A/N: First new fanfiction in quite a while. I've been playing around with an idea for an Avenger's fic but couldn't get the plot hammered down (haha, hammered. Get it?). I think I've finally come up with something that doesn't sound completely off the wall :)

This is set after Thor: The Dark World. There won't be any romantic themes though probably lots of feel-good bonding moments between certain characters and everyone's favorite villain. I unfortunately am not overly familiar with Thor and the Avengers outside of the movies so I don't expect the story to hold up very well in comparison with comic book canon.

Please feel free to comment with any praises, corrections, criticisms, and/or proclamations of undying love for Loki. Thanks for reading!

Chapter One

How had it come to this? Loki held his own emerald gaze in the mirror and seethed. Had he fallen so low that he must beg his enemies on bended knee for help? To plead for help when he found himself defenseless?

He was the king of Asgard. He did not beg. Why should he?

And why would they ever help you of all people? A small voice asked in the back of his mind but he violently shook his head as though to dispel the whirlwind of unanswered questions plaguing him and chasing away any chance at sleep. He had been awake for three days now, or at least he thought three sounded right. The passing time had blurred into a meaningless haze.

A knock sounded at the chamber door. "Begging your pardon, your Grace. An urgent matter has arisen."

"Damn them," Loki swore under his breath. He closed his eyes in a grimace and slowly, painfully the long black hair turned white and his face aged until Odin stood before him in the mirror looking more exhausted than he ever remembered seeing the real All-Father.

He opened the door and the guard outside bowed. "There is trouble in the dungeons, your Grace. Another prisoner has fallen ill."

"Take me to him," Loki replied, his voice deep and no longer his own. The guard bowed again and led the way. He slowed when he realized his King had fallen behind, leaning heavily on his staff for support. The guard did not comment but it angered Loki none the less to be seen as weak.

He sighed. His act was fooling no one; he was weak.

They reached the dungeons and the guards bowed their heads before leading him to the prisoner. He lay on the floor outside his cell, hair matted with sweat and eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling in sheer terror. His gaze darted back and forth and he mumbled nonsense under his breath.

Kneeling beside him, Loki pressed the back of his hand to the prisoner's forehead. As expected, his skin was scalding to the touch. He stood and nodded to one of the guards. "Take him to the infirmary. Alert me of his condition in the morning."

"Yes, your Majesty." The guards gently lifted the man and whisked him away to the healers. Loki watched them go, leaning against his staff and breathing harder than he should have been from maintaining his disguise. The prisoner would likely be dead by morning. Only two of the fifteen to fall ill thus far had survived the night and neither was in their right mind when the fever finally receded. The healers had no explanation and while he hadn't voiced his thoughts aloud, Loki feared much worse was to come.

As their king, he should be doing more to help. A true king would focus all his efforts on protecting his people, as his conscious constantly reminded him. Despite what Odin and Thor no doubt thought, he did care about Asgard. He would not see it fall under his rule. It had been only a year since he had taken the throne and no one, not even his brother, had seen through his disguise. No doubt much of this he could attribute to Thor's constant time on earth with that mortal woman. As good a liar as he was, Loki didn't think he could trick his brother forever.

Returning to his chambers, he barely had time to lock the door behind him before his disguise slipped away and he slumped to the floor looking himself once more. Cradling his head in his hands he fought back the nausea that threatened and after several minutes managed to stand without fainting.

He could not go on this way. He had known this for some time but the thought of what he must do to try and save himself, to save his home, turned his stomach. Staring out the window at the moonlit grounds where he had played as a child his thoughts turned to his mother. Fighting off the tears that threatened to spill over he gritted his teeth and straightened his shoulders. No more stalling; tomorrow he would do it.

Tomorrow he would call upon the Avengers.