Loki looked up startled, staring at his prison cell door as the sound of footsteps, something being dragged against the cobblestone floor and a soft keening sound broke the dark silence of his cell. He stood up and walked to his door peering through the small, barred window to see guards decked in silver armour dragging a quivering heap along between them. The keening sound came from the woman as the men dragged her down the hall. Loki craned his neck to catch a longer look at Odin's new prisoner, and realised she'd left a trail of smeared ruby blood in her wake. He didn't catch her face, covered by dirty, tangled clumps of what appeared to be blond hair. He moved away from the door, fingering his mouth gently, but pulled them away at the painful throb they gave. He wanted to ask the guards about the girl, but the thread binding his lips shut stung at the thought of talking. Of course he could find out on his own, Loki was all powerful and wouldn't be stopped by Odin's thread, but magic came harder when under a dampening spell cast by the powerful All-father.

The cell door next to his opened with a rusty squeal and the sound of clinking chains mixed with the woman's keening noise. Was she crying in fear? Or was it pain from whatever wound had been inflicted upon her?

The prison door shut, and guards filed past his cell silently. Loki listened carefully as they left the dungeon, the echoing bang of the large oak door leading to the underground dungeon the last thing he heard of them. The woman's cries did not stop, and Loki found it soon began to take its toll on his patience. And his curiosity. Loki was the only one who was down in the All-father's royal dungeon, and had been the only one in many a decade. What had this woman done to have her locked up here of all places in Asgard? Trying to rule over Thor's little playground of Midgard by bringing an army and starting a war, was understandably a good reason. Loki bristled slightly. Still sore from his defeat, and more than angry at Thanos for filling his head with the idea of taking over Midgard and those stupid mortals with their stupid mortal 'super heroes'.

The keening spiked in pitch, returning Loki to his original thoughts. He could imagine the pitiful creature curled in on herself, wrists chained to the wall, heavy, freezing metal cuffs chafing her small wrists, making more blood stream from her delicate body. Odin would never be easy on a criminal, no matter the sex, but he couldn't help the feeling of sympathy reaching out to the woman in the next cell. How long would it be before Odin sent down a healer to help the creature? To stop that dreadful moaning.

It was a long night, or what Loki though was night. It was usually hard to tell underground. But the prisoner's keening cries softened and faded out. He let out a sigh of relief, she'd either died or fallen asleep. On his small cot, he sat bolt upright.

Why does that make me concerned?

A soft voice called to him.

Because despite your lineage, you are not heartless.

Loki scoffed and lay back down, intent on ignoring the worry that slowly gnawed at his conscience.

It wouldn't hurt to check that she's still breathing...That wouldn't count as caring, she'd create an atrocious smell if left to rot...

Loki sat up, sighing through his nose. He'd check, just to make sure she was breathing. Shutting his eyes, Loki slowly eased open the lid he'd put on the source of his magic. It unfurled sluggishly, made harder to use by the dampening spell placed around his cell. He wasn't supposed to be able to use this power at all, in place to stop him escaping, but what was the point of leaving anyway? Everyone was still tense and ready to spring into action should he call up another army or escape. He wasn't too bored yet to try.

In his mind's eye he pictured his cell and wall that shut off his view of the prisoner next door. Slowly, he pulled the large, damp, mould smelling stones away until he could see through to the next cell. His conscience floated through the hole and sought out the woman. In a haze of blue he found her and drifted closer until his mind brushed against hers, feeling the faintest of heartbeats and a strange pulsing surge of fading strength. She lay on red stained hay, her shoulders showing the smallest intake of breath. The smell of copper was thick to his nose, even though his physical body was still segregated from the scene by the thick joining wall. He frowned in distaste. Her skin was the palest of white, her shoulders visible, but smudged with bruises, dark purple, dirt and blood. Her strange shirt was soft and white, but in the same shape as her skin. The blood came from a large patch of sticky red on her stomach which her hands were clutching, stained drying blood brown and dribbling red of the fresh life source that came from her stomach and from underneath the cuffs on her wrists with chains that lay on top of her torso heavily.

Loki pulled away slowly as his energy dribbled away, leaving him gasping for air, laying down in his cot, dripping with sweat and the shakes. His skin turned blue as his Jotun form took over, his magic too weak to sustain him. She was dying. Slowly, granted, but she wouldn't last through the afternoon, and Odin didn't send anyone down to visit the dungeon for many days after a prisoner had been placed down there. Known from personal experience. Loki looked at the wall blocking his view of the girl. If she had been Asgardian she would have pulled through during the night, but she had not.

Loki wasn't an idiot. In fact he prided himself on being one of the intelligent elite of Asgard.

He knew a Midgardian when he felt one.

He wanted to leave her to die. Who would care about a silly mortal Midgardian?

But how, in the name of Yggdrasil did she get to Asgard, in her condition, no less?

Loki's mind warred with his heart.

Unless she was harmed on Asgard...But surely harming a harmless human would be against all instincts of the Asgardians.

Despite what the All-father believed, Loki wasn't a mindless killer. Of course he'd killed 83 Midgardians in under two days, but he'd been under the control of Thanos, he would have only killed 40 or so, maybe even less, had he been himself.

He couldn't let her die here. He was a liar, and was mischievous, but he wasn't a cold blooded killer. He wasn't his father.

So as Loki imagined the cold moons of Asgard sinking, brightening the pink sky, he sunk down onto the stone floor (not as cold now he sat in Jotun form) beside the joining wall of the woman's cell and concentrated on feeding his magic through the hole he'd created in Odin's magic web. It curled and spiralled, trying to escape Loki's control but he coralled it, sending a clone of himself into the woman's cell. He knelt down by her side and brushed the tangled hair away from her bloodless face. His pulse seemed to quicken...She was merely a girl, young in life. Her lips were cracked and bleeding and there was a bruise, high on her cheek bone that had a scrape of blood dashed across it. Her skin was soft to the touch and felt cool to his frigid touch. His fingers caressed her cheek softly, then slowly grazed her neck to her abdomen stopping as he reached the edge of the bloodstain on her shirt. His other hand moved her arms away gently and then dragged her ripped shirt up, revealing the wound in its viscous glory. Loki sucked in a disgusted breath.

She looked like she'd been skewered through with a sword. She probably had been skewered through with a sword. Heimdall wasn't accommodating to intruders, again, personal experience. Loki placed his long, tapered fingers against the edges of the wound and slowly pushed two ends together, meanwhile in his head weaving magic through the pieces of flesh and insides of the woman, to bind them together and heal what damage had been done. The amount of magic he was using caused a pale sheen of sweat to break out across his brow and his breathing came in small, shallow breaths, his vision harder to focus. Magic did not want to be used in the dense power soaked air. But his efforts weren't in vain.

Loki's magic began to take hold in the girl's body and he watched dizzyingly as her flesh knit back together. She stirred and Loki looked up to her face, vision darkening haphazardly, then coming back as more of his energy poured into her. Her eyes fluttered open then shut, giving Loki a glimpse of dark, midnight blue iris'. They caught each other's eye, and she whimpered slightly in pain and fear.

'Shh. Silly Midgardian girl, I'm saving your life.' Loki's voice echoed in her head slightly. Her eyes shut tightly, a tear falling loose and streaking a grimy trail down to the corner of her lips. His breath was shaky as he wiped it away carefully with the pad of his thumb it froze on the tip and fell with a tiny sound to the floor. His clone collapsed backward in exhaustion and he swayed, looking back at the wound, now scabbed over, but the insides all now intact. He needn't do more. Her breathing had already deepened and evened.

Back in his cell, his clone no more, Loki staggered to his bed and collapsed, completely spent, on saving the life of the Midgardian girl with the night blue eyes.

He didn't wake up until panicked yells echoed down the stone corridor outside his cell door.

"The prisoner's escaped! Inform the All-father! She can't have gone far!"