Hey everyone! Still not dead, and here's a new chapter to prove it. Many, many thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed! Reviews are my lembas :) There's a song at the beginning that's taken directly from LOTR, and another towards the middle taken from the Poetic Edda with the translation at the end.

Disclaimer: Last I checked, I still don't own LOTR or Marvel. What a shame.

"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began
Now far ahead the Road has gone
And I must follow if I can.

Pursuing it with eager feet
'Til it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet
And whither then I cannot say."

The light tune was carried through the company by a soft breeze. Loki found himself walking with the hobbits, who had been trading off singing songs from the Shire – which Aragorn had informed Loki in a passing comment as being where hobbits lived – for the past few miles.

"Was that one of Bilbo's?" Gandalf asked from up ahead, using his gnarled staff to propel him over the hill.

Frodo glanced up, looking slightly startled, although Loki thought he always appeared a bit surprised. It must be the hobbit's wide eyes. "Er, yes. He told me he wrote it after returning from the Lonely Mountain."

"Hmph. Thought I recognized it," Gandalf said, sounding vaguely pleased with himself, though you couldn't tell from looking at him. The wizard – if he was a wizard, Loki still hadn't seen him perform any sort of magic – was an odd figure. As of right now, Loki was still trying to determine whether he really was as wise as the others thought, or if he might be a touch insane.

"What about you, Mr. Loki?" Sam flushed pink as Loki turned to him with an acerbic eyebrow raised, but to his credit blustered on. "Are – are there songs where you come from?"

"Certainly," Loki answered, recalling many feasts in Asgard when the great bards would share their melodious tales of whoever had done the latest daring deed. More often than not the songs were about Thor, with the occasional mention of Sif and the Warriors Three to mix things up. Thor bested a bilgesnipe; Thor saved Freya from the giant; Thor sneezed and the army of the undead was decimated. If Loki was still present, he usually excused himself when the musicians began tuning their strings.

Merry cleared his throat, paying little mind to propriety. "Any of them good for walking?"

"I'm sure there are," Loki said in a tone that made most in the Nine Realms leave him be.

"Can you sing some?"

Of course, some individuals have no understanding of verbal cues or body language, and it was just Loki's luck that Peregrin Took seemed to be one such individual.

Loki sighed, raising his eyes skyward and squinting at the brightness of the sun. It must be nearing mid-day, Loki thought offhandedly. "Yes, I'll sing one – and only one, do you hear me? And it will be in a tongue you won't understand, because I won't stand for translating it."

After receiving confirming nods from all four hobbits – Loki could have sworn that Bill the pony nodded too – he took a deep breath and conjured up images of warmth and golden light.

"Heill dagr.
Heilir dags synir.
Heil nótt ok nift.
Óreiðum augum
lítið okkr þinig
ok gefið sitjöndum sigr.

Heilir æsir.
Heilar ásynjur.
Heil sjá in fjölnýta fold.
Mál ok mannvit
gefið okkr mærum tveim
ok læknishendr, meðan lifum."

For a suspended moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of grass. Loki felt something wet on his face and surreptitiously wiped away the unbidden tear. That song brought to mind quiet nights when sleep eluded him and Frigga – mother – drew him near and sang softly, putting him at ease. Something inside him ached for that illusion.

"Well," Sam said. "I'm not sure what's it's sayin', but it sure sounds hopeful."

Images of Asgard still at the forefront of his mind, Loki looked to a sky that was not his own. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Once more silence descended on the group, the only sounds the cries of distant birds and the rustle of the grass as the fellowship ambled on. "The world began in song," the gruff voice of the wizard inserted; whether he meant it literally or not Loki couldn't say for sure. With a backwards glance at Loki, Gandalf mused, "I always felt there was a certain power in music. We should not discount its ability to move hearts and minds." With a twinkle in his clear blue eyes, Gandalf turned back and started down the side of the hill, and Loki was struck with the uncomfortable notion that perhaps there was more to the old man than his gnarled appearance would have him believe. Either that, or he really was insane.

They made camp on an outcropping of rock. It was a bit early in the evening to stop, but Loki wouldn't complain; the mountains that had been on the horizon for much of their journey were now looming in their path, close enough that Loki guessed they would attempt to cross over them the next day.

Raised voices pierced through the relative quiet of the camp. "You continue to press me to be a king, Mithrandir," Aragorn's voice cut through the air; Loki stilled. "Were all your words for naught?"

"Aragorn, I merely wish to advise–"

"Trust me, then, to make this choice."

Aragorn stormed away from Gandalf and came towards Loki, who tried to make it seem like he hadn't been listening. Throwing his pack on the ground, the man was as tense as Sif when some foolish Asgardian doubted her battle prowess – right before she pummeled them. Loki didn't think Aragorn was going to pummel anyone, but there was the same intensity crackling about him. Busying himself with laying out his sleep roll, Loki casually remarked, "Trouble?"

After a brief pause, Aragorn spoke tersely, "Just a disagreement about our course."

Loki said nothing, sensing that there was more to the story; he had discovered, over his many years, that sometimes the best way to get information was to say nothing at all. Sure enough, Aragorn sighed, moving to sit on the ground, leaning against a boulder. "In truth, this land has drawn up memories that I do not care to dwell on. I fear it is making me a bit anxious. The last time I was in this country," he said, shifting to get in a more comfortable position, "I was tracking the creature Gollum, and I – I failed to recover him." Loki blinked; this was not where he had thought the conversation would go, but he was intrigued by this new twist. "Much hardship could have been avoided if the enemy had not gotten to him first." Lowering his head, Aragorn gave a derisive chuckle. "I just hope that this mission will be more fruitful."

Ah, the joy of a guilty conscious. If Loki wanted to, he could pull on all of the right strings to make Aragorn come apart – but strangely, Loki found that he did not want to. If Thor were like Aragorn, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, you wouldn't have had to make that deal with the Jotuns. You would never have fallen – "I do not envy your position," Loki said, quieting the voice, taking up a seat next to Aragorn. "From what I've heard, you're destined to be a king."

"No." The sharpness of Aragorn's response turned Loki's head; he could also see Legolas out of the corner of his eye, body taut. Interesting. "No," Aragorn repeated, softer. "I do not believe in destiny."

"Destiny." Now it was Loki's turn to laugh derisively. "My whole life is built on destiny."

Shifting again, Aragorn placed a calloused hand on Loki's shoulder; Loki tried not to flinch at the contact. Aragorn caught his eye and, with a hint of a smile on his lips, said, "Let us not allow our destinies to rule us, my friend."

Loki had to blink a few times to clear the moisture that suddenly came to his eyes. Then he cursed himself for being weak. Friends are for sentimental fools like his brother. And nothing, including friends, can change his destiny. He is destined to bring Ragnarok, to lead an army of the dead, to destroy Asgard and Jotunheim and the rest of the world tree; he is destined to be a monster.

He cleared his throat and smiled back anyway. "All right."

Movement once again caught his eye, and Loki looked over to see Legolas stepping toward the edge of the rocky outcrop, peering out into the distance. "Gandalf," he said. "On the horizon."

Loki pushed himself up and strode over to where Legolas was. There was indeed something in the distance; a gray smudge in an otherwise clear sky.

"It better not rain," Gimli grumbled from where he perched on the rocks, sharpening his axe.

His wooden staff thumping against the stone, Gandalf joined Legolas and Loki at the edge. "I think rain is the least of our worries, master dwarf."

The clash of swords and laughter ceased from where Boromir was teaching the hobbits to fight. Silence descended upon the small knoll as the fellowship either looked to Legolas or the growing blemish on the horizon. "That is no cloud," Legolas said.

Loki tensed. He prepared himself for the fight he could feel brewing, his instincts honed after centuries of battle.

Legolas whipped around. "Crebain! Crebain from Isengard!"

"Take cover," Gandalf demanded, a flurry of motion. "Do not let them see you!"

The rest of the fellowship sprang into action. Merry and Pippin doused the fire, Boromir ushered Frodo and Sam under a ledge; Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf disappeared from view. Aragorn grabbed Loki's arm but Loki shook him off. "Go!" With a concerned backwards glance, Aragorn was also hidden from sight.

Loki preferred to be a bit more elegant than cowering under a rock. A simple cloaking spell would hide him more effectively than the environment anyhow.

As soon as he cast it, he knew something was wrong. The spell rippled over him like a waterfall, a familiar sensation, but never before had this spell – one which he had done countless times in far more pressing situations – required this level of energy and concentration to maintain. A sharp pain coursed through him, emanating from his core, and Loki forced himself to breath, keeping the enchantment going.

The moment the Crebain had passed, Loki cut the flow of magic sustaining the spell. Staggering, he braced himself against the rock face. He was vaguely aware of voices surrounding him, speaking to him, but he wasn't concerned right now with the voices. He turned inward, like he hadn't thought to do since landing in this world and now he was cursing himself for not doing it sooner, because what he found was, quite frankly, terrifying.

"Loki! Loki!" It was Aragorn, grasping his arms, lowering him to the ground.

"My magic," Loki gasped, struggling to reign himself in when he was internally fighting his dawning horror. "My magic…I'm cut off from Yggdrasil," he said, trying to make sense of the emptiness inside. "I can't use the branches to fuel my magic…I can only use what's – what's already there."

He couldn't be sure that the others were understanding him, but he thought his ineloquence could be forgiven due to his inner panic. He could feel it now; there was no connection flowing between his own magic and the vast reservoirs of the world tree. There was only one other time he had been cut off like this, but that was long ago when he was very young and not yet advanced enough to need an outside source of power. He would have to be very judicious with his use of magic from now on; it would take him far longer to replenish his stores than he was used to. Not to mention that if he performed a spell too large, the consequences could be…dire.

And if the simple cloaking spell was anything to judge by, the magic would also take a larger toll on him physically.

Brilliant.

By the Norns, could he not catch a break? He couldn't fathom not being able to use magic freely; he had fought his whole life, and would continue to fight, to prove that he was right to use magic, that it didn't make him weak or inferior. He was not helpless by any means; he was still a menace with his knives. But magic was integral to who he was, and now…now that was taken from him.

He made up his mind then and there, that he would find a way back to Yggdrasil, regardless of what was – or wasn't – waiting there for him.

Asgard... The voice in his head was back, only this one was...different. It took Loki a moment to place it, and when he did he reflexively sought out wide blue eyes. The rest of the fellowship was gathered around, but Loki only had eyes for Frodo.

Take me...Power beyond anything you have ever known...You never have to go there again...Use me...Take me...Take...Take...

The Ring. Loki could use the Ring. He was greater than any being here, of course he would be able to use the Ring. He was a god. Of course, he couldn't just take it; in his current state it would be unwise to go against the rest of the fellowship. As skilled as he was with his knives, he didn't fancy facing Boromir, Aragorn, and their swords. But no matter.

Loki could wait.

Translation of Loki's song:

Hail day,
hail the sons of day,
hail to the night and daughter of night.
With eyes of kindness
look upon us
and give to us who sit here victory.

Hail the Aesir,
hail Asynjur,
hail to the all-giving earth.
Fair speech and wisdom
give to us famous ones
and healing hands as long as we live.