Chapter 1: The King's Library
Chapter Text
Loki didn’t know what he was doing. He should move, he knew he should, but he couldn’t help but stop and stare at the sight before him. Asgard was burning. He could hear roars somewhere above him; the palace walls crumbling under the force of Surtur’s rage.
Asgard was burning and he had lit the flame. A piece of the ceiling fell in front of him. It was part of the mural in the throne room. He stared at the picture of Odin and Hela side by side. So many secrets, so many lies, so many questions unanswered; and now that Asgard burned, he would never know the truth. Not that there was any record of Hela anywhere. He spent centuries in the libraries of Asgard, greedily devouring all knowledge while hiding from the jeers and mockery of Thor and his friends. He never even found a mention of her.
The library! Millennia of knowledge lost forever. He couldn’t allow that. He had to save what he could and so he ran. He ran down stairs to the entrance of the library. The fires of Surtur hadn’t reached it yet. He headed to Lord Kvasir’s office where the Orb of Knowledge was kept. It was a receptacle for all the knowledge Asgard had collected over millenia. If Asgard was to rebuild, the Orb would prove essential.
Loki risked a look around. With Kvasir and Odin dead, perhaps he could get past the wards around the King’s library. He had never been allowed in; Thor had. He remembered how envious he had been the day Thor burst into his room to complain about Odin giving him access and trying to force him to read boring texts. Back then, Odin had denied Loki entrance because only the King of Asgard had the right to peruse Asgard’s secret knowledge and Thor, as future King, would need those books to prepare for his ascension to the throne. Thor had never set foot in it again. Loki wondered whether that had only been an excuse back then. Surely, Odin wouldn’t have wanted a Frost Giant to gain secret knowledge about Asgard, especially not one he wanted to set on Jotunheim’s throne as his puppet king.
Stop! He chided himself. Now is not the time for this. You need to disable the wards.
And so, he set out to do exactly that. His seidr was still so depleted. Half of it was constantly creating new tissue around the poison of the Kursed’s blade. Even now, years later, it still made him uneasy how much of his seidr was spent just on keeping him alive. He still hadn’t found a way to remove the poison. He hadn’t wanted to risk going to the Healing Halls while disguised as Odin. One look through a soul forge and Eir would have known who he was instantly. Now the soul forges were gone.
He wondered whether Eir survived. It was unlikely. Fierce and devoted Eir wouldn’t have left until all her apprentices were safe. And yet, he hoped that she made it onto the Statesman. Eir, so like a second mother to him, always affectionate, yet stern, always patient in the face of his relentless questions. She had always encouraged his studies and delighted in his seidr, even more than his own mother had. Eir, who spent so much time comforting him when he came to her covered in bruises from the training grounds. Eir, who must have known what he was all along. After all, she was the one who healed all his scrapes, who fed him all those healing potions in his childhood. He had been a sickly child, especially in the summer months.
It all seemed so obvious now, how different he was from the others. He wondered how he had never figured out he wasn’t Aesir before. He had known all his life that something was wrong with him, had agonised over it endlessly, and yet he had never guessed that he was a different species altogether. He remembered questioning his mother so many times and always getting brushed off. Frigga had always told him that he was prone to overthinking, that he was too sensitive, that he was imagining things. She would scold him every time for retaliating against Thor, against Sif and the idiots three, against warriors who mocked him for being a mage. Her deception hurt, even to this day, and yet, even when she had never taken his side, she had loved him in her own way. She was his first teacher in seidr, even if she had only taught him so he could gain enough control not to hurt anyone with it. After what happened with Jormungandr, there had been no choice. He had to learn or risk such an incident happening again, and so, Odin had reluctantly allowed it.
He remembered overhearing that conversation, hidden in an alcove so he could mourn the loss of his beloved pet in peace. Odin hadn’t wanted him to learn seidr, said it was shameful and unbecoming of a prince of Asgard, that Loki was enough trouble as it was, that he didn’t need to be made more powerful. Odin had insisted that he should recast the bindings instead, but Frigga had disagreed. She argued that they were too dangerous to cast again on a child, that they had no choice but to teach him enough control that he could stop his seidr from leaking into his surroundings again. He had wondered back then what bindings they were talking about, had questioned Frigga about it later but she had never told him. Instead, he had been punished so severely for eavesdropping that he had never dared to raise the subject again. Now, all he had were suspicions, more unanswered questions.
Focus! He thought to himself. He headed to the entrance of the King’s library and checked his seidr again. Still too low. Half to contain the poison of that wretched dark elf; the rest of it to repair his fried veins and organs. He had suffered through the agony of electrocution for hours before Korg took that obedience disk off his neck. His seidr was still healing the damage. He couldn’t believe Thor had left him there… again. It hurt; somehow it hurt more than the pain still coursing through him. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by now. Reckless, thoughtless Thor, so self-righteous, still the same Thor he had been for over a millennium, and yet Loki still hoped. Foolishly he still hoped that, for once, his brother would save him, would take his side and have his back.
The same Thor who mocked him, laughed at him with the others, disparaged the skills he worked so hard to learn as mere tricks, threatened him to do what Thor wanted; the same Thor who ignored his advice for centuries, who accused him of being too soft, too weak and too cowardly for seeking peace over war, for choosing a battle of words over a battle of fists, only to heed the words of that insignificant mortal woman who preached the same things Loki had tried to get through Thor’s thick skull for so very long; the same Thor whose first words had been ‘where’s the Tesseract?’, not ‘I’m happy you’re alive’, not ‘I missed you’, not even a ‘long time, no see’, but ‘where’s the Tesseract?’; the same who muzzled him without asking him why; the same Thor who left him to rot in the dungeons and only came to him when he needed Loki’s tricks; the same Thor who threatened him with death or an eternity in solitude until he had use for Loki again; the same Thor who left him for dead in that barren world; the same Thor who would have killed him on the cliffs of Norway if Hela hadn’t appeared then.
Foolish, foolish, foolish Loki. When will you learn? He doesn’t care about you. He thought to himself.
He checked his seidr again. It was replenishing slowly but still not enough to break down the intricate workings embedded on the entrance to the King’s Library. He closed his eyes, trying to stave off the helplessness that washed over him. An idea came to him. He wondered if he could still summon the Aesirforce. The Aesirforce had always responded readily to him, had recognised his rule twice now, even back then during his unfortunate regency and, more recently, in his years disguised as Odin.
With Hela drawing her powers from Asgard, he had assumed that, as rightful heir to the throne, the Aesirforce would go to her instead. He had certainly felt it leave him the moment she stepped onto Midgard, right after the old man disappeared in a flutter of gold sparks. He still didn’t know whether he still grief over THAT plot twist. He was still too bitter, too angry at Odin to mourn him. Not that the man had ever been a real father to him, but Loki had always, always hungered for his love.
The Aesirforce came to him with only a hint of resistance. Hela was still alive then. Loki didn’t know how to feel about that. Part of him feared her; she was a formidable adversary, more powerful than he was. And yet, part of him understood her wrath, her madness, her vengeance. He understood what it was like to give all he had, to do terrible things for Odin’s approval. He understood the heartbreaking despair that came when realising that he would never meet the impossible standard Odin had set. He understood how it felt to be told that he wasn’t enough, to be discarded like a broken toy, left to rot alone for all eternity.
For Norn’s sake, now is not the time to dwell on such things. Concentrate! Loki welcomed the Aesirforce in. He let it heal him, soothe his frayed pathways for a moment before he sent his seidr outward to feel the complex workings of the wards to the King’s library.
Finally, finally! The wards fell. He quickly ran into the room only to stop at the sight before him. The room was small but densely packed. Rows of books spread from the ground to the ceiling, all converging to the centre of the room. There on a round table was what could only be the legendary Mimir’s head, fount of all knowledge in the Nine Realms. Scholars across the realms had theorised over its existence; Loki had thought it didn’t exist. There was the answer the all the questions he might have. Surely, Mimir’s head would know.
Loki opened his biggest pocket dimension and levitated Mimir’s head and all the books into it as quickly as he could. He heard explosions above him again, something big was falling, the walls gave a sudden tremble. He pushed as such of his seidr as he could into the levitating spell to give it more speed. There weren’t many books, but secret knowledge they might contain made them invaluable. He couldn’t let it all perish here. Absently he wondered what he would do next. He didn’t even know how he would leave. With Asgard burning so quickly, the pathways off the realm were probably useless. He could attempt a teleportation spell but was unlikely that he would have enough seidr to do so. Already he could feel the Aesirforce weakening and his own seidr was still so weak, still focused on healing him.
Part of him wondered whether that was what Thor intended. For Loki to die here on Asgard after releasing Surtur. What a fitting end to the frost giant blight on the House of Odin. After he came again to save the Aesir from Thor’s useless plans, after he had the forethought to bring the Sakaaran gladiators who would protect the Aesir after the decimation of its warriors, and a spaceship filled with supplies that would last them long enough to settle somewhere new. After he saved them all, after everything, still Loki would receive no thanks, no recognition, nothing but death.
What would they have done if he hadn’t arrived as he did then? All those who had so blindly followed Thor, did they even realise that, without Loki, they would all have died? Thor would never have been able to defeat Hela. He certainly didn’t have a backup plan in case he failed. There they all were, cowering behind Thor on a crumbling bridge, still so hopeful that the God of Thunder would save them from Hela, despite all evidence to the contrary.
They all still followed him, even when Thor was the one who broke a millennium old treaty with Jotunheim over a mere insult. Thor who brought that mortal woman to Asgard and war on its soil. Thor who committed high treason and all but gave the Aether to Malekith. Thor who had abandoned Asgard, abandoned his vows to the realm at a time when Asgard needed him the most. Thor who had left when the Queen had died and Asgard was in shambles. Thor who had spit on all the privilege Asgard had granted to the Crown prince to be a ‘good’ man on that useless mortal rock, when so many Aesir families were crying over the death of their loved ones, when Asgard’s political situation had been so unstable, when so much needed to be repaired.
Maybe it was Loki’s fault. In their millennia together, Loki had always saved Thor from his mistakes, had ensured that the oaf would be victorious. Stupid, needy for love. He had always covered for Thor as well, until all Asgard wanted to hear were tales of Thor’s heroism, until Loki became a side character in his own stories. Part of him had resented it, had wanted Thor to protest on his behalf, to tell tales of Loki’s courageous deeds. But Thor never did. Instead, he had denigrated Loki’s seidr right along all the others, had accused him of cowardice, even when his schemes had saved Thor’s life over and over again.
No, Loki would not receive any gratitude for his actions today. Knowing the Aesir as he did, he knew that they would somehow blame him again for Ragnarok, even if Thor was the one who ordered it. So many lives could have been saved if only they had followed his plan. He had been the one to restore the ancient palace of Bor, deep into the mountains. He had opened the pathways to the other realms there as a last resort should the Aesir ever need to flee. It had all been part of his plans for when Thanos would attack Asgard.
He wondered how the other realms would fare without Asgard’s supervision. He knew they would survive. He had been monitoring the rebellions, even caused some unrest himself to ensure that the right people would take over. People who would listen to him, pragmatic enough to recognise the need for peace and unity amongst the Nine to stand against Thanos. His drafts for the inter-realm peace treaty were still stored in one of his pocket dimension, along with his most precious possessions. Years of work to reinforce Asgard’s defences, bolster its army, strengthen the other realms by giving them more power, more independence, all gone to the wind now. He wondered whether everything he touched was bound to fail. It certainly seemed so in recent years.
Thanos! The Tesseract! He thought. He couldn’t believe he almost forgot. Stupid, foolish Loki. Surtur’s fire would never be able to burn the Tesseract, not like the other treasures in the vault. He couldn’t allow the cube to fall into the Void, not when Thanos could so easily pluck it out from there, not after the lengths Loki went to last time, to keep it from his grasp and pilfer the mind gem on his way out from under that Mad Titan’s thumb.
Such an ugly, ugly purple that thumb. And that chin! What a horrid looking chin! I wonder if that was why Thanos went mad. Maybe the other children teased him too much about his ugly chin and he killed everyone in retaliation. Maybe that was the start of it all. Loki absently wondered what was happening to him. He was starting to feel woozy. His head hurt. He felt delirious. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t concentrate. His thoughts were all over the place.
Loki sighed. Finally, the last of the books in the King’s library were safely stored in his pocket dimension. He ran back to the weapons vault and stopped, breathing heavily. He had to wait a moment to clear the spots from his vision. The room felt sweltering hot. He had never done well with heat, some God of Fire he was. He tried to focus again. There it was! The Tesseract. Loki grabbed it quickly. He could feel himself fading. He probably had a head injury. Maybe that’s why he felt so scattered. He took a deep breath before remembering that it was a bad idea. He had inhaled the smoke. The Tesseract fell from his grasp as he coughed hard enough to reopen the wound on his side.
When did I get stabbed? Loki couldn’t remember. As he bent down to take the cube again, he heard a faint whimper. There on his left, crushed by a melting gold pillar was Hela, burnt to a crisp and yet still alive. For a moment, he just stared at her. There was so much he didn’t know about her. How old is she? Who was her mother? She didn’t look anything like Frigga, or even Odin for that matter. Why did Loki look like her? Was he merely a replacement for Odin’s banished daughter? So many questions that only Hela could answer.
I need answers. I can’t leave her here. He told himself. He would save her, bind her powers, force her to give him the knowledge he sought, that was all. It had nothing to do with the odd pull he felt towards her. Or, how he had instinctively known that he could safely leave Asgard in her hands to protect against the Titan. Sure, she would kill those who opposed her ascension to the throne but she was the rightful heir and the people of Asgard would have eventually realised that. The Aesirforce had gone to her after all. How odd that he should associate the Goddess of Death with safety and security, even as her wrath threatened to destroy realms.
I need to know. I have to take her. But where to go? Loki paused for a moment. He couldn’t take them to the Statesman, there was nothing for him there, even less for Hela. Midgard was too risky for now, even if his safe house there had never been found by anyone. He couldn’t bring Hela to the one place in the universe he felt safest, happiest and at peace.
Alfheim! He thought with a start. His old seidr master had a house there, had left it to Loki when he passed away. Loki had long avoided the place, the memories he made there were too painful for him after the death of the only father figure he had ever known. He would need the memory of Master Frode to get him through this.
Quickly, he lifted the pillar off Hela’s body. Some parts of it had already melted onto her, leaving burning tracks of liquid gold over her chest, all the way down to her feet. He cradled her as gently as he could and summoned what little seidr he had left to spare to connect with the Tesseract.
They disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving Asgard forever to burn under the fury of Surtur.
Chapter 2: Muninn
Summary:
Previously on Asgard Burning: Loki saves Hela and teleports to Alfheim.
Notes:
This chapter is heavily inspired by Valerie_Vancollie’s wonderful fic Ásgarðrian Galdr. Muninn originally didn’t feature in this chapter at all but I was inspired by Chapter 16 of Ásgarðrian Galdr.
Sven is inspired by a character of the same name in SofiaDragon’s Another Turn of the Wheel series.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first thing Loki did was activate the wards and layer his own on top of it. It wouldn’t do for Heimdall or anyone else to come looking for him while he was vulnerable.
What to do with Hela? He thought. She didn’t seem to be healing. She wasn’t even conscious. Then again, with the sheer amount of burns covering her body, it was a miracle that she was alive. Loki took her to Master Frode’s healing chamber. His old master had built his own soul forge, centuries before Loki was born. He set Hela on the table and activated the runes. A sheer golden dome encased her. He could see that the rune work would not be enough to heal that much damage. A cursory look at the chamber told him that the preservation spells in the room had held. Truthfully, he should have come to cleaned out the house three centuries ago, when Master Frode died, but he had never been able to do it.
He quickly crushed a few healing stones over Hela and tried to cover as much of her as he could with it. The soul forge would keep her in stasis until she was sufficiently healed. Then, he collapsed onto the chaise longue next to it, breathing hard. He summoned a few healing potions to drink from a nearby shelf. He needed to replenish his seidr, and he was quite sure he had a concussion. Unable to hold on anymore, Loki fell into an exhausted sleep.
*******
Loki wasn’t sure what woke him up. A glance at the window told him that it was past midday. Hela was still in deep sleep on the soul forge. A shadow on his left caught his eye. There was someone here. Instantly on alert, he summoned his armour and threw his dagger at the mysterious presence his seidr picked up. Loud, indignant caws resonated through the healing chamber.
Muninn! He panicked for a moment and checked the wards.
Still intact. Good. Loki relaxed. The raven flew to his shoulder and nipped at his ear.
“I’m sorry,” He said. “You startled me. What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
We were waiting on the Statesman but you didn’t come. We couldn’t see you anywhere so I came looking. There are few places where you would have sought refuge. Don’t worry, princeling. No one else knows where you are… or that Hela survived. Muninn said in his head.
Loki was surprised to hear Muninn and Huginn’s old nickname for him, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been. Both ravens had often kept him company when he was young. As a child, he had loved chasing them around his mother’s garden. Odin had been furious when he found out. Loki still felt the sting of the punishment he had received for daring to distract the ravens from their duty to Asgard. They had left him alone after that. He had only caught glimpses of them flying by as they played messenger to the king. Sometimes they would leave him little gifts from other realms. Rare leaves, twigs and little trinkets would randomly appear in his rooms. It had always lightened his heart.
As he learned how to travel the secret paths to other realms and beyond, he too would leave all manner of exotic nuts and berries for them on his balcony, in thanks for their care. After all, they had been the first ones to nurture his desire to travel, to see beyond Asgard and explore the wider universe. The ravens’ keen eyesight allowed them to see all of Yggdrasil and they would fly along its branches in a blink. He had spent decades in the palace library trying to replicate it, and decades more practising and honing his skill, until he became the first worldwalker. Not that he ever advertised his skill much. He had only ever told Thor about it, excited to show off his great accomplishment to his brother. To say that Thor’s reaction had been lackluster was an understatement. Thor had thought it useless. “Why waste your time learning such a worthless trick when the Bifrost can transport us wherever we want, brother? Come with me, my friends and I are going on a great quest to hunt a dragon.” He had said.
Stupid, stupid Thor ! Loki thought. Muninn pecked him on the head.
“Ow!” He exclaimed, rubbing his head. “Why did you do that?”
You were getting distracted. We have much to talk about, Muninn said haughtily. I suppose you will seek answers from Hela. Tell her who you are, what you are, and I believe she will be more inclined to help you.
Loki’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What do you mean? Wait! You knew about her?”
Muninn nipped at his ear again. The raven looked like it would have rolled its eyes if it could. Muninn was the bearer of memory. Of course, it knew about Hela. Not to mention, the raven was so much older than him, possibly old enough to have known her personally.
For a moment, Muninn looked regretful. I watched her grow from a little fledgling to a chick far too young for all the war she was dragged into, then banished before she even took her first flight. She is Queen of Asgard now, however unprepared for it she might be. She has a long road ahead of her, and a lot of healing to do on her own… much like you, Muninn ended with a knowing look in its eyes.
Loki sighed, exasperated. “Alright pigeon,” he replied. “I get your point. I was already going to help her, you know. No need to manipulate me into it.”
Muninn looked pleased, satisfied by his promise. Be gentle with her. Over 2,500 years in the depths of Nastrond with only that boorish dragon for a neighbour can’t have been good. She will need to rebuild herself like you did these last few years.
Loki’s eyes widened in realization. “You knew,” he said. “You knew I was posing as Odin. Why did you never speak to me?”
Odin had forbidden it. Now that he is gone, so too are the bindings he placed on us. Muninn replied. Huginn and I are free once more.
“Free? But I thought…” Loki trailed off, unsure what to say. Huginn and Muninn had always been Odin’s ravens. There were old Aesir tales of how benevolent Odin gave form to thought and memory. He had always assumed that they were simply Odin’s familiars, like Jormungandr had been to him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Loki ached at the thought.
Don’t be. You would have tried to help if you knew and Odin would have punished you dearly for it. Muninn insisted. It’s in the past now. No need to dwell over it anymore.
“Wait! You can talk to me now. Tell me what I need to know!” Loki demanded.
I could but it would be better if you talked to Hela first. Besides, I have much to tell you about the fate of the surviving Aesir, Munnin said.
“I… fine,” Loki begrudgingly accepted Muninn’s answer, knowing that the old raven was right. “I… who… how are they doing?”
Muninn looked at him knowingly. Eir is alive. She has already commandeered a chamber for healing and has been treating the wounded with three other healers. Most of the members in your holding survived. Sven is overseeing their care. Thor was proclaimed King. He set up a council, with Heimdall, Valkyrie Brunnhilde, the Kronan and the Green Giant. Thor wishes to go to Midgard. He plans to rebuild New Asgard where Odin died.
Loki sighed, closing his eyes. Midgard was a terrible idea. Their building materials were too brittle for Aesir; their food was not rich enough; and, the planet was overpopulated. And as if that was not enough, humans drained their resources quicker than they could replace them, polluted their lands and poisoned their seas. It would be a miracle if the planet remained habitable a hundred years from now. Not that he had anything against Midgard. His own safe haven was there, under the most complex warding he had ever created, completely invisible to all but him. He loved the chaos of Midgard, its ever changing, capricious nature. But he knew that the Aesir would struggle with it. After all, Asgard had remained stagnant for centuries.
“What was Thor thinking?” Loki asked. “Even if some of them agree to grant him the land to rebuild, there is no guarantee that the humans will respect their promises centuries from now. Does he mean to isolate Asgard? How are the Aesir to form lasting bonds if human life is so fleeting? Why did he not go to Vanaheim? Or even, Aflheim? Many Aesir have extended family there. Their physiology is similar enough that Asgard could eventually repopulate safely. The humans are mortal and very delicate.” He well remembered the pain of losing his human friends. Even centuries later, he could still feel pangs of grief at the thought of the eccentric Leonardo, his brave Mary, and many others he met through his travels.
I do not know. Thor simply said that he had friends there. Muninn retorted sharply. It seems that even the raven was not happy with that decision. There is nothing to do for it now. The Statesman has already locked in the coordinates. The journey will be long and hard.
“I will send some supplies with you.” Loki said, his mind already racing through the possibilities. The Aesir would need healing potions and ingredients, food, possibly water as well. Fuel would be difficult to acquire in these parts. He hoped they wouldn’t need any.
“I will send a miniature chest with you,” Loki decided. “I will weave a pocket dimension within it so I can send everything through easily. Sven will know what to do. We often exchanged correspondence this way. Remind him to set it down before opening. The chest will expand the moment it touches a flat surface.” Sven was his valet and steward. Loki remembered the outrage in court when he had chosen the young, inexperienced Vanir, then only a mere servant, to both take care of his household and manage his holding. But Sven was level-headed, efficient and, above all, extremely loyal.
A solid plan firmly in his head, Loki stood up and looked around the healing chamber. He could send a few things to Eir, but most of the potions were old and not as potent as they once were. It would do for now, but he would need to go out and buy ingredients. He walked to the kitchen. There wasn’t much; a few jars of elderberry jam were miraculously still edible but the rest had gone bad already. Not surprising, he thought. There was only so much preservation spells could do without periodic renewal. Hela and I will need a few things as well.
Loki sighed. There was nothing for it; he will have to leave Master Frode’s house. He would go hunt and collect herbs and other potion ingredients from the forest that bordered the house. There was a lake with bountiful fish about a mile from here. Whatever else they needed, he could have to go to the market in a nearby Alfar settlement, preferably in the city. The more people, the more he could pass by unnoticed. As much as he would love to visit his Uncle Freyr, he couldn’t risk it. Not if Hela was the one who conquered Vanaheim with Odin; she would have been there when Odin sent young prince Freyr in exile to Alfheim, forever barred from his realm of birth.
He went to his old bedroom. For a moment, Loki stopped and stared. The room felt so different, so much lighter. It belonged to a younger, naiver Loki. Books and writing supplies cluttering the table, a silk robe carelessly draping the back of a chair, curtains drawn wide open to let the light in. He remembered coming back to this room after many wonderful evenings spent in Master Frode’s company, discussing anything and everything hat crossed his inquisitive young mind.
Loki had been mocked relentlessly for the great affection he held for his seidr master and the relationship that lasted long after he had learned all he could from the mage. They had visited each other often, so much so that Master Frode had given Loki a room in his house to stay in whenever he came. Loki had been so touched by the gesture that he had thrown his arms around the old mage and sobbed into his chest while trying to convey his gratitude. He had been so embarrassed afterwards for displaying behaviour unbecoming of his station, but Master Frode had not reprimanded him for it. In fact, his master had encouraged him to roam and play around with the other elflings, had delighted with answering Loki’s questions and challenging his worldviews, had pushed him to explore uncharted waters in seidr theory. The old mage had had an unflinching faith in Loki that was as empowering as it was daunting. Loki wondered what Master Frode would think of the man he had become.
No. Loki shook his head. Now is not the time for your musings. Loki opened the chest at the foot of the bed and emptied it. The chest itself already contained expansion spells. All he needed to do was weave one of his pocket dimensions and restriction spells into it. Sven, and only Sven, would be able to access whatever Loki put there instantly, wherever either of them were. They had done this before, though on a much smaller scale. It allowed Loki to manage his holding and discharge his duties as a prince when travelling.
Loki added an alarm spell for good measure; it would make the chest glow when there was something in it. Satisfied with his work, Loki picked up the chest and headed back to the healing chamber. Muninn paid him no attention, continuing to stare rather intently at Hela. Loki gathered a few potions and basic ingredients from the shelf to put in the chest. It was not much but it would do for now. Later he would arrange for furs and cloth to sew, and books and other materials to keep the children entertained. He would need detailed census of Aesir and Sakaaran gladiators and an inventory of things they already had to determine what they would need.
He grabbed a piece of parchment to pen a quick note to Sven and Eir. As he picked up the quill to write, he hesitated. He was falling back onto his old patterns. He was covering for Thor again, anticipating the things that oaf would no doubt pay no mind to. Thor was often oblivious to other people’s needs and comfort. It was doubtful that the Aesir would outright ask for anything beyond the barest necessities. They were a proud people after all. Yet, Loki owed Asgard nothing. Why was he helping again? It’s not like he would get any gratitude, or even mere recognition, for his help.
What’s the matter? Muninn asked.
“I… nothing,” Loki said. “Just thinking.”
Muninn had that insufferably knowing look in its eyes again. Loki was getting rather irritated with it. He didn’t remember the old bird being so annoying in his youth. He sighed. No, he couldn’t leave the Aesir like this. Those who survived were farmers and artisans, mostly civilians, innocents who had no hand in Odin’s schemes. However false his own identity was, he had sworn oaths as prince of Asgard to take care of his people and he had never failed his duty. He would help them rebuild, but not in Midgard. The planet was not viable long term.
Loki also had to find a way to stave off the other realms, eager to take revenge for millennia of oppression under Odin, while somehow convincing them to unite together in the fight against Thanos. With Asgard’s warrior class eradicated, he would have to carefully rearrange his plans. As much as he wanted to keep it, the Tesseract rightfully belonged to Asgard, to its Queen. But the realms would never accept Hela, not when she had conquered them at Odin’s bidding in the first place. There was a chance… no, he would unpack this conundrum later. He needed food, rest and time to consider possible options from all angles.
He wrote a quick letter to Sven and Eir, detailing what he wished them to do but otherwise remaining vague as to his whereabouts. He put it in his pocket dimension and checked whether it appeared in the chest. Good, it was working. He shrunk the chest to a thumb size, wrapped it in a piece of cloth and tied it together in a knot. It was light enough for Muninn to carry without difficulty. He turned to Muninn and said, “All done. Are you ready?”
Yes, the old raven replied. It took the knot in its beak. Muninn looked at him for a long moment. Eat, princeling, and rest. Mimir’s head will only respond to the rightful ruler of Asgard. There is much for you and Hela to know. Wait for her to wake, speak with her, gather all your answers before you make your plans. Strengthen your sense of self so you don’t shatter as you did before. Remember that whatever else you hear, you are Loki. Be brave princeling, for Hela and for yourself. I will see you soon.
And with that Muninn flew away.
Notes:
As always, please let me know what you think!
I used the MCU fandom timeline as reference. The only thing I changed was the location of Hela's banishment. She was exiled in Hel but I sent her a bit further down in Nastrond instead. That was deliberate.
Chapter 3: Distractions of a Troubled Mind
Summary:
Previously on Asgard Burning: Muninn shows up with news from the Statesman and Loki sends some stuff back with him for Eir and Sven.
Notes:
Hello people! This is a worldbuilding chapter. It doesn’t really contain any plot. You have been duly warned.
Let me know if any part of this chapter is confusing. It’s a bit all over the place. As always, all comments are welcome.
TW for mentions of torture and child abuse.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next few days saw Loki hunting, fishing and collecting various plants in the forest to restock Master Frode’s kitchen. Twice, he ventured to the city market to buy supplies for Sven and Eir. The duo had been delighted to hear that Loki escaped Asgard on time and promised to keep his survival secret. They corresponded regularly about the hardships of life on the Statesman. Sven was preparing a detailed census of their people and making an inventory of what little Asgard still possessed. Eir was seeing to the general needs of the people. Loki was also waiting to hear her insights on how to finally rid his body of the Svartalfar poison. She was furious that Loki had never come to her about it before. He was surprised to hear that she suspected that he had replaced Odin but had kept mum about it.
Then again, he shouldn’t have been. As his official healer, Eir had an intuitive feel for his seidr. She had also been one of his tutors and had borne his frequent visits and incessant questions with grace and good humour. Still, she was livid that he had needlessly risked his life by not seeking treatment for his injury. It seemed that Eir was constantly angry these days. She had apparently raved at Thor on hearing that the Thunderer had sent his brother to wake Surtur. She had always done so when Thor’s recklessness earned Loki a trip to the royal Healing Halls. She had been convinced that, this time, Thor’s behaviour had succeeded in getting him killed.
Truthfully, she was mostly right; Loki had been lucky to get out alive. The weapons vault had restrictive wards that didn’t allow for an easy escape. He wouldn’t have been able to teleport, or shapeshift, or even conceal himself with his seidr. It was pure luck that Surtur missed Loki hiding in the old Destroyer’s cage before Hela distracted him. Not to mention sending a frost giant to awaken a fire demon with the eternal flame. While Loki was the God of Fire (a bitter irony that still never failed to amuse him), there had been no guarantee that the heart of Muspelheim would do anything but burn him alive. Yet, the flame had responded readily to his seidr, curiously so. Perhaps, that was why Odin had never allowed Loki to study it. He didn’t know. There were so many things he would never know now that the old man was dead.
Hela can wield the flame. Perhaps she would know why he could too, Loki thought. He still had trouble looking at her. She looked like him, or rather, he looked like her. Why did Odin craft Loki’s appearance from his daughter’s image? If Odin wanted to erase any trace of Hela, it made no sense to make Loki’s Aesir disguise look like her. Was it sentiment, or some nefarious scheme Odin never got to act out?
So many questions… at least it distracted Loki from thinking about Thor too much. Did the Thunderer know that he was sending Loki to his death on Asgard? Probably not. Thor never thought things through; that had always been Loki’s job. And yet, Thor would have likely killed him before Hela interrupted them on Midgard; Thor had set the obedience disk on him – what if no one had come to remove the disk from his neck? What if the Grandmaster had caught him? Did Thor know about the melt stick? Or, the rebels could have sought revenge on Loki simply for being on the Grandmaster’s side. Did Thor even care about Loki’s fate when he just left him there? Not for the first time either, Thor had left him to suffer on the Sanctuary, left him again to rot in the dungeons until he had use for Loki, and again for dead on Svartalheim after Loki had saved his woman. For all that the Thunderer called him ‘brother’ all the time, for all that he professed to mourn every time Loki died, Thor displayed an alarming callousness towards Loki’s life.
Then again, it had always been that way. Thor had never had his back in any of the battles they fought together. He would lose himself in swinging that wretched hammer around while Loki would always be left to fend for himself, improvise a strategy around Thor’s bloodlust, and cover Thor and the idiots four. Not that Loki was ever thanked for it. No, they all looked down on the same “cowardly tricks” that saved their lives over and over again. Thor had gone along with their mockery, encouraged it even as they grew older.
His relationship with Thor had not always been so strained. In his youth, Loki had idolised his big brother, had aspired to be just like him. They had drifted apart as the outside world and the sheer differences in their personalities intruded in their brotherly bond. Loki had had the edge at first. He had excelled in their studies while Thor had struggled. Loki had eagerly absorbed all the knowledge he could lay his hands on and drew conclusions at a speed that had quickly touted him as extremely intelligent, ingenious and, by some, dangerous. Most of his tutors, being renown scholars from across the realms, had favoured him over his brother.
However, Thor had quickly eclipsed him in their warrior training. The oaf had had an early growth spurt and had used his superior strength to establish his dominance on the battlefield. It had quickly earned him many friends among the other trainees. Loki had struggled. The incident with Jormungandr, barely a few months prior, had already fanned countless rumours about his unmanly seidr wielding before he had even stepped foot in the training grounds. His leaner build had not helped matters any, neither did the exhausting seidr lessons he had had with his mother every day before warrior training, which set him at a further disadvantage.
His differences hadn’t ended there. Where Thor and the other warriors had used bulky, honourable weapons, Loki had favoured light, delicate, ‘womanly’ knives. Where Thor and the others had spent their hours in taverns, tooting their own horns over their paltry victories and drunkenly chasing maidens, Loki had favoured quiet evenings reading and honing his control over seidr. Where Thor and the others had eagerly resolved any slights to their honour with their fists, Loki had favoured outwitting his opponent in a battle of words and tricking them to fall over their own swords (sometimes literally too). Where Thor and the others had loved hunting and slaying beasts for sport, Loki had vehemently objected to such waste and decried the disrespect to the great creatures of the Nine Realms, even as he found himself dragged into these useless quests to save Thor and his friends from their idiocy.
And thus, Thor became the golden son, the warrior son, the Aesir son; while Loki became known has the shadow, the sly one, the Trickster. Still, Loki had loved his brother; even as the Thunderer had been gifted Mjolnir for his coming of age while Loki received nothing for his; even as the Thunderer had held him down under Odin’s orders for the dwarves to sew his lips shut as punishment for tricking them with his clever wordplay; even as the Thunderer had simply stood by and done nothing when Odin had banished his Leah; even as the Thunderer had allowed and encouraged his sycophants to disparage Loki; even as the Thunderer had grown more arrogant, rash and bloodthirsty by the day.
When Odin announced that Thor would be king, Loki had feared not only what would become of Asgard under Thor’s reckless rule, but also what would become of him. He had feared the daunting prospect of spending the rest of his days stuck in Thor’s shadow. He had dreaded the ever-thankless job of fixing Thor’s mistakes, of doing his best to serve Asgard while Thor would reap the glory of Loki’s hard work. He would have been trapped on Asgard, slave to Thor’s edicts. Loki had feared that Thor would have banned sorcery. He had often threatened that he would do it once he was king. In his delusional mind, he would have probably convinced himself that doing so meant helping Loki become a worthy, honourable, proper Aesir warrior.
Thor had never understood that Asgard’s supremacy over the realms was not due to its warriors, but its recognition by Yggdrasil that Asgard had established itself as protector of the Nine, the ruler of all. That same recognition allowed Odin to create a divergent path of the dead to Valhalla, where a few chosen ones would be saved from the pits of Niflheim. That same recognition allowed Odin to gift Heimdall the power to see all and hear all within Yggdrasil. To know now that the ‘blessing’ of Yggdrasil’s seidr came not from divine anointment by the Norns to bring order to the realms, but from the ambitions of a young, greedy, power-hungry conqueror was abhorrent.
Like father, like son. For all that Odin had preached peace and diplomacy in their youth, he had allowed Thor to slake his bloodlust across the realms for more than a thousand years. Odin had always been so proud of Thor’s pointless, vainglorious quests and yet so quick to blame Loki when any incident appeared to blemish the bright shine of the golden son. Odin had nurtured their delusions of Aesir righteousness and superiority. Odin had told them stories of the Aesir triumph over the monstrous frost giants and had looked on in approval as Thor declared that he would slay them all.
How could Odin have done that, knowing what Loki was? Had he intended to keep his true parentage a secret forever? Had he been waiting for Thor to someday provoke the jotuns so he could legitimately kill Laufey and install Loki as puppet king? It seemed unlikely, given what happened with Freyr in Alfheim. No, Odin had likely told the truth when he said he had abandoned those plans, but what new plan had he concocted for Loki then? The old man did nothing without purpose. When Thor’s coronation was announced, it was assumed that Loki would become the High Chancellor to the king. Perhaps that was truly what the old man had intended for him in the end – a diplomat to appease the dissidents, a powerful sorcerer to help Thor master the Asgardforce, and a scapegoat for Thor’s inevitable political blunders. Loki had despaired at the thought of millennia under Thor’s thumb.
In the week following the announcement of Thor’s coronation, Loki had received an alarming number of letters from sorcerers, jarls and diplomats from other realms. They had been concerned about what Thor’s rule meant for them. Thor, quintessential Aesir warrior that he was, would have favoured the warrior class above all others. Many had joyfully celebrated Thor’s impending coronation, especially those among the council who scented the possibility of gaining more power under a careless king who would likely delegate the “boring” management of the day-to-day business of a kingdom to them. The more discerning individuals however had worried about the suffering of the common folk, the merchants, the artisans and the sorcerers under his rule. Loki had feared an insurrection if Thor was crowned. And so, he had told Odin to postpone the coronation, that Thor was not ready. But Odin wouldn’t hear him, had even accused him of being jealous and wanting the throne for himself. The accusation still hurt Loki to this day.
With Odin unwilling to hear him, Loki had panicked. He had gone to the seediest alehouse in Alfheim, disguised as a nondescript seidkona, lamenting loudly about the Bifrost and Odin’s refusal to allow the use of portals and paths to other realms as an alternative means of travel. Loki’s original intent had only been to gather a group of rebels – any rebels – and make them cause enough of a ruckus that the coronation would be ruined. It was pure luck that he found himself approached by three jotuns. He had pretended to be drunk and had dropped enough hints about a portal in the weapons vault and the lax patrols due to the coronation for the jotuns to take the bait. Loki had skirted the very edge of his oaths to the crown in doing so. He wasn’t so foolish as to have led them there himself. He always covered his tracks and hadn’t wanted to risk treason over that scheme.
Loki had not been worried about the jotuns stealing the casket from Odin’s weapons vault. Much like the prison cells on Asgard, the wards in the vault were defensive. They would let anyone in but stopped anything from getting out without the king’s permission. In any event, the Destroyer activated to kill the jotuns. At the time, he had felt no remorse for it. They were only frost giants after all. What Loki had regretted was the death of the two guards. They should not have been anywhere near the vault; everyone was meant to attend the coronation.
Now though, Loki could not help but look back at his actions with regret and sorrow. On learning what he truly was, he completely lost it. Sure, it had not been the first time that he had. His seidr had unleashed itself before, the first time when he lost Jormungandr; then during the most distressing moments of his life – when those blasted dwarves had sewn his lips shut, when his precious Leah had been banished, when his wife and sons had died so tragically. But, learning his true parentage had broken something deeper in him. His very foundation, his ability to manipulate the complex weaving of reality, his fine control over both his own and ambient seidr, which had come so easily to him all his life had been lost.
Loki had been a prodigy in sorcery. It had come naturally to him, as had many of his other studies. Seidr was beautiful, powerful, endlessly fascinating. It permeated every aspect of their lives. Seidr was everywhere, in everything. As a child, that had been problematic. He had leaked his own seidr into his surroundings and the ambient seidr had in turn responded readily to his every whim, both conscious and unconscious.
When his six year old self had seen a tiny, lonely, hatchling serpent crushed in his brother’s fist, he had wished with all his might to save it. And so, Jormungandr had survived. He had latched onto Loki, had followed him everywhere and had slept curled around him in bed. Jor had become his familiar, his first friend and his fiercest protector. For a year, Loki had unknowingly fed his seidr into Jormungandr, until the serpent grew and grew and towered over everyone. Thor had been so jealous; he loved snakes but Jor had never forgotten how Thor, in his reckless enthusiasm, had almost cost him his life. The palace servants had been terrified of him. So much so that they had all rejoiced when Odin had gotten rid of him.
Even now, the incident was still painful to recall. Thor had accidentally injured Loki and Jor, sensing his distress through their connection, had lashed out in his defence. He had flung Thor roughly against the wall, surrounded Loki and started glowing with seidr, prepared to attack all those who drew near. A guard had run to alert Odin. The Allfather had thundered furiously into the room and bound Jor. He had refused to listen to Loki and had levitated the thrashing serpent all the way to Himinbjorg, dragging with him a distraught and pleading Loki who had latched on his ankle. Loki would never forget the sheer agony and rage he had felt when Odin tossed Jor into the void. He had heard Jormungandr’s last cry in his head and had echoed it with his own scream. In his fury, Loki’s seidr had spun out of control and lashed out at Odin, so powerful, so wrathful that, at a mere seven years old, he had reduced the Allfather to his knees. Heimdall had been the one to knock him out from behind.
By the time Loki awoke in the royal Healing Halls, it had already been decided that he would study under Frigga to gain control over his seidr. The very first thing Frigga had taught him was the cardinal rule of all seidr mastery: know thyself. One’s identity needed to be properly defined to manipulate the threads of reality. That was why the basics of seidr involved a lot of meditation and soul searching. He had been so young, barely seven years old. All he had then was the unshakeable belief that he was Loki, son of Odin and Frigga, brother of Thor, second heir to the throne of Asgard. Frigga had been so proud when he had told her. Why did she let that stand? Why not make him centre his core around something truer, more solid?
Had Frigga even suggested it back then, Loki would have built his identity on another, more stable foundation without question. To have lost his sense of self so suddenly had broken his mind and frayed his core. Even now, he struggled to understand what he had been thinking during his doomed regency. He could make sense of lying to Thor. He had been desperate for his brother to stay away back then, terrified of his reaction to the truth of Loki’s monstrous origins. He could make sense of his hurt and anger towards Sif and the warriors three. The four of them had been so disrespectful when he was their king, so suspicious when he had never plotted to take the throne, had never wanted it in the first place. But he could not make sense of sending the Destroyer after them. In doing so, he had broken Odin’s edicts and exposed Asgard to the mortals, though to be fair Odin had sent Thor and Mjolnir there first. Sending the Destroyer had been excessive – a true indication of his broken psyche. Losing control of it had proved just how little control he had over his own seidr. He had never meant for it to go that far. He had just wanted to stop Thor and the others from returning.
His convoluted plot to lure Laufey to Asgard and kill him before Odin and then set the Bifrost on Jotunheim was even more uncharacteristic. It had been a desperate attempt to destroy anything that contradicted his identity. He would have proved that he was really Loki, son of Odin and Frigga. After all, Loki couldn’t be a frost giant himself if he was the only one left of his race; if there was no Jotunheim anymore, Odin wouldn’t be able to send him there to make peace. It had made so much sense back then. He would have ended the war without spilling a drop of Aesir blood, without protracted battles against frost giants and risking the discovery of his true origins by either side. What would have happened if the ugly truth had revealed itself? Asgard would have sunk into chaos in the middle of a war with its most hated enemy. Loki’s shattered mind had truly believed that, in destroying Jotunheim so completely, so cleanly, Loki would have proven himself a true Aesir. Odin’s rejection as his sanity was hanging on balance had only worsened his madness, to the point that he had truly felt he had nothing to live for.
With hindsight, it was obvious that losing his identity had fractured his core so completely that Loki had delved headlong into seidr madness. The horrors of the void had shattered him even further. Were it not for his seidr aggressively expending itself to heal him despite his own desire for death, he would not have survived. In a way, he supposed he had Thanos to thank for regaining his senses. Loki had been tortured so thoroughly that he had had to rebuilt some semblance of identity just to endure the pain. Thanos, Ebony Maw and the Other had showed him what true monsters were. The stories of jotun beasts he had been fed in his childhood had paled in comparison.
The Other had used the mind stone to rummage into his mind, had pulled and twisted memory after memory to make and remake Loki into what the mad Titan wanted. The modifications never lasted long. Even torn and fractured as it was, his seidr, still in extreme survival mode, would eventually undo the mind control and set his memories straight. The Maw had conducted his disgusting experiments on him to understand his biology. He had been fascinated by Loki’s healing abilities, had delighted in removing parts of his body to see how long his seidr would take to remake them. At least, Loki had been spared the implants and “enhancements” the other children of Thanos had been gifted with. His body had rejected them all.
Gamora and Nebula had been his only respite in those awful years in that bleak, colourless world. Loki had originally pegged them as being more easily influenced than the other children of Thanos. He had started slow, a little needling here and there while they took turns to torture him. Gamora had been a mere child when she was taken, but had still been old enough to have a moral compass, even skewed as it was after so long with the Titan. Nebula had been a baby. All she had ever known was Thanos, Gamora and the other fanatics that passed for her siblings. She had only ever glimpsed love and affection from afar when she would accompany Thanos to cull a planet. She had yearned for approval from her false father, even as she feared him. Both of them had been ripe for manipulation.
And yet, as he tried to undermine their blind obedience to Thanos, Loki had slowly started to care for them. Him, Loki the Trickster, the Liesmith, the master manipulator had fallen for his own schemes. Maybe it had been his frayed mind desperately seeking any kind of attachment in that desolate world. How could he not when Gamora’s fiery hair and fierceness reminded him of his dear Sigyn, and little Nebula’s desperate attempts to impress the Titan had reminded him uncomfortably of himself. She had been on the cusp of adolescence when the Other introduced her as his new torturer. Unlike the Other’s vicious mind games, Nebula had favoured knives to cut into him, and Loki had laughed through his pain and given her pointers. He had kept her wrong-footed, yet somehow it had worked for them.
When Loki had finally broken under the torture and agreed to become a child of Thanos, Nebula had come to him for training. He had become her mentor and confidant then. After all, what better way to gain her trust than to teach her how to beat her sister? Gamora joined them after one such defeat. Loki had taught them every fighting style he knew, had molded them into the fiercest warriors in the galaxy, despite knowing the carnage they would eventually cause in Thanos’ name. How could he not? His very soul had already acknowledged Gamora and Nebula as his sisters. The bond between them had been strong, forged out of sheer desperation in that Norns-forsaken world.
Out of everything he had done in the last few years, what Loki had regretted most was leaving them there when he tricked Thanos into letting him win Midgard in exchange for the Tesseract. He had of course had faith in them. The seeds of doubt he had planted in his sisters’ minds had already started bearing fruit by then. Gamora had lied to Thanos about the location of the Soul stone. Her early defiance had left him hopeful for their future. He had known even then that, like him, she would defect and openly foil Thanos’ plans at the first opportunity. Nebula, however much she professed to hate her sister, would eventually follow. Gamora always managed to get through to her in the end.
Still, whatever his reasons, whatever excuse he told himself now, at the time he had left his sisters to their fate and that was unforgivable. Even the daggers Loki had crafted for them as a parting gift had been a poor recompense. Gamora had understood. She had lost family before and she knew just how important thwarting Thanos was. Not that Loki had told her any of his plans. They had been too closely supervised for either of them to risk it. But she had known that he was planning on escaping. Nebula, though, had been upset and furious when he had failed to promise to come back. Her last words had been so full of hurt and anger. They haunted him still.
One of the first things Loki had done when taking over Asgard was to set up informants in different parts of the galaxy for news on Thanos and his children. He had been so relieved when reports reached him of Gamora’s actions on Xandar. It had filled him with a pride he had only ever felt for Vali and Narfi. He had sent gifts to Nova Prime for the Guardians of the Galaxy on behalf of Asgard. For most of the guardians, he had offered the usual diplomatic offerings Asgard gave to honour warriors. For Gamora however, Loki had spent days perfecting two enchanted communicators, tied specifically to her and Nebula, that could summon him from anywhere in the galaxy, along with a pouch full of fresh lyngr.
The fruit had held a special significance for the three of them. Loki had once smuggled some during a mission for Thanos and shared them with his sisters. After all, fruits were a rare delicacy on the Sanctuary. Sending them to Xandar along with the other gifts had been the closest Loki had ever come to alerting someone of his continued existence, but the risk had been worth it. He had needed his sisters to know that he had not forgotten them, that he would help if they needed it. He owed them as much for his abandonment.
However much Loki had regretted leaving them to Thanos’ mercy at the time, the mortals meddling with the Space stone had been an opportunity he would have been stupid to squander. He had originally planned to go to Midgard and raise such a fuss that the Nine realms would be alerted to what was coming for them. What Loki had not planned was the Maw torturing him to drain his seidr, and the Other wielding the mind stone to place hooks in his mind and heighten his darkest emotions. They had known that, with his seidr focused on healing his body, it would take far longer for it to throw off the manipulation of his mind. It had been their insurance against the Trickster God they knew him to be. In the end, it had not been enough.
Even with false memories of Thor tossing him into the void while Odin looked on gleefully, even with a heightened rage at Asgard and a desperation to prove himself capable of conquering a realm on his own, Ebony Maw and the Other had underestimated him. He was Loki, God of Chaos, and so chaos he had caused. He had gleaned as much information as he could from his thralls’ minds to formulate a plan to thoroughly and spectacularly lose, while making the Other believe that he was going the exact opposite through their connection.
After what he had seen in the Hawk’s memories, Loki had been certain that Director Fury would seize the opportunity to push his quaint little Avengers project. It seemed that the man had been obsessed with it for years. SHIELD would summon the beast and the man out of time. The Widow would be recalled from her mission. Stark, he had not been certain about. SHIELD had been wary of him. And so, he had chosen a Stark building to ensure that the man who had singlehandedly decimated his enemies would be pitted against him. The arc reactor at the man’s Tower had been a mere bonus. Mostly, Loki had hoped to create enough of a ruckus to summon the Kree woman who had sworn to protect Midgard. He had met her after that Skull incident with the Tesseract, which had led the Kree Starforce onto Midgard against Asgardian edicts some decade and a half prior. He had known the woman had contacts in Midgard.
Loki had chosen Germany as his first appearance to evoke memories of their last world war. Not only did it make the entire planet pay attention, especially the righteous ones who called themselves Americans, but the Other had been especially pleased by his speech. The city of New York, being densely populated, had the Other practically salivating. It had in fact been chosen because of its extensive evacuation procedures. Apparently, the city had experienced some sort of attack about a decade prior and was more prepared than most to protect the commoners. He had also counted generally on America’s military might and their many allies.
Loki had attacked the Helicarrier first to rile them all up and to drive home the magnitude of his impending invasion, all the while pretending that he had intended to cut down the heroes first to please Thanos. He had arranged for his thralls to gather the barest minimum of the materials needed to open the portal, pretending he was simply eager for battle, all the while knowing that the resulting portal would be pitifully so small that the chitauri could be easily contained. He had arranged to have Selvig stay near the machine with knowledge of how to shut it down. He had even left the only weapon capable of piercing the protective barrier around the machine mere metres away from it. With the spear in the Avengers’ possession, he had successfully lost Thanos the mind stone. Despite the many constraints Loki had been working with at the time, it was truly some of his finest work. Master Frode would have been so proud.
Still, several things had not gone his way. The city of New York had not evacuated the common folk and the American military had never come, despite all the hints he had given and the hours his thralls had spent setting up the machine on Stark Tower in plain sight. The Kree woman had also never come. Then again, perhaps they had not been needed. After all, that ingenious weapon Stark launched into the portal had annihilated the Chitauri army in a single strike. Still, it was a bold move from the mortals to place all their hopes on one strategy.
Thor had come, not for him, never for him, but for the Tesseract. Thor, who had had suspiciously accurate knowledge about the army Loki had been tasked to command, and yet had been so mistaken about his motives. Hadn’t he told the oaf that he had never wanted to rule? Why had he been convinced that Loki wanted to conquer Midgard? Midgard! Loki had always been fond of Midgard, but he had never wanted to rule it. His safe haven was already there after all, cleverly hidden under the best wards he had ever erected. The realm itself was beautiful and so wonderfully chaotic. Many of his dear friends had been Midgardians.
Yet, Thor had so confidently professed that Loki desired to take Midgard for himself. As if he would ever bother conquering the realm simply because the idiot had professed a fleeting fancy for it. Arrogant, self-centered Thor. If Loki had really desired to prove himself to Asgard, conquering what they thought was a weak, pathetic race would not have been the way to do it. Not to mention all the unfortunate parallels this would have drawn with the last attempt to conquer Midgard. After Loki’s reaction to the revelation of his origins and all he had done to distance himself from the frost giants, how could his false family have thought that he too would seek to rule that realm? Did they know him so little?
How had Thor even known about the Chitauri? Loki had certainly never mentioned it to any of his thralls. Had Odin known where he had been before? Had his supposed family really left him to his torturers until he became an inconvenience to be dealt with? At the time, it had made sense for the false family who had tossed him into the Void to do so. Now, Loki did not know. Those questions would never be answered now that the old tyrant was dead.
Despite everything, he had tried to keep Thor away from the battle. And yes, he had felt a vindictive pleasure in making the Thunderer fall while trapped in that glass cage, just like he had been thrown into the void. But Loki had known that the fall would have not killed him. He had only meant to stall the oaf. Thor would have been too much of a temptation for Thanos. Loki couldn’t have risked the Titan sending someone through with the first wave of the Chitauri army to retrieve the idiot to make him into one of his children. To think that he had been accused of attempted fratricide at his sham of a trial. If he had truly wanted the oaf dead, he could have easily killed him at any time.
No, Loki’s actions to save that oaf’s ungrateful hide had been purely strategic, nothing to do with any childhood remnants of sentiment towards his false brother compelling him save Thor one last time before his death. The beast had failed to kill him anyway. It had broken the hooks in his mind (thank you very much for that Beast!), but Loki hadn’t died in glorious battle as he had intended. He had been so disappointed. Part of him had eagerly anticipated his death to reunite with his true loved ones. Death had not come, not even when he deliberately tried to provoke Odin into executing him. Perhaps the old bastard had known that death for him meant seeing Leah, Sigyn, Vali and Narfi again, and had refused him such mercy.
Odin had undoubtedly enjoyed seeing him paraded through Asgard, muzzled and in chains. He had probably expected Loki to prostrate himself before the old bastard and beg for forgiveness. Frigga had certainly expected it, had tried to nag him into it even after he had been banished to the dungeons to rot for the rest of his life. How had they not seen how injured he had been? How had they not doubted his terrible strategy on Midgard? Why had they not asked him? Had they truly known him so little? Had Odin known but simply not cared, all too happy to rid himself of the monster since it had outlived its usefulness.
Loki did not know. Thinking about such things was pointless now that the old one-eye was dead. There were other things that needed his attention. What to do with Hela after he questioned her for one. He supposed it would depend on her answers. He still felt so tired, but his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Perhaps some reading would distract him. Yes, he could distract himself by perusing the tomes from the King’s library. Who knew, maybe it would give him some answers.
Notes:
Next chapter: Hela wakes up… maybe. I haven’t decided yet.
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