At the beginning, before there was time, there was God.
Then God grew lonely and longed for children.
Thus came Michael, the quiet one, his Father's most constant companion.
Sammael, clever and quick, willing to do what he believes right- no matter the cost.
Raphael, the healer, the loner, quick to anger and quick to laughter again.
Gabriel, the inquisitive one, the adventurous one.
After them came a hundred of their lesser siblings. And there was song and laughter and a million discoveries, some created especially by an indulgent God for his children's pleasure.
Then, as is the way of things, it all went to Hell in a handbasket.
The power of Angels come from God, the power of pagan gods from the Earth itself. Gabriel knew that his chances of killing his older brother was minute at best so before he left to make his (Gabriel's) last stand- he took Alder and Mistletoe and Mullein and Sweet Flag Iris and gave all of himself (Loki) back to the Earth and prayed for Her to keep it as tribute for all that She had given him over the years.
Then Gabriel dies. The Horn he left behind in Heaven crumbles and the cries of the Host echo throughout the Universe. Great Earth hears it and wakes from slumber and does not care. What are the tears of Angels to Her? But when She has stirred, She feels it- that some of Her children are gone. Hundreds of Her children die every day- but one is not dead but asleep, almost all of him given to Her.
Thus it is that from the ashes of Gabriel's wings and the tribute he gave his Mother rises Loki of the Norse folk. Lie-Smith Loki. Shape Changer Loki. Sky Walker Loki.
The Archangel Gabriel is dead and his brothers mourn him. Loki knows naught of it and cares less; he steps forward with delight- there is a war and there is always mischief to be made in war.
Written for a prompt by scarlet_gryphon over at comment_fic but I've forgotten what the prompt was.
As always, concrit is appreciated but (obviously) not required.