FUTURE IMPERFECTA

Loki was never so relieved to be alone at last. The war was over, the prisoners returned to their homes, the warriors of Asgard safely getting back to regular duties—and most important; the city was safe and untouched.

He never dreamed he would weary of chaos.

The throne room was dark, as he preferred it; glazing his eyes to the flame of a red star, he needed no extra light to see his way around. Though he knew it would be good for morale to be seen as the victorious king, he had opted to teleport himself to the assembly hall in preparation for the morning hearings.

"…We must, after all, maintain a sense of continuity in these troubled times," he had once said. Loki shook his head at the foolishness of his own words. So much had changed since that day; looking back, he often wondered if his life would have been better served to let his hammer-headed brother take the throne after all. But as thick as Thor may have been—and still was, he grinned to himself—he was smart enough to back away from the prison of kingship that would have trapped him. No, the Thunder god may have to spend his time saving Midgard from one enemy after another, but at least he had the freedom of choice in every decision he made.

Well, Loki thought, this is still better than being ruler of Jotunheim.

The sound of echoing footsteps brought his mind into focus. He was surprised to see Thor's friends marching resolutely toward him, their faces hard with purpose. He suppressed a sigh; he had been waiting for this moment a long time, and was in many ways glad it was finally here.

The four stopped in front of him without bowing their respects. Loki felt rage rising at their insolence, but kept his countenance relaxed. As he expected, Sif was spokesperson, her eyes afire with their usual anger.

"We are here, Loki, to demand that you release the throne to its rightful heir," she said flatly. "There are many of us who will no long chafe under your rule, and we are prepared to do whatever is necessary to wrest the throne from your grasp."

The others nodded their agreement: massive Volstagg with a foolish grin as he tossed his axe from hand to hand as if hoping Loki would make an ill-advised move, ever dark Hogun's eyes narrowed in their usual distrustful glare, easy going Fandral with an uncertain shrug of compliance as if he still hadn't made up his mind that this was a good idea.

Loki gave a slight frown, then shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid I cannot do that," he told them honestly. "I believe even Thor would disagree with you, since he abdicated the throne some time ago."

"That is of no matter!" Sif burst out, stepping toward him, ignoring the pointed weapons of the alert sentinels. "Once he realizes the All-Father has disappeared for good, he will see reason and come home!"

Loki's gave a devious laugh. "And leave the woman he loves? I doubt it."

He knew this would provoke her into wanting to attack him, but her sense of loyalty to the throne itself would be all that stopped her. He lifted a brow to signal the guards to stand down, which they did only with reluctance. Loki watched the others, however, noting that she was easily the most determined of the group.

"By right the throne is not yours," Hogun growled. "You are a criminal, sentenced to imprisonment for crimes beyond measure. That alone makes you unworthy of the staff of kings."

Loki gave a sensual gaze to the rod in his hand, thrilling at the tingle of power as it trickled through his arm. He reluctantly rested his eyes on the group again.

"And exactly what would you have me do?" he asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Just hand it over to you? Which of you has decided themselves worthy of it?"

Sif moved forward with a swiftness that surprised even her. In a single maneuver she knocked the staff from his hand, encased his wrists in the manacles of magic, tripped him to fall on the staircase and kicked the rod out of his reach. Standing over him in triumph, she drew her sword and held it level with his eyes.

"Of course not," she chided. "I planned to take it from you, as I have. I see you have grown slower in your 'rulership' time."

The others chuckled at his expense. Hogun came forward and placed the chains about his ankles—additional insurance that his magic was completely suppressed. They looked at one another in smug satisfaction that their plan had worked so easily; only Fandral seemed worried that something was amiss.

"Oh come now," Volstagg boomed, clapping the youngest of them on the back. "You didn't think Loki would really give us trouble, did you?"

Loki awkwardly arranged himself on the steps, looking at each of them in turn. "Nice touch," he said, holding up his hands. "But now what? How do you plan to convince Thor to return and take what he has made clear he does not want?"

"He will listen once he knows what you have done," Sif snapped.

Loki shrugged. "Which is what, exactly?"

She started to retort, but was held in check by the feeling of an unusual force behind her. Turning in startled anger, she could see only the figure of a bent old man with a single eye, his gnarled hands wrapped around a thick walking stick and a large dark bird on his shoulder. The bird barked a loud warning as the man approached them, its shiny black orbs landing on her as if seeing her as prey. Sif turned her sword in the man's direction, but immediately stopped when she recognized the gleam in the good eye.

"All-Father!"

They were overjoyed to see him, having thought the worst. Even Hogun gave a satisfied smile, feeling that now everything would be made right. Yet as they all stepped toward him, the huge raven spread its wings with beak open, making it clear they were to come no closer.

"At last," Fandral gave a relieved grin. "We can start to get back to normal again."

Odin gave each a hard stare, then looked at Loki. "Not exactly unexpected," Odin snorted, tossing his head toward the group. "You should have prepared better. Kings are always in danger, as you well know."

Loki gave his most innocent look. "I never suspected it would be from them," he said sheepishly, though the gleam in his eyes belied his words.

Odin ignored his response, turning instead to Sif. "Just what do you think to accomplish by this display of treason?" he demanded.

Sif swallowed uncertainly. "I…we thought…he had brought you to harm…and after all, he is not the rightful king of Asgard," she stammered, feeling like a guilty child facing a scolding parent.

Fandral agreed. "You said so yourself," he reminded Odin.

"Besides," Volstagg chimed in, "Loki isn't even Asgardian. Thor is the true heir—"

The shivering quake from the impact of Odin's thick cane against the marbled floor was matched by the black bird's screech, resounding with such echoing force that the guards were thrown backward out of the room, and even Loki shrank away in self-defense. The others looked to Odin in confusion.

"It is true that Loki is not a son of Asgard," his voice boomed throughout the chamber. He leaned toward Sif, causing her to take a step back.

"And neither is Thor," he added in a dangerously soft tone.

If not for the stunned look on Loki's face as well as their own, they would have accused him of trickery-but even he could find no words to fit this revelation.

"What…how…" none of them could give voice to what their ears were hearing.

"He…he is your son!" Volstagg shouted in protest. "How can you deny him?"

Odin sighed, his eyes still locked on Loki. "I do not deny that he is my son," he said ruefully. "I am truly his father. But Frigga was not his mother."

His statement produced a thick silence that hung in the room as if time itself had been suspended, yet causing a ripple that echoed through the thoughts and heart skips of each of them. Sif seemed to recover first, her eyes still locked accusingly toward Loki as though he had orchestrated the entire affair, and not pleased to see his green eyes glittering with puzzled amusement.

"Have you told…" she began hesitantly, looking toward Odin and seeing that he alone was unmoved. "…I mean, does Thor know…or anyone else…"

Odin gave a shake of his head, but his glare held. "I believe he suspects something, but the truth has not been revealed to anyone—until now. Fortunately, for most of his life Thor had a short attention span that was easily distracted, which worked well enough then... But he has matured, and the day will come when he will have to be told the facts of his heritage."

Fandral bit his lip, frowning. "But… does that not mean that Thor will never be king?" he said thoughtfully.

"Making it even more true that Loki has no rights to the throne," Hogun hissed softly, tossing his head toward the reclining monarch.

Odin whirled, hardened face pausing to glower at each of them in turn. "I once thought as you do, that Loki should never be ruler of Asgard," he went on. "I did everything I could to prevent it. Yet my own son has turned away from that which I fought so hard to give him…"

His gaze then fell to the staff, now standing upright on its own and radiating a thick veil of warning. "If you truly think Loki cannot rule, then take the staff yourself. Any one of you. Grasp it if you can—to do so means you have the right to decide the destiny of the realm."

Not surprisingly it was Sif who boldly stepped forward. "I will take if for Thor," she announced firmly as she reached for it.

She was barely within arms' breadth before she felt white hot sparks searing her fingers. Pulling back in surprise, she looked to Odin for support—but the All-Father merely shrugged.

Before she could sputter a protest the staff seemed to lean toward Loki, its shimmering light becoming shroud around the manacles on his wrists and ankles. In a silent explosion of power Loki was unbound, getting slowly to his feet as the staff quietly drifted toward him.

When Loki's hand opened to accept it, the shimmer vanished in a puff. He looked toward his would-be usurpers without malice or conviction, but his voice left no doubt of his feelings.

"I appreciate your…concerns," he said gravely, looking down on them with violent red eyes. "As such, I will allow you to leave in peace—this time. If, however, you should again attempt to take what is clearly mine, I will show no mercy. I would welcome your support, should you care to give it—but if not, depart from my kingdom and do not return."

Sif was at a loss for words; Volstagg sputtered and tugged nervously at his beard, looking to Sif for guidance but finding none. Hogun sheathed his sword, crossed his arms and let his eyes shift from Loki to Odin, unsure whether to believe what he had heard or not.

Only Fandral seemed to have made up his mind. Stepping forward, he bowed his head to Loki in respect.

"I cannot say I understand what is happening here," he admitted. "With Thor's heart on Midgard, we are, all of us, somewhat adrift." He paused to look at Odin, who seemed to give a nod of approval. "My family has ever sworn loyalty to the throne, whomever the king may be. Though I have not always agreed with your choices, my lord Loki, you have done right by Asgard so far. Therefore if you will have me, I pledge my sword to your service."

The others drew a breath of horror at what they saw a betrayal, but Odin touched his shoulder in support of his courage. Loki tipped the staff toward him, resting it on the opposite shoulder.

"I accept your offer," Loki said without arrogance. "You may leave, taking your place has head of the palace sentinels. If you would be good enough to inform Heimdall of what has happened here, I'm certain the guardian will find it…interesting."

Fandral bowed again, leaving the room without a glance toward his companions.

Loki turned to them, his eyes hardening. "I suggest you consider yourselves graced by my largess," he said coldly. "Leave, while you have my favor. Should you decide to assist the realm in time of need, feel free to return—but heed my warning well."

Of the three, only Sif refused to acknowledge him with even the smallest show of honor. But the pain in her eyes at the realization that her dreams were shattered was enough for Loki to let the matter drop. As they paraded out, he felt a curtain pass over him, as if he had been tested and found acceptable. With the room quiet once more, he collapsed onto the throne, wondering not for the first time whether rulership was worth the headache…

Odin planted himself next to Loki on the dais, ignoring the glaring flash of annoyance in his face.

"You handled that well," Odin admitted. "You are learning just what it takes to be king. I can only hope that Thor's experiences will teach him at least as much while he is on Midgard."

"So you still plan for him to take the throne," Loki growled, feeling the ice of anger rise in his chest. "Should I expect a dagger in my back, or a palace coup such as this one?"

Odin shook his head. "Neither, I assure you. Just as I knew when my time as king had ended, so too you will understand when the trappings of royalty no longer suit you."

Loki scowled. "I fail to see your point."

Odin shooed the bird from his shoulder, its weight beginning to remind him of his age. Leaning on the wing of the seat, Odin let his eye become hazy as he looked into the veil of time.

"My father once told me," he began, his voice taking on a distant tone, "that the king-staff had a will of its own, that it would choose whomever it determined the kingdom needed to be ruler. I thought it was just a childish story; my grandfather said something similar, but since our bloodline had held power for so long, I took it as so much formal hogwash to get me to take the leadership seriously."

He paused, his vision slowly turning to the staff. "How little I knew," he said wistfully. His eye fell to Loki. "You are not the first non-Asgardian to take the throne."

Loki drew a sudden breath of surprise; unable to find his tongue to reply, he merely nodded for Odin to continue.

The older man dropped his sight to the floor, and Loki could see that he was embarrassed—and shamed. "The staff chooses according to the need," he went on. "In my time, and that of my father and grandfather, everything seemed to stay the same. Oh, we fought wars and protected the realms, maintaining a peace that seemed destined to go on forever. Or so we wanted to think…after all, it's part of the reason we collected the items in the vault, to keep everyone safe."

Odin sighed. "I never knew exactly why I rescued what appeared to be a mutant frost giant child at the end of a bitter war," he said slowly. "But…Frigga knew."

The torment in his eyes, the aching loneliness in his voice was matched by the searing slash the rent through Loki at the reminder of their shared loss. He had always told himself that he was healed, that the wound of losing the one person who loved him without question—no matter what he did—had long since frozen over and disappeared.

The two men sat in silence as each swallowed against a pain that never left.

"She understood the choice for the throne before I did, and when I found out, I did everything in my power to prevent it." Odin's voice was sharp, the words finding their way through clenched teeth. "And when I realized that the staff would not accept Thor…"

Loki looked at him, startled. "You mean…you would have made him king without it?"

Odin nodded. "I would have tried," he admitted. "That's what I meant when you let go: I would have never let you have it. But the staff, by whatever eldritch power guides it, had other purposes. Though I sentenced you to death, your mother pleaded for your life—and all went as it should have. While at first I was angry, I soon saw that the staff was right. Thor's willingness to commit treason—even including Heimdall, of all my loyal men—showed me that it was determined to be yours, at any cost…

"But beyond that, I saw that the times had changed. The return of the Dark Elves was just the beginning of an age when a different type of king would be necessary, one who could not only wage war but knew how to use deceit, treachery and power to protect the realms from destruction."

Odin turned to give Loki a hard stare. "Thor may be able to defend Midgard and the others from enemies, but for now he lacks the cunning, the strategy, the foresight to deal with the enemies that lie ahead for Asgard. The staff has already become yours; even now, when I touched it, I could tell that there was no trace of myself or my ancestors' essence."

For Loki, it was almost more than he could absorb at one time; he felt his chest bursting with tension, excitement and fear. He was too stunned to respond, and could only look at his one-time father with a hunger for more.

Odin stood suddenly, realizing that he had likely spoken more than he should. "I will say only two things more, Loki, then take my leave. You have managed to keep Asgard together quite well these past years, but you must take time to rest."

Loki sat erect, eyes narrowing slightly. "You mean Odinsleep," he growled.

Odin nodded slowly. "Something like that," he replied. "However, even as a child you never truly slept. No, for you it will be different, but the desired end is the same. You must find a way to rest and revitalize your mind and your energies—or Asgard and the needs of the realms will bleed you dry in short order." He leaned toward the staff. "I can already tell it is draining you," he went on softly. "And yes, I know you have very few whom you can trust not to kill you if such a rest comes on you. But you must believe that the staff will aid you, in more ways than as a weapon and symbol of authority. For a while, at least, it will insure that while you take your rest—in whatever manner you choose—you will stay safe."

Loki stood, looking down now on the bent figure next to him. "You said you had two things to tell me."

Odin managed a chuckle, shifting his shape to that of an older but not too shabby peddler. "You may find this one more of a challenge than ruling a kingdom," he said as his voice began to crack. "I strongly suggest…that you take a wife."

Loki's eyes widened. "A…what?" he blurted, not believing his ears.

"Of course," Odin went on airily, gracefully leaning on his walking stick. "Though there is no guarantee that your heirs will follow you in power, it is a sure truth that without them you will remain vulnerable. Besides, the right person will make your rest even more secure than your rule."

Loki was at a loss for words, and wanted to protest—but in the blink of an eye, Odin was gone. Shaking his head, though, he managed a slow smile. In an odd way, it was good to know that the old one was still around to give advice, even if Loki chose to ignore it.

These suggestions, however, were more than just logical; he could see that what Odin saw for the future was the same as his own tormented dreams.

Alone.

Loki kept his eyes on the object of his desire, the staff that now, it seemed, ruled his fate. He looked unblinking until the back of his neck ached, yet the staff revealed nothing. It was immutable, as unchanging and unyielding as time itself; its origins were lost farther back than even the Hallowed ones, perhaps before the universe itself became conscious. Yet somehow it had a will of its own, a power and purpose that no one could fathom—and it had chosen him above them all. He knew now that even if he should try to relinquish the throne, the staff would never accept Thor as king…until it was ready.

Walking toward the balcony of his room, Loki let himself begin to blend with the twilight of evening. True, sleep had never come easily for him, but he occasionally found rest between time and space: another gift from his step-mother. As his body became little more than a shade in the night, his hand could no longer grip the staff—but for once, it did not trouble him. Instead, he felt a lightness he had not enjoyed since childhood, a freedom of mind and spirit that renewed him as he did not think possible. In a few moments even the sharpest eyes would not find him, save for the strange gray raven perched just beyond the window, whose blue-white eyes now easily followed him wherever he went…