is this a punishment or a second chance?

Disclaimer: I know about MCU events and details aside from the first Avengers film mostly only by osmosis. There are maybe even details on that film that I have missed, given my lack of sight, physically. Then again, this is mostly wildly AU….

1. Death

Death is purple and gigantic. It also exudes a nearly tangible miasma of murderous satisfaction and deadly glee.

Death is familiar.

And it is coming at me.

With nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, to avoid it, like I did a few years ago.

My heart pounds loud and fast, from my head to my booted feet, as if making up for serving the life that it will lose soon. Fear tries to cloud my mind, as it takes over my body, but my mind is… blank.

Death is purple and gigantic. It also exudes a nearly tangible miasma of murderous satisfaction and deadly glee. It is the only thing that registers in my mind, over and over again.

But then, I never knew that death could be like this.

Death should be Laufey, or Hulk, or Odin, or even the Skerge, not Thanos.

Death should be blue, or green, or golden, or red, not purple.

All the things that I have done to avoid this death….

All the lives that have been claimed by this death – pathetic, but innocent, something that I think I had, once, when I was too little to think and understand.

Too little to feel hurt. Too little to feel shunted. Too little to feel belittled. Too little to feel inferior.

Now, why do I see an expanse of blue, when I remember that?

But blue did always feel peaceful, did it not, before Odin told me whom my birth father was?

Birth father. Birthright.

My birthright is to die, Odin said.

And I am about to die, now.

I am about to claim my birthright.

My birthright is to die.

I want my birthright, however bad it is. It is I. It is who I am. If fleeing is no longer an option, then I want my birthright… maybe with all that it entails. Life is overrated, anyway, and life as a prince even more.

Death is strange, nevertheless. It is purple and gigantic. It also exudes a nearly tangible miasma of murderous satisfaction and deadly glee.

It remains the only thing that registers in my mind.

And now, it fills the whole of my sight.

My birthright.

Purple shifts into blue, as immense pain rushes all over me.

A horrendous wrench replaces the pain, as the blue field becomes all that I see and feel.

And then, quiet and peace.

Death is quiet and peaceful, apparently, in truth. How shocking.

My birthright is quiet and peace. Unexpected. A little boring. Immasculating, for an Asgardian. But I have never been an Asgardian in the first place, have I?

In any case, if my birthright is thus, who am I to argue?

Quiet and peace, after so long fighting and struggling and battering against my cage. It is actually… nice.

Sleep-inducing, even. But I must not let myself be lulled into a false sense of security, I reckon. Who knows what will be thrown at me, even now, after I have claimed my birthright….

I just… need to rest… for a little while….