Chapter One

The glimmering capitol of Asgard hummed with an uneasy peace. People moved purposefully in the streets as the reconstruction of the city was in place. Malekith's attack was not without its scars. After the assault, the city was demolished, monuments were crumbled, and the beloved queen slain by the hands of the dark elves haunted the memories of the Asgardians.

Asgard also missed their prince. The prince who abandoned them for Midgard. Thor had given up the throne, his home, and his people for his Midgardian, Jane Foster. Many were furious, many felt betrayed, and the remaining felt the unspoken question hang in the air: who would ascend the throne after their beloved Odin? It seemed only a matter of time until the great eternal realm was to fall into a war of succession which would leave Asgard vulnerable to outside forces.

A great funeral had been prepared for Thor's fallen brother, Loki. The silver tongue prince had given his life aiding Thor in saving his people from the Aether. No body was ever recovered but an empty boat was sent out to honor the young prince's bravery. Never so quickly had a royal family disintegrated. With the untimely deaths of the queen and Loki, and the desertion of Thor no one felt safe.

Heimdall once again watched the souls from the Bifröst. He too grieved at the loss of his prince and queen, but remained faithful to his king. Watching the trillions of souls that surrounded him, he too felt the surreal peace. One would think this was a time for celebration and prosperity, but something he couldn't name was stirring.

Loki stood from the high tower of the palace. He was finally king - well king by de facto. He had successfully faked his death, sent his brother running to Midgard and usurped the throne. The tale of how he obtained the throne was a fascinating one, but that is a story for another day. For now, Loki reigned while disguised as Odin. The funeral the Asgardian people had held for him intrigued him. Perhaps he wasn't as despised as he originally thought.

A hollow whistle of wind could be heard in the corridors. Without Queen Frigga, the great palace seemed so empty without the constant celebrations and events. He sighed in sadness wanting nothing more than to distract himself.

All was well in the nine realms as far as he was concerned. The Midgardians would go back to killing each other off, the Vanaheim would continue to serve Asgard, and the other realms not dare face Asgardians warriors. As for his people happiness, he allowed them to rebuild their city and raise their spirits. However, he could not bring himself to feel sympathy for them. The people who tolerated him and looked down on him all of his life. Thor's words echoed in the king's head, "for all his faults, Loki probably had a more suitable temperament for the throne than I." He smirked to himself, his brother had given up the throne after a thousand years of boasting of how great a king he would, and he had given it up for some human girl. If only his brother could see him now.

He walked down the empty halls completely absorbed in his thoughts. Guards silently followed leaving only the sounds of controlled footsteps. Once in the throne room, the guards took their post, leaving the king to himself as he climbed upon the throne. The daily reports and requests would soon come pouring in. Ruling could be quite mundane. Day in and day out of peasants' insufferable whining and pleading. It was enough to make Loki consider clawing his eyes out.

Two hours rolled painfully by. An older man begged for horses for his farm. Ambassadors from Vanaheim came to offer their people to help support the reconstruction, but required troops as an exchange. There was something about the dwarves on Nidavellir, but the king felt himself nodding off. He stood as the request ended and held up his hand signaling he was finished. Those remaining in line mumbled and begrudgingly left as the guards ushered them out. Once the room was clear, the guards now standing watch outside, the king set on the throne exhausted by the requests of so many. He rubbed his eye in frustration.

"Is the throne not quite as glamorous as you expected?" a silky voice challenged.

Loki froze, he knew that voice. It was his voice. He looked up and before him stood an apparition of himself. For a moment he thought he had accidentally projected an image of himself, perhaps he had spoken aloud rather in his head. A long pause hung in the air as the king stared at the Loki figure. Its eyes held a gleam that was not of his own.

"I must admit I didn't expect to see you here" Loki skillfully spoke. For all the questions he had running through his head, he had to act carefully. On the outside, he still appeared as Odin. Perhaps this was a young sorcerer who wished to pose a the departed prince to easily gain a position of power. A foolish attempt, even Odin could see through this impostor's façade.

The Loki form smirked, "Now now father, I thought you would be happy to see your son. Are you not?" The form placed his hands behind his back and began to pace.

The king raised his hand. There was a green glow around the doors as they sealed shut. He faced the Loki figure again. "I am no fool. I am Odin! Your king!" He raised his staff and aimed it at the form, "and my son is dead."

Once again the form smirked and bowed low, "Of course," a pause, "my king." The impostor knew. Loki felt his muscles clench in anger. This person before him knew he was Loki Odinson and was making a mockery of him now. There was no choice. He had to kill them before they revealed his true identity.

With his staff still raised high, he blasted his enemy sending them flying across the throne room. The form laid there motionless and Loki almost felt disappointed at the lack of challenge. Moments later, the Loki form laughed loudly and jumped to his feet. He was upon the figure just as it stood. Loki swung the staff skillfully, but the form easily slipped around Loki and kicked his legs out from under him, but Loki was more skilled in battle. Loki teleported himself to the other side of the room, having the upper hand once more. With a blinding green light, he sent the spell racing towards the form. As soon as the magic touched the form, its Loki mask began to dissolve. What was left was a woman, golden-haired and dressed in green armor.

"My name is Amora, my king."