Chapter 3
Hours after the Queen of Asgard perished from their world and the community of gods and goddesses had watched her spirit go up to Valhalla
All of them except Loki had gone to the funeral out of respect. No more dangers were coming to their home planet, and they knew now--or at least they believed--that it was safe to leave the remaining prisoners in their cells without being closely observed.
Many of the thieves and murderers had either escaped or been killed, so there didn’t warrant much use for guard surveillance down there.
It was just after the funeral that Amoral had a sinking feeling wash over her gut.
She couldn’t place what it was exactly, but her gut was screaming at her to attend to the dungeons.
Someone down there needed help.
Amoril was one of the few empathetic guards presiding over the Asgardian dungeons. She took her job seriously and was nowhere near as horrible as Alastor was to his prisoners. Amoril believed in hope and forgiveness; second chances and empowerment.
She was one of very few numbers.
Most of the other guards took pity on her, claiming she was inexperienced and naïve, but they didn’t know her history.
Her father, Zaid, had spent centuries in the Asgardian dungeons, for a crime, he had never even committed--as was found out by her family many years later. Zaid had been a dutiful and considerate citizen of the realm, but when he was sentenced just before he got taken away, he talks to her about forgiveness and second chances.
His stay was surely nothing less than unpleasant.
She heard later how harmful it was--how his guards would starve him How they hit, kicked, and punched him when he refused to admit his traitorous crimes--crimes he had genuinely never even committed.
The thought made Amoril’s heartache with a pang of grief and overwhelming sadness.
Her father was by himself when one too many kicks to his ribs caused a rib to break and penetrate his lung, resulting in her father bleeding internally and dying from his injuries.
He had been all alone.
No one to hear his pleas. No one to hold his hand.
It made Amoril sick.
It was only when the true criminal came forward years later and the guards at fault for not checking in reasonably with her father admitted to their inadequacies did a sense of some justice, some understanding, some finality occurred for Amoril and her mother.
When Amoril voiced her concerns and frustrations with her mother, who had managed to sustain her wonder and love for the world they lived in how she was managing it, her mother had said:
“Amoril, your father lost his way more than once in his life. Only once did he lose his faith in our realm, and having such a substantial loss in his life when he needed more than anything a sense of belonging and understanding is what dug his grave before he even landed in it. We all require something to belong to. Learn from his mistakes to not repeat them in your life. Your father loved you more than anything. He would want you to see the good in life, not focus on the bad. When he lost his hope, he lost his reason for believing. Your father wanted you to be your person, a person with hopes and dreams and light within the darkness. Yes, it is easier to behave poorly, but we must ask ourselves: at what cost? Be brave for your father, Amoril. And learn how to forgive; every man, woman, and child requires forgiveness more than they require air. With forgiveness, redemption can be found, and there aren’t many people in life so far gone to not need it within their lives.” Her mother cradled her fingers on Amoril’s cheek lovingly.
“Be brave, my daughter. Be the light in someone else’s night sky.”
Her mum died about 100 years after that.
Amoril never forgot these words as she chose to work as a guard in the dungeons. She only ever wished to impart these lessons to others in her life, which she considered now as she shifted into the shadows to follow her gut to the dungeons before all the others would return.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong. And she would not let another death fall upon the kingdom, even if it were the last thing she did.
The grime and grim nature of the dungeons caused Amoril’s soul to shiver inside her frame. Chills rolled down her insides as she turned a final corner and stepped into the dark hallway.
She cast her gaze over the nearest cells--finding a mixture of them empty
Her eyes continued to scan the room until she felt it in her gut again--a painful grimace that beckoned her further along.
She eased her way down the eerie steps until she saw it.
Saw him.
The Queen’s youngest was not lying upon his bed attempting to sleep (Amoril knew too well that the young prince could not escape his Nightmares in reality just as much as he couldn’t in his dreams) but rather writhing on the floor as though his body were possessed by tremors.
Amoril rushed to his cell, her hazel eyes wide with worry until she stopped less than a foot away.
She didn’t have the typical guard response: she didn’t think it was merely a trick, didn’t smile in sadistic pleasure, didn’t worry about what the other citizens would think
She banged on the golden wall until her fists ached, and it loosened its hold.
She knelt by her prince’s side, hands hovering over him in hesitation.
She knew not what to do.
All the lectures she had had to attend before becoming a guard had never depicted what she would have to do in the face of a medical emergency. She cursed to Valhalla not to take her prince--not before he had found his tale of redemption and strength, freedom so sweet.
That she truly believed he deserved to see--and with a fast exhale, she cupped her arms under his too-pale, too-thin body, lifting him from the floor to her chest.
She knew not what HEL would await her for these actions, but she knew her prince needed her and her Queen would not wish to see her second-born so soon as she, herself, had gone into the night sky.
So Amoril did what she thought was best and brought the young god--whom she had always looked up to and hoped deep in her heart he would overcome his faults--to the only place she deemed safe in all of Asgard: the healing rooms.
She knew not what ailed him, but she believed the healers would be the next best place.
Eir, head healer, was caught between surprise and worry upon seeing the still-shaking prince
She pointed wordlessly to an open bed, and Amoril set down the young god carefully.
Amoril watched curiously as Eir dug around a nearby satchel and deposited a pink powder upon Loki’s form.
Their prince didn’t respond right away, but his body shook a little less, before stilling altogether.
Amoril raised a brow in question, but Eir only told her quietly and with urgency: “Bring Thor and the All-father here at once.” Eir’s eyes never left Loki’s body. “And quickly.” She raised them then to Amoril and the guard saw her fear--which only sparked hers even more.
Amoril nodded once before hurrying off.
She tried to swallow past the terror caught in her throat, but she was certain she didn’t do a very good job of it.
Amoril’s knocked so hard on a wooden door that she thought it would break
Maybe it was the adrenaline or the fear, she was soaked in uncertainty.
What was happening to the young prince, and could there be anything in their healer’s powers to stop it?
It was something in the fear and shock of their head healer’s eyes that led Amoril to these conclusions.
Her gut had been right: something was very, very wrong and if this realm of Asgard couldn’t help the prince--where, if anywhere, could he turn to for aid?
Of course, it was then--her knocks had become more frenzied and rampant to her ears--that the elder god opened his door.
His blonde head of hair was disheveled, locks of it tossed awkwardly across his scalp, and his blue eyes appeared dazed and lost.
He took in Amoril’s strange expression and, with tiredness, he felt too deeply in His bones, asked, “Yes?”
Amoril’s mouth opened and closed like a fish as her helplessness increased.
Thor stared back at her, almost bored, before shrivels of recognition took place.
“You’re one of the guards in the dungeons?” He narrowed his eyes in thought.
“Is my brother all right?”
“Where is Loki?” He demanded gruffly.
and only then did Amoril feel her jaw unhinge from the chattering of her teeth as she stammered, “H-healing rooms.”
Thor’s eyes widened in surprise, moving from his room past the female guard.
“Was he injured among the skirmish?” he asked, looking to her for confirmation, heart thundering inside his chest.
Amoril shook her head slowly.
“I-I don’t know. He-he was just lying upon the floor of his cell, sh-shivering. He was like that when I got there. I don’t know how long he was like that.” She kept pace with the thunder god, much to her surprise.
“Do the others know when it started? “The other guards.” He says.
Amoril shook her head again. “There hasn’t been anyone down there since the queen's ceremony began.”
Thor cursed softly. Was this the same ailment his family had witnessed at Loki’s sentencing?
Guilt washed over the elder god as he felt he should have been doing more for his brother.
He shook the cobwebs of doubt from his mind; he couldn’t do anything about the past. He could only do right by Loki now.
He promised himself he would.
They were about to pass by the throne room when Thor barked back at Amoril, “Does father know?”
Amoril’s face darkened with a red blush as she commented she hadn’t asked for him yet.
Thor, swiftly and immediately, poked his head into the room, spotted his father, and said quickly, “Father! Loki needs us in the healing rooms.”
Without waiting for a reply, Thor and Amoril ran the rest of the way there.
They both arrived, five long minutes before the All-father.
Odin, All-father, for what it was worth, had brought an otherwise nameless guard and Alastor with him as witnesses to confirm if Loki was in any way truly sick.
Odin knew better than to trust his second son’s tricks.
He was walking into the healing rooms with the anticipation to soon dissipate any of the doubts that this wasn’t fact, when his one eye landed upon his son, lying still on the thick mattress.
“What is the meaning of this?” He soon asked.
“Father,” Thor began, pleadingly, blue eyes searching his father for some amount of patience.
Thor felt his heart stutter when only a cold thicker than Jotunheim’s air lurked in his father’s eye.
Thor frowned and set his worried eyes back on his brother and Eir.
“I know not what afflicts him,” Eir said cautiously.
“It is merely a trick,” Odin huffed, his body language echoing a chill in his spirit as he was still just beginning to grieve.
“The Frost Giants are known for them,” Alastor mused, eyes dancing in glee.
Thor snapped his head to him, already about to call out the guard on his choice of words, but found his father nodding mutely.
Thor swallowed his retorts as Amoril eyed Alastor with suspicion.
He wasn’t a truth-teller. He was one of the bad eggs of guards in the dungeons.
He…was one who never came forward for being involved in Zaid’s death, but Amoril knew he had had his participation--if the idea wasn’t his to start with.
She decided then to keep a close eye on him, as her attention shifted back to Loki and the royal family.
“I fear it is not,” Eir whispered, eyes anxious. “My magic can heal him for now, but I worry it will not be enough.”
“Then for the time being he is cured,” Odin murmured, having gotten bored.
Eir made to protest, “All-father, I have seen with my own eyes--”
“And I, with mine.” Odin deadpanned and Thor exhaled in exasperation.
“Father, we’ve seen how this is a problem ourselves back in the throne room. When he had his trial” Thor says.
“All mighty All-father, I, too, have seen this frightful experience myself. I sincerely doubt he is faking it. He was unresponsive to any noise or touch when I brought him here,” Amoril insisted quickly.
Odin eyed her questioningly.
“And why did you, Amoril? Why did you take him here?”
Before she could respond, he continued with wrath, “To help? To heal? Loki is a war criminal. Not the boy you think you once knew. He does not deserve our trust, and would not even take it if we offered. He is to remain in the dungeons before I see fit for any other treatment.”
Thor made to say something, but the father was on a roll.
“Alastor the Great: you’ve spent the most time with the trickster, have you seen any of his plights?” Odin looked to the buff guard, who smiled a knowing smirk that rubbed Amoril and Thor the wrong way--and Eir, too.
“None, All-father.” Lying, knowing full well that Loki had had several seizures since arriving in the cell 3 months ago.
Amoril’s chest ignited in anger. He was lying, she was certain of it.
“All-father, I hardly believe--” she boldly began, but Odin held up a hand.
“Alastor is a well-liked citizen of this realm. To question him is to question me, and at a time when Asgard needs no more enemies, I would think you’d realize now is not the time.”
Amoril bit her lip in rage as Alastor gave her a scornful smile and a wink.
“All-father, you cannot deny that Loki is thinner than the other prisoners.”
Odin raised his chin and blinked at Alastor.
Alastor raised his hands, muttering, “I am not the prisoner’s keeper. I’ve offered him food many times, but he’s refused to take it. Is there anything more I can do?” He asked this with such earnestness that Amoril practically gagged.
Alastor the monster was more fitting of a name for him.
How could they help the god when nearly all their efforts were being dismantled before their very eyes?
Amoril felt a wave of sadness not unlike grief wash over her.
“Bring him back to the dungeons,” was all she heard Odin All-father speak before he was shifted back into the hallway.
Alastor walked after him until he stopped just outside the door to wait for Amoril as she was just beginning to take Loki back into her arms.
Thor’s hand patted her shoulder as he stared at his brother with tears in his eyes.
“We will figure this out,” Amoril spoke compassionately to the prince, faith in her warm eyes.
“Before or after we lost him?” Thor gasped, tears sliding down his cheeks.
Amoril sniffled. “Before, Thor, of course before.”
She sent him prayers of light and love until Alastor was shushing in her ears, “Better luck next time, wench. This Frost Giant will be just as weak as your father was. And I will take just as much pleasure in breaking him apart as I did to Zaid. Aren’t you glad you work for me?”
Colorful language erupted in Amoril’s mind, but she knew she had to act tough. She couldn’t give Alastor the satisfaction that he had gotten inside her head.
So with every breath, she took she passed another look of ease and indifference upon her features even when frustration and hurt wanted nothing more than to appear.
This was going to be another long, long night.
But even with her hopelessness, she had hope. She had a plan already forming in her mind, and she knew more now that her kindness would be especially needed in getting Loki the help he so desperately required.
Because while she wasn’t sure yet how much Asgard could save him if Eir’s fears and hesitance were anything to go by, she was willing to believe that another realm with a different set of eyes could.
She had to hold on to hope for that.
It was all and everything she had left.
And she had to hold on to it for Loki because he’d need her to. And she resolved then that she required herself to as well.
It felt like it took centuries before Loki returned to consciousness.
He groggily blinked and was somewhat surprised to see the familiar old ceiling of his room in the dungeons.
He wasn’t certain as to why he felt he’d see anything different.
A hmmph met his ears as he rolled his heavy head to the side.
None other than Alastor himself was sitting on a stool outside the trickster’s walls.
“And so the runt has awakened.” Alastor opened his palms wide, holding a vial of pink powder, as he let the contents swivel from one corner to the next.
“I have a name,” Loki asserted in a croak.
Alastor smiled. “No, no, you don’t.”
Alastor grinned, a malice Loki hadn’t seen before glinting in his dark brown eyes.
Loki couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling threatened.
“What is that?” he asked quietly, pointing to the vial.
“Oh, this? Your medicine.”
Loki frowned, obviously missing something from this conversation.
“You had another fit.” Alastor’s grin grew. “Not to worry, your brother and your father were there with Eir when she gave us this on the off chance that your fits aren’t faked.” He laughed. “But we all know that that’s not the case, we know that you’re faking them for us to forgive and forget everything that happened.
He held the vial away from himself, the tips of his fingers cradling the very top.
“So, really, you won’t be needing this.”
Alastor enjoyed his power as he dropped the vial, and it crashed into the cold stone, breaking into pieces and depositing its powder all over a select portion of the flooring.
“Good thing they’re not real. Otherwise, you’d be in quite a predicament.”
Alastor stood up from his stool, colliding the piece of furniture into the golden shield with so much force that it buckled and fell away.
Alastor was stampeding into Loki’s cell--lifting him again by the strands of his hair before Loki could stop the yelp from escaping his lips and he could recognize the danger he was in.
“If you dare to speak about this to anyone, your blue blood will be on my hands and I will kill you
With that, Alastor released Loki’s hair as the god stumbled back into his bed.
He breathed shallowly until Alastor’s form faded into the darkness, and he wondered to himself what exactly it was that made him deserving of such treatment--especially with the revelation that he had had another medical scare.
What was wrong with him, and would he ever reasonably find out?
Because Alastor was making his hopes of rescue and salvation disappear from the corners of his mind. How was Loki made to feel better if no one was on his side?
He stilled in his twitches, thinking back to what Alastor had just revealed.
If he had been given a vial, it had to have come from Eir.
If she knew, maybe she had had some involvement in his care. And if he had been brought to her, then he must have someone else on his side, too.
Anxiety and calm fought for dominance in his spirit. If Loki could escape the dungeons before Alastor had the chance to follow through on his dark intentions, then possibly, just maybe, Loki could escape otherwise certain doom.
If Eir had some magic to help, perhaps that would be enough.
However, the sinking feeling in his gut told him he shouldn’t rely on this
He sighed; this was going to be yet another long, sleepless night.