Eulogy

When I die

I hang my head beside the willow tree

When I'm dead

Is when I'll be free

Loki stood on green fields that smelled of spring and fresh grass. The sky was a soft blue, heralding the beginning of a new day. A soft, pre-sunrise wind ruffled his hair and kissed his cheeks, and for the first time in his life, Loki felt at peace.

Half his heart was missing, and the part that remained... hurt. Loki knew he couldn't be happy here.

Valhalla stood tall on the knoll; ornately carved pillars stretched high, and the walls, made of marble, were carved with intricate friezes depicting the heroic deaths of all those that gathered inside.

"I am dead," Loki said aloud, as if by doing so would make it more real. "I am in Valhalla."

The doors swung open slowly with a heavy groan as the wood creaked against iron hinges. Music and laughter floated out.

Loki could just see inside.

The hall was lit brightly with natural light that filtered down past dust that sparkled and danced in the air. No matter how much he craned his neck, he could not see those who waited inside.

As he grew closer, the marble floors gleamed with a soft shine that reflected the ceiling and the walls. Loki could barely see the end of the great feasting table: it was far away, tucked inside the bowels of the hall, but he could see a golden-haired man laughing and raising his goblet to a toast, though his words were indecipherable.

Loki stood at the threshold of uncertainty. He had never expected to find himself in the great warrior hall. He had taken a gamble and it had killed him; the thought didn't bother him as much as it could have.

He could still see the look of hurt and betrayal in Steve's eyes, hidden behind a mask of stoicism when Steve thought Loki had turned against them.

"I am not ready," Loki told the doors. "Give me time," he pleaded, but they were only doors, and they stood impassively before him.

Loki turned away and headed back down the field. The sun had just peeked over the horizon, the sky a faint purple in the east: the last stars of the sky fading in the west.

He meandered the golden fields, glancing up at the beckoning doors of Valhalla occasionally before turning away. If he had the courage, he knew he would be able to enter without fear or judgment. But because he found himself lacking, he could not gather the strength and instead settled down in the grass, hands absently playing with the blades. Loki wondered if he could stay here forever. He missed his brothers and his parents. He had hoped to see them wake, could rejoice in their life. It had been a fool's wish. His mother was dead, and he'd not see her again.

Everyone knew women headed for Folkvangr, and they'd not carouse with men. Not when there was a war to prepare for.

And although he'd defeated Jörmungandr, the war was not over and they may never have won at all.

Laughter floated down from the Great Hall, but Loki could not summon the will to enter it and relish in its reward. Guilt sat heavily on his heart and he wished he could go back to Steve.

To go home.

When the sun was midway through it's morning arc, Loki noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He watched as an elegant figure in flowing skirts crossed the fields of Valhalla, and when she grew closer, the form and fit of the woman was familiar, but for he unlined eyes and broad smile.

But he knew her all the same.

"Mother," he whispered, and he pulled her into his embrace. Her thin arms wrapped around him, and he felt joy well in his heart. Death wouldn't be quite so lonely with his mother at his side.

She smiled warmly at him.

"My son," she said, settling her head on his chest. "I expect you are surprised to find yourself here."

"Yes," Loki admitted. "I did not think I was worthy."

"You saved the world. It is a worthy enough deed."

Loki hadn't been interested in the world.

"Steve was going to die."

"He was willing to die for the world," his mother said, running delicate fingers through his hair. "Were you?"

"No," he said honestly. "I don't care about that."

I only cared about Steve.

"Saving the life of one person is saving the thousand million worlds they had inside them," his mother said, slipping her bare feet into the clear creek that bubbled before them, and Loki was reminded of the time Steve had braved the tumultuous waters of Alfenheim to see Loki through, and his heart pulled at him painfully.

"Here, sit with me," his mother urged, patting the grass at her side.

Kicking off his boots, he settled his feet into the water beside his mother. He was careful to swing his cape behind him: knew from experience that the cloth took forever to dry, and he wasn't keen on sitting in the afterlife with a soaked cape.

"I missed you," he told Frigga, and he leaned against her, happy to feel her warmth against him. He thought he'd never feel it again, and to be able to do so now was almost worth everything. He'd be happy to sit here for eternity, if not for the hurt in his heart.

When the sun was low in the sky, and the frogs had begun singing in happy melody, Frigga turned to her son.

"You can stay here, if you'd like. You never have to enter those halls."

Looking up at the gates of Valhalla, Loki thought he'd like that very much. There was no place for him in those gilded halls. He'd sent enough off the gods there to their deaths, and he knew there was no place for him at the feasting table.

"Did you know this would happen?" Loki asked, when the full moon shone high above them, reflected as a silver ribbon in the bubbling creek.

"Of course," Frigga returned mildly. "I've arranged for this eventuality since the day the Fates published their sagas."

"Have you been working in opposition to them since then?"

"I have to look after my children," his mother replied, and it answered everything and nothing, but he was satisfied with her reply all the same.

Looking back up at the great hall, and then at the moon, Loki came to rest his eyes on his mother's fair face. She was as beautiful as she'd ever been.

"Is there a way back?" He asked, because as much as he'd like to spend his death with his mother, he couldn't shake Steve's face from his mind. Steve's brilliant, expressive face, and it had been twisted in sorrow in Loki's last moments.

"Yes," Frigga said, turning her pale face to his. "You wish to go back for the captain."

"He came back for me."

She nodded, cupping her soft hand against his cheek, and if his face was wet and his eyes bright, she made no mention of it.

"My son," she said, "I love you as much as my blood-born, and I could never refuse you. Long ago, when the Fates wrote their wretched books and published them as truth, I told myself I would never love the bastard child Odin would bring back from his travels. I told myself I would never allow you to kill my eldest, and that is why I set across the world and obtained sworn oaths from every manner of creature and element.

"It took many years, and when I came upon the mistletoe, it said it would comply, but asked if I was interested in thwarting the Fates. I said, "Little mistletoe, you are little more than a parasite, how can you suggest such a thing?"

"It said, 'Lady, this is true, but it is because I am so insignificant that the Fates have ignored me as they did the Midgardians. One day, your bastard son will come for me when you do not get my oath—thinking me too insignificant—so he can kill your eldest son, as the Fates have said he will.'

"'I cannot allow that to happen,' I said, but the mistletoe continued. 'Lady, I do not have your foresight. But time is a fluid thing, and although I will long be dead, my childern's grandchildren that live inside me even now whisper that there is one—an insignificant creature, same as myself—will come to thwart your bastard son, and that he may yet be successful.'

"'But I may still lose everything,' I answered. And the plant said, 'Yes, but if you do not accept my offer, you will lose everything.'

"And on that day I agreed to keep the mistletoe's oath unsworn in the hopes that one day, there would be a Midgardian that would save you from the Fates. Captain Steve Rogers was that man.

"Since the day that I learned there was hope for you, I knew your death was a possibility, and I began working with Hel to find a way to send you back to your beloved Midgardian."

Loki internalized his mother's story, and in that moment appreciated all her machinations and diligence in protecting her children. She'd always played the role of the dutiful, if somewhat mysterious wife, but she'd been the only one to orchestrate an alternate universe to the one dictated by the Fates, and Loki realized her efforts would largely go unsung.

He did not want to leave her alone, but he had ensured Steve's immortality, and he could not allow his bonded (formerly bonded, Loki reminded himself painfully) to live all his lifetimes bereft of companionship.

"How do I get back?"

"Your body was burned," Frigga said, smoothing her dress. "But your bones are buried beneath Yggdrasil, and the World Tree is giving you back your life now. Your flesh will be made anew from Yggdrasil itself—the dirt and the stones, and the sky it touches. When it has made you whole once more, you will travel its branches back to Midgard."

Loki knew what was coming next.

"I won't remember who I am when I arrive."

"No," his mother agreed. "And the Avengers will not know you live. Steve will not know."

"Then what good is it?" Loki bit back his frustration. "If I do not remember who I am, and they do not know I live?"

Frigga taped his chest where the invisible bond had once tethered him to Steve.

"Steve knows you. And you know him. The ones who have decided... they do not understand this. How can they? One day, you will find Steve, and you will remember."

"I severed that bond."

His mother laughed warmly.

"The World Serpent was great, but he only thought he had that power. Believe you me, my son, the great captain is still connected to you."

Loki grabbed Frigga's hand on his chest.

"I love you, mother, and I do not wish to leave you, but I cannot abandon Steve."

"Sweet child, I know this. He saved you once because he had been given a second chance and thought he owed it to another. He saved you twice because he loved you, and I cannot be angry at any who would show such affection to a child of mine."

"I do not love easily," Loki warned.

His mother laughed again.

"None of us do." She wrapped her hand around Loki's. "What do you say?"

"What about you?"

His mother nodded towards Valhalla. "Your father awaits. He was never a patient man, but he understands why we must talk."

Loki followed his mother's gaze up to the hall, and realized the young man with golden hair he'd seen was his father, unworn and untouched by time. He wished he could meet that man, to embrace him and apologize for all the heartache he'd caused.

"We'll be there, when it is time," she said softly. "The war is not yet over, and Odin has yet to fight. The Avengers may not win it at all—but that is the curse, and blessing, of being unchained from the texts of the Fates.

"I agree," Loki said, and Frigga nodded.

Clasping his hand in hers, they headed for the World Tree. In the loaming, they found Loki's body. It was cool and pale, but the great roots of the tree moved and touched him, and he breathed. When he stood, his mother was a shade, and tears gathered in her eyes.

"Good luck, my son."

He turned to enter the tree.

He was not sure how long he would be separated from Steve, but they were both immortal, and they had time.

He would find him.

A/N

Although condensed, I had enough people comment that I decided to go ahead and post the last bit of Fairytales and Other Forms of Suicide. If you liked where it ended, don't continue on. Otherwise, for the people with a penchant of happy endings: this one is for you.