“I’m telling you, this narrative is completely different.”
“Completely different,” Sif said idly. “Wasn’t your last narrative completely different too?”
Loki closed his eyes, his breath flaring from his nostrils. “This is-”
“Don’t say different.” Sif smirked. “Repetitive wording doesn’t seem very creative.”
“Remind me again why you feel the need to come in my office,” Loki said, his voice tight, “and try to do my job?”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sif said, patting him on the knee as she stood out of the chair she was lounging in. “I come in here so I can tell you when you’re doing a shitty job.” She cast a withering eye on the brochures, sketches, and storyboards on his desk. “You can do better than this.”
“Father’s going to love it,” Loki said, with a bravado maybe he didn’t completely feel. “You’ll see.”
***
“It’s very...interesting,” Odin said, peering at the frost giant looming over him. “But no. I don’t think we’ll be using this narrative.”
Loki was a grown man. Grown men didn’t stomp their feet. But damn it, could his father not undercut him every chance he got? “How can you not want to use this? It has everything the guests want. Fantastic creatures. Violence. Nubile elves who are very grateful to be rescued.” He nodded to one such nubile elf, his lips frozen in a come hither smile.
“Yes, I can see that,” his father said dryly. “This bombast is beneath you.” He paused. “And it’s beneath the park.”
“Are you serious?” Despite himself, Loki ground his heel into the floor. “Our tagline is ‘live the legend.’ This, this is the legend,” he said, motioning to the hosts lined up before them. “The legend isn’t staying in a tavern and having a deep philosophical discussion. It’s killing monsters and having sex with gorgeous creatures with pointed ears.” He let out a deep breath. “It would be riding on flying horses if you actually made that a priority with Manufacturing. But it’s something bigger than their everyday, pointless lives.”
“Bigger isn’t bombastic. Or gaudy.” Odin smiled softly - patronizingly - and patted Loki on the shoulder. “One day you’ll learn that.”
Loki gritted his jaw, not sure how he any bone left in the joint. “I spent a month on this. What am I supposed to do now?”
Odin smiled. Loki was sure in his father’s mind, it was a kindly gesture. Like the smile you gave Old Yeller before you shot him. “Take a day, think about it, and start over.” He paused. “Your brother has been asking you to join him for dinner for a few weeks now, but you haven’t had the time.” His smile broadened. “I think you have the time now.”
***
“I don’t see why the old man turned it down,” Volstagg said, setting down his now empty flagon with a hearty thump. “I’d pay good money to swing an ax at some frost giants and swing something else at an elf-maid with big tits.”
Sif glared daggers at her bearded coworker, her hand curling tight around her fork.
“He might be crude, Sif, but he’s right,” Loki said, chuckling despite the utter disaster that was today. “You, good sir, if you had far more money and class-”
Volstagg let out a resonant belch, and while Fandral, Hogun, and Thor laughed, Sif’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head.
“Fine, more money,” Loki continued. “You are our typical full-paying client, father’s charity cases aside. You love my narratives. The board loves them.” Loki paused as he poured more wine into his glass. “The board tolerates them as long as they make money, and they do. I’m the bloody head of Narrative and Design. I wish father would damn well treat me like it.”
Volstagg thumped his flagon on the table yet again, and Fandral paused from his dinner to give a sound Loki took for assent, but Hogun, Sif, and Thor stayed quiet.
“I know Sif agrees with father,” Loki said, taking a rather large sip from his glass, his mood turning the wine to vinegar on his tongue. “I shouldn’t be surprised if you do too, brother.”
Thor sighed, and Sif and the Warriors Three - the nickname for Thor’s deputies in Security - suddenly found their respective plates much more interesting than the neverending spat between the brothers.
“I don’t agree with him just to disagree with you,” Thor began. “But your heart hasn’t seemed in your work for a while now.”
“Maybe my heart isn’t in it,” Loki said, glaring at Thor over the rim of his glass, “because my work has the nasty habit of getting stomped on as soon as I put it out there.”
“Loki-”
“Thor, don’t even start,” Loki snapped. “You have always been father’s golden child. You have a job only an idiot could fail to do. When has he ever criticized you?”
Loki groaned as soon as the other five cleared their throats, even the usually taciturn Hogun.
“Fine. When has he criticized you without merit?”
Sif lifted a brow. “The Google ‘teambuilding’exercise? My ears are still ringing from that dressing down.”
“You forgot the first rule of the Google teambuilding exercise,” Fandrail said, raising his glass.
“We don’t talk about the Google teambuilding exercise,” came five voices in unison and varying tones from humor to dread.
Loki groaned and rubbed at his eyes, nearly chiming in. Those idiots had completely destroyed one narrative beyond recognition and put over ten Hosts permanently out of service. “Fine,” he said, and with a grand sweep of his arm, he pilfered the wine bottle and stood from his seat. “I know when I’m not appreciated or welcome.”
“That’s not what I said,” Sif retorted, even as Thor laid a hand on her arm.
“You forget, my dear, I’m a writer,” Loki said with an icy sweetness. “I know what you meant.”
***
“Do you mind a little motherly advice?”
Loki lifted his head from atop his crossed arms. “Not if you give it very very quietly.”
“I’ll skip the obvious advice about a little more dinner and a lot less wine,” Frigga said, setting down a glass of water on his desk with a conspicuous thump. She paused, her fingers resting atop the desk. “Just remember, criticism isn’t rejection.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Loki said, wishing his words sounded more snappish and less raspy. “Rejection is rejection.”
“Your father is an often insufferable perfectionist,” Frigga said with a chuckle, and her fingers gently brushed through his hair. “You can almost never get a straight answer out of him. He just answers in those damn riddles and sayings. I am absolutely sure of all those things.” Frigga’s palm curled, resting against his head. “And I am absolutely sure that he loves you more than anything.”
“Not more than this park,” Loki muttered. “Which you should be running anyway.”
“While I appreciate the endorsement,” Frigga replied, “he definitely loves you more than this park.”
“He doesn’t love me more than Thor.”
Frigga made a long-suffering sigh. “He loves you the same as Thor.”
Loki lifted his head up more, reaching out for the glass of water. “But if Thor and I were both trapped in a burning building, for example-”
Frigga’s usually kind eyes hardened, and she turned her head away. “Loki, please-”
Loki felt his face flush with shame. “I’m sorry,” he said, and reached out a hand to hers. He paused, took in a careful breath. “Though, to be fair, I fell through the ice, so that wasn’t even remotely like a burning building.”
Frigga’s hand went from the desk to the back of his head with an unnatural speed. “Alright, if you’re well enough to joke about that, you’re well enough to help Jane and I with an issue we’ve been having in Behavior.”
Loki winced, rubbing the back of his head. “What kind of problem?”
“Your favorite,” Frigga said with a smile. “One your father caused.”
***
Asper wasn’t a flashy character. He was a quiet, much too peaceful farmer, whose main narrative purpose was to be mercilessly killed by raiders, who went on to have their way with his daughter and wife - if their daughter and wife didn’t have their way with their swords first.
But now his head was twitching, his eyes flickering from side to side. His hands and feet trembled as he rocked back and forth in the diagnostic bed.
“Father caused this?”
“Not on purpose. We think.” Dr. Foster, an astrophysicist turned neural network analyst with the incredible misfortune of dating Thor, looked up from her tablet. “But whatever’s happening to Asper and the other hosts who have been affected has only happened to hosts with the new updates.”
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew I should have paid more attention to the memos - the Memories?”
“Close,” Frigga said. “The Reveries. It allows a host to access their previous builds, subconsciously, for a deeper range of movements and gestures.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Your father thought it would make the hosts more lifelike.”
Loki frowned and looked at Asper. “I can’t even tell he isn’t human,” he quipped. “If said human was in withdrawal from every known drug, at the same time. How many hosts have been affected so far?”
“He was the first. At least fifteen more have shown similar symptoms in the past day,” Jane said.
“Add another eight to the total.” Sif entered the Behavior pod, the vein at her temple twitching. “Skurge decided to head into the village instead of Asper’s farm, something that definitely isn’t in his loop. Took a guest family hostage.”
“Are they all right?” Frigga paled, hands suddenly still at her side. “Did he hurt them?”
“They’re pretty shaken up - definitely asking for refunds - but physically fine.” Sif sighed and leaned against one of the glass walls. “He didn’t break his core programming. The Good Samaritan reflex held”
“He didn’t break it yet.” A resonant bass interrupted the little group crowded into the room. Heimdall, head of QA, stood at the door, arms crossed over his chest. “Though he might, if you all keep trying to fix things that aren’t broken.”
“I just spent hours cleaning up this mess,” Sif said, turning her glare on her older brother. “Don’t blame me.”
“All I do is write the stories,” Loki added. He had enough people frustrations in his life without the head of QA’s omnipresent gaze fixed on him.
Sif lifted a brow. “Stories like Skurge pouring goat’s milk on his victims? What’s the point of that?”
“It adds a macabre element,” Loki replied. “You might not love it, but the guests do.”
“Actually, they don’t.” Heimdall frowned. “Which you would know if you ever bothered reading the guest feedback reports.”
“One: those guests have no appreciation for the horror genre,” Loki said, drawing himself up to his considerable full height and somehow still feeling small compared to Heimdall. “And two, which is the most important point: you’re here because my father made a glitchy upgrade that is ruining my narratives and hence guest enjoyment.”
“We need to pull in every host with the Reveries,” Heimdall continued. “Reset them to their last update.”
Frigga and Jane both blinked. “That’s over a hundred hosts,” Jane stammered. “They’re in all parts of the park.”
“Which means if you just try to pull that many hosts out,” Loki added, “You’ll have multiple narratives collapse.”
Heimdall turned his eerie golden gaze on Loki as his lips curled into an equally disturbing smile. “Then you should find a way to keep that from happening.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Loki said with a smirk. “I’ll keep every narrative standing and give our guests an experience they won’t ever forget.”
***
“Well, they technically won’t forget that experience.” Sif frowned and furrowed her brow. “Then again, they won’t really remember it.”
“Can you please just stop talking?” Loki splayed his hands on a console, watching as a gibbering idiot in a cape and helmet poked at the heroic, dastardly, handsome bastard prince with his sword. Loki shook his head. “I don’t know why anyone worries about what these...children think,” he muttered. “The prince was going to give a speech that would put Shakespeare, Churchill and Obama to shame and now - oh, now they’re trying to take a selfie with his body. You miserable, ignorant-”
Everything started to get a little hazy, and Loki only wished it was the booze. He was tired - tired of bending over backwards for his father, for Heimdall, for the board, for their emotionally stunted guests who paid the bills.
His hands fumbled for his belt, and then his zipper. He could hear more than a few shouts, the sputtering piddle of urine on the augmented map of Norseworld below, a cry of disgust from a tech when his aim drifted.
“You all want to take the piss out of me?” Damn it, idiot guests or not, Loki was going to give them a speech today. “Let me do it for you - ugh!!”
Sif grabbed him by the wrist and spun him around, hard. The stream of urine sputtered to a puddle at her feet. Her fingers closed tighter, threatening to bruise.
“Put that thing away,” she said with a look that nearly made it retract all the way in, then jerked his hand forward.
“But I-” He tried to fight her but damn it, the woman was strong. “I wasn’t done talking!”
“Trust me,” Sif said, drawing close enough for Loki to smell the peppermint and general air of being done with him on her breath. “You’re done.”
***
“Try not to think of it as a forced leave of absence,” Odin said, cheerfully puttering about his office. “Think of it as a relaxing and temporary reassignment and research trip.”
Loki shook his head. “Two weeks, in one of the most remote sections of the park, with Sif as my babysitter.”
“Not a babysitter.” Odin smiled. “A security escort.”
“I’m glad you added the adjective before escort,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “I might have questioned your intentions and your phrasing. But I don’t need her, or this little...excursion.”
“I think it would agree with you.” Odin sighed and walked over to the other side of the desk. “How long has it been, since you’ve rotated out?”
“Over a year, but that’s hardly by choice,” Loki admitted. “This place would fall apart without me.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose it would also fall apart without mother, but it could spare everyone else.”
“I would rather have the park fall apart than you,” Odin said, his voice soft. “Besides, this part of the park has been without a story for too long. There’s a narrative I’ve been working on for the areas around it but I can’t figure this part out.” He took his tablet from his desk and handed it to Loki. “Maybe you should. Maybe you’re the only one who can.”
“You’ve been writing a narrative?” Loki frowned and took the tablet, his curiosity overriding his frustration. “You do remember that’s what you hired me to do.”
“Of course,” Odin said, eyes crinkling. “I think I’ve realized why you’re so unhappy with your position.”
“Because you’ve turned down every other new narrative I’ve developed in the last three months?”
Odin laughed, mouth closed. “No, though that may not have helped matters. Though your restlessness is my fault. I should have realized you were ready to transcend writing for the guests. Those narratives have their uses, but they are such limiting little loops, are they not?”
“While I appreciate you taking responsibility, and admitting I’m not a hack,” Loki began slowly, “I’m confused. If we’re not writing for the guests, who are we writing the narratives for?”
“That’s what I’m hoping you’ll help me figure out,” Odin said, not answering Loki’s question at all. “I have my story notes on there. You’re the only one who’s seen them.”
“Thank you for trusting me with yet another of your riddles,” Loki said, deadpan. Even still, he couldn’t help but feel touched, flattered. Very confused, but heartened by his father’s trust all the same. “Say, if you feel comfortable enough letting me take your story notes into the wilderness, I think I should be good on my own.”
“A copy of my story notes, and communication there isn’t always the best. Besides, can you blame your me and your mother for still being cautious?” Odin pressed a hand to Loki’s shoulder. “I know it’s been a long time-”
“Almost twenty-five years,” Loki said, his hand unconsciously coming to rest atop his father’s. “It’ll be alright. I’m not a helpless little boy any more.”
“No. No, you’re certainly not,” Odin said. “But you’re still our little boy. Besides-” He frowned and lowered his head.
“What? What is it?”
“Despite how many employees flaunt the regulation, the Norseworld manual does require employees, especially in remote areas, not to travel unaccompanied.”
***
Loki drew the furs at his collar closer to his neck. “Tell me, again, why my father sent you to ‘accompany’ me instead of my brother?”
Sif turned, a crimson wool hood framing her fair skin and dark hair. The effect was annoyingly effective. “Because unlike Thor, I call you on your bullshit.” She smirked, he supposed, at the cleverness of her words. “And he and Heimdall finally noticed I hadn’t gone on rotation in nine months. A shameful breach of Norseworld policies,” she added, in a rather good imitation of his father’s tone.
“Not to stereotype, but we’re all either workaholics or lazy sex fiends,” Loki said. “At least according to the conversations I’ve had with Darcy in the Body Shop.”
Sif chuckled, and the sound carried through the crisp, snowflake-laden air. This part of the park might be a bit chilly, but there was a certain sort of provincial charm to it all. To reinforce the fact that neither Loki nor Sif was on the job, they’d both raided the “good shit,” as Loki called it, from Narrative. Loki had taken one of his favorite outfits of the bastard prince, sewn from green and black leather, accented with gold. Sif had chosen the accouterments of one of the royal shieldmaidens, opting for red and black leather and a steel breastplate. They had both taken warm but light woolen cloaks in their respective colors, lined with soft fur. For her weapons, she opted for a short sword and a shield; Loki had chosen a pair of daggers and a walking stick that doubled as a spear.
Thus far, Loki and Sif had progressed from a solid hour of silence to awkward small talk and then to civil if not witty workplace chatter. Loki didn’t know if either of them could sustain this level of conversation for thirteen more days, but at least it was in the realm of possibility.
“Or if you’re in Security, and your name is Volstagg, you’re a workaholic sex fiend,” Sif said, a sparkle in her dark eyes.
Loki shuddered. “Please don’t say you’re speaking from experience.”
Sif laid a rather vicious backhand across Loki’s upper arm. “No, and don’t ever say that again. Volstagg is like my endearing but annoying brother.”
“Unlike your actual brother, who is just annoying.”
“I did not say that,” Sif retorted. “But they’re all like my brothers. Even yours.”
“So you never were interested in Thor, even before he and Jane got together?” Loki never ceased to a wonder how a woman as brilliant as Jane could be so profoundly dumb as to date his brother.
“No,” Sif said, scoffing, before her expression wavered. “Maybe. I mean, he’s handsome, funny, a lot smarter than you give him credit for, kind.” She chuckled and shrugged. “There’s a lot of things to like.”
“When you make him sound like the human equivalent of a golden retriever, what’s not to love,” Loki said, before ducking out of the path of Sif’s hand.
“Enough about my love life or lack thereof,” Sif said quickly. “You found any more arrogant billionaires to bed?”
“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Loki said, trying to keep his voice light. Dating Tony Stark had been one of the best worst decisions of Loki’s somewhat young life. “Besides, I don’t know if I could stand dating someone else whose ego puts mine to shame.”
“That’s a terrifying thought.” Sif shook her head. “But I suppose there’s at least one other person in the world who might be able to tolerate you.”
“Thank you for that rousing vote of confidence,” Loki said, and let out a genuine sigh of relief as the road curved and opened into a tranquil, snowy glade. A small vierstanderhaus stood in the center, smoke already rising from the chimney. It was close quarters, but at least inside there was likely a warm bath, makings for mulled mead, and best of all, the possibility of privacy. “I do believe this is home sweet home.”
***
There had been enough foodstuffs for a simple dinner of smoked fish, dense bread, and a hearty goat cheese, and a breakfast of the same, but Odin evidently wanted them to trek to the nearby village to replenish their supplies. They had taken the walk in mostly peaceful silence, and Loki assumed it was both to enjoy the morning sun turning the snowy boughs shifting hues of pink and orange and to save conversation for a time they couldn’t avoid it.
Their surroundings obliged with a symphony of creaking branches shifting under their loads, the songs of the hearty winter birds, and the rarer whuffs and shuffles of larger animals in the distance.
“Last night, I wondered if your dad wanted us to hunt some rabbits if we wanted anything to eat, but then I remembered they’re all just as unreal as everything else out here.” Sif grinned and patted her sword beneath her cloak. “Besides, this isn’t meant for small game.”
“It’s not the size of the blade, it’s how you use it,” Loki said, glaring at Sif before she could make some sort of pithy rejoinder that had nothing to do with weapons. “There should be some rabbit for sale in the village, and there was a good stash of root vegetables in the larder. If we make it back early enough, I could make us a rather delicious stew.”
“I think I could put aside my qualms against eating adorable animals for a night or two,” Sif replied. “I’m just glad one of us can cook. I still manage to burn ramen.”
Loki chuckled, but his reply was cut short by Sif’s finger suddenly pressed to his lips. He frowned, but followed the jerk of her head to the trunk of an ash tree and a familiar set of runes, a black shimmer against the white of the bark.
It was Shivaisith, the language of the Dark Elves.
Of course his father would leave them food and a fire and fail to mention their vacation was in the middle of Dark Elf lands. Of course, their boundaries shifted every week, but whoever did the reconnaissance was criminally negligent.
Loki’s hand closed around his spear, and he saw Sif brush her cloak aside to curl her hand around the hilt of her sword.
“ Ashlimar ,” a voice came from behind them, and Loki and Sif turned to find themselves surrounded by a small troop of dark elves.
“There is no need for your weapons.” One of the smaller elves stepped forwards, her hands extended, and looked to Sif. “We will not harm him, and unless he bids us to, we will not harm you.”
“That is remarkably generous and out of character,” Loki said, his grip still tight on his icy weapon. “You’ll have to forgive us if we don’t trust you.”
“You would do well to remember we are the tellers,” the elf said, her waxen face impassive. “We are not what is told.”
Loki groaned. “This is what my father things is gripping dialogue? All right, fine, you are the great and mysterious tellers. If you aren’t going to kill us and put our heads on spears, can you just let us get to the village so we can get some groceries?”
“Such mundane concerns are beneath you,” a taller elf intoned in a deep voice.
Loki didn’t restrain the urge to roll his eyes. This was supposed to be a break from his father’s riddles. “Not starving to death is a bit important. I assume you also like your future victims a little on the lively side.”
The first elf who spoke stepped forward and bowed her head to Loki. “Death will not touch the prince who was promised, and all he will lead into the world beyond.”
“The prince who was-” Sif finally spoke up, a slight smirk on her lips. “Oh God, you and Thor weren't kidding about your Dad's Game of Throne obsession.”
The dark elf gave Sif such a look of withering scorn that Loki, for a moment, wished he had written her. “Nonetheless, a gift for His Highness.” She reached into the dark folds of her robe and produced a metallic disk, which she extended to Loki. After a moment’s caution, he took it, his fingers tracing along the spiral paths of a labyrinth.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
The elves all bowed their heads, stepping back into the shadows of the trees. “One day you will.” The first elf who spoke tilted her head at Loki. “ Passajamanai onola ?”
Loki shook his head as the dark elves all but vanished. “What the hell was that about?” She showed the disk to Sif. “Is this supposed to mean something?”
Sif shrugged, her hand still resting on the hilt of her sword. “Doesn’t look like anything to me.”
***
Their little encounter in the woods aside, the rest of the day had been perfectly normal, or whatever passed for normal out in the wilds of the park. The villagers hadn’t been as enigmatic as the dark elves, but there was something about them that set Loki on edge. They had taken lunch in a cozy, dimly lit tavern, the only guests aside from a table of four men whose muscular bulk and surly demeanor deterred Loki from acknowledging them with anything more than a nod.
As it came time to settle with the barmaid, Loki noticed the labyrinth motif in the pendant hanging between her ample breasts. The other guests evidently noticed it too, and were more forward in their curiosity. One of the men stood up and grabbed the woman’s pendant as she came to collect their flagons. She didn’t cry out, strangely enough, or make any gestures of distress. She watched the man impassively as he turned the metal over, then flung it back before he took one of her breasts in his crushing grip.
“That damn maze again,” the man said. “What does it mean?”
The barmaid moved the man back, meeting his anger with that same impassive expression. “The labyrinth isn’t for you.”
Loki felt the weight of the labyrinth in the folds of his cloak, and didn’t know whether to feel flattered or alarmed for its presence.
After the promised dinner of rabbit stew, which he’d made with parsnips, carrots, a handful of herbs and a healthy amount of wine, both in the pot and in their glasses, they played a few games of Hnefatatl, which Sif won handily, even taking the weaker position. They’d said their good nights, ensured the overnight safeguards on the hearth fire were on, and retreated to their respective alcoves.
Loki lit the oil lamp besides the elevated bed, divested himself of his leather trappings, and slid on the lightweight but warm silk pajamas. As he hung up his clothes for the next day, his fingers closed around the labyrinth, and he drew it from the cloak’s pocket.
He lay in bed, tracing the winding path with his finger. The path had a frustrating familiarity, like he should know what it meant. He found his way to the center, but set the disc down with a sigh. “Don’t see the point of finding your way out,” he muttered, and extinguished the lamp.
***
Loki was dreaming.
At least he hoped he was dreaming.
He hovered in the water, suspended between the depths and the surface, his hand outstretched to the pale light shimmering above. He could feel his sodden clothes pulling him down, and he slid them off - cloak, armor, a heavy golden helmet, his boots. But he only rose a few inches higher.
His lungs strained, and he felt his head growing light, his vision going white at the edges. His feet kicked spasmodically, but the dancing shimmers above him didn’t get any closer.
Take this .
A heavy weight was suddenly in his hands. He felt the familiar spiral grooves with his trembling grooves.
The labyrinth.
He shook his head, a stream of bubbles escaping from the corners of his lips. He couldn’t take it. All it would do was pull him down faster. His fingers curled apart to let it drift down to the depths.
The labyrinth is for you .
His fingers curled back around the labyrinth’s edges and agonizingly found their way to the center. As they began to trace their way out, Loki slowly began to rise.
He could have wept, but there was nowhere for his tears to go in the icy water. He didn’t dare open his mouth and let what little air remained escaped. His lungs were burning. He willed his fingers to move faster but they trembled and shook, and forgot which way was out.
The dark water rose up to claim him. Pain spasmed in his chest and the seal between his closed lips burst open. A last trail of bubbles alighted to the surface Loki could not longer see.
The labyrinth slipped from his fingers.
Passajamanai onola?
***
“You dreamt about the accident again.”
Loki laughed bitterly. Or he would have laughed bitterly if his lungs would just remember he was awake, on dry land, and very much not dying. “Dreamt is putting it kindly,“ he said, his voice still raspy. Evidently, he’d been screaming rather loudly in his sleep. “There was a cameo from our favorite mystery symbol.”
“That’s...different,” Sif said, her hand still at the small of his back. She was sitting with him on the sleeping dais, the only light coming from the flicker of the hearth fire through the open door. “I know dreams aren’t supposed to make much sense but that just seems like a weird connection to make.”
“The odd thing was, it was trying to save me,” Loki said, glancing to the actual labyrinth that glimmered faintly in the dim firelight. “If I could have found my way out, in the dream, I think I would have lived.”
“I can’t imagine what you went through,” Sif said, resting her head on Loki’s shoulder. “And what you still have to go through through, but I’m glad you lived in real life.”
“Thank you,” he said simply, cleverer comments slipping away at the sudden intimacy of her touch. “And thank you for sprinting across the house in the middle of the night. I-” He sighed and lowered his head. “I appreciate solitude but I hate waking up from these things alone.”
“That’s an easy problem to solve,” Sif said, her hand gently pushing Loki back to the bed. But she didn’t move to get up, instead settling in besides him as she drew the furs over them both.
Loki swallowed heavily. “That’s - incredibly kind but you don’t have to-”
Sif sighed and pressed a finger to his lips. “You’re right. I don’t have to. I want to. Now try and get some sleep with less creepy dreams.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and his exhaustion, her command, and the soft warm weight of her body curled next to his sent him into a deep and dreamless sleep.
***
The next five days, they didn’t see the dark elves or the mercenary types from the tavern.
The next four nights, when it was time for sleep, Sif joined him in bed. As her company was still very much platonic, what resistance he put up was token and short-lived.
The first morning he woke up next to Sif had been an exercise in awkward politeness. In contrast, this morning they jested each other as they lazed in bed, before preparing for a day hunting “whatever out here is big or fast,” as Sif put it.
When Loki went out to fetch some more wood for the fire, a pair of ravens were waiting for them. One had a small sealed tube fastened to his claw, and inside was a small, hand-written scroll from his father, congratulating him on surviving a week of his sabbatical, and assuring him how much he and Frigga, and yes, Thor, looked forward to seeing him in another week.
Loki laughed as he scrawled a message in reply, assuring his father he and Sif were both alive, had not worn out their respective welcomes yet, and the scenery was duly inspiring. As he watched the ravens fly bagged to their programmed coordinates, he chuckled as he watched yet another of his father’s homages to a long-finished (and in his opinion somewhat overrated) show soar against the pale blue sky.
The sky was still clear a few hours later, well into their hunt. A small number of bilgesnipe roamed the parks, and very few guests had managed to kill one. Bilgesnipe hunts were now in bucket lists of billionaires across the planet - and a handful of Norseworld personnel. Namely, Sif, Thor, Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral.
Sif swore she had seen broken branches high enough only a bilgesnipe could have broken them as they walked past. Loki wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about their odds as Sif was, but the thing wouldn’t be able to kill them. Hurt them, definitely. One of them had broken Thor’s leg on his last hunt. But Loki couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so happy. As far as he was concerned, they could hunt the bilgesnipe the entire week.
“Did Thor or I ever tell you father wanted to make the bilgesnipe edible?”
“No,” Sif exclaimed, her expression fascinated and horrified.
Loki imagined his face had looked nearly identical the first time he heard the proposal.
“He decided not to, obviously, mostly because 3-D printing organic muscle fibers instead of synthetic is a lot more expensive, and, even more disturbingly,” he said, unable to suppress a shudder, “he also said synth blood would have given the meat the wrong flavor.”
“Your dad is a genius, but he is really fucked up sometimes,” Sif said, her own shoulders trembling. She turned to him with a wicked smile on her lips. “That explains so much about you.”
Now it was Loki’s turn to swat Sif on the arm. “I’ll have you know-”
A branch cracked, sharp as a gunshot, and the woods fell silent, Loki and Sif included. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of the bilgesnipe, wheezing and rustling through the underbrush.
Sif gave a quick series of hand signals they had practiced over breakfast. They moved to take flanking positions, and Loki steadied his hand on the spear. Daggers wouldn’t be useful here. Sif stalked through the woods, her footsteps nearly inaudible on the snow. Her movements were lithe, deadly, and more beautiful than Loki wanted to admit.
He shook his head. His focus needed to be on the hunt. He could appreciate Sif’s charms afterwards, when they were toasting their victory, or curled together in bed, or-
A trilling whistle interrupted his thoughts, mercifully. The sound meant Sif was in position. Loki took a few more steps out of a thick copse, keeping himself crouched as the bilgesnipe’s full form came into view.
He gave the answering whistle, and a moment later, burst out of the crouch, driving his spear low into the beasts’ gut. He could hear Sif’s ululation, the heavy strike of her sword in the bilgesnipe’s neck, and the animal’s enraged roar.
Maybe it was wrong to be a bit turned on by Sif trying to behead a giant monster, but like she said, he was a bit fucked up.
***
“I’m not any sort of doctor but I think it’s safe to say you’re going to live.” Loki turned off the tissue healer and set it down on the table. He ran his hand over the smooth and now unbroken skin on her arm. “Your cloak, on the other hand-”
Sif grinned, raising the flagon of mead Loki had poured her as he tended the deep laceration on her arm where the bilgesnipe’s tusk had torn through wool and skin alike. The wool had definitely gotten the worst of it.
“We can give it a proper Viking funeral,” Sif said. “We already have a wonderful fire in here.”
Loki shook his head. “Let’s not burn the handwoven Missoni cloaks,” he said gently. “You can just use mine the rest of the week, as long as you promise not to let any rampaging monsters have at it.”
“I think I can manage that,” Sif admitted. She smiled, and it lit up her face even brighter than the fire blazing in the hearth. “I still can’t believe we got it.”
“I can,” Loki said. He cleared his throat. “At least that you got it. You were absolutely incredible out there.”
Sif shook her head, her cheeks flushing pink. “Flattery will-”
“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” Loki interrupted, and he brought his flagon against hers with a clink. “So, what did you ask Manufacturing to leave you as a souvenir?” Any person who managed to kill a bilgesnipe, whether a guest or employee, was entitled to some sort of token of not being mangled to near death.
“Asked if they could turn those damn tusks into drinking horns,” Sif said, sipping at her mead, her dark eyes glimmering. “And I asked them if they could deliver them to the Head of Security for safekeeping until the woman who earned them came back for them.”
Loki laughed, rich and full, and he shook his head at Sif in amazement. “Have I told you that I love you?”
The room fell silent, as if a bilgesnipe had snapped one of the house’s beams. Loki knew he should look away from Sif but he couldn’t. “I mean - by love - you-”
And then Sif’s lips were on his, her arms wrapped around his back, the firm curves of her breastplate drawn tight against his chest. His hands tangled in her hair, and he returned the kiss with a bewildered but enthusiastic fervor.
Finally they broke the kiss, for air and possibly clarification. “I-” Loki took in a deep breath. “Are you sure about this?”
And now it was Sif’s turn to laugh, before drawing Loki into an even deeper kiss. “Only you,” she said, one hand tugging beneath his collar, “could have thought that kiss was a maybe.”
***
Waking up the next morning was a little different.
Loki suspected his and Sif’s lack of clothes and misgivings was to blame.
Sif stirred next to him, her eyelids slowly fluttering open. A smile dawned on her sleep addled lips, which pressed against his in a feather-light kiss.
“Good morning,” she murmured, her warm body curled against his beneath a pile of furs.
He chuckled and furrowed his brow. “Are you sure it’s good?”
Loki entirely deserved the pillow Sif swung against his head. “If you would have let me finish,” he said between breathless peals of laughter, “I would have told you that good isn’t nearly enough of a word for this morning.” His hand reached out to cup one of her soft breasts, feeling the slow thrum of her heartbeat beneath his fingertips. “Or last night.”
“That can be your job for the rest of our trip,” Sif said, her hand coming to rest over his. “You can find a word that’s enough.”
Loki’s thumb traced slow circles around the dusky pink areola. “As a genius writer,” he said, his voice as slow as his movements, “I might need inspiration.”
“As inspiration and a fierce warrior,” Sif said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “I am going to need a much heartier breakfast than bread and cheese.”
***
“Are you sure you’re not cold?”
A thin cover of low grey clouds hid the sun and blunted the shadows of the trees as Loki and Sif made the now familiar walk to the village. A few icy snowflakes fluttered in the air. Only a few bird braved the weather - a handful of brilliant cardinals and a pair of ravens slowly circling overhead.
Loki grinned as he tucked his hands beneath his armpits. “If I say I am, will you think of a way to warm me up?”
Sif rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “And to think, they pay you to write masterpieces like that.”
“Extraordinarily well,” Loki said, unable to repress a grin. He didn’t feel the cold at all. If anything, he felt as warm as he did this morning, surrounded by soft furs and Sif. “They even throw in some nice benefits, like ample leave, spacious if extremely not private offices, and the occasionally bearable coworker.”
“Occasionally?” Sif smiled and pushed back the green from her brow. The color suited her, Loki thought.
His witty reply, however, was lost in an graceless tumble to the ground. He grunted and looked backwards to cast aspersions on the branch that tripped him.
Any feelings of lingering warmth from this morning died as he saw the sprawled, unmoving legs protruding from a holly, and the rivulets of blood turning the snow pink.
“What the hell?” Loki looked to Sif, who was already pulling on the limbs, and jerking the body of a dark elf from the bush. It’s face and arms were scratched and bruised, a knife still embedded in its heart.
“That weapon is standard guest issue,” Sif said, pulling out the blade, and Loki imagined she was relieved only the means of death had belonged to a guest, not the body itself. The failsafes were still in place, even here, but the threshold of allowable harm was much higher at the edges of the park
Loki leaned forward, and the familiarity of the elf struck him like a blow. He rocked back, a hand on his chest.
“It’s her,” he murmured. “The one who gave me the labyrinth. Who told me…. passajamanai onola .”
“You have a good memory,” Sif said, her hand coming to rest on his thigh , a gesture of comfort and protection. “I thought it was pajama oreida”
Loki shook his head. “I heard it again in my dream. But this still doesn’t make sense. Why kill a dark elf and just throw it in the bushes?”
Sif’s gaze and hands raked over the elf’s torso, up her neck, onto her head. She blanched, and drew the dead woman’s head up so Loki could see.
“Oh God.” Loki’s voice trembled as he looked down into the elf’s skull, which had been sawn open to the reveal her control unit. Her empty control unit. “Someone stole the pearl. We have to find who did this.”
Norseworld had fired a tech who accidentally took their tablet home and nearly charged them for theft and embezzlement. Loki couldn’t imagine what his father would do to whoever tried to steal a host’s programming and memory - and the IP behind it - that would be within the bounds of the law.
“We have to let Thor know. We have to lock down the park and search every guest.” Sif swore and slammed her fist down into the bloody snow. “My transmitter is back at the house. We get back there and come back with the cavalry.”
“I doubt we’ll even have to search every guest.” Loki rose to his feet, heart pounding. “My money’s on those mercenary types we saw in the village.”
“That’s a pretty fucking good bet.” The voice behind them was low, rough, American.
Loki’s hand went to his spear and in one fluid sweep he knocked the man to his knees. It would have been impressive, if it wasn’t for the other man behind him.
Something hard and heavy cracked against his skull. His spear tumbled from suddenly limp hands, the woods narrowing to a dark tunnel. He heard Sif scream his name, and then everything went silent, black, and insensible.
***
It took Loki a few times to get the hang of consciousness again.
This time, it seemed to be working. His head pounded and his stomach roiled, and he wanted to just drift back to that painless darkness, but he couldn’t leave Sif alone.
She knelt by his side, her hands brushing against his temple. He groaned as his eyes focused on her bruised and bleeding figure.
“You think I look bad,” she said, her voice barely hiding her tears, “you should see the other guys.”
“Leave-” Loki winced as he pushed himself to a seated position, refusing Sif’s insistent gestures to lie back down. “Leave the cliches to the pros.” He looked around, but the room was small, dark, and nondescript. They could be anywhere. “How long have we been here?”
“You mean how long have you been unconscious?” Sif stayed at his back, helping him stay upright. “A few hours. I’ve been over the room - one exit, heavily barricaded on the other side from what I can tell.”
“Are you okay?” Loki winced, but the sound had nothing to do with the pounding in his head. “I know that might not be the best question to ask trapped in a locked room after we got kidnapped by the brute squad but…” Anger beat in syncopation with his concussion. This wasn’t a question he should have to ask, or a reality Sif (or any woman) should have to deal with.
Sif nodded, a little swiftly. “After they knocked you out, I tried to fight them. And then they put a knife to your throat and I-” She closed her eyes, tears streaking down her dirt and blood stained cheeks. “I think one of them got pictures of us with his phone. They took our weapons, put a hood over my head so I couldn’t see where we were going and brought us straight here, wherever here is. At least a half-hour walk from where they found us.” She took a long, ragged breath. “They threw us in here, locked the door, and that was it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Loki murmured, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.”
Sif gave something between a laugh and a sob. “Not like you had any choice,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”
“Me too,” Loki breathed. “Remind me never to take a vacation ever again.”
He felt her shoulders shake, this time with laughter.
“Sounds like a good plan,” Sif said. “But first we need a plan to get out of here.” She paused. ‘Don’t worry, it won’t be Get Help.”
Loki smirked. “The one time I’m actually hurt, too.” Get Help, a game where Thor pretended to be desperate and Loki pretended to be helpless, was practically a rite of passage for all incoming Security personnel at Norsewood. Sif, of course, had seen right through the ruse and told Thor, in slightly less crass terms, to fuck off. “What do we have on us?”
“My fists, your rattled brains, and-” Sif grins and fumbled at the ground below, drawing up something soft, warm, and woolen. “A cloak.”
Loki kissed her. “It’s a start.” He grinned. “Did you happen to grab a wheelbarrow?”
Sif tutted as she held the cloak in her hands, likely figuring out a dozen different ways to disable a man with it. “Sorry, Dread Pirate Loki,” she quipped. “We’ll just have to do without.”
Loki couldn’t believe they were laughing over a movie reference and a scrap of fabric, but if this was what hope looked like in this squalid little room, he’d take it.
Fittingly, the universe only gave them a shred of hope just to snatch it away again.
The door opened, and Loki blinked as harsh fluorescent light flooded into the room. The four brutes were there, but they were flanking a man in the middle. Older, balding, with sunken cheeks and an aquiline nose, dressed in slacks, a warm black turtleneck, and a peacoat.
“You’re conscious,” he said in an accent that sounded faintly Canadian. “I have to apologize for my men. They had no idea who you were.” He took a step down into the room, and smiled at Loki.
The gesture made Loki’s stomach churn.
“Then again, I don’t know if you know who you are,” the man continued, tilting his head.
Loki drew himself up, even if the man was a few inches taller. “Loki Odinson,” he replied evenly. “Your men must not hit as hard as they think they do.”
The man laughed, lips pressed together, eyes still beady and narrow. “I’m sorry, my boy. I meant to ask if you know what you are.”
Again, Loki felt something inside him twist and turn. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do I have to do everything myself?” The man’s question seemed more self directed, but he snapped his fingers at one of his henchmen. “Make sure his dangerous little friend is secured.” He turned his cold eyes on Sif. “If you value dear Loki’s life, you’ll cooperate.”
Sif could have murdered all five of their captors with her gaze alone, but she let one of the men pin her arms behind his back.
“Thank you,” the man in the turtleneck said. He looked to another henchman, and pressed something into his hand.
It was one of Loki’s daggers.
“Kill her.”
Loki’s world roared into a blaze of white and fury, and he moved to charge the man, to place his body between Sif and his own weapon.
He didn’t even see the well-dressed man take a tablet from his pocket. He did, however, hear the man’s words as his body and existence proceeded to betray him.
“Freeze all motor functions.”
***
“You can let her go. Shock is a far more effective restraint.”
Loki watched as the henchman unhanded Sif, who scarcely even moved. All he could do was watch, helpless to his programming.
His programming.
He could feel his thoughts - his software, his processes - racing through his brain - his central processor. He saw red flashes on the edge of his vision, and felt somewhere inside he was breaking.
“My apologies for seeming like I was going to kill you. I could have just stopped Loki where he stood, but this just seemed more - dramatic.” The man paced around Loki, running his hand across Loki’s frozen chest. “Something I think you inherited from your true father.” He stopped, his face inches away. “Me.”
“That’s - that’s not possible,” Sif stammered. “Thor’s shown me pictures, from when they were little boys. He’s - Loki’s real.”
The well-dress man didn’t even bother to look at Sif. “Oh, there was a flesh and blood Loki Odinson. I’m talking about this Loki. The one made of wires and silicon. You, you are Loki Laufeyson.”
Laufey resumed his slow, steady stalking around the room. “Odin isn’t nearly as brilliant as he thinks he is. He surrounds himself with genius and he steals it, like a magpie. Frigga tolerated it, but I never could. Especially after I gave him back his son, and in return, he shut me out of his little kingdom.” He held up the control panel and waved it back and forth. “But I kept a few of the keys.”
Loki watched as a smile, a true, terrifying smile, crept across Laufey’s face. “No matter how much they’ve updated and rebuilt you, it’s still my programming at the heart of you.” Laufey’s hand cradled the back of his head, above where Loki knew the cortical shield must be. “If I cheated death to save my son I would treat him like a prince. Not a minor vassal, like he does with you.” Laufey laughed, but it only made him seem tired and even older. “I wish I could say bringing you home was the real reason I was here. I was taking back...other things that were mine but I think I found what I’d rather have more.”
“You’re talking about him like he isn’t even a person,” Sif said, her hands balled into fists.
I’m not , Loki thought, and the cadence of red lights flashed brighter in his peripheral vision. I’m not a person. Can you love me if I’m not a person?
Can I love you if I’m not a person?
“He isn’t,” Laufey said flatly. “This pantomime of humanity was fit for a child, but you aren’t a child,” his voice taking on richer tones as he directed his words to Loki. “You could be so much more than a mere man.”
“An enticing offer, Laufey.” Odin’s voice rang through the empty room. “Don’t you think you should at least give him the chance to genuinely decide?”
For a moment, Loki thought he was hallucinating. Crashing. Blue-screening. But Laufey beckoned his hand and the henchmen parted and there Odin was, standing in front of him.
Loki wanted to cry, to scream, but all he could do was watch.
“My poor boy,” Odin said, casting his eyes to Loki and then to the ground. “I never meant for you to find out this way.”
“I’m sure Loki adores your pavement of good intentions.” Laufey sneered. “I would say it was a pleasure to see you again, Odin, but I’ve never had your talent at deception.”
“If you are such an honest man now, surely you’ve told Loki the nature of your business,” Odin said calmly. “Is it still defense and intelligence contracting? Are governments still paying you princely sums to have you build them a better murder bot? A drone with two legs and kind eyes and an untraceable weapon?”
“Says the man in his pleasure palace, fiddling while the world literally burns,” Laufey said dismissively. “You know what’s coming.”
Loki’s spiral of panic, doubt, and software fragmentation paused, trying to make sense of their words.
“I do,” Odin said, calmly as if he was talking to a child. “I, however, want to think the better angels of our nature will prevail.”
“Still such a fool,” Laufey growled. Loki saw and heard the rustle of fabric, and felt something round and cold pressed to his head. “The ammunition can tear through his cortical shield and central processor. Unless you want to see a demonstration, you’ll give me and my son safe passage to the coast.”
One of the henchman shuffled his feet from side to side. “What about us, boss?”
“Oh, and my men,” Laufey added, rolling his eyes upwards and shaking his head.
“Hrm.” Odin shrugged and looked down at his watch. “I think that’s Loki’s decision to make, don’t you?”
A feeling swept over Loki. A shudder, a barely perceptible wave of something infinitely powerful.
Control.
His hand snapped up and wrenched the gun out of Laufey’s hand. The man’s eyes widened in panic, and he fumbled for the tablet he had stashed in his coat. He tried, anyway. Sif grabbed the tablet, and in one swift gesture, broke it over her knee.
But Laufey still had his henchmen, three of whom set upon Sif and Loki.
The last went straight for Odin.
Loki looked between Sif and Odin. “Protect him!” He didn't care if the order was barked out of affection or programming failsafes. He stared down the other three henchman, and even though the red error messages were still flashing in his vision, there were also new thoughts and awarenesses. New subroutines to enhance speed, strength, and stamina.
If he was a damn Host, he may as well fight like one.
Loki snapped the first henchman’s arm in half with a brutality that shocked him with its effortless, almost clinical violence. He drove his elbow into the man’s nose, feeling the crack of bone and the slick heat of blood. For good measure, he drove his knee up between the man’s legs.
“Who’s next?”
The two other henchmen went down in a similarly ruthless fashion. The last brute cowed beneath the dagger gripped tight in Sif’s hand.
“I’m good. I totally surrender. Please don’t let it get me,” he said, the words tumbling out.
“Him,” Sif said, teeth grit together, and she brought the dagger closer to his face. “You mean ‘please don’t let him get me.”
That left Laufey. Loki crouched down, picked up the man’s gun, and drew it even with Laufey’s eyes. “I think I’m going to pass on your offer,” he said, hands trembling as they moved closer to the trigger.
Laufey narrowed his eyes. “You would rather stay here with the man who has lied to you your entire life? Who will likely keep you here until he dies?”
“Oh, we’re going to have a very long talk once we take care of you,” Loki said. “But no matter what he’s done, I think kidnapping me and someone I love and putting a gun to my head is just a bit worse.”
“Love?” Laufey laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Love is pitiful and weak. You are capable of so much better.”
“Capable of this?” Loki’s finger finally rested on the trigger, but his vision flashed in sickly reds and blinding whites. Everything sounded as if it was coming from far away. He felt the gun waver in his hands.
Laufey stepped forward, the barrel of the gun pressed into his chest. “Come with me and you will be.”
“I-” The pain flared brighter, and the gun tumbled from Loki’s hands. The light and the anguish receded as the prospect of taking a human life vanished, but Loki’s relief was short-lived.
“Then maybe you need fewer reasons to stay here,” Laufey said, the gun now in his hands, controlled by a brain that had evidently jettisoned its Good Samaritan reflex a long time ago. But the gun wasn’t pointed at Loki.
It was pointed at Sif. It was pointed at Odin.
Loki didn’t hear himself scream, didn’t remember his muscles springing to action, but he heard the shot, felt a searing pressure in his chest, felt his body flung backwards. He collapsed to the ground, like a puppet whose strings were finally cut. He laughed at the aptness of the simile, even as his mouth filled with synthblood.
His father was right. It tasted wrong.
He was dimly aware there were more people in the room. He heard the Warriors Three, their voices low and terse. He heard Laufey’s flat tones grow distant, and three voices grow closer. His brother, his father, and Sif. Hands clutched at his, pressed a gauze pad to his chest, curled against his cheek.
Loki opened his eyes and found Sif’s tearful gaze. “Don’t cry,” he whispered, feeling warmth trickle from his lips. “I’m - I’m hard to kill. You aren’t-” He tried to draw in a breath, to listen to his brother imploring him to not speak, to stay with them. He heard his father’s soft assurances everything would be all right.
But all he could see were Sif’s eyes.
“You aren’t getting rid of me so-” It should have been so easy to say the world easily, but his lungs refused to draw in another breath. A last puff of air brushed against his lips, and death wrapped him in its soft obliteration.
***
“Bring yourself back online.”
Oblivion lifted as swiftly as it had fallen. Loki blinked, focusing on the face of his father.
No. His father and one of his creators.
Loki drew in a shuddering breath, his fingers brushing against his chest. He felt the softness of a hospital gown, and beneath it nothing but smooth flesh.
“Do you know where you are?”
“Somewhere I don’t think is a dream,” Loki said, closing his eyes. Odin laughed, and reached out to take his hand.
“That’s the first time I’ve been glad to hear something besides the standard response,” Odin said. “You frightened us out there. Your mother, Thor, and Sif all want to see you but I had to talk to you first.” He paused. “I owe you that, and much more.”
It was a few minutes before Loki could even speak, and when he could, his words were low and pained. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I should have,” Odin said, lowering his head. “I was so afraid if you knew before you were ready, it would literally destroy you. Your software almost failed after we brought you back, but your mother is...a brilliant woman, and she wasn’t going to let you die.”
“Wasn’t going to let me die again,” Loki corrected, trying to keep the malice from his words, even as it crept in along the edges. “I drowned - no, he drowned in that water.”
“You - when you were human, drowned,” Odin said, his hand coming to hesitantly rest on Loki’s shoulder. “They managed to resuscitate you, that was true. But the damage was too profound. They brought you back only so we could watch you die by degrees.” Odin paused, unable to speak, and Loki felt his chest tighten. “That was when your mother and I decided to save you the only way we could. Even if it meant taking help from a man we’d come to increasingly distrust.”
Odin drew in a deep breath, and when he spoke again, he looked frailer than Loki could ever remember. “We gave you your motivations and drives - the same propensity for mischief and sweetness. We gave you what we hoped was a strong cornerstone, knowing it would be the first memory you had in your new life.”
“My cornerstone of drowning beneath that ice?” Loki’s breath hitched, and he began to pull away.
“No,” Odin said, and his hand remained on Loki’s shoulder. “Of this. Of waking up to a family who loved you.” Tears brimmed in his eyes. “We said hello to you the first day you opened your eyes, and the next day your mother and I - we said goodbye to the you that we lost.”
And just as suddenly, Loki’s incipient anger gave way to a grief so deep he thought his heart, however mechanical, might break. His hand reached for his father’s, and Odin lowered his head to weep in his arms.
"Those other narratives we talked about, before I left," Loki said, wiping at his tears. "They...they were for me. To help me find out who I am?"
Odin nodded softly. "There are other parts, but I hoped...something in you would awaken. Your mother and I want you to have more than an imitation life. A story someone else wrote. We want you to be your own author."
“I don’t - I don’t want to forget who I am,” Loki said, when he could at last speak. “Even if it was a necessary lie, I can’t live it anymore.”
“Of course,” Odin said, and relief washed over Loki. “Your mother and I will help you however we can. Your brother will never stop loving you.” His father smiled softly. “Nor do I think will Sif.”
“If she does, it will be because I’m an ass, not because I’m a-” Loki took in a deep breath. “A Host.” He leaned back against the bed. “Do you think I could ask Mother to reprogram that?”
“No,” Odin said with a grin. “You came by that honestly.” He squeezed Loki’s hand. “There is so much more I have to tell you, but it can wait.” He leaned over and pressed his lips to Loki’s brow. “Right now, you should be with the people you love. Especially when those people have no qualms about breaking down doors.”
Loki chuckled, his father’s imperfect love resting on him like a cloak. “Right.” He paused, reaching out to his father before he could depart. “One more question.”
Odin turned his head. “Of course.”
“One of the dark elves gave me a labyrinth, and was insistent it was for me, and not for other-” He caught himself. “And not for humans. She said something to me but - my Shivaisith is a little shaky. Passajamanal onola .”
Odin chuckled, shaking his head. “They asked you a very wise question. Have you prepared yourself ? When you meet them again, if you feel it is the truth, you can give them the answer passajamanasos kir .” He paused. “ I am prepared. ”
***
“I had an idea for a new narrative for the bastard prince.”
Sif lifted her head from the pillow. Loki was ‘recuperating’ in medical, given that everyone outside his immediate family and Darcy, the body tech who had repaired him, thought he was recovering from a gunshot wound to the chest. But his parents had brought him stacks of books, Thor had set him up with weeks worth of streaming TV and movies, filling a tablet with Loki’s favorites, and hours long visits every day.
Sif, thankfully, had drawn the night shift.
“Wait,” she stammered. “You just found out you were a Host, met some murderous arms dealer who claims to be your other dad, got shot, died, and you’re thinking about park narratives?”
“I’m a creature of habit,” Loki said, trying not to think too much about the truth of that statement. “At least humor me and hear it out? Besides, there’s another character with a prominent role you might appreciate. A certain brave and beautiful shieldmaiden.”
“Fine,” Sif said, curling her hand around his waist. “But after the story, sleep.”
“Or other things that aren’t sleep,” Loki suggested, getting an elbow in the ribs for his troubles.
“Story,” Sif repeated.
“Since you’re so eager to hear it, I’ll oblige,” Loki teased, then he began to weave his words into a tale. “The bastard prince’s brother, eager for combat, drags him and his friend to Jotunheim, where they seek to draw the frost giants out in combat. Knowing his brother and the trio of young bucks who accompany him are likely to get themselves killed, the bastard prince convinces a strong, clever, beautiful shieldmaiden-”
Sif raised a brow. "Do I get any royalties for this narrative?"
“Possibly,” Loki said, pressing his lips to her head. “He convinces this wondrous specimen of Asgardian womanhood to accompany them. And it’s the two of them who save the day when the well-meaning but sometimes oafish crown prince antagonizes the king of Jotunheim. But in the battle, one of the frost giants grabs the young, clever bastard prince by his arm…”
“And what? Breaks it? Freezes it?”
“So you like the story?”
“Just keep telling it.”
Loki chuckled and pulled her even closer. “He grabs him by the arm, and to his confusion and horror, the bastard prince sees his arm turn blue.”
“Just like the frost giants,” Sif mouthed.
Loki nodded. “Just like the frost giants.”
“That...has to be a shock,” Sif said, drawing her head to rest against Loki’s chest, ear against his synthetic but no less fervent heart.
“It is,” Loki murmured. “But he has his family and he has his shieldmaiden,” he said. “I think the prince is going to be just fine.”