Chapter 1
Valhalla existed in the sense that it didn’t.
When Loki awoke there, the words ‘you will never be a god’ fresh on his lips, he was in a bed. The bed, he assumed, was on the floor.
He knew he was dead when he saw Frigga.
Mother.
And if she was beside him, he must be dead.
He didn’t particularly remember dying.
He knew how it happened, when, where, and why it happened, but he knew it like you know a story you are told about your childhood.
You’re told these stories over and over again, and your brain creates false memories.
You don’t have any real memories of what happened, but you’re sure you do.
So in that sense, he did remember dying.
But to Loki that didn’t count as remembering.
Frigga sat by his bedside, in striking similarity to those sitting beside a dying loved one. Her eyes were weary (though they always were, after Thor’s banishment, he recalls), and she watched over him, waiting.
She waited no longer, however.
“Welcome to Valhalla, Loki.”
Loki didn’t speak, at first. He barely moved at all. He lay there, perfectly still, save the soft rise and fall of his chest.
He didn’t move because he was afraid it was just a mirage, an illusion that would blow away the second he relaxed.
He knew plenty about illusions.
But then Frigga leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his forehead and he let the tears fall from his eyes, silent drops of sorrow and regret washed away by soothing words and gentle caresses.
He didn’t know how long it had been (no one did, really) when he finally stopped.
He stood, slowly and cautiously, on a floor that almost didn’t exist.
“You won’t fall.”
The floor shimmered beneath him, a bifrost of colors across an empty canvas.
Frigga had been sitting by his side, he knew, but there were no seats in the room. Even the bed seemed to slowly float up into the air.
“Valhalla isn’t what it once was, Loki.”
There was more to be said there, but Frigga knew they had time.
Walking became simple after a few steps, the fear of falling infinitesimal in comparison to Loki’s curiosity. He wanted to know what was beyond this small room.
The room itself had no walls, but he was sure it was small. It stretched on endlessly, yet somehow there was a door.
Outside was much the same as inside, with the addition of pillars that couldn’t be seen, only felt.
Loki felt as though there was more, a layer below the surface that he could see if he just knew how.
“What am I missing?”
“Valhalla will reveal itself to you in time, bit by bit. What you’re missing is patience, Loki.”
“I don’t want patience. I want to understand.”
He’s reminded of a similar argument they had when he was a child, sent home in tears to his mother because ‘he wasn’t allowed the daggers yet, he was too young’.
“If you want to understand then let me explain.”
“Please.”
“Valhalla began as a place for the soldiers of old, and feasts were what they wanted. Feasts and battles, so that is what Valhalla gave. But as we evolved, Valhalla evolved with us. But no one idea can serve to please everyone, and Valhalla shattered.”
“Shattered?”
“Like glass. Harsh jagged edges worn down by time, and now we are left with pillars that sometimes can only be felt, and other times only seen. Valhalla is ever shifting, ever changing, and never constant.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He said it not because he was the god of chaos and mischief, the harbinger of change, but because the pillars had shimmered to life in front of him, shards of glass sent spiraling in their own directions. Traces of the rainbow bridge were there, flecks of faint pastels reflecting off the light.
“It is.”
He turned back to look at her, golden hair falling over her shoulders, and gasped softly.
Why?
Because Frigga had wings. Glorious, shining wings that he knew would catch the sunlight perfectly.
“Your wings.”
“You see them? I was starting to wonder.”
"How?"
It was the only question he could manage to ask.
"You'll get yours in time."
He could feel the pulsing energy of Valhalla, the way it moved and trembled and shifted and shook with each passing moment.
He loved it.
"Mother?"
"Yes, Loki?"
"Why am I here?"
He justified his actions, in his own twisted way, but he wasn't a fool.
His actions were anything but heroic in the eyes of almost everyone.
But he was still in Valhalla.
"Do you remember why heroes are sent to Valhalla? The reason we teach you in stories of the Einherjar?"
"If one dies with a noble sacrifice in their past or present, but-"
"You died for him. Did you not?"
He looks down at his feet and blinks back the tears that threaten to overflow once more.