~ In the beginning were the words, and Loki's words led to a world between worlds in search of a chance to free himself from the path he'd found himself on. The new path he tried to take instead led him to the clutches of the Darkhold, an ancient and evil tome of magic that tried to turn him into a new mask, a new tool for Gods older and deader than existence. It also led him to the path of then-Agent Coulson and his SHIELD team. As Loki wrested himself onto a new and hard-fought road, now somewhat aware of what he had once been and could still too-easily become, these Agents became grudgingly, cautiously, his allies. He has since chosen willingly to fight alongside them, or to at least accept their company and existence without the war and the threats he finds familiar.
And now, accused of the greatest monstrosity of his life and awaiting the most final of consequences, he needs at his side the one thing he himself has never been - an honest man...
. . .
An Honest Man: A Shield Codex
"But who prays for Satan? Who in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most, our one fellow and brother who most needed a friend yet had not a single one..." ~ Mark Twain
. . .
Prologue: The Book Thief
. . .
From his perch in the high and crystalline spire, Loki could look out upon the sprawling arc of the City that was fully a library and no true city at all. Omnipotence City was its name: some legends among younger races suggested it was where all the Gods of the universe entire came to palaver and plan, and, he supposed as he watched impossible clockwork birds flit through the clean, still air below him, there was probably at least one version of this City amongst the layered multiverse that was indeed so mighty as all that.
But this City, untroubled by the dark things at work among the galaxy that nestled around the worlds he knew, was only a sanctum for the holy word and the devouring mind. Its omnipotence, so the dry scholar's joke went, came from the notion that if one could consume all the knowledge contained in its endless winding halls, why then of course that being would be omnipotent.
Also, dead of frosty old age.
Loki felt no compulsion to try this challenge, leaning out just far enough to look at the fine green field far below his visitor's spire. He had other things on his mind, and his hands remained clasped peacefully in his lap while his fine armor of emerald and gold and black remained laid neatly aside. There was no need to present himself as anything other than what he was for a time – a silent pilgrim among the stacks, one of millions, there to find an answer to a nigh-unanswerable question.
The softest noise scraped through the room behind him and he permitted a thin smile of true amusement. There then was the second and unexpected question he found while chasing after his first: how to steal a book from a world that was a city that was a library where the entire unspoken function of the place is to prevent such crimes?
Loki's gaze flickered to his right without moving his head. There he could see the reflection along the closest edge of tall mirror, and the mirror caught the reflection of a wide and squat chalice he'd thought to leave in careful position on the desk he used most. On the desk was his bag – a simple satchel that carried books from the stacks to the rented rooms. The only journey some harmless tomes were permitted to make, and that under careful watch and track by the librarians. He'd had no interest in testing their patience himself, though he was sure that would have surprised those humorless figures to know. They checked him thoroughly at the end of each day's visit, for of course they knew his name.
Some days had passed since he first noticed the anomaly attached to his bag with no small delight and surprise. A tiny pocket of illusion; not one of a master mage, but a functional enough piece of the art. And that illusion held a net and in the net was an object. Almost certainly a book about to be successfully stolen, he marveled. How many times previous since his arrival in the City had there been this passenger? He didn't know. It tickled him, and when he realized he could not disturb the magick'd netting without leaving a mark for its maker to find, he decided to eventually try this other tactic instead.
The next morning, that unknown object was gone. And the next. And the third day. And so he left the chalice and the mirror and thought to doze peaceably in the high window, his back fully turned to the room. That might not be enough, but whoever the thief was, they might be growing confident as their game succeeded. It was time to find out.
The stifled click of his door gave way to a whisper of fabric. Through the slice of mirror he watched the smallish figure slink with aching slowness into the room. Robed, cowled, hooded – like the librarians of the City - but nonetheless he could tell the figure was watching him carefully for movement.
Loki gave a soft, dozy yawn and scratched at the arm of his deep green tunic, easing himself into a more comfortable position. His eyes remained sharp and alert as the mirrored figure froze. And then, when he did little else except breathe slowly and deep, the thief continued to creep forward.
The matter was done in seconds after that. Three noiseless steps to cross to the desk, a flicker of simplistic magic across his bag, and a book smaller than the palm of a child disappeared into the folds of a robe. And then they were gone, the door pulled back into place and locked once more.
Loki might have applauded. Instead he smiled, a child's earnest one. There were surprises yet in the universe, and mischief to admire. He wished the thief the best of continued luck. And too soon after, he worried just a little that his wish had inadvertently cursed them instead. It probably wasn't the first time he'd had that effect.
. . .
Not the next day, where the net was hurriedly made and he feared the thief's trick would fall apart and alert the City's guardians. Nor the next four, where he looked at the figures of the dozens of librarians that kept watchful eye on him, and saw none that matched his creeping visitor's shape.
It was on the fifth day that the roaring alarms filled the visitor's spires while the gates of every building flung themselves shut with unstoppable speed.
. . .
To no small credit, the robed figure wasn't frozen in fear when Loki flung open the door of his room to look. They'd just left with prize in hand as he pretended to nap on a long lounging chair with some heavy tome of ethics by his hand. The target was a larger volume this time; he could still see it peeking at the edge of the thief's heavy sleeve. He wondered if that might have been why this day of all days the alarms tripped, but it hardly mattered. The unearthly sirens continued to scream their warning and as he watched the figure scramble for some hiding place, some secondary plan to stow their thievery, he made his decision. "Get back in here!" he hissed.
Now the figure did freeze, looking back over the tall cowl at him. "You want to be caught, then? I think both of us know perfectly well what happens to thieves here. Quick!"
He jutted his thumb towards the door and the robes flowed and rushed behind him. "By the curtains, then further in. Do not move. Breathe little. I've got to work fast. I'm quite sure you're at least somewhat aware of what this entails." The figure backed towards where he indicated and now he could at least see the shape of a questioning face. "Of course I'll do my best. It's my arse as well if they see through this." He snapped his fingers as the figure – she, he realized, though the features were dim and still-hid – took her place and waited.
He did what he could and a little more, extrapolating from the thief's own illusive game and adding a few little flairs of his own mastery. The book he had to tear from her grasp and fling unceremoniously out the window. She stared up at him from the depths of her hood, the eyes clearly furious. "Nothing to be done for it. Your muted mask is still applied, you can look for it later amidst the grass if we're not both vaporized. The librarians won't go out after they put the lights down, but I'm sure this you know."
And the guards when they swept his floor, found nothing.
When they were gone, she rushed through the room once more, ready to flee. "The door will be unlocked next time," he called after her. "Keep to your game if you like."
She whirled on him. He got a glimpse of a thin and bony face this time; not quite human, not quite Kree nor Xandarian. No trace of the Nine Realms' bloodlines. Nothing he could identify. She seemed mostly eyes in the harrowed face, dark ones that expressed more of what she didn't bother to say, and in them was some gratitude and a healthy dose of cautious alarm.
He smiled at her, disquieted for some reason he couldn't put a finger on. "You trade on my name and reputation to steal a trick for yourself. If they caught me with your prizes by your mistake, well, who cries for Asgard's Loki? I can't help but give that some admiration and you have not made an enemy." She took another step away. "The night's watch, I've no theories on how to avoid that and reclaim your book. Except that if there is no light when they patrol, then they need none. But I'm sure if you've got this far, you've some notions yourself." He saluted her with two fingers to his forehead. "Travel well, thief. Better luck tomorrow."
When she was gone and the door shut again, his brow furrowed as he realized the source of his disquiet.
Nothing to her face he could recognize – and yet he felt as though he did.
. . .
She did not return that next tomorrow. She did the day after. And that was his silent company for a time, as he chased his own question and observed her at play against her own. So it was until the evening, some few weeks later, where the book thief found him at his desk in something like despair.
. . .
His grey-green gaze glittered up at her in her librarian's stolen robe, the dark eyes hooded in fleeting, curious concern. "Oh, what?"
She said nothing, only watched his pallid face twitch.
"Go about your business and leave. It's nothing for you."
She said in a dull and raspy voice, "I see the books you borrow. A hard question you're reading around. Final ones. I always notice."
"And the books you take?"
A thin-lipped smile. "Not for you. Not for anyone."
"Right, the book thief does in truth a public service." He waved her away, feeling freshly irritated when she didn't move. "I did you a favor, you can do me one and not stare."
"Is that the favor you ask?" The way she said it drew his attention sharply back to her and the disquiet returned. "I pay my debts. Always. I refuse to cheat." She peered down at him, dark eyes glinting. "Is it what you ask?"
"Oh, we're bargaining now." Loki sighed to cover his disturbance, looked away to think. "No. It isn't."
"Then I'll stare as I like," droned the book thief, a dry taste of humor in a voice that seemed unused. It pulled the whisper of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "You were right."
"What?"
"They do not see at night. They listen and they smell. And if there is nothing for neither..."
"Nothing to track. Well done, I suppose."
"I felt some pride." She clasped gloved hands together and sat on the other side of his desk, still regarding him with wide and unfathomable eyes. "Your answer isn't here."
"I've got my damned answers I think, sorry to disagree."
She shook her head. "The things you're reading – they are static words. The action is alive and the living can change. Only the living can change."
He thrummed his pale fingers on the old desk, considering that. Considering her. "Who are you?"
"A thief. Like you. A bit different. But you gave a favor. Freely. And now we must deal with each other."
"Then I'll consider that, too, amidst all my other problems." He was growing outright unnerved and reached for the flask of wine he'd scrounged up just before getting his morose on. "A drink?"
She smirked, seeing plain on his face that he knew she wouldn't accept. "No."
"Then do please go away and let me drink. I'll consider the matter of our debts later." He popped the cork free and poured some old, red vintage into the fat chalice he'd used to first spy her with. "I appreciate your concern," he muttered to her disappearing back. "Whatever the hell you are."
. . .
A handful of books still passed through the satchel's net, whispered away by the thief as Loki continued to contemplate what he now held close. Idle re-reads and less hefty questions mulled over and more than a few flagons of wine drunk as the rush of robes marked the cycle of days. He had his answers, so he felt. What he researched now was his convictions.
. . .
Now the time Loki waited for her to arrive for her stolen book: dressed in his fine black armor and his eyes full of determination, once more at the borrowed desk. All his books were gone from the limp satchel and his fingers were steepled against each other. "I've my favor to ask, and an apology."
She plucked the tiny tome from its hidden place, interlacing her gloved fingers around it. He saw a black spine and a silver sigil he couldn't identify. "The apology first. I like those."
"You're about to lose your free ride, I regret. I'm done here, and I leave at the next lighting of the City."
She nodded slowly. "Understandable. It's been... a great help, Loki of Asgard. And a matter of some small surprise."
"How so?" He watched as she answered him with silence and an enigmatic smile. "All right, then. Let me explain what I will need..."
When he was done, she accepted his request with a quick nod. He watched her leave one last time and wondered again what he had committed to, and to a lesser extent, when. "Mother Fate cares not to be scorned," he murmured to himself, thinking over past deeds and misdeeds. "She'll want me back on old roads, and this one I've taken rides right close beside."
But the living can change, came the dull echo. Only the living can change.
"I intend to live," he whispered for his own sake. "To keep my changes. And to do that..."
He fell silent, unwilling to finish. Pain crossed his face and he was grateful no one could see.
