Chapter 2
Loki was not aware of what he did afterwards.
His thoughts were a mess, tumbling around in his mind with such intensity it made him dizzy:
what kind of fresh hell is this –
Thor is gone again, please bring him back, I need my brother –
Norns, where did it all go so wrong –
where is Mother? I don’t have any right to call her that, not when her death is on my hands –
how did this happen –
is this even real –
do monsters have mothers –
the sorcerer –
the stone –
GREEN
Truly, it was a miracle he made it to his chambers in one piece. And they were indeed, his chambers. He had spent many hours over on that desk, pouring over ancient manuscripts from Vanaheim; that wall over there displayed the heads of the many creatures he’d slain when dragged on quests by Thor; those heavy drapes in front of the windows he’d had commissioned specially because he couldn’t stand the sun’s piercing brightness during the scorching summers on Asgard.
It all seemed so real. Yet how could Loki believe it?
Just moments ago, he’d been knee-deep in the blood of millions of innocents, running away from the corpse of his dead brother, about to beg a Midgardian sorcerer to -
What? It wasn’t as if he’d had a concrete plan. He’d known that they couldn’t win the war as it was, and he’d known that the sorcerer was smart enough to know that as well, and the only solution available was to send someone back in time – but it was not meant to be HIM.
In what goddamn universe would he, Loki the Trickster, be the best option for literally anything but fucking things up? He hadn’t an ounce of goodness in his soul, and everyone on Asgard could attest to that.
“It was always you” my ass.
Obviously, the sorcerer (what was his name again?) hadn’t a clue of what he’d been doing, seeing as firstly, it was Loki the idiot had sent back, and secondly, the fact that he was so far back in the first place.
No being was made for traversing so far back through the weaves of time. The journey alone would burn right through the soul of the being, and whatever husk remained would be incapable of even taking a final breath before dissolving to dust. And even if by some miracle the poor sod survived the trip, they wouldn’t be able to change a single thing.
The Norns did not take kindly to their strands coming undone. Any stray threads were cut off, immediately and without mercy.
And that brought Loki back to his main conundrum: How was this happening?
Already, he’d changed the timeline from what had happened before (if indeed, this was the past, and he was actually capable of changing anything, and this was not just some elaborate hallucination his mind had created to escape from the horrors of reality).
(And if this wasn’t his personal Hel.)
Last time, he’d been down in the Vault, changing bodies and yelling at Odin and generally being a chaotic mess. This time, he was here in this room having a mental crisis.
Quite suddenly, Loki was overtaken with fury. This room did not belong to him, it hadn’t belonged to him even then. Loki of Asgard did not exist, it was a monster parading around in Asgardian flesh, stealing and coveting and taking what did not belong to it. And yet it was still greedy for more. How dare it be ungrateful for the luxuries given to it, when even life was a mercy most would not give it?
Life was not something it deserved.
“Prince Loki?”
The voice coming through the closed doors cut through it’s thoughts, jarring it back to reality.
“My prince, the Queen is asking for you. Her majesty wishes to –”
It opened the doors with such ferocity, the servant on the other side was stunned to silence.
“Where?” It managed to form the word with a spectacular amount of difficulty, the letters coming through it’s mouth in a way that made it seem as if it hadn’t spoken in years.
“H-her rooms, my prince,” the servant stammered, but it was already rushing past him, hurrying to the one person that had always loved it, truly and honestly loved the monster it was, even when the same monster cut the threads of life from that beautiful soul itself.
It did not care how it may have looked, running though the palace like one crazed, in front of all the servants and nobles alike. It only ran faster.
~ ~ ~
When it burst through the doors to the Queen’s rooms, it froze right in the doorway.
Frigga All-Mother stood before it, dressed in the softest of silks dyed in her signature blue, her blonde hair falling so delicately around her face. She looked beautiful, resplendent in all the fineries she deserved as the goddess she was.
She looked alive.
And then she was in front of it, looking into it’s eyes, cupping it’s face so gently, oh so gently, in a way that it did not deserve yet received anyway.
“Loki? My son, what has happened to you to make you troubled so?”
Her voice was a soothing balm in it’s ears, a blessing it had been deprived of for far too long, and then abruptly, he was not it, but Loki, and this was his mother, and he could hear her voice because she was alive and whole, in front of him, and he was falling to his knees in her arms because the sheer relief coursing through him had lifted a weight he hadn’t even been aware he had been carrying.
His brother he had seen at the same time as Odin, but his mother he had missed the longest, mourned for the longest, and now that she was here, he would be damned if her ever let her go again.
“Loki?” Frigga sounded frantic, unable to support her son collapsing on her and thus sinking to the ground with Loki in her arms. “Loki, what has happened? Are you injured?”
Her eyes flitted over her limp son’s body, zeroing in on his arm, gods, that cursed arm. Loki would cut it off if he could, burn the limb that so cruelly turned his life on its head, if only so that he could fool himself into thinking he deserved all this love for a moment longer. For now, the arm was blistered and a ghastly shade of red, his tunic torn just above his elbow.
Though Loki’s face was buried in his mother’s lap, he could see her reach for his arm out of the corner of his eye. He had the wildest urge to resist, so that he could not infect her with his monstrousness. Yet he did not move, his trust in his mother absolute.
She had been the one to wipe his every tear when he had been younger, and she was the only one he came to when he was injured. Only she had the dubious honour of seeing him vulnerable, and thus she was the only one to suffer through every hurtful jab Loki could deliver, as when an injured animal lashed out so that none would see it as easy prey.
Through every blow Loki could deliver, she was the only one to stay. The only one who not only put up with him, but healed him with such care that it soothed his very soul; never responding to his provocations, and accepting his apologies afterwards with a smile and a gentle tweaking of his ear.
Frigga did so now, her seidr aiding her in soothing Loki’s burns, and he watched as she softly cupped his healed skin. How apt the name All-Mother, able to love and nurture a monster with such devotion, that he not once entertained the thought of being anything other than her son. Even now, she touched him so easily despite knowing full well what he was underneath this fake skin. It brought tears to Loki’s eyes, and Frigga shushed him gently, her other hand carding gently through his hair.
“Oh, my son, my son,” she murmured, leaning down so her head lay above her Loki’s. “What has you so troubled, my mischief? Why do you weep? I am here, I am here.”
Loki only managed a brittle “Amma,” before his voice failed him, and his mother clutched him tightly upon hearing the moniker she hadn’t heard since Loki was but a young child.
“All will be well, Loki. Tell me what has happened, Amma will fix it.”
But you can’t, you can’t fix me, Amma. I am broken beyond what anyone can put together now.
“Thor is gone,” he said, rather than voicing his morbid thoughts. They would only worry his mother, and he did not want that, he would never want that. “Fa- The All-Father banished him. Amma, I miss him. I miss you. Please don’t leave me again, Amma, please.” The last words came out garbled, hardly making through the lump in his throat, and a fresh round of tears had his mother clinging to him all the tighter.
“Weep not, Loki. Has your brother not returned to us every time he has left? His home is here, and here is where he will return.”
Frigga urged Loki up, so that they both were kneeling upon the floor together, her hands once again cupping his face after wiping away his tears. He took her in greedily, hands clutching at her arms, unable to let go even if he had the urge to do so. She searched his face just as eagerly as he searched hers, a touch confused but with so much love the cosmos would burst with the weight of it. A sweet smile flitted upon her lips, and Loki could never get tired of that look.
“Sometimes, great changes can confuse the mind, my son,” she said with all the kindness of a thousand martyrs.
(As she had been once, martyred in this very room, because of the one she looked upon so forgivingly now.)
(nodon’tthinkaboutit)
“I have never left you, though the great distance you embarked on may have made it seem so. I am here with you, as I always have been. I will never leave you, Loki, never doubt that.”
The young god fought against the tears that once again threatened to overcome him, and tried desperately not to think about the fact that she had indeed once left him. She had gone so far away, to a place that he had tried to follow but failed every damned time.
But his mother was here now, and he was with her, and all would be well. And if it wasn’t, Loki would make it so.
~ ~ ~
Loki was loathe to leave Frigga, but he had one more person to meet, and he was in desperate need of a bath beforehand. Perhaps he could also take the time to organise his thoughts, and make sure his moment of.. out-of-body-ness.. didn’t happen again.
As he made his way through the palace to his rooms, he couldn’t help but to take it all in, head swivelling this way and that. No doubt he looked like a lunatic, but he couldn’t muster up enough energy to care. All these people had already seen him positively manic, earlier on his way to Amma (stillaliveshe’salivealivealive). Even if they hadn’t, why should he care about their opinion of him anyway? The majority of Asgard hardly ever bothered to hide their distaste of the unwanted spare prince, so it wasn’t as if he would be hurt by their suspicious glances. Only mildly resigned to it.
The palace shone just as it always had, the excessive gold furnishings an eyesore as always, along with the overly embellished tapestries depicting glorious battles hung on every available wall space. The windows overlooking the city stole most of his attention, the lights in the city blinking cheerily at him through the darkness of the night. Oh, how gloriously alive all those people were, contently living their lives in the knowledge that the might of the Golden Realm would protect them from all danger. How heavy their trust laid upon Loki, how heavy and utterly misplaced.
No matter what Asgard thought of him, Asgard was the only home Loki had ever truly known. He would do anything, give up anything, to make sure his home didn’t end up as it once had – as broken as he had once become.
Loki straightened his spine and turned to head to his room once more, this time with renewed purpose in his stride. He would go to his chambers, take that bath, and make a plan. His plans were always the best after all – except for the times they weren’t, but those didn’t count – and he urgently needed ascertain a course of action that could preserve the lives of all that he held dear.
Odin had not been incapacitated this time, which freed up a significant amount of Loki’s time. People hardly paid any attention to him on the best of days, and they would be more concerned with Thor’s banishment currently anyhow, so he could scheme and plot in peace.
And spend more time with Amma, of course.
“Prince Loki?”
Ugh, what now?
His glare must have been truly fearsome, to have the maid trembling so. Loki made a conscious effort to soften his features. These people had all been gone, in a time that had yet to come, and the least he could do now was offer some kindness to the dead.
“L-Lady Eir has asked for you in the healing chambers, your highness,” the poor lass managed to stutter. “It’s the King. His majesty has fallen into the Odinsleep.”