He was a child now. He remembers being an adult like one remembers being a child. All his memories are there, centuries’ worth of knowledge and experience, but they are faded and fragmented. It was a strange thing, for one to be so old, but now so young. Backwards and disorienting, but Loki has always been a shape changer, and has learned how to adjust.
We are not a child you know.
Loki’s steps falter. He was in one of the many glamorous halls of the newly rebuilt Asgardia, just leaving the garden after speaking with the All Mother about his reeducation. Irritating and useless both- he already regained all his knowledge, what he lacked was power.
We are fourteen now, are we not? Well, in a way anyway…
He grits his teeth. The voice was speaking to him more lately, its childish tone becoming more and more aggravating. Dragging a hand through his hair he continued walking towards his room. Every few steps the the image of a small black and white bird fluttered on the edges of his vision.
Ignoring it was the best solution for now.
~*~
The first time it happened, he was with Thor. Not much time had passed since the young one had relinquished his claim on their body, maybe a few weeks or so. The boy had gone into the nothingness, as willingly as he could- given what little choice he had. Loki the Elder had taken over, his victory tasting only so bittersweet. But days had passed and Loki was living. He did want to change, he told himself, and he tried to assimilate to the boy’s life as well as he could. Yet centuries of mischief and contempt are hard things to brush off, particularly when ones innocence is freshly dashed against the rocks of nothingness. It was only a matter of time before he fell off the metaphorical wagon.
He was with Thor and the dreadful Warriors Three and Lady Sif. They were gathered in Thor’s chambers, speaking of various political issues and adventures long since past. Loki sat near Sif on a longue chair occupying himself with a new Starkpad Thor had recently gifted him. Although this Loki had no fondness for Midgardian technology, he had to admit that his younger self was right in finding their usefulness (despite its later help in his demise).
Sif sat behind Loki, idly plaiting ribbons into multiple sections of his dark hair and throwing a witty remark at the men when the need arose. In truth, Loki didn't mind the hair braiding, as he had been known for spending so much time as a woman himself, and he quite liked Sif. His younger self had too of course, saw her as a (scary) older sister type, and elder Loki had always had a grudging respect for her (although how he showed this respect probably was not in the best taste).
They were speaking about an upcoming meeting with Svartalfheim. The realms recent war with Surtur and Vanaheim left all the realms on unsteady ground with Asgardia, and the appearance of Odin had done nothing to help. The dark elves were notoriously wretched to the Aesir, and one wrong spoken word could cause a fall in their already tumultuous alliance. A single word...
Don’t…
Loki started, looking up from the tablet.
Sif removed her hands from Lokis hair, "Is something wrong Loki? Did I pull your hair to hard?"
This caught the others attention. Fandral apparently only just realizing what Sif was doing, began to grin, "My, Sif! I did not know you still knew how to braid hair!" he snickered a bit, "and it does look so lovely on you Loki."
Loki leveled him a cool look, but was saved from responding by Thor, “Aye Loki! It reminds me of when I was your age and wore my hair in a warriors braid!” Turning the conversation once more to old escapades around the relms. Loki returned to his tablet, the incident far from his mind as he planned something for Fandral the next time he wanted to find a maiden for his bed.
~*~
For weeks Loki forgot about the voice, and lived his false life freely. Well, as freely as possible. Each day he got up from his (slightly less) shabby chambers and visited the All-Mother in their garden or the library, and ‘rebuilt’ his extensive knowledge of magic. The magic he studied on the side-alternative runes and power amplifiers- were useful in supplementing his lack of power, but the fundamentals and tomes and tomes of magic history the All-Mother were piling on him were dull and repetitive at best. He was a child after all, and god like patience could only go so far until at last he risked asking the All-Mother why they were so persistent about his studies.
“Evil and cruel though you were,” Gaea had said, plucking a small white daisy from the basket in her lap. She smoothed the petals and removed the leaves from the stem before handing it to Idunn.
“You were one, if not the most, powerful sorcerer in all of Asgard.” Idunn finished, weaving the flower into an already impressive daisy chain and handing it to Freya, who kneeled on the grass in front of Loki.
“It is lucky for us that you have been given a second chance.” Freya continued, finishing the chain and tying the ends together into a circlet, “If this incarnation of you remains on the side of good, you can be of great use to Asgardia.” She chuckled, placing the wreath around his neck “Much more help than the double edged dagger you have already proven yourself to be.”
The flowers were sickly sweet, and they itched against his neck. They were heavy, and felt like a collar around his neck.
Confinement.
Maybe he could help Asgardia. It was a different place than the Asgard where he was first raised, much nicer than the frozen plains of Jotunheim.
Bound.
Asgardia could be home. He could protect it.
Controlled.
It was not fear he felt then; not panic, but not quite rage. He truly was being given a second chance. He could change.
But this-this was control. This was trying to snuff out the very whim of what was Loki. This went against his very nature. Loki followed his whims, not loyalty, not some pathetic form of sentiment. They asked this of him? To stay in one place, to serve one side that was not ultimately his? It would anchor him, tie him to something. No, this did not suit Loki at all.
Freya must have noticed something -anger, fear, panic-flit across his face before he could mask it. She studied him closely, eyes on his, concerned but suspicious, "...Loki?"
He brought a hand to the flowers around his neck, choking and praising him both. Whether he wanted to tear them off or cling to the precious things, he was not sure.
"...I-" he started when something flitted on top a branch near Freyas head. It was small, all black wings and white feathers. There were no magpies in the All-Mothers garden.
"I...," he started again, returning his gaze to Freya. He patted the flowers on his chest and gave his former mother a sincere expression, "Thank you All-Mother." He looked down at the flowers shyly, "I will do my best."
Freya smiled and patted his head, "See that you do Loki Laufeyson," For a moment her eyes seemed hard, "See that you do."
The All-Mother dismissed him, and he ran to his rooms as fast as he could.
~*~
It did not speak often, but the bird was a constant black and white blur on the edge of his sight. The whir or wings followed him everywhere.
~*~
"Speaking of children..." the voice starts up again as soon as he is settled in the library.
Loki lets out an exasperated groan, earning him a heavy glare from one of the library attendants. Many of those who work in Asgardia’s newly repaired library remember the old Loki. The Loki who swallowed any knowledge their tomes contained, and then used that knowledge to destroy their home again and again. Others remembered a small green-eyed boy getting grubby little hands on all their ancient texts. Neither was very well liked.
Loki returned the glare and continued taking his notes, scratching out ancient runes and spells that could compensate for his low amount of power- a surprising amount had to do with food. Still the voice prattled on, having become more and more talkative as of late.
"It must be so strange to have a child’s body again."
Breakfast foods as power suppliers.
"Were you not a millennia and 30 or so when you died so nobly the last time?"
The various uses of breakfast sausages as rune replacers and familiars.
"And now you find yourself in the body of your 14-ish year old self!"
Traveling the multiverse without falling through cosmic terrors- this one required some type of noodle dish.
"I am not certain, but I do believe the midgardians of the internet would call a millennia and 30 year old masquerading as a teenager-"
"ENOUGH!"
Small fists slam against the wooden desk, knocking over an ink well and quill, scattering papers everywhere. Loki watches the black bleed into his parchment, drowning his notes in the void. The voice is silent, but whispers and an increasing amount of stares find him instead. Loki mutters a spell for the mess and makes his way out of the library. Soft wing beats follow close behind.
~*~
Loki often finds himself spending his evenings with Thor.
Whenever he was not out battling foes with the Avengers, or doing his duty protecting Asgardia, Thor made sure he made time for Loki. Thor was adamant about their little meetings, much to Loki’s (carefully hidden) dismay. Apparently Thor had at last taken heed to the younger Loki’s pleads to not be left alone in Asgardia. His guilt -and a healthy dose of caution- had lead Thor to keeping a much closer eye on his little brother. He visited Loki much more often, arranging these meetings and asking about his studies, if any of Asgardia’s citizens were giving him trouble, and, of course, making sure he wasn't getting into any trouble.
In some ways Loki appreciated the sentiment, but Loki’s feelings for Thor would always be a complicated tapestry of hate and love; and a child’s emotions were much more volatile. Thor always knew Loki best, and if anyone could see through his facade it would be him.
They sat beneath a small oak tree on one of the rolling hills of the more private gardens. They had a wonderful view of the setting sun, and the rest of Asgardia and Broxton below them.
Since the library incident the bird has never left his sight. Always there on the edge of his vision- in his room, in the library, the gardens, with Thor- it is everywhere he looks. But it hasn't spoken since, merely watches his every move. Loki has become nervous, jumping at small sounds and eyes jittering to where the dreaded magpie sits on its perch. He was waiting for it to speak again, in its horrid childish voice that now mirrored his own.
Loki tried his best to hide it- and as Loki is the most gifted of liars, pulls off the charade well. He spoke with Thor during their evening chats and wore his mask of calmness- steadfastly not glancing at the winged beast that flew about and around their heads in like freedom itself.
"...ki. Loki!"
Loki jumped- returning his gaze from where he had been glaring at the apparently empty sky back, to Thor who stood beside him.
Thor was bending down to look him in the eye, concern and Loki’s obvious failure to 'keep his cool' written all over the thunder gods face. "I was asking about your studies."
Loki swallowed, schooling his features once more, "...They are fine Brother. Mindlessly boring as I've said countless times before. Can you not speak to me of something else when you visit me? What of the negations with-" His eyes found their way to the sky again. The bird was doing summersaults now. Black and white wings gliding through the air, falling, then skyrocketing up at the last possible moment. It was mocking him. He was mocking him! Disgusting filth on wings-
"Loki!" Thor snapped his fingers in front of Loki’s face. Staring intently at Loki, eyebrows knit together in concern. He sighed. "Loki, I have been meaning to ask you..." Loki’s eyes wandered from Thor to the wretched thing resting on the tree branch near Thor’s head. "...Do you still see the bird Loki?"
His attention snapped back to his brother, "...what?"
"The bird. Your bird- the magpie I think you said it was?" he paused, as if choosing his words wisely, "It... concerned me that only you could see it. But ever since Surtur was defeated, you have not mentioned it, and I assumed you had... recovered from seeing it." His frown deepened, "But as of late you seem preoccupied... Are you... Are you having troubles, Loki?"
Lokis eyes widened, "I.." of course the young one had mentioned the magpie... "I-I am fine Thor."
"Are you?" The magpie spoke.
Loki’s head whipped back to the magpie. Its beak remained closed, but its gaze did not waver from his.
This of course causes Thor more concern."Loki, you can speak to me about what is troubling you," Large hands find Lokis shoulders, "Please, brother-"
He wrenches himself from Thors grasp, hissing and snarling at his not-brother. Help him? "I am fine you pathetic oaf-" Help him now after decades and decades living in a wretched shadow? "It is nothing," Where was his help when the needle first pierced the skin of his lips? "It is just a bird,” When the first drop of poison fell into his eyes? His voice rises, becoming more and more hysterical. "A stupid, wretched bit of blood and feathers!"
Thor watched his brother as he seethed, fists clenched, breathing heavily and glaring at the branch that was empty to him, but undoubtedly held a magpie to the younger gods gaze. He looked away, releasing a breath he had been holding.
"You must know Loki... Sometimes a certain look overtakes your face, and it reminds me of the old you, the Loki I could never trust, who hated and scorned me and all of Asgard... Ever since the events from Surtur, I have found myself wondering of what I was seeing."
Realization dawned on Loki, "Thor I-"
Thor held up a hand, stopping him. "Loki, with you I have never been able to tell which is the truth and which is the lie. But I have been willing to give both a chance, for I am your brother and I do care for you, despite what you may have thought in the past…” He pauses, Thor never being as good with words as Loki was, “Sometimes you look much older than you appear, Loki. When Frandral says something to offend you, when the whispers of Asgardia find your ear, when I do not return for days at a time… I do not wish for this life to end up the same as your previous ones, brother.”
He knows.
Loki flinches, eyes sliding again to the bird, but the branch is empty.
Thor sighs, and wraps his arms around Loki. “It will be alright brother, I am here for you.” His hold on Loki tightens, “…I will not allow you to fall again.”
~*~
He falls into the dream, the whisper. Feet land softly on a blood stained floor. He faces the empty pedestal, and his helm lying carelessly on its side. The bird perches on one of its horns.
“Hello, little magpie.”
It tips its head to the side and gives a mocking chirrup.
He glares at the bird, at the blood and feathers where it should lie dead. He asks the question.
“Why are you still here?” it remains silent, beak pecking at a raised wing, “That Loki does not exist anymore. That Loki can notexist.” He hisses out the last word, frustration building.
The bird is silent for a moment, tips its head once more and the child’s voice answers him,
“But I am not Loki. I am Ikol.”
The room remains hushed for a moment before green flames explode on the walls around them. How? How could he have let this pathetic thing slip by? Loki paces the room, fists clenched and gritting his teeth.
“I will not let you have your way again,” The bird continues, flitting from the helm to the top of the pedestal. “Each time the thought of hurting Thor, or Asgardia crosses your mind- I will be there.” It puffs its feathers and preens, “It is a good plan if I say so myself-”
“Why won’t you be silent!”
“Why did you have to destroy me?”
“Obviously,” Loki stops his pacing, hand in his hair as he faces the magpie, “I didn’t finish the job.”
Silence falls on the room as two sets of eyes watch each other. The flames die down slowly, and eventually Loki speaks, his voice a calming murmur. “Your sacrifice was just. You saved the nine realms.”
“And you’re going to destroy them.”
Green eyes flash, “And if I destroy you?”
“You don’t even know if I am real or not. Has madness not been our greatest weakness? Even Thor isn’t truly surprised by our spouting nonsense about a bird.”
“No!” He faces the pillar, the magpie looking down on him, “You are nothing but a forgotten speck that was missed. My mind is sound!”
“Is it?” the words echo around the small room endlessly, building in rhythm and tempo until the dream is naught but a cacophony of a birds screaming.
He sinks downs, drawing his knees up and covering his ears with his hands. Tears he didn’t know he had escape his eyes as he tries to escape. Not again not again notagainnotagainnotagain-
Sharp pain jolts him and the room quiets. The magpie has left its place to land on him, digging his talons into his knees. Its eyes bore into him, inches away from his own.
“I will be with you always,” its beak does not move as it speaks, “You can’t escape me. And you will not tell anyone of me.” It pauses, raising its wings as if to take flight, “And no one will ever know.”
Black feathers fill his vision, and the thundering of a thousand wings drag him into nothingness.
~*~
He wakes, his heart beating hard in his small chest. He spends the day planning, and preparing for his next move. He needs power. If not to wipe the thing from existence than at least to silence it.
The magpie follows him, and watches.