Author's Note: This fic has been edited a bit after a long hiatus. The first chapters - the ones that were already posted - have been edited down quite a bit. The first four chapters constitute what will be the first chapter in full if/when I post this elsewhere.

Those of you who read the old version will notice quite a few threads missing from this iteration, which I hope will make the storyline much clearer.

Quick note on content: I do not write very racy stuff. I don't really gravitate towards pairings, either. There may eventually be some pairings, but they 1) might not be permanent and 2) have not yet revealed themselves to me. If I rate a fic M, it is for dealing with hard issues, and I will endeavor to list any content warnings at the outset of each relevant chapter.

I welcome your comments, suggestions, and questions! Come find me at nightgigjowrites AT tumblr DOT com, and say hi, if you like.

Prologue

Thence come the maidens mighty in wisdom,

Three from the dwelling down 'neath the tree;

Urth is one named, Verthandi the next,-

On the wood they scored,- and Skuld the third.

Laws they made there, and life allotted

To the sons of men, and set their fates.

("Völuspá [The Prophecy of the Seeress]", from the Poetic Edda)

Three robed figures sat in the shade, gazing into the still waters at the foot of the great ash. The tree, Yggdrasil, stretched forth throughout the heavens, connecting the Nine Realms, and these women, the Nornir, tended it, while weaving the destinies of men and gods alike.

There were dappled reflections on the pool, not of leaves and the canopy above, but of worlds, of lives. The one most central in their view belonged to a pale, raven-haired youth, twice-royal son of a king, daughter of a queen, rival to a prince. Troubled. Troublesome.

The oldest of them pointed, and one small life at the edge of the water came forward easily, willingly, and placed itself next to the one they'd been studying. This image was curious, open, steady.

Yes, they nodded. Fulcrum.

The youngest among them indicated another: it was shimmering, brightness both magnified and obscured. It drifted, serene and purposeful, not once faltering in its direction.

Yes, they nodded. Impetus.

The third considered long, before adding another life. She knew, perhaps better than the others, that her choice would seal all, that each of the others would be distinctly, irrevocably changed. Then she noticed an image, quiet and dark, intent and watchful. It was sending out pale, glowing tendrils, touching other images, cautiously, as though to discover their shape or meaning. She looked at the life inquiringly, and it pulsed gently, curious, silvery bright threads reaching out to the constellation the three were creating. It turned its attention to the third robed figure.

Yes, it pulsed. Catalyst.

Chapter One: The Path

In the guise of a young soldier, Loki paused to look out over Asgard, in the last moments of sunset. The sun was fading, but the moons were already high and bright, and the city below him glowed with the fires of feasting, revelry, and raucous ribaldry that was the hallmark of victory to these people. His people, once. But they had ceased their mourning after the minimum nine days, although the passing of a prince demanded much more.

Then there had been another victory in 'glorious' battle, paltry by anyone's standards, and not much worth celebrating. His brother, certainly, would be there. He was a great one for carousing, when he wasn't moping after that...Midgardian. The face of the 'soldier' flickered briefly, bronzed skin waxing pale, though most might have assumed it a trick of the moonlight. Loki's mind left off the topic of unsatisfactory relatives, and concentrated instead on the task at hand. He was on the watchtower, the best vantage point in the realm, and the time was rapidly approaching.

As the last vestiges of sunlight faded, leaving the velvet night overhead, the soldier took one last look at the place that had been his home. He had an appointment to keep.

Resolutely, he turned his back on his adoptive homeland, walked purposefully across the tower platform, turned a corner, and vanished.

The glamour dropped the moment Loki stepped through the hidden portal. There was no need to disguise his identity here - even Heimdall couldn't see into these little recesses in the fabric of reality. They were very like the curtained alcoves provided for lovers' trysts - narrow, shadowed, and perfectly suited for all manner of clandestine dealings, ever concealing goings-on from a prying eye.

They also connected to a number of tenuous pathways between the realms. He'd made use of these numerous times - to make his way to Jotunheim and the Svartalfar, and to take himself off whenever deals went sour.

That had been happening rather too much for Loki's taste - so often thanks to the traveling freak show calling themselves the 'Avengers' - but this time he'd managed to escape their notice as well.

His brother's show of mourning had been quite spectacular - simultaneously intense, brooding, and poised - a true prince of Asgard, behaving exactly as the masses of Asgardians expected. Loki had never believed for an instant that looking the part would make Thor worthy, or able, to rule. But that was the way Asgardians thought. Give them a blue-eyed golden idol, and they'd bow down and worship. It didn't matter if their leaders were honest and forthright, as long as they appeared to be.

Well, Loki knew quite a lot about keeping up appearances.

He walked quickly to the shallow end of the alcove, gently extending a pale, delicate hand until the tips of his fingers brushed the edges of the next portal through. The sensation was much like running one's hands over an ancient inscription, save that the slivers of reality had the feel of various metals, rather than wood or stone.

The one leading to the Chitauri homeworld slithered. Loki shuddered, hoping he hadn't been noticed. As the archer had observed: doors can open from both sides.

The sleek sensation of his chosen corridor passed under his touch, and Loki's habitual smirk widened into a toothy grin. This path would take him in the direction he needed to make contact with his...appointment. And it might be nice, Loki reflected, to drop in on the only one of his children who could - and would - speak to him.

With images of his eventual triumph clear in his mind, he stepped forward into blackness.